The twins turned in alarm.
“Where’s the monster?” asked Sigurd scornfully. “That’s the sun!”
“What’s the sun?” squeaked the troll baby.
“It’s—well, it’s the sun, that’s all! Like one of your glowing lights, I suppose, but bigger and yellow and it lives in the sky.”
“But it ain’t yellow. It’s red.”
“Yes, it’s red now, but that’s because it’s setting.”
“What’s setting?”
“Going down. Going away. Sunset. That’s when it gets dark.”
The troll baby jeered. “What’s the use of a light that goes away just when it gets dark?” Unable to think of a reply, Sigurd opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
“Don’t argue with it,” said Sigrid. “Look, here we are! Home at last. Ma, Hilde! We’re back….”
They broke into a run, only to come to a puzzled halt in the yard.
“Where are they all? No one’s here.”
“Knock, knock, knock! Nobody’s at home, only a little rat chewing on a bone,” chanted the troll baby in sing-song.
“I expect they’re all out looking for us,” said Sigrid bleakly.
The twins trudged into the farmhouse. The fire was nearly out, and it was clear that no one had been home for some time. The cradle was empty.
“Where’s Ran?” cried Sigrid.
“I dunno. If they’re looking for us, perhaps Ma took her along.”
“But she wouldn’t do that. How could she?”
Sigurd froze. “Sigrid. I’ve just realized …”
“What?”
He swallowed. “Those trolls. I bet they took Ran as well as Eirik. All I could think of was Eirik at the time—it was so awful, the way he was screaming—but I do remember noticing the other troll had a sort of bundle under its arm….”
“Oh, no!”
“Rock-a-bye baby, mommy’s not here, she’s out in the woodshed making a bier …”
In furious disgust, Sigurd held the troll baby out at arm’s length. “At least I don’t have to carry this thing any farther.” He plonked it into the cold cradle. It seized the sides with both hands and pulled itself upright to peer over the edge, looking about with interested malice.
“I’m hungry,” it announced. “Hungry, hungry, hungry!”
“All right, we heard!” Sigurd shouted back.
Sigrid seized a pot and the scoop. “I’ll make it some groute. Perhaps that will keep it quiet. Build up the fire, Sigurd. And I guess we’d better bar the door.”
The troll baby sniggered. “Ooh, aye, bar the door. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when my mommy catches you!”
“Is that so?” Sigurd glared at it. “Well your mommy and her trolls shouldn’t have kidnapped my little brother and my foster sister. And she had better give them back! Why didn’t you make a fuss when we stole you, anyway? If you’d yelled, your nurse would have come running.”
The troll baby looked sly. “I know. But just think of the fuss when they find I’m missing. What fun, what fun!” It threw itself backward in glee. “Ooh, the rushing about! Ooh, the screaming!” It popped up over the edge again. “My mommy will be sooo mad with you. Better be nice to me. Or I’ll say that you hurt me, and she’ll scratch your eyes out.”
Unable to bear looking at the little troll for a moment longer, Sigurd threw more wood on the fire. Sigrid was stirring the groute as if her life depended on it. Her head drooped and her shoulders hunched, and he saw a teardrop fall glittering into the pot. He put his arm around her neck.
“What’s the matter, sis?”
“What’s the matter?” Sigrid turned on him, tears streaking her face. “I want Ma and Pa, and Peer and Hilde. I thought when we came home everything would be all right. But now nobody’s here, and that creature is sitting—sitting in Eirik’s cradle, and both the babies are missing.” With a sob, she smeared the back of her hand across her eyes. “I wish we’d never brought it with us!”
They gazed at the troll baby. It sat upright in the cradle, gripping the edge with long, hairy fingers. Its broad pointed ears stuck out on each side of its head, and its eyes glinted green and slanting in its wrinkled face.
“She’s crying,” it remarked.
“Leave her alone!” said Sigurd.
“Let’s play games.” The troll baby tipped its head to one side and stuck a finger in its mouth. “Do you know any riddles? Here’s one. ‘What horse never goes out till after dark?’”
“I don’t know,” Sigurd said, in a voice that meant I don’t care!
“A nightmare!” The troll baby bounced up and down. “Here’s another. ‘Old and strong and gray and grim, but the young and weak give strength to him!’”
“Just tell me.” Sigurd sighed.
“A wolf eating up a lamb!” The troll baby screeched with laughter.
“That’s nasty,” said Sigrid.
“I’m hungry.” The little troll’s eyes glittered. “Feed me!”
“It isn’t cooked yet,” Sigrid began, but the troll baby screamed loudly, “Feed me, feed me, feed me! Or tell me a story!”
“We don’t know any stories!” Sigurd shouted.
“You’re a liar,” the troll baby shrieked, jerking to and fro in fury. The cradle rocked, and its eyes opened wide. “Save me! It’s an earthquake. The whole world moved!”
“Only because you were having a tantrum,” said Sigrid sharply. “Sit still.”
“Did I do it?” The little thing smirked with pride. “Be nice to me, or I’ll make it happen again.”
“Oh, I’m so scared,” said Sigurd. Sigrid nudged him.
“I know a story,” the troll baby boasted. “It’s one my mommy tells to send me off to sleep.” It winked, coughed, wriggled, and began:
“An old wife was spinning away one night, and ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘I wish I had some company.’ So the door creaked open, and in came a pair of big flat feet, slapping across the floor to the fireside.”
The twins looked at each other, and it seemed to them as if there really was a draft from the door, as though it had cracked open a little. The troll baby grinned and chanted:
“In came a pair of thin shanks and sat down on the big flat feet. And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of great big knees and sat down on the thin shanks.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of thin, thin thighs and sat down on the great big knees.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of great big hips and sat down on the thin, thin thighs.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!”
At every verse, the troll baby looked at the door, and then its eyes followed something across the floor. The twins gazed, dry mouthed, hearts beating. “I don’t like this story,” said Sigrid.
“In came a narrow waist and sat down on the great big hips.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of broad shoulders and sat down on the narrow waist.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of thin arms and sat down on the broad shoulders.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a pair of great big hands and sat down on the thin arms.”
With gleaming eyes, the troll baby flapped its own hairy hands at the twins.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a thin neck and sat down on the broad shoulders.
“And still she sat, and still she spun, and still she wished for company!
“In came a great big head and sat down on the thin neck.
“And still she sat, and
still she spun, and still she wished for company!”
Sigurd cleared his throat. “Is that the end?”
“No!” the troll baby whispered, as if sharing a secret. “I’ll tell you the rest! But first, go and look. Is it dark outside?”
“I’m not opening the door,” said Sigurd. He peeked through the shutters. “Getting dark, yes.”
“Good.” The troll baby giggled. “Cos this is a story you have to tell in the dark.
“So the old wife, she looked up from her spinning, and she said, ‘Why have you got such big flat feet?’
“‘With walking, with walking!’ says the thing as it sits by the fire.
“‘Why have you got such thin shanks?’
“‘Aiiii—late—and wee-eee moul!”’ The troll baby threw back its head and let out a wailing scream that nearly made Sigrid jump out of her shoes.
“‘Why have you got such big knees?’” the troll baby went on. “‘With kneeling, with kneeling!’
“‘Why have you got such thin thighs?’
“‘Aiii—late—and wee-eee moul!’
“‘Why have you got such big hips?’
“‘With sitting, with sitting.’
“‘Why have you got such a narrow waist?’
“‘Aiii—late—and wee-eee moul!’” Again the troll baby’s awful wail shivered the rafters.
“Yes, all right,” broke in Sigurd. “We’ve got the idea. Why don’t you just stop, right now! Is the groute ready, Sigrid?”
“Nearly,” quavered Sigrid, slopping some into a bowl.
“I’ll have some in a minute,” said the troll baby. “So the old wife asked, ‘Why have you got such broad shoulders?’
“‘With carrying brooms, with carrying brooms.’
“‘Why have you got such thin arms?’
“‘Aiii—late—and wee-eee moul!’
“‘Why have you got such big hands?’
“‘Threshing with an iron flail, threshing with an iron flail.’
“‘Why have you got such a thin neck?’
“‘Aiii—late—and wee-eee moul!’”
Sigrid had her hands over her ears. “Make it stop, make it stop!”
“Here, take this and shut up,” said Sigurd roughly, thrusting a bowl of groute and a horn spoon at the troll baby.
The little troll put its head to one side. “Can’t feed myself,” it said coyly. “I’m a baby! You got to do it for me. Uggh!”
It choked as Sigurd, provoked beyond endurance, shoved a spoonful into its gaping mouth. A large tongue came out and swept up the dribbles.
“Good,” it spluttered greedily. “More! More!” With his face screwed up, Sigurd spoon-fed it the rest of the bowlful. The troll baby jigged up and down. “Now I’ll finish the story. So the old wife asked, ‘Why have you got such a big head?’
“‘With thinking, with thinking.’
“‘WHAT HAVE YOU COME FOR?’
“‘I’VE COME—’” The troll baby opened its mouth wide, wide, wide, and Sigurd and Sigrid saw for the first time that it had a full set of very sharp, very pointed teeth. “‘—FOR YOU!’” it yelled at the top of its voice.
Sigrid screamed. Sigurd looked around wildly. The house was very dark, the fire struggling and sinking. “Listen!” The troll baby leaned toward them with its hairy ears waggling. “I can hear footsteps. Can you? Little feet going pitter-patter, pitter-patter. My mommy’s coming down the hill to fetch me. And she won’t be coming alone!”
“Oh, no!” Sigrid’s voice shook. “Sigurd, what shall we do?”
“They can’t get in. Don’t worry.” Sigurd was very pale. The troll baby curled up like a caterpillar and rolled around and around inside the cradle, giggling.
Then, with a muffled noise, someone outside seized the door and shook it. The twins caught at each other. A voice called.
“Children, are you there? Open the door! Let us in!”
“It’s Ma!” Sigrid flushed with relief. She started forward to undo the bar, but Sigurd was looking at the troll baby, which had pulled itself upright, ears pricked.
“Tee hee,” it sniggered. “Are you sure?”
“Wait, Sigrid,” said Sigurd quietly. She froze.
“Why?”
“It might not be Ma.”
“But that’s her voice!”
They crept up to the door, listening intently. All of a sudden Sigurd shouted, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, it’s all of us!” the voice reverberated through the thickness of the wood. It sounded like Gudrun, but how to be certain? “Quickly, let us in!”
“Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf?” the troll baby sang tunelessly. It screeched with hoarse laughter. “What are you waiting for? Let them in!” Still the twins hung back in agonized uncertainty. Fists beat on the door in an urgent tattoo.
“Open up, let us in! Open the door, twins, quick! The trolls are coming!”
CHAPTER 19
GRANNY GREEN-TEETH’S LAIR
PEER KNELT AMONG tangled willows and elders, cautiously scratching his bug bites and trying to move into a more comfortable position. Thank goodness it was sunset! Now at last something might happen.
It had been a hot, thirsty, endless day. Gudrun had refused to go home, even after it was full daylight, in case they somehow missed the lubbers stealing out of the woods with the babies. They had spread out around the millpond. Gudrun and Hilde hid with Alf in the bushes near the sluice, while Peer and Loki went over to the other side to sit, cramped and restless, watching the sun inch up the sky and listening to the water pouring over the weir. No sign of Granny Green-teeth. No sign of the lubbers. No sign of the twins. Midmorning, Hilde had come quietly seeking Peer.
“Where can they be? It really worries me. Even if they’d got lost in the woods, the twins would shout for help and we’d hear them. What if—what if the Nis was wrong? Perhaps the lubbers came straight to Granny Green-teeth….”
Peer couldn’t reassure her. It was worrying him, too. Around noon he had left his post and gone back to the farm to see if the twins had come home, and to fetch water and bread. But the place was empty.
“They haven’t come back,” he’d had to tell Gudrun as he handed her the flask of water and morsel of bread. It was hard to see her bite back tears. Of course the bread was wasted. No one could eat.
He’d hurried back once more to do the evening milking. Still, there was no one home. And now he crouched, down the bank from the old pigsty, in damp grass hopping with insects. Loki lay beside him, asleep and twitching—perhaps he was chasing trolls in his dreams. As for the Nis, it had vanished as soon as dawn had broken. Maybe it was scouting in the woods. More likely it was nearby, curled up in the brambles.
The sun was down behind the trees, and the shadow of the mill stretched far across the bland green water. Soon, surely, the lubbers would come stealing out of the woods.
Peer winced. Even though it was the one chance that the babies were still alive, he couldn’t bear to think of them alone with the lubbers. How terrified they would be! And he had a darker fear, one he hadn’t dared share with Gudrun or Hilde: What will happen to the babies if the lubbers get really hungry?
Besides everything else, there was the mill, and although he was ashamed to think of it while the babies were in danger, it was a cold heaviness in his heart. It wasn’t his mill after all. It never had been. It had belonged to Uncle Baldur all along. “Troll Mill.” It truly was a troll mill now, running by night instead of by day. Bitterly he remembered Uncle Baldur’s triumphant cry: “I’m miller to the Troll King himself!”
Bone bread. He groaned. What a fool I was, what a blind fool. Baldur and Grim, supplying bread and meat to the trolls. Meat from Ralf’s stolen sheep, and bread from the bones ground up at the mill…
The sun was nearly gone. It sparked red and low through the trees around the mill. The last glowing warmth on twigs and branches faded. Darkness came creeping from deep in the woods. A cold breath ruffled the water, and th
e leaves whispered. Peer shifted quietly, easing his stiff legs.
Just along the bank, two twisted willows mingled their trailing hair, leaning their heads together as if sharing unpleasant secrets. Their long branches quivered and parted. Out hobbled an old woman in a dingy black cloak, her head wrapped in a scarf.
Granny Green-teeth! Peer scrambled to his feet, his heart thudding with dread. Has she seen me? Why is she here? To meet the lubbers, or to gloat? He braced himself, ready to run like a deer. Loki pressed against his legs, growling.
The old woman beckoned. “Peer Ulfsson!” she called softly. “Come closer. Let me take a look at you. Why, what a fine young man you’ve grown to be! Breaking hearts wherever you go, I’m sure. But rash and foolish, eh, like all young fellows?”
“The babies—where are they?” Peer’s mouth was sour with fear, and the words came out as a croak. Granny Green-teeth’s sharp eyes glittered.
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Peer Ulfsson. For three years, Troll Mill was empty.” Webs of greenish skin stretched back from the skinny forefinger she pointed at him. “And I was patient, my son, very patient, waiting for the mill to rot.” The last word was louder. “I helped it on its way. I sent my winter floods sucking at the foundations. One day the wheel would break, the walls would tumble. No more millers lording it over my river!
“But you came back. Meddling. Interfering. First your uncles, and then you and your friends from the farm, patching and mending and building up. Among all of you, you’d have the mill running day and night, night and day, with never a moment’s peace for me in my water. You—and Baldur Grimsson.”
“He’s nothing to do with me,” said Peer fiercely. “He’s grinding bones for the trolls. That ought to please you. The troll princess is your friend, isn’t she? That’s what you said three years ago. You went to her wedding.”
Granny Green-teeth spat on the ground. “Friend? No longer. Where’s my invitation to her son’s naming feast? Who does she think she is, with her airs and graces? Sending Baldur Grimsson here to grind bones at the mill, when she knows how I hate him! I’ll make her sorry!”
Her voice softened. “But you and me, we understand each other. I know why you need the mill. You’ve got nothing else. A poor boy, alone in the world, has to take what he can. It isn’t fair, is it? You’ve worked and worked, and what have you got to show for it? You don’t want Baldur Grimsson at the mill any more than I do. So we’re on the same side. We need the same things. You can still be the miller, if you really want to. I can help you, and you can help me.”
Troll Mill Page 17
