Frankie Fish and the Viking Fiasco

by Peter Helliar

  To say the stakes were enormous would be like saying the steaks at the local Monster Steak House were a ‘decent size’. Lisa Chadwick’s Halloween Parade was less than an hour away, and somehow, they had to get Brynjar there without him going crazy again, and hope that the sight of some child-sized zombies marching around would be enough to scare Brynjar all the way home.

  As their gang of misfits – two boys, two hulking Viking teenagers (one of whom was glaring at everyone suspiciously and keeping a firm distance between himself and the suitcase) and a cranky old man – hurried towards St Monica’s late that afternoon, Frankie felt like his whole body was tied up in knots.

  He decided to ask Grandad about something that had been on his mind since this whole Viking fiasco began. Pushing down the nervous lump that had appeared in his throat, he tugged on Grandad’s sleeve. ‘Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?’ he asked in a low voice.

  Grandad slowed down his shuffling and raised an eyebrow. ‘What is it, lad? We’re in kind of a rush here.’

  Frankie was mortified when he realised what he was about to say might make him cry. He swallowed, then blurted out: ‘Grandad, I think we killed Birger’s father.’

  Seeing the look of shock on his Grandad’s face, Frankie quickly explained what had happened.

  ‘Well, we didn’t kill him ourselves, but …’

  Grandad listened as the words kept tumbling out of his grandson’s mouth, until finally Frankie had to stop. He hadn’t taken a breath for about a minute and now he inhaled like a fish waking up from a drowning dream.

  Grandad frowned deeply. ‘What ye did has probably earned ye a gold medal in this year’s Stupid Move Awards,’ he growled.

  Frankie hung his head. ‘I know. We made a terrible mistake with that bear, and it changed history. And the worst bit is that I know we can’t fix it.’ Then he looked up at his grandad, a note of hope creeping into his voice. ‘Unless you can think of something we can do? I know it’s against the rules, but maybe we can take the Vikings back to just before the bear attack, and … and –’

  ‘No!’ Grandad interrupted. ‘It’s just not possible. Think about it, Frankie. If ye returned the Vikings back before they left, there would be doubles – the Viking boys who were there at the time AND the ones ye were returning. Don’t ye remember the trouble we got into with all the extra Grandads in Scotland?’

  Frankie’s stomach dropped like a stone. He did remember. And he was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

  ‘I know you’re right,’ he said miserably. ‘I just feel terrible.’

  Grandad’s face softened a little and he rubbed Frankie’s shoulder. ‘We time travellers carry a heavy responsibility, lad,’ he said. ‘I partly blame myself. Ye taught me a lot of these rules, but I’m the grown-up. I should never have let ye go off with that bird-brain all on yer own. But what’s done is done, OK? The best thing now is for ye to get these guys home and not make the same mistake again.’

  Frankie nodded, feeling the knots in his tummy loosen ever so slightly. Brynjar and Birger’s father was still dead, and Grandad hadn’t been able to solve the problem – but he at least seemed to understand. Frankie had been worried he’d be a lot angrier.

  They were nearly at the school now, and Drew stopped short. ‘Ready to introduce some Vikings to some zombies?’ he said quietly to Frankie, his face flushed with excitement.

  ‘By golly I hope this works,’ Grandad muttered, shuffling along as fast as he could. ‘It will be a disaster if we can’t get these Nordic visitors of yers to leave.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ reflected Drew. ‘It might be fun having a Viking around. He could take us camping.’

  ‘I don’t know a lot about Vikings but I know they like to conquer. If these two big lumps of muscle decide to stay, one of them will probably want to be king,’ commented Grandad darkly. ‘And who knows what they will do to make that happen?’

  With a groan, Frankie felt the knots in his tummy tighten right back up. Birger was friendly enough, but he suspected that Brynjar could be pretty vicious. What would happen if he found out he was being led directly into a trap?

  ‘We need to move, quick!’ commanded Frankie, taking the Sonic Suitcase from Grandad and stepping up his pace.

  At that moment, the Viking teens tilted their noses into the sky, closed their eyes and sniffed deeply. At first Frankie had no idea what they were doing. And then Frankie and Drew smelt it too. The unmistakable aroma of barbecue. They were getting close!

  Suddenly, a loud, trumpet-like noise burst through the air.

  Grandad covered his ears like he had just accidentally walked into a Foo Fighters concert. ‘What in the blazing hell is that?’

  Frankie, Drew, Grandad and Birger turned to see Brynjar, standing in the middle of the street, blowing a horn. It was only small but extremely loud.

  Evening had begun to fall and lights in the surrounding houses were turning on. Curious neighbours peered out through the curtains to see what was causing what sounded like a medieval car alarm.

  ‘Ssssh!’ shooshed Grandad. ‘You’re ruining the neighbours’ dinner!’

  ‘Grandad, it’s only five-thirty,’ said Frankie, rolling his eyes. ‘Believe it or not people do eat later than five-thirty.’

  ‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ Grandad stated. ‘Five-thirty at the latest for me or my digestion goes out the window. What is ye mad Viking mate doing, anyway?’

  Brynjar had stopped blowing his horn and was now looking up towards the stars in the sky above.

  ‘Um … maybe he’s calling a Viking taxi or something?’ Drew offered.

  ‘Brynjar gives thanks,’ Birger tried to explain through the padlock translator. ‘Feast is coming.’

  As they hurried along, Frankie noticed there were posters up everywhere for the Halloween Parade. All of them had pictures of Lisa Chadwick in her zombie costumes from previous years – there was one of her dressed as zombiefied Carmen Miranda, and there was another of her as zombiefied Marilyn Monroe – and Frankie found himself grimacing at how annoying she was. He wished that ANYONE but her had organised the competition.

  But for all of his dislike of Lisa Chadwick Major Events Pty Ltd, Frankie knew that right now this Halloween Parade was their best (and possibly only) chance of getting these Vikings home. He felt a pang of sadness that he and Drew wouldn’t be able to compete this year after all. They had one Viking helmet between them, and nothing else.

  Then Frankie glanced at Birger, who currently looked less like a Viking and more like a lost puppy – totally confused as to where he was and where he was going. And Frankie remembered that he had a job to do that was way more important than winning a hundred-dollar voucher at the Cocoa Pit.

  Plus, no matter how bad Frankie was feeling about the death of Birger’s father, he knew that Birger himself must feel much, much worse. He timidly put a hand on the Viking’s massive arm and patted it.

  ‘It’s OK, Birger. We’ll get you both home. I promise.’

  Now, Frankie Fish had made many promises in his relatively short lifetime.

  He’d promised his mum to keep his room tidy. He’d promised his dad to get nothing less than Bs in his tests. He’d promised Saint Lou he’d stop reading her diary when she wasn’t home. Sometimes he really meant these things when he said them.

  But this. This was a promise that he wasn’t sure he could keep even as he said it.

  Birger smiled. ‘Heim ...’ he said, wistfully, and then kept marching on.

  ‘Why don’t we send Birger home now and then send Brynjar later – like, when he’s fallen asleep or something?’ Drew whispered to Frankie.

  ‘We can’t risk wearing out the time paths, remember?’ Frankie reminded Drew. ‘We’ve got to send them together.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right,’ Drew replied sheepishly.

  Then Frankie turned to his grandad. ‘What will happen when we send them back?’ asked Frankie anxiously.

  ‘Hopefully they stay there,’ repli
ed Grandad.

  ‘No, I mean ...’ Frankie gulped, clutching the suitcase to his chest. ‘When we brought Ping back here, we controlled her environment really carefully. But these two have roamed the streets, ridden trains, watched TV. Hell, Brynjar has even been on TV. Surely they’ve seen way too much?’

  ‘Watch yer language, please –’ Grandad growled.

  ‘Frankie’s right,’ Drew whispered, as the magnitude of what they’d done suddenly hit him. ‘This could totally disrupt history.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ exploded Grandad. ‘What possessed ye two doaty numpties to think that introducing a Viking to TV was a good idea?’

  Frankie and Drew hung their heads. Frankie held his breath, waiting for Grandad to really lose it. But to his surprise, Grandad simmered down.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I can fix it.’

  Frankie eyed him suspiciously. ‘How?’

  But Grandad refused to explain. ‘Let’s just say there’s been a wee upgrade made.’

  ‘Ooh! Does the suitcase have Snapchat now?’ Drew asked, a little too excitedly.

  ‘Better than that, whatever that is,’ Grandad said with a grin that made Frankie actually think things might turn out OK after all. But then, with Grandad, you could never be sure …

  There weren’t many words spoken as Frankie, Grandad and Drew led Birger and Brynjar towards the school gates. Even the aroma of Principal Dawson’s Korean barbecue booth didn’t help soothe Frankie’s nerves, although it did seem to excite both the Vikings (and Drew and Grandad too, truth be told).

  Frankie was too nervous to feel hungry. What if Brynjar saw through their trap? What if he wasn’t really scared of zombies? Or what if he WAS scared of zombies but wasn’t scared of kids in crappy costumes pretending to be zombies? Zombies with hula hoops, even?

  For the first time ever, Frankie hoped that Lisa Chadwick and her cronies really nailed their zombie costumes.

  Brynjar looked like he was starting to get a little impatient. He was muttering under his breath at Birger, who grimaced uncertainly.

  ‘Not long now,’ said Frankie, his stomach flip-flopping.

  The loose plan was that Frankie would lead the Vikings into the parade so they would, hopefully, come face-to-face with Lisa Chadwick’s zombie parade just as it was starting. Then, as soon as Brynjar freaked out and was distracted enough, Frankie could open the suitcase, set the coordinates and zap them back home.

  As the group approached the entrance of the school, they saw people lined up on both sides of the outside basketball court, jockeying for the best position to view the parade.

  Brynjar looked with concern at the milling crowd and growled something to Birger. Frankie hoped he wasn’t about to go on another rampage. The parade was due to start in about ten minutes and Frankie did his best to calm him down. ‘It’s OK, they are just here for the feast.’

  Birger understood enough to translate to Brynjar, who liked what he heard so much that he actually smiled. Frankie followed his nose and led his Nordic guests to the smoky Korean barbecue that Principal Dawson had been banging on about for weeks. On top of his Korean meats he also had hamburgers and sausages.

  Looking up from his hotplate, Principal Dawson got a bit of a shock when he saw two large Viking teenagers standing in front of him.

  ‘Oh, er … hello there.’

  Brynjar looked back at Principal Dawson, patted himself on the tummy with his huge hand, pointed at the giant steaks on the barbecue and uttered a single word. ‘Slátr.’

  ‘Uh, he means meat,’ guessed Frankie, quickly. ‘These are my cousins from … very far away. They don’t speak English and they’re really hungry.’

  ‘Well, they’ve come to the right place! Would you like Korean spicy ribs or are you a banger-in-bread kind of Viking? Great costumes by the way, so authentic, although I see you’ve forgotten about the horned helmets,’ Principal Dawson said enthusiastically. He lifted up a giant steak but, before he could put it on a plate, Brynjar grabbed it directly from the tongs with his bare hands and bit into it like he hadn’t eaten for nine hundred years (technically, seeing as he’d skipped breakfast and lunch, he hadn’t).

  ‘You may need to set up a tab,’ quipped Drew Bird, who had sneaked up to the front of the queue.

  Grandad gave a shocked Principal Dawson twenty dollars. ‘Keep the meat coming.’

  As the two Viking boys set about eating as much as ten regular men would, the school’s public address system suddenly spluttered to life.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fifth annual St Monica’s Halloween Parade, brought to you by Lisa Chadwick’s Major Events, to raise money for anti-wrinkle cream for elephants …’

  It was, of course, Lisa Chadwick herself speaking.

  ‘Before we kick things off tonight, just a reminder we will be holding a Spelling Bee next Wednesday to raise much-needed funds to train bees to make sugar-free honey ...’

  ‘Typical,’ groaned Drew, rolling his eyes.

  But Frankie had never been more relieved to hear Lisa’s voice. ‘Come on,’ he muttered to Drew. ‘We’d better get ready to join the parade. Make the most of the element of surprise with you-know-who.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, you two,’ said Principal Dawson suddenly. ‘You can’t be in the parade. You don’t have costumes!’

  Frankie and Drew stared at each other in shock. They had been so focused on the returning the Vikings to their correct time that they had completely forgotten the number-one rule of the event: you had to have a costume to march in the parade.

  ‘I’ve got your Viking helmet in my backpack – the one Birger gave you,’ whispered Drew. ‘How about I nip back home and get that old rug from Dad’s shed?’

  Frankie shook his head. ‘There’s no time! And the helmet isn’t enough to make me look like a Viking. What are we going to do?’

  Frankie turned back to Principal Dawson, who had just given the Viking boys another steak each and a sausage in bread to Grandad. ‘Can’t we just be in the parade anyway, without costumes?’ he asked desperately.

  But the principal shook his head. ‘Absolutely not! You know how Lisa feels about rules.’

  Frankie was starting to feel panicky. He couldn’t just push Birger and Brynjar towards a crowd of people waiting for the parade to start and hope they’d stay. Literally anything might happen. But where could he get a costume at such short notice?

  There was a tap on his shoulder and Frankie turned to see his sister standing there, holding a big shopping bag.

  ‘Did I hear you say you need costumes?’ said Saint Lou.

  Frankie looked eagerly at the bag. ‘Yes! Do you have some?’

  Maybe this was why his sister had been so secretive recently, he thought excitedly. Maybe she’d been busy making awesome costumes … and now she was giving them to him and Drew!

  Saint Lou saw his face and held up a hand. ‘Don’t get too excited,’ she warned. ‘All I’ve got here are some of your old ghost outfits. I thought there might be some kids down here who were truly desperate for something to wear.’

  Drew and Frankie looked at each other, disappointed.

  ‘Are we that desperate?’ muttered Drew. As he spoke, Brynjar accidentally bit his finger while tearing into his steak, and let out a roar so loud that a nearby little kid dressed like Piglet squeaked in terror and dropped his pot of acorns.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Frankie quickly, putting the suitcase down for a moment so he could reach into the large plastic bag Lou was holding out. ‘We ARE that desperate.’

  The two boys pulled on the ghost costumes, both of which were so small that their legs clearly showed out the bottom. ‘I had to cut some of the fabric off to use as cleaning rags,’ Lou explained. Frankie ripped the eye holes of his costume wider so that he could see properly.

  ‘You look great!’ said Lou, but she had never been a good liar.

  Frankie tried to swallow his disappointment. He had been so sure that he would win the compe
tition this year. But, he reminded himself, there are more important things at stake now.

  Drew nudged him. ‘There’s always next year.’ Frankie forced himself to smile (not that anyone could see it under his sheet). ‘Yeah, exactly. Next year we’ll come up with something amazing.’

  Suddenly, a dramatic and ear-piercing scream came through the PA, which left the audience unsure if something terrible had happened or if this was simply part of the spooky theatrics (of course it was – this was Lisa Chadwick, Professional Drama Queen, don’t forget).

  Then Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ blasted through the speakers and everyone relaxed. A huge grin spread across Birger’s face and he began to shuffle from side to side, doing the same weird dance he’d done when he’d first met Frankie and Drew – one step forward, one step back, step to the side …

  ‘Not now, Birger,’ hissed Frankie from under his costume. ‘We don’t have time.’

  The ghostly Frankie ushered Birger and Brynjar towards the crowd of parade participants, with Drew bringing up the rear. Brynjar looked with interest at the strangely dressed people around him. At the moment, luckily, there were no zombies to be seen. Knowing Lisa Chadwick, she had kept them off to one side until the big moment – she really liked to make an entrance.

  And then, as the music blared, a figure appeared from around the corner. Its face was very pale, except for some dark shadows around the eyes. Blood dripped from its mouth. Despite the zombified make-up, Frankie instantly recognised the figure as Lisa Chadwick because she was hula-hooping. Brynjar and Birger were looking in the opposite direction, and hadn’t seen her yet.

  He rolled his eyes. She really was the worst kind of show-off! Then an awful thought occurred to him: what if Brynjar really freaked out when he saw the zombies? He didn’t know that they were just kids dressed up, after all. And what if his reaction was to go into attack mode?

  Sure, Lisa and her cronies were annoying, but they didn’t deserve to be put in that kind of danger. It suddenly struck Frankie that he might have made a terrible mistake bringing Brynjar here …