Viking in Trouble

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Are you sure Keith? I mean do you think Siggy could cope?’

  ‘Of course, no problem! He’ll love it. He’ll take to it like a duck to water.’

  ‘I just hope you’re right,’ murmured Mrs Ellis, already foreseeing disaster.

  Siggy’s first lesson was in the hotel carpark. Mr Ellis had taken the precaution of making sure there were no other cars parked there. Sigurd sat in the front seat looking terribly proud. He was quietly making ‘brrrm brrrrrm’ noises into his beard and grinning madly at Mrs Tibblethwaite, who was standing by the back door watching.

  ‘Think of it like a boat,’ suggested Mr Ellis helpfully. ‘This steering wheel controls the rudder.’

  Sigurd appeared mystified. ‘No oars. No sail. No boat. No float.’ Mr Ellis wiped his forehead.

  ‘No, well, perhaps not,’ he said, beginning to wonder if teaching Sigurd to drive had been such a good idea after all. He took a deep breath. ‘Listen, this wheel here makes the car go where you want it to. Understand?’

  ‘Okey-dokey boss,’ grinned Sigurd.

  ‘Now, turn the key and start up the engine.’ Mr Ellis pointed to the ignition switch. Sigurd gave the key a twist and the engine burst into life. So did Siggy. He shouted with delight and clapped his hands, bouncing up and down on the seat and going ‘brrrm brrrrrm’ all over again. Mr Ellis tried to ignore him.

  ‘This is the handbrake. Take it off like this. Put your foot on the clutch and push it down. That’s right. Now we put the gear lever into first gear. See that other pedal? That’s the accelerator pedal. Push it down gently and take your other foot off the clutch and weh-hey-whoa-ooohaaaargh… !’

  Suddenly they were off. In a giant series of leaps and bounds the car began to spring across the carpark. Stones spurted from the wheels and shot out behind, showering Mrs Tibblethwaite. Mr Ellis hastily grabbed the steering wheel and tried to give the car some sense of direction. At last the car stalled and came to an abrupt halt. Sigurd threw open his door and leapt out on to the carpark, where he began a madcap dance of triumph. Even Mrs Tibblethwaite joined in, while Mr Ellis sat in his car breathing heavily and saying a few prayers of thanksgiving for a safe delivery. All at once Siggy was back in the driving seat.

  ‘Again,’ said the Viking. ‘I go faster.’ ‘Steady on,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘Don’t get too excited. Right, start up again and this time we’ll go for second gear.’

  ‘Second fear!’ shouted Sigurd incorrectly.

  ‘You said it,’ muttered Mr Ellis as the engine came to life and the little car began bucking round and round the carpark. ‘Put the clutch in,’ yelled Mr Ellis above the roar of the overworked engine. ‘Now put the gear lever into second gear.’

  ‘Second fear!’ cried Siggy again as the speed of the car increased by about twenty miles an hour.

  ‘Slow down, Siggy! Take your foot off the gas! Slow down! Watch the corners! Change gear! Slow down! Turn left! No right! Left! Change gear! Steer! Watch that… Mr Ellis’s voice trailed away to a helpless whimper as the car went charging round and round in circles that were getting wider and wider and faster and faster.

  ‘Brrrm brrrm brrrm,’ yelled Sigurd, grinning madly. Mr Ellis put his hands over his eyes. Never had ‘second fear’ seemed so real.

  It was at this point that Siggy grew tired of going round and round in circles and yanked the steering wheel in the opposite direction. The turn was so sharp that the car almost turned right over. Mr Ellis was hurled against the side door and when he next looked straight ahead he was alarmed to see that they were now heading for the hotel garden. There was a sickening crunch as the car bounced up the kerb and then they were on the grass. Mr Ellis made a last attempt to grab the steering wheel and save them both, but it was too late.

  ‘Brrrm brrrm brrrrm!’ cried Sigurd once more as, with a final burst of speed, the car shot across the lawn and did a nose dive into the hotel pond.

  ‘Water!’ announced Sigurd. ‘Splish splash! I get out now.’ He climbed from his seat out into the pond and struggled to the shore. The car sank a bit deeper. Mr Ellis pulled himself from the passenger seat and followed the Viking back to the hotel.

  Sigurd looked back at the sinking car with great disappointment. ‘That car no good,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It no float. Bad car. I go clean beetroots for Mrs Ellis.’

  Mr Ellis watched him squelch into the hotel with a look of despair. He knew that Mr Thripp would soon be back, but for now he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

  3

  Deathsnore!

  It took the breakdown truck over an hour to pull the car out of the hotel pond. Thankfully, apart from the car being rather wet not too much damage had been done. The car wouldn’t start of course, and had to be towed to the garage to be dried out. Meanwhile, the Ellises were still left with the problem of how to employ Sigurd.

  Tim suggested that maybe Sigurd could carry guests’ bags up to their rooms, but Mrs Ellis was not so sure.

  ‘I think that half the problem is that Siggy doesn’t know how to talk to people normally. After all, he does come from the tenth century. It must be so difficult for him.’

  Her husband gave a half-hearted smile and kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘You’re so forgiving. Sigurd does all these awful things and you forgive him.’

  ‘That’s because he’s locked in a time-warp. You’re not, Keith, and if you don’t get that hedge trimmed soon YOU certainly won’t be forgiven.’

  ‘Ah – well I’ve had a really good idea about that hedge,’ began Mr Ellis. ‘I am going to hand over the gardening to Sigurd. It’s ideal for him. A bit of grass cutting, some hedge trimming and so on – just the job.’

  Mrs Ellis was doubtful. ‘You may be right Keith, but knowing Sigurd you probably aren’t. Give it a try anyway. He can’t be any worse at it than he was at cleaning the bedrooms. Goodness me – look at Mrs Tibblethwaite, she doesn’t look very happy. I wonder what’s up.’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite was indeed very unhappy and quite unlike her usual self. She hurried over to Mrs Ellis. ‘I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know,’ was all she could say.

  ‘Please Mrs Tibblethwaite, do try and keep calm,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘I’ve just had this awful telephone call. I don’t know what to do. My sister, you remember, she came to the wedding – she lives in Scotland. Well, her next door neighbour has just telephoned to say she’s had a nasty fall. She’s been taken to hospital with goodness knows what broken.’ She turned her pale face towards Mr Ellis. ‘What am I to do?’

  Mr Ellis took her hands and squeezed them gently. ‘You go and look after your sister, Mrs Tibblethwaite. She needs you. Go to the hospital and make sure she’s all right. Take as long as you wish.’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite nodded gratefully. ‘But what about the…?’

  ‘The hotel will be fine,’ added Mrs Ellis.

  ‘I mean Sigurd,’ whispered Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘What about my husband? He’s such a child!’

  ‘Leave him with us. He’ll only be in the way if you take him to Scotland. He’ll be fine with us,’ said Mrs Ellis, secretly crossing her fingers behind her back as she spoke.

  ‘Yes, we’ll look after him,’ said Tim. ‘He can teach me sword fighting with Nosepicker.’

  ‘Hmmm, very useful that will be!’ muttered Mr Ellis.

  ‘Oh thank you, thank you. I was hoping you’d offer to look after him,’ said Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘I’ll go and pack straight away and catch the first train from Flotby,’ and with that she hurried upstairs.

  Mrs Ellis watched her go.

  ‘Siggy will be fine with us,’ she repeated. ‘Oh dear, why did I say that?’

  Sigurd was almost uncontrollable when he realised that his dearest Tibby was going away for a few days. He tugged at his beard and wailed to the sky. ‘Hear me Odin! Hear me Thor! Bring back Viking woman. I make you great sacrifice!’

  ‘She’s only going for a few days, Siggy,’ Zoe point
ed out. ‘You’re such a fusspot. You can help look after the hotel instead.’

  Sigurd stopped. He straightened up and whipped out Nosepicker and thrust it into the air. Unfortunately it stuck in the ceiling but it was still a grand gesture. ‘I am Sigurd the Viking,’ he bellowed. ‘I swear by all the gods that I will defend the hotel until the great day when Viking woman returns!’

  It was a stirring speech, but quite meaningless, and when Sigurd yanked out Nosepicker from the ceiling and brought down half a ton of plaster, everyone wondered whether they really wanted him to defend the hotel anyway. Tim looked across at Zoe and rolled his eyes.

  ‘He’s a complete nutter,’ he whispered to her.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ Zoe replied as she disappeared out of the room in search of a bucket to put the plaster in. Meanwhile, Mr Ellis took Sigurd outside to show him the high hedge that ran round the edge of the garden.

  ‘It needs a good trim, Siggy.’

  ‘Good trim?’ Siggy repeated, a little bewildered.

  ‘Yes. Look, this is a hedge trimmer. It’s electric.’ Mr Ellis switched it on. Sigurd leapt back drawing Nosepicker and waving it violently at Mr Ellis as if he expected there to be a major battle. Mr Ellis laughed and switched the trimmer off. ‘It’s not going to attack you Siggy. Watch. This is how you use it.’

  Mr Ellis switched the trimmer back on and began to slice neatly through the hedge. Twigs and leaves fell on every side. Sigurd watched closely. He thought this was marvellous. Mr Ellis put the machine into his hands and helped Sigurd guide the trimmer over the hedge.

  ‘You see? It’s easy with a hedge trimmer. Now, I want you to do the whole hedge, right the way round. Okay?’

  ‘Okey-dokey boss.’

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t say that,’ said Mr Ellis as he turned to walk back to the hotel. But just as he was about to step inside, he heard the roar of the hedge trimmer and felt a sudden uneasiness. ‘Do try and make a good job won’t you, Siggy?’ he said desperately.

  ‘I make good job,’ muttered Sigurd, as the hedge trimmer vibrated in his hands. Mr Ellis went into the hotel. He couldn’t spend all day worrying about Sigurd – he had some plastering work to do.

  For several moments Sigurd just stood there, marvelling at the wonderful machine that Mr Ellis had so carelessly placed in his raving Viking hands. A murderous glint came into Siggy’s eyes and he looked wildly about the garden. The engine roared and Sigurd began to advance on the enemy.

  Back in the hotel, the first person Mr Ellis saw was Mr Thripp. The thin little Health Inspector was back, complete with his tin-can voice. ‘Good day, Mr Ellis,’ he whined. ‘I hope it’s a good day for you?’

  Mr Ellis managed a weak smile. ‘Fine thank you, Mr Thripp. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?’

  ‘I have come about your “Viking”. Not that he is a real Viking of course. I think it would be going too far to claim that.’ Mr Thripp looked up sharply, his weasel eyes fixed on Mr Ellis.

  ‘That’s really no concern of yours,’ replied Mr Ellis, trying to remain calm. ‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I have just come to make sure that this – “Viking” – is no longer a health hazard to your visitors, or I shall have to issue orders to close the hotel. I do hope he is no longer serving food?’

  ‘Of course not. He’s working in the garden,’ replied Mr Ellis.

  Mr Thripp gave a sneaky smile. ‘You won’t mind if I check on that will you? It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that…’

  ‘… you don’t believe me,’ finished Mr Ellis. ‘Follow me, Mr Thripp, and you will see that Sigurd is quite harmless.’

  The two men walked out into the garden. They stopped. They stood still. There was no garden. From the far corner could still be heard the murderous whine of the hedge trimmer as Sigurd sliced through the last few flowers, bushes, shrubs, hedges – in fact anything that was more than a few centimetres tall.

  Mr Ellis could barely speak. ‘What have you done?’ he croaked. Sigurd gave a broad smile and switched off the hedge trimmer.

  ‘I cut hedge like you show me! Zzzipp! Zzzapp! This better than Nosepicker. When Sigurd next go to war he take Deathsnore.’

  ‘Deathsnore?’ repeated Mr Ellis in a trance.

  ‘I call new weapon Deathsnore. It make noise like man snoring and bring death to everything – Deathsnore.’

  Mr Ellis began to mutter to himself. ‘I’ve got a mad Viking in my garden who has just destroyed every bush and flower with a hedge trimmer called Deathsnore. What am I going to do?’ He was so overcome by the full-scale destruction of his garden that he didn’t notice Sigurd’s bulging eyes and purple face. The Viking had just seen Mr Thripp.

  ‘You kill my weeding!’ roared Sigurd. ‘Now I kill you!’ The hedge trimmer gnashed its teeth and Sigurd plunged after the Health Inspector. Mr Thripp gave a high scream and raced into the hotel, locking the door behind him.

  ‘I kill you!’ bellowed Sigurd. ‘You very little man. I make you littler. I cut you into pieces like salami!’

  It took Mr Ellis ten minutes to calm Sigurd and get Deathsnore away from him, and a further hour to calm Mr Thripp. The thin Health Inspector was shaking from head to foot.

  ‘We shall see about this, Mr Ellis. I have never been threatened before and you needn’t think that you will get away with it. He was going to chop me up with a hedge trimmer. I’m going straight to the police. That maniac should be in jail, and so should you. This hotel is a disgrace. It’s not an hotel at all, it’s a madhouse. You should all be locked up. I’m going to the police now. This isn’t the last you’ve heard from Ernest Thripp. I shall be back, mark my words, and then there’ll be trouble…’

  The delirious inspector ran off down the hotel steps, shaking his fist and screaming at the top of his voice.

  Mr Ellis slumped into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. ‘If only this were just a bad dream,’ he said to himself.

  4

  Sigurd Goes Berserk

  Mr Thripp ran all the way to Flotby Police Station. ‘Help, help! There’s a Viking on the loose and he wants to chop me up like salami!’ he screamed at the officer on the front desk.

  Constable Pritty fixed Mr Thripp with a calm stare, ‘I see, Sir. Would you like to take a deep breath and just tell me as calmly as you can what’s happened?’

  Mr Thripp glanced fearfully over one shoulder at the open door. ‘I have just been to The Viking Hotel. There’s a Viking there – at least there’s a madman who says he’s a real Viking and he tried to chop me up with Deathsnore.’

  ‘Deathsnore? Excuse me sir, but what is Deathsnore?’

  ‘A hedge trimmer.’

  ‘A hedge trimmer?’

  ‘Yes Officer, a hedge trimmer. For heaven’s sake, open your ears and listen. You’ve got to do something about it.’

  ‘This sounds very serious indeed, Sir. Attempted murder with a hedge trimmer. Can you describe the criminal?’

  ‘Yes. He’s revolting.’ Mr Thripp said bluntly.

  ‘Revolting,’ repeated Constable Pritty. ‘Do you think you could give me a few more details. Sir?’

  ‘Yes. He’s revolting, disgusting and filthy!’ said Mr Thripp completely missing the point.

  ‘No, no, Mr Thripp – can you describe what he looks like?’ Quickly Mr Thripp described Sigurd more clearly. Constable Pritty was rapidly drawing on to a big sheet of paper as Mr Thripp spoke, and as soon as the Health Inspector had finished, Constable Pritty triumphantly held up his sketch.

  There! What about that? I don’t think we shall have much trouble finding this lad. Of course it is quite impossible that he’s a real Viking, so he’s breaking the Trade Descriptions Act as well.’

  Mr Thripp gave a sneaky smile. ‘And he’s a foreigner!’

  ‘Foreign eh? We’d better check his passport then. He may be an illegal immigrant. Let’s see, what have we got so far – attempted murder, contravening the Trades Description Act and b
eing an illegal immigrant.’ The constable licked the end of his pencil. ‘Not to mention carrying an offensive weapon, namely one hedge trimmer,’ he said, looking up triumphantly.

  ‘I think your Viking chappie could be spending a long time in jail. Come on, let’s go and arrest him.’

  It was hardly a surprise to Mrs Ellis when she answered the knock on the hotel door to find Mr Thripp and a policeman standing there. The policeman pushed himself forward and adjusted his helmet. ‘I’m Pritty, Madam,’ he explained.

  Mrs Ellis examined the policeman’s young face carefully. ‘Yes, I suppose you are pretty in a way – for a policeman that is.’ The constable turned extremely red.

  ‘That is not quite what I meant, Madam.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it was. Would you like to start again?’

  ‘I am Police Constable Pritty and I am afraid that I have come about a very serious matter. I have come to arrest a Viking by the name of Sigurd.’

  Mrs Ellis had never thought it would get quite as bad as this. She could tell from the sickening smile on Mr Thripp’s face that there was big trouble in store for Sigurd, and she had no idea how to rescue him from this new situation.

  ‘I’ll fetch him for you,’ she said quietly, and hurried off to find her husband.

  Mr Ellis gritted his teeth at the news. ‘Sigurd’s in the garden planting some new bushes. I’ll bring him to the hall.’

  A few moments later Mr Ellis arrived with Siggy. His hands were covered in mud from the garden, where he had been digging. Mrs Ellis introduced everyone, hoping that Sigurd would make a good impression on the policeman. Siggy knew all about English good manners. He strode forward with a big grin on his innocent face and shook Constable Pritty warmly by the hand.

  Unfortunately he leftmost of the hotel garden smeared across the constable’s hand. The policeman gamely tried to wipe it off, only to put several large muddy streaks across the front of his uniform. ‘Damaging a police officer’s uniform – that’s a very serious charge indeed,’ muttered Constable Pritty, fumbling for his notebook.