The music got louder and the air was filled with the sound of evil laughter and blood-chilling moans. With an anxious knot rapidly growing in his stomach, Frankie waited for the madness to begin.
A moment later, zombies began pouring around the corner, all looking completely terrifying despite the fact they were dancing along to Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’. Their faces were deathly white, their hair was tangled and greasy, and they flashed their blood-covered teeth as they sung and danced towards the watching crowd. Frankie looked over to see how the Vikings were taking all of this.
Not well, it turned out. While Birger had gone white, Brynjar had stopped dead in his tracks, the smile disappearing off his face faster than a mother cleaning ice-cream off her baby’s cheeks. He raised his huge hands to either side of his head and his mouth opened wide.
‘NOOOOOO!’ he yelled.
The crowd turned to stare, but then began laughing at the silly antics of the impressively dressed character, trying to guess who it was under that obviously fake beard.
But Brynjar wasn’t laughing. Everywhere he looked there were draugr! It was his worst nightmare. Trembling, he didn’t know whether to retreat or attack, and so he did what people often do when they feel like this (or at least, what Vikings do): he stood there, frozen in horror.
Grandad shuffled up to the boys (he recognised them by their shoes). ‘That Viking is about to lose it,’ he said urgently.
‘I know,’ said Frankie, nervously. ‘Grandad – we need something for the Circle of Safety. Can you find something? And fast?’
‘I could take my belt off,’ offered Grandad, ‘but then my pants would fall down, of course.’
‘No, don’t do that!’ said Frankie quickly. The only thing that could possibly make the current situation worse would be having Grandad standing in the middle of the school’s basketball court with his trousers around his knees.
‘Would that do for the Circle of Safety?’ asked Drew mischievously, pointing over at Lisa Chadwick’s hula hoop.
Frankie snorted. ‘That’d be perfect!’ he said. ‘Think you can get it?’
Through the (unevenly cut) holes in Drew’s costume Frankie saw his friend’s eyes twinkle. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said, and slunk away.
‘I’ll see if I can help,’ said Grandad, shuffling away too, although Frankie was fairly sure he was heading back to the barbecue.
That left Frankie and the Vikings, one of whom was on the point of losing what little remained of his self-control.
As Frankie saw it, Brynjar was very close to doing one of two things:
1. Running away and hiding somewhere he’d never be found.
2. Charging at the dancing zombies with a blood-curdling shriek.
Neither option, Frankie knew, was good. Turning the key in the translator padlock and hoping with all his might that it would function properly, Frankie turned to Birger.
‘Birger,’ he said, seriously. ‘It’s nearly time to go home, but I need you to do something for me so I can make that happen. Can you please do it?’
Frankie could tell from the way Birger’s wide eyes filled with tears that he understood the question. ‘Here’s what I need, Birger,’ Frankie said, trying to work out how to explain it simply. ‘In a moment I am going to hold up this box and open it. Coloured light will pour out. I need you to pretend that you are really scared of the zombies. More scared than Brynjar.’
Frankie started waving his arms about, to demonstrate.
Birger frowned. ‘Why?’ he said via the padlock (which, thank crikey, was working quite well at the moment).
‘Because then, even though he is really scared of this box, your brother will come over to protect you,’ Frankie said.
Birger shook his head. ‘You are wrong, Frankiifisk,’ he said. ‘My brother will not come over. He hates me.’
‘No he doesn’t,’ said Frankie. He thought about how Lou had been there before, right when he needed her. ‘That’s the thing about siblings. You get mad at each other – sometimes really mad – but really, deep down, you … you love each other.’
Birger looked like he wasn’t at all sure he believed this, but eventually he nodded. ‘I will try, Frankiifisk,’ he said.
A shout came from nearby. ‘Hey, Frankie!’ Frankie turned to see Drew pelting towards him from the other side of the basketball court, triumphantly holding a hula hoop aloft with a furious Lisa chasing behind.
‘Give that back, Bird-brain!’ she was yelling angrily. ‘You’re ruining everything!’
But Drew had no intention of doing that. Frankie calculated that it would take Drew a minute or so to weave through the crowd and get over to where he and Birger were standing. Hopefully by the time he arrived, Brynjar would be ready to get out of here too.
Here goes … he thought, opening up the suitcase. He’d hoped that he could do this without too many people noticing. But if you open a suitcase and basically a rainbow pours out, it’s pretty hard not to attract attention. It’s even harder if the person dressed like a Viking standing next to you begins to act, very convincingly, as if he is terrified.
In no time at all, everyone in the whole of St Monica’s was staring at Frankie and Birger – including Brynjar. But Brynjar was still frozen to the spot, and for one long, horrible moment, Frankie thought his plan had failed.
Then suddenly, Brynjar sprang to life.
‘BIRGER!’ he screamed and ran towards where Frankie was standing. Drew had managed to side-step the furious Lisa-Zombie and was now fast approaching from the opposite direction. But would he be fast enough?
‘Hurry!’ Frankie screamed at Drew. He was more than a little worried that he was about to be flattened by an angry Viking.
As Brynjar charged up, he yelled something, which the padlock (after a burst of static) translated. ‘I’ll save you, Birger!’
Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, fully expecting to be attacked, but as the seconds passed and nothing happened, he gingerly opened one eye and then the other. He was greeted with a very surprising sight.
Brynjar had flung his massive arms around his brother, who was more than a little stunned.
‘Aw, how sweet!’ a sweaty, red-faced Drew Bird managed to gasp as he too arrived, hula hoop clenched tightly in his hand.
But there was no time to appreciate the brotherly love. Frankie threw off his ghost costume, grabbed the hoop and pulled it down over himself, the suitcase and the two Vikings. The hoop worked like a lasso, trapping them all together. Frankie just managed to get his arms free and began typing the co-ordinates into the suitcase’s keyboard.
‘Hold on! Ye’ll need these,’ Grandad called, hurrying up to the group holding a half-eaten sausage in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other. Frankie recognised them as the same octagon-shaped pair Grandad had been wearing in the Forbidden Shed the other day.
‘Use these, Frankie!’ Grandad said, tossing the glasses to him. ‘We just finished making them! Put ’em on and press the yellow button in the corner just before you go.’
There was no time for questions. Frankie jammed the glasses on his face and kept typing like mad.
Just then, there was a burst of colour in the sky as Mr Hedge’s annual Halloween fireworks display got underway. Eyes were directed skyward, which gave Frankie just the window of opportunity he needed.
‘Happy travels!’ he called to Grandad and Drew and slammed his hand down on the yellow button.
The crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the fireworks (which were good, but nowhere near as good as the northern lights) and didn’t even notice that Frankie Fish and the two Vikings simply vanished as the hula hoop dropped and spun on the ground. At least, most people didn’t.
‘See you soon, Frankie Fish,’ whispered Drew Bird. ‘I hope.’
Frankie was pretty used to time travel now. He had travelled more with the Sonic Suitcase than he had on an aeroplane.
But this trip was a little different.
There was, as usual, all
kinds of weirdness whizzing around them (backwards, of course). But this time there was also an array of colours spinning around them like they were trapped in a rainbow cyclone – or like they were in the middle of the aurora borealis.
The full intensity of the colours was dulled a bit for Frankie, who was wearing the sunglasses Grandad had given him, but Birger and Brynjar got the full blast. They were mesmerised by them, staring in wide-eyed amazement as they swirled around. Until, suddenly –
THUD!!
Trees that smelt like Christmas, animal dung and distant smoke.
That was what Frankie could smell as he scrambled to his feet, a little woozy but relieved he hadn’t landed face-down in reindeer poop. He wiped some mud (he hoped it was mud, anyway) from his T-shirt as he looked around, trying to work out where they were, exactly.
It was night time, in the forest near the gnarled tree. Overhead, the aurora was rippling across the sky, just as it had been when they left. Frankie grinned to himself. Despite the stress of the hasty departure, it looked like he had typed in the return co-ordinates perfectly. They had returned to the Viking era only minutes after they had departed. Bulls-eye!
Nearby lay their Circle of Safety from the trip before, which had one large white stone dislodged. Birger was in it, as he had been when they left, but now he was sitting up rather than sprawled out unconscious. And Brynjar was right beside them, axe gripped tightly in his hand. Both of the Viking teenagers seemed momentarily frozen in place and were both staring, confused, at Frankie.
Frankie turned the key in the padlock just in time for it to translate Birger’s words. ‘Where did Dru-Børd go? He was right here!’ and then, ‘Get off me, Brynjar!’ as he pushed his brother away.
Frankie felt the knot in his stomach unravel a bit. The Vikings’ memories of their time-travelling trip had been entirely wiped. That must be what the glasses are for, he realised. If you wear them, they protect your memory. And anyone who doesn’t wear them has no idea they’ve just travelled through time. He felt a pang of appreciation for his grandad’s recent inventing streak.
The relief that flooded through Frankie, however, quickly vanished when Brynjar turned to Birger and picked up yesterday’s shouting argument as if they’d been having it moments before (because as far as they knew, they had). ‘You should have protected our father! He is dead because of you.’
Frankie felt that familiar heaviness weighing on his heart. The boys’ father was still dead, it was still his and Drew's fault and the brothers were still fighting.
Brynjar’s expression was bordering on dangerous when the sound of twigs snapping and the rustling of leaves caused all three boys to look around sharply. Frankie’s heart thumped against his chest. Was another bear coming? Brynjar lifted his axe and Birger leapt to his feet.
The branches of the gnarled tree were pushed to one side and a figure walked through. Not a bear, but a Viking woman. Frankie recognised her as the particularly strong-looking one who had been handing out meat at the funeral feast. She strode over and stood between the brothers, her arms outstretched, her expression extremely serious. As she began to speak, Frankie held the padlock up to his ear, desperate to understand as much as possible.
‘Brynjar!’ the woman admonished the larger boy. ‘You are not being honest. Tell your brother the true story of what happened with the bear.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sigrún,’ growled Brynjar, but Frankie saw that he looked worried.
The Viking woman – Sigrún – folded her arms. ‘Well then, I will tell him,’ Sigrún turned to Birger. ‘I was in the woods earlier, collecting wood,’ she explained. ‘And I saw a bear – the one that killed your father. It was followed by two bear cubs. The three of them were foraging for berries quite calmly, but when I saw those cubs I knew I had to leave – and quickly. There is nothing in the forest as dangerous as a mother bear. She will do anything to protect her young if she thinks they are being threatened.’
‘How do you know it was the same bear that killed our father?’ snapped Brynjar. Frankie noticed he was acting very strangely, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
‘Because when it stretched up to reach some fruit I saw the mark of the aurora on its belly,’ Sigrún replied.
‘Go on,’ said Birger. He was standing very still, listening intently.
‘As I was about to leave,’ Sigrún continued, ‘someone came through the trees into the clearing where the bear family was foraging.’ She pointed her finger at Brynjar. ‘You. When you saw the bears you shouted in fright and startled them. And of course the mother bear did what mother bears do: she reared up onto her hind legs to protect her cubs.’
Birger turned to face his brother. ‘Brynjar? Is this true?’
Brynjar said nothing. His face was like stone.
‘He screamed again as the bear came towards him, enraging the bear even more,’ Sigrún went on, her eyes fixed on Birger. ‘And just as it was almost upon him, your father burst through the trees. At the very last moment he pushed Brynjar out of the way, into some nearby bushes. Your father fought valiantly against the bear, but he was no match for the furious mother.’ Sigrún put one of her huge, strong-looking hands on Birger’s shoulder. ‘He didn’t die in vain, Birger. Your father died a hero, saving your brother.’
Frankie’s gob was well and truly smacked. He couldn’t believe that Brynjar had been there the whole time! And he had let Birger believe it had been his fault.
If Lou did something like that, I’d never forgive her! thought Frankie hotly, although he knew that the situation was extremely unlikely to arise.
Birger turned to his brother, his eyes wide. Frankie expected him to go crazy and yell angrily at Brynjar. But Birger stayed calm, as he always did. ‘Brynjar … is this true?’
For a moment Brynjar did not react at all. And then, quite suddenly, he dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands and sobbing heart-wrenchingly. ‘Yes, it’s true. I – I was too ashamed to tell you. I was a coward. I caused our father’s death. And I was afraid to tell you. I th-thought you would never forgive me.’
Frankie’s mouth dropped open as Birger went and knelt beside his brother. ‘Of course I forgive you,’ he said, softly. ‘It was a terrible accident. A mistake. It could have just as easily happened to me, or Sigrún, or anyone. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you and I know our father doesn’t either.’
Brynjar turned up his tear-stained face to his brother. ‘How do you know that?’
Birger pointed skywards. ‘Because look at how brightly the aurora is shining, how intense the colours are! It’s a sign from our father, watching from Valhalla, that he loves us now and forever.’
Brynjar looked doubtful for a moment, then slowly nodded.
Birger helped him to his feet and the two Viking brothers embraced. Finally Birger held his brother at arm’s length and said, ‘So, from now on we’ll be honest with each other? And you are not only protecting me. I am protecting you.’
At that moment the padlock gave a little static-y wheeze and stopped working. But it didn’t matter. Frankie could tell from Brynjar’s expression what his answer was.
The brothers and the woman headed back to the village, leaving a slightly teary-eyed Frankie sitting in the Circle of Safety. Quickly, he made sure the stones were all in place before whispering those now-famous words: ‘Happy travels.’
Frankie returned to St Monica’s Primary to find Lisa Chadwick’s fifth annual Halloween Parade coming to its usual conclusion, with Principal Dawson about to present the Best Costume award. He was standing in front of the microphone with the rest of the judging panel behind them.
Frankie frowned. Hang on … There was something different about the judges. Where was Lisa’s mum, for one thing? And why was Connie from the Cocoa Pit standing there? The answer to that question came a moment later, from Principal Dawson himself.
‘Before I announce this year’s winner, I’d like to thank Connie Cole for stepp
ing in as a last-minute emergency judge for us,’ he said. ‘We hope that Mrs Chadwick recovers very soon. Who would have thought that milk from a lactose-intolerant cow could cause such an extreme digestive complaint?’
Connie waved as the crowd clapped, and when she caught Frankie’s eye she gave him a huge grin.
Principal Dawson cleared his throat. ‘The winner of the Best Costume award and the recipient of the one-hundred-dollar voucher at the Cocoa Pit this year goes to … drum roll please!’
A sense of déjà vu came over Frankie. He was pretty sure he could guess the name about to be read out – someone whose name started with an ‘L’ and ended with an ‘isa Chadwick’ – and he steeled himself for the disappointment.
‘Frankie Fish!’ said Principal Dawson.
‘What?’ Frankie whispered. That was not the name he’d been expecting.
‘WHAT?!’ screamed Lisa Chadwick-Thatcher.
That was clearly not the name Lisa Chadwick had been expecting, either. ‘I should have won!’ he could hear her screeching. ‘That Bird-brain stole my hula hoop! I demand a re-count!’
But no-one was listening. They were all too busy congratulating Frankie and cheering in delight. (It turned out Frankie wasn’t the only person sick of Lisa winning every year.)
Drew pushed his way through the crowd until he was by Frankie’s side and began thumping Frankie vigorously on the back. ‘Stop standing there like a stunned mullet and go get our prize, Frankie!’ he yelled.
Feeling like he was in a trance, Frankie stumbled towards the stage, a grin spreading over his face. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he stammered as he finally made it to where the judges were lined up, waiting. ‘Ghosts don’t win Best Costume competitions.’
‘Ah, but ghost magicians do!’ said Connie Coal, her eyes twinkling. ‘Most people were distracted by the fireworks, but I saw that amazing disappearing trick you pulled off. One minute you and those two Viking boys were there and then next you’d gone. I have no idea how you did it! You absolutely deserve to win.’
Frankie Fish and the Viking Fiasco Page 9
