Viking at School

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘No? Did you?’ Tim slipped out of bed and joined Zoe at the window. Now they could both hear odd sounds from outside. Bumping, banging and dragging noises drifted up from the back garden of the hotel.

  ‘Is that someone humming?’ asked Tim.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Zoe answered, ‘but I think I just saw a pig.’

  ‘A pig! Don’t be daft!’

  ‘Well it looked like a pig,’ Zoe insisted.

  ‘It could have been a werewolf,’ whispered her brother, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. ‘Or a ghost.’

  ‘It was a pig,’ repeated Zoe.

  ‘Maybe it was a ghost-pig,’ Tim went on. ‘The Ghastly Ghost-Pig of Flotby. Or maybe even a were-pig-wolf-ghost-thingy…’

  ‘A were-ghost-pig-wolf-whotsit?’

  ‘Yeah – with fangs that shine in the dark and X-ray eyes and stuff…’

  Zoe pulled the curtains back into place and summoned up her courage. ‘Well, whatever it is, there’s something going on out there. I’m going downstairs to see what it is.’

  ‘And I’m coming with you,’ said Tim, who suddenly felt that he didn’t want to be left alone. He grabbed his torch.

  The two children crept silently down the back stairs and tiptoed out through the hotel kitchen. Zoe quietly unlocked the back door. The noises were much louder now – grunts and squeaks and bangs and thuds. Zoe felt for Tim’s hand. ‘Are you scared?’ she whispered.

  ‘No,’ lied Tim. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes, a bit.’

  ‘Then I am too,’ Tim decided. They pressed forward across the path and on to the dark lawn, moving slowly towards the source of all the noise. They had just reached the nearest corner of the greenhouse when a huge, dark figure loomed right in front of them, giving the children the most enormous fright.

  ‘Aargh!’ screamed Tim, dropping his torch and running like mad across the lawn. ‘It’s the were-ghost!’

  ‘Aaargh!’ screeched Zoe, racing off in the other direction. ‘It’s a pig-wolf!’

  ‘Aaaargh!’ bellowed Sigurd, dropping a large pile of sticks, and drawing Nosepicker. ‘It’s rubbers! You bad peoples – come to rub hotel. I kill rubbers!’

  Tim stopped running and looked back at the Viking. ‘I’m not a rubber, I mean robber,’ he said crossly. ‘I’m Tim.’

  Sigurd stopped poking the night air with Nosepicker and calmed down. ‘You give me fright,’ he told Tim and Zoe.

  ‘You gave us a fright!’ said Zoe. ‘But I’m glad you’re all right, Siggy. What are you doing out here?’

  Sigurd slipped Nosepicker back into its scabbard. His white teeth flashed a moonlit grin. ‘I show you. I stand on beach and think very hard. Tide coming in. Water come up to my knees. I still thinking what to do. Water come to tummy. I still think. Water come to neck. Think I drown so get out of sea and walk down road. Then I have pig idea.’

  ‘Big idea,’ corrected Zoe.

  ‘No,’ said Sigurd. ‘Pig idea. Look.’

  Sigurd led the children over to the far corner of the hotel garden. Siggy had made a kind of pen. He had banged wooden posts into the ground and woven branches in between the posts. He had covered the branches with some kind of muddy mixture that was still drying. And on the other side of the pen were three extremely large pigs. They gazed sleepily at Tim and Zoe. One gave a quiet “oink”.

  ‘You did all this?’ murmured Zoe admiringly. ‘It’s called wattle and daub, isn’t it? I didn’t know you could make fences, Siggy.’

  ‘Vikings always make fences like this. Put in post, bang-bang. Put in branches. Mix up mud and straw and cow-stuff…’

  ‘Cow-stuff?’ Tim repeated, not sure if he wanted to hear about how to make a wattle and daub fence.

  ‘They mixed in cow-pats as well,’ explained Zoe.

  ‘Urgh, that’s revolting!’ cried Tim. Sigurd shook his head.

  ‘I no find cows. No cow-stuff, but good fence anyway.’

  ‘Where did the pigs come from?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘I find them.’

  ‘You found three pigs?’

  It was very dark, so Tim and Zoe couldn’t see how red Sigurd had gone. He went back to the greenhouse to collect the pile of wood he had dropped. ‘Actually, I find four pigs, walking down road, but one run away, trit-trot. She big pig. Very big pig. She big bad pig. You see pig?’

  ‘No, we no see pig – I mean we didn’t see a pig anywhere,’ replied Zoe.

  ‘Never mind. Now I build house for Sigurd,’ said the Viking, and he began banging in a row of tall posts. ‘Hotel too smart for Viking. I make Viking house in garden. Take long time. You go bed. I see you in…’

  ‘Eeeeeek!’

  ‘Aaaargh!’

  Startled screams from the hotel interrupted Sigurd in mid-sentence. A bedroom window flew open and the children watched, astonished, as their parents clambered out at top speed, as if the hotel was on fire.

  Mrs Ellis managed to grab hold of the thick ivy running up one side of the window frame, but Mr Ellis was left dangling from the window-ledge by his fingertips. A few seconds later there was a loud and angry grunt and a huge sow shoved her trotters up on the window-sill and peered out, snorting and sniffing like a flesh-eating ogre. ‘Help! Help!’ cried Mr Ellis. ‘Someone save us! There’s a giant pig in our bedroom!’

  7

  Three Cheers for Sigurd!

  Sigurd leapt to the rescue. He grabbed a ladder from behind the greenhouse and dashed across to the hotel. Penny Ellis had managed to clamber down the ivy, but her husband was still hanging by his fingernails. In a flash Siggy had raced up the ladder and plucked Mr Ellis from the window-ledge. He flung him over his shoulder and quickly backed down the ladder, while the murderous pig began shredding the Ellis’s best velvet curtains with its vicious teeth.

  ‘Sigurd, you saved my life,’ panted Mr Ellis. ‘I’m very grateful to you, but what do we do now? The pig’s already eaten one of the hall rugs, several pot plants and that lovely painting we had of Flotby harbour.’

  ‘Where did the pig come from anyway?’ asked Mrs Ellis. ‘Is this anything to do with you, Sigurd?’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Tim blurted out. ‘Siggy found them, on the road.’

  ‘Them?’ repeated Mr Ellis. ‘Please don’t tell me there are some more? And how can you find a pig on the road? That’s ridiculous.’

  Zoe pulled her parents over to Sigurd’s pig pen. Mr and Mrs Ellis stared at the three sleepy occupants. ‘Siggy made this,’ explained Zoe. ‘Isn’t he clever? It’s a wattle and daub fence, and now he’s making a little house too – look.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Zoe. Where did the pigs come from? You don’t find pigs just walking down the road as if they were off to do their shopping,’ snapped Mr Ellis.

  Sigurd burst out laughing. ‘Pig do shopping! Ha ha! Very good! Very funny! This little piggy go to market!’

  ‘They’re not little piggies at all, Sigurd. They’re the biggest piggies I have ever seen. You stole them didn’t you? You stole them from the farm up near the cliffs.’

  Sigurd’s smile vanished and he shook his head seriously. ‘I no steal! I find on road. I walk up road. Pig walk down road. One, two, three, four pig. I say “hallo pig! You come walkies with me. I make you nice home.” Pig follow me. I come here and make fence for pig but one run away. She very big, like dragon. It dark. I no see where she go. Maybe she hungry. Maybe she go hotel. Now she eat curtains.’

  Zoe tugged anxiously at the Viking’s sleeve. ‘Siggy, I think Mrs Tibblethwaite is still in there,’ she whispered. Mr Ellis gave a despairing cry.

  ‘So are Mr Travis and the Ramsbottoms!’

  ‘No fear, Sigurd here!’ roared the Viking, and he whipped out Nosepicker. He brandished the great sword high above his head and struck his most heroic pose. ‘Now I catch pig and save Viking Hotel, save everyone. Then you all cheer for me – “Hurrah for Sigurd! He brave! He clever! What we do without him?” So! I go, fight this pig-dragon.’

  And wi
th that brave speech Sigurd strode across to the hotel, leaving the Ellises standing on the lawn, speechless. They huddled close together, clinging to each other with their arms.

  ‘It’s the end,’ muttered Mr Ellis. ‘We may as well close down now. Nobody will ever want to come back to the hotel after this.’

  Inside The Viking Hotel, Sigurd crept up the stairs, holding Nosepicker at the ready. His eyes glinted fiercely in the darkness. It hadn’t occurred to him to switch on the lights. ‘Are you there, piggy-wig? I come to get you. I make you into bacon. Siggy find piggy. Here-coochy-coochy-coochy!’

  Sigurd reached the first bedroom door. He paused a moment, took hold of the handle, counted to three and then burst in. ‘Aha! Raaaargh!’ His fierce battle cry was greeted with a startled scream as Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom leapt from their sleep. Mr Ramsbottom fell out of bed backwards and knocked himself out. Mrs Ramsbottom screamed that her husband was dead and fainted on the spot.

  Sigurd searched under the bed. He opened the wardrobe and poked Nosepicker into every corner, filling the Ramsbottom’s clothes with sword holes. There was no pig hiding there. He grunted and made for the next room.

  ‘One, two, three – Aha! Raaaargh!’

  Mr Travis was sitting up in bed watching television. He didn’t even glance up at the Viking. ‘Is that room service?’ he said. ‘It’s about time you brought me that pot of tea. I’ve been waiting for… Good Heavens!’ Mr Travis gave a muffled squeak as Sigurd lifted up one end of the bed and he found himself all rolled up in a bundle with the bed-covers.

  The pig wasn’t under the bed. Sigurd let it crash back down and went off to continue his search next door. By this time Mrs Ramsbottom had come to her senses, but unfortunately, her husband had not. Still thinking he was dead, she pulled the poor man out of the bedroom by his feet and screamed for help.

  Meantime Sigurd had reached the bathroom. He was about to throw open the door when it burst open itself, sending him crashing back against the wall. Out of the bathroom ran a pig that was almost as big as two tigers tied together, and three times as dangerous.

  Her head was the size of a dustbin – a dustbin with fangs. Her body was as big as a car-crusher. She came out of the bathroom and stood on the landing. In her mouth were the remains of a lavatory brush. Somehow she had managed to get the shower-attachment wrapped round her head, a towel draped coyly over her enormous behind, and a toilet roll fixed to one rear trotter, where it now left a nice long trail of paper.

  Another door opened further down the corridor, and a rather sleepy figure appeared. ‘What’s all the noise?’ asked Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘What’s going…’ She froze with terror. The pig was glaring straight at her with hungry piggy-eyes. The sow opened and shut its jaws several times and took a couple of steps forward.

  Mrs T. threw a frightened glance at her husband. ‘Siggy?’ she whispered. ‘There is a very, very big pig looking at me and I’m scared. What do I do?’ Before Sigurd could reply, the pig took three more menacing steps towards Mrs T. and pinned her against the wall, licking her chops noisily.

  Sigurd gripped Nosepicker tightly and crept out from behind the bathroom door, inching towards the pig’s fat rear. His face took on a fierce scowl and then, with a terrible war-cry, he leapt in the air. ‘Ya-ha-raaaaargh!’ He gave the sow’s bulging behind an enormous prod with Nosepicker and the pig leapt into the air too, with a most peculiar, howling grunt.

  ‘Snnnrrrghoowowrrrgh!’

  Again and again Sigurd poked the pig with his sword, driving the car-crusher down the stairs. As they passed the Ramsbottom’s room Mrs Ramsbottom took one look at the pig and the roaring Viking and fainted again, right on top of her husband, making a nice neat heap.

  A large roll of bedding staggered out from bedroom number two and fell to the floor, where it spent a long time wriggling and squeaking before Mrs Tibblethwaite finally managed to get Mr Travis disentangled. Meanwhile Sigurd continued to drive the pig down the stairs, out into the garden and across to his newly-built pig-pen. He slammed the gate shut.

  Everyone rushed to the fence and looked over at the new prisoner. ‘Wow,’ muttered Mr Ellis. ‘That is some pig! You were brave Sigurd. I wouldn’t have wanted to face an animal as big as that on my own.’

  ‘Three cheers for Siggy!’ cried Tim, and the Ellises all cheered, but it wasn’t long before gloom and doom descended once again as several rather upset guests began to stumble outside.

  Mr and Mrs Ellis calmed them down with cups of tea and quite a lot of brandy. Mrs Tibblethwaite got the Ramsbottoms safely back into bed. She seemed to have convinced Mrs Ramsbottom that it had all been a bad dream. ‘I’ll just have another sip of this,’ twittered Mrs Ramsbottom, clutching Mrs T.’s silver hip-flask. ‘It will help me sleep.’

  Sigurd was even allowed to go back to his old room with his wife. ‘Just for one night,’ warned Mr Ellis. ‘We shall decide what to do in the morning.’

  At last the Ellises themselves were able to go to bed. Zoe and Tim fell asleep the moment their heads touched the pillow but neither of their parents could sleep much. They were too busy worrying about what would happen the next day.

  8

  The Viking Village

  The very first thing Mr Ellis did when he got up the next morning was ring the local farm. He was on the telephone for a long time. Mrs Ellis knew that the farmer was a grumpy so-and-so, and wouldn’t take kindly to Sigurd ‘borrowing’ his pigs. In fact she thought they would be lucky if Sigurd didn’t end up in court.

  When her husband eventually managed to get away from the telephone Mrs Ellis was surprised to find him smiling. ‘Mr Garret’s coming over this minute,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘You won’t believe this but he’s delighted we’ve got the pigs. Sigurd was telling the truth. The pigs broke out from the farm yesterday evening. Garret’s been searching high and low all night. They’re worth several thousand pounds you know, especially Big Betty.’

  ‘Oh! Well that’s a relief at any rate. The Ramsbottoms don’t seem to remember anything. They’re both complaining of headaches though – I can’t imagine why. Mr Travis has gone out to the pen. He told me he wanted to see if that pig was really as big as he thought it was last night.’

  As soon as breakfast was over Tim and Zoe went out to see the pigs. Now that it was broad daylight they could see just how massive Big Betty was. She seemed quite happy, and none the worse for being poked with Nosepicker. Sigurd’s wattle and daub fence looked pretty good too. Mr Travis was admiring the house that Sigurd had started.

  ‘I’ve not seen a proper wattle and daub house actually being built, you know,’ he mused. ‘It’s quite fascinating. Just like a proper Viking town. Sigurd ought to make a whole village.’

  Zoe glanced at Tim, but he was busy scratching Big Betty’s back with a long stick. She left her brother with Mr Travis and walked slowly back to the house in search of her parents.

  ‘Mum? Dad? I’ve had an idea that might help things.’ Zoe sounded so hesitant that both her parents looked at her with interest.

  ‘Really?’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘What sort of idea?’

  Zoe repeated what Mr Travis had said out by the pig-pen. ‘It made me think,’ she said. ‘Maybe Sigurd could make a whole village – well, a small village, five or six houses maybe. He could even live out there. He could keep pigs and goats and chickens, like in a real Viking village.’

  Mr Ellis laughed. ‘It’s a nice idea, Zoe. It would probably keep Siggy happy, but how would it help us?’

  ‘Mr Travis said he thought it was fascinating. People would come to the hotel to see a Viking village with a real Viking.’

  ‘Oh I don’t think so,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘People wouldn’t come here just because there was a Viking village in the back garden.’

  ‘Schools would,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Go on,’ murmured Mr Ellis, rubbing his chin hard.

  ‘Groups of school children could come here. They could learn about Flotby in Viking times and be part of a real Viking vil
lage, with a real Viking, and do real Viking things. Schools would think it was absolutely brilliant, and while they’re in Flotby they would have to stay at our hotel.’

  Mr Ellis hugged his daughter so hard she almost stopped breathing. ‘That is a fantastic idea Zoe! It’s totally amazing! Oh, it’s so simple! Penny – what do you think?’

  ‘I can’t see how it can fail,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘It’s a stupendous idea, Zoe. Well done!’

  ‘What’s a stupendous idea?’ asked a large, burly man with a tweed hat perched on top of his head.

  ‘Ah, Mr Garret,’ smiled Zoe’s father. ‘My daughter has just come up with a rather clever plan for our hotel. Let’s see what you think of it. I’ll tell you on the way out to Sigurd’s pig-pen.’

  They found Sigurd already out there, hard at work. He was inside the pen, building up the walls of his little house, while Mrs T. rubbed down one of the pigs. Mr Garret was highly surprised (and delighted) to see how well his pigs had been fenced in and looked after.

  ‘You’ve got a natural way with farm animals,’ he told Sigurd gruffly.

  ‘I like pigs,’ said Siggy. ‘I like sheets and coats too, and wife.’ He grinned at Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘Like wife most of all.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ smiled Mrs T., and gave him a kiss. ‘You daft dumpling.’

  ‘You must have been pretty good to get four pigs all the way down the road and shut up here,’ said Mr Garret.

  ‘We did have a bit of trouble with Big Betty,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘But ‘I’m glad you’ve got your pigs back.’

  ‘How can I thank you?’ Mr Garret asked. ‘They’re worth an awful lot to me.’

  ‘There’s no need for any thanks.’

  But Mr Garret wanted to do something for the Ellises. He had been desperate when he had discovered the loss of his pigs, and he was genuinely delighted to have them back. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘this idea of young Zoe’s – your Viking’s going to need a few bits and pieces. He’ll need hens for a start. I haven’t got any sheep, but I have got an old billy goat he can keep here, and when Big Betty has her next litter he can come up to the farm and choose a piglet.’