The wide fjord sparkled. Baby waves lifted themselves an inch or two and turned over with a clear splash on a narrow beach where every pebble seemed a different colour. A couple of faerings, narrow fishing boats, lay on the shingle. The twins squealed with delight and ran to pick up shells and seaweed. Peer breathed deep and gazed at the bright water and high mountains.
“I’m going in,” he said happily.
“It’ll be cold,” Hilde warned him.
“Who cares?” He ran into the water with a whoop. “You’re right! It’s freezing!”
Loki dashed up and down, barking at the waves in case they attacked his master. In a few moments Peer came wading out. “I’m clean,” he said through chattering teeth, “but I can’t stay in any longer. Let’s find a nice sunny boulder and sit down. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Wrapped in an old cloak which Hilde had brought to sit on, and munching bread and cheese which she had packed, Peer told Hilde about the flighty little Nis, and how he had promised to bring it some butter. He told about his meeting with Granny Greenteeth, and how she had revealed his uncles’ plan to sell Peer to the trolls.
Hilde was horrified. “They couldn’t!”
“Oh yes, they could. And that’s not all. The Nis found out that now it’s to be a double wedding. The old Gaffer’s son and daughter,” he explained carefully, “are marrying the Dovreking’s daughter and son.”
“Well?” asked Hilde, as he stopped.
“And it seems my uncles were very angry, because the Gaffer told them that the deal was off unless they could bring him a girl as well as a boy. You see, if he gives the Dovre prince a servant, he has to give the Dovre princess a maid.”
“So no gold for the Grimssons without a girl?” Hilde laughed in relief. “Then you’re safe.”
“I don’t know,” said Peer softly. “I think they’re going to find a girl. I think you ought to be very careful, Hilde.”
Hilde whistled. There was silence, except for the lapping of waves and the cries of gulls.
“So Troll Fell wants to impress the Dovrefell,” she said.
“With two human wedding presents,” Peer nodded.
“It’s unusual. I wonder what a troll servant has to do?”
“I don’t want to find out. I couldn’t bear —” Peer bit off his words. No need for Hilde to know how he dreaded being shut up in the dark.
Hilde began to speak, but was interrupted by excited shouts from Sigurd and Sigrid, who were playing around the boats. “Look! Look!” Another small boat was dancing in from the sea. Hilde jumped up, shading her eyes.
“That’s Bjørn’s faering. Look – can you see the seal following behind him?”
Squinting, Peer made out a dark dot in the waves.
“There’s always a seal or two following Bjørn,” Hilde told him. “People say they drive the herring to him. Some people even say that his wife Kersten was a seal woman, but my pa doesn’t think that’s true. Still, Bjørn and his brother Arne know more stories about the sea than anyone else. I wonder where Arne is? I can’t see him.”
Together they ran to help pull the boat up the beach. Bjørn was a short, stocky fellow with a strong friendly face, blue eyes, and untidy hair falling over his shoulders.
“Hello Hilde, my lass, who’s your friend? Hello sprats,” he said to Sigurd and Sigrid.
“Hello Bjørn. This is Peer Ulfsson, who now lives at the mill.”
Bjørn put out a calloused hand and Peer took it, liking him already. “The mill, eh?” was all he said, but his smile was sympathetic.
“Where’s Arne?” asked Hilde.
“Haven’t you heard?” Bjørn scratched his head. “He’s gone off south, and it’s your doing, Hilde, you and your father between you. He went on so much about how he wished he could have sailed on that blessed longship, that in the end I told him to go after it. ‘Take your boat,’ I said. ‘Ten to one you’ll catch them up, and even if you don’t, you’ll find another one to join. It’s the sailing season.’ So off he went. He’ll be back before winter.” He smiled at Hilde’s disappointed face. “But what’s this? A holiday? Light a fire, and I’ll join you. We can cook some fish.”
Sigrid and Sigurd ran to collect armfuls of driftwood and dry seaweed. When they had assembled a tangled pile, Bjørn struck sparks from his strike-a-light, and a fire was soon blazing. The fish were delicious. They all burned their fingers, but it was worth it. Even Loki gobbled his fill of the rich white meat and flame-blackened skins, and lay contentedly afterwards, licking his paws.
“Tell us a story,” begged Sigrid.
Bjørn lay on his back with his arms behind his head, soaking up the sunshine. “What sort of story?”
“A scary one!” said Sigurd.
Bjørn looked sideways under his lashes. And he told them about the draug, the phantom fisherman who sails the seas in half a boat and can be heard wailing in the storm winds when someone is about to drown. “Have you ever heard him?” breathed Sigurd. But Bjørn refused to say.
A cloud passed over the sun and a chill breeze sprang up. Hilde rubbed her arms and shivered. “I wish you hadn’t told that story,” she said to Bjørn, half-laughing. “I shall think about it now, and worry. I wish…” But she didn’t finish. “We’d better go. Thank you for the fish, Bjørn.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bjørn. He tousled the little ones’ heads, patted Hilde on the shoulder and clapped Peer on the back. “Good luck, friend!” he said.
“Thanks, I’m going to need it,” said Peer ruefully. He didn’t like to think what his uncles would do to him when he got back.
Chapter 9
More Trouble at the Mill
HILDE WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY quiet as they led the pony away from the village. “What’s the matter?” Peer asked at last.
“Nothing.” Hilde hesitated. “To tell you the truth,” she admitted, “I know it’s silly, but when Bjørn told that story I started thinking about Pa. I’m not worried! I’m just —”
“Worried!” Peer finished. “But don’t be, Hilde. I’m sure he’s all right.”
“I know,” she agreed, still rather glum. “But nothing’s really gone right since he left. And the trolls – besides what you told me - they’re such a nuisance. They’re round the house every night, stealing and spoiling things.”
“A pity your father didn’t know that before he left,” offered Peer.
“He did know,” said Hilde. “I mean, it’s got worse, but he did know.”
“Ah.” Peer paused, and Hilde imagined him thinking, Ralf knew, and he left all the same? What kind of a father is that? She bit her lip. Peer gave her a sideways look and suddenly squeezed her hand.
“You’re just missing him,” he said gruffly. “I know how it feels.”
Hilde smeared a hand across her eyes. “I’m not crying, I never cry. Don’t tell the twins.” She looked back at Sigurd and Sigrid, coming along behind with Loki, teasing him with a slippery ribbon of seaweed. “At least they’re having fun.”
“And Loki and I got something to eat today,” said Peer. “I don’t suppose we’ll get much supper tonight. Not that we ever do.”
Hilde flashed him a glance, opened her mouth, sighed, and shut it again. They plodded on up the track, the pony clopping beside Hilde with its neck low. “I wish you could live with us,” Hilde muttered at last.
“Thanks,” said Peer sadly, “but it wouldn’t work. They’d only come and get me.”
Hilde stopped suddenly. “Yes – they would now. But Pa will be home by midwinter. Of course!” She danced in excitement. “Pa won’t let them sell you to the trolls. You can stay with us and be perfectly safe. He’ll be home long before then!”
Peer lifted his head. “Really? Would your father really take me in?”
“I know he would.” Hilde assured him. “Loki too. Don’t worry any more, Peer.”
Peer drew a deep breath. He could hardly believe the problem had been solved so easily. Hilde beamed at
him and they talked cheerfully as they went on up the path. By now the little ones were straggling.
“I’m tired,” Sigurd complained. “My feet ache.”
“Get on the pony,” said Hilde, lifting him up.
“I’m tired too,” wailed Sigrid.
Peer felt strong and capable. “I’ll give you a ride!” he said, bending down, and Sigrid gleefully scrambled on to his back. She was very light. He bounded up the track, bumping to make her laugh, till they came in sight of the mill. A figure like a dark stone tower stood at the entrance to the yard, glaring down the road.
Heart thudding, mouth dry, Peer uncurled Sigrid’s warm little hands from their stranglehold around his neck and lowered her gently to the ground.
“I’m for it,” he whispered to Hilde. “Better get out while you can.”
“Boy!” Uncle Baldur’s voice cracked, shooting into a scream. “Come here AT ONCE!”
“Who is that nasty man?” asked Sigrid in a high, alarmed little voice.
“The miller,” said Hilde crisply. “Come here, Sigrid.”
“Go home,” said Peer distractedly. “Go on, Hilde – go!”
He went warily forwards. Behind him Sigrid was asking piercingly, “Why is the nasty man angry with Peer?”
“Just wait till I get my hands on you,” Uncle Baldur shrieked. “Corn to grind and work to do, and you run off to play?” He lunged, and Peer instinctively dodged him. Even madder, Uncle Baldur grabbed again, got Peer by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Peer gasped.
“Wastrel!” Uncle Baldur shook him. Through the drumming blood in his ears Peer heard Loki barking, Hilde shouting, “Let go of him!” and above it all little Sigrid screaming, “I don’t like that nasty man! I hate him!”
“Hilde!” he yelled, struggling to see through a red flood of shame. Uncle Baldur had him doubled over now, and was raining blows on him. And Hilde was witnessing it all! “Hilde, for goodness’ sake, get those kids away from here!”
The noise attracted Uncle Grim. He stood watching for a moment and then roared, “Let go of ’im, Baldur. Let ’im go!”
Uncle Baldur stopped in astonishment. He looked at his brother. Grim simply jerked his head towards Hilde, who was hurriedly lifting the shrieking twins on to the pony. Then he turned and walked away.
“Ha.” Uncle Baldur let Peer go. Peer fell to the ground. Baldur’s little piggy eyes twinkled, dark and calculating. He scratched his beard.
“Maybe I was hasty,” he puffed. “A boy has to have friends, eh? I like a lad of spirit. Don’t you be scared of me, my dear,” he cooed to Hilde, who was dragging the pony towards the bridge. “This lad of mine is the apple of my eye. He is! I used to play truant myself, once, and my dear old dad used to beat me for it. Made me the man I am today!”
“Goodbye,” said Hilde quickly to Peer.
“Boys will be boys,” went on Uncle Baldur, following her around the end of the building. “Don’t go yet! How about a bite to eat, or a drink of, er – a drink of – of buttermilk?” He stopped, watching as Hilde urged the pony across the bridge and uphill towards the wood.
“Come again to play with the boy!” he shouted after her. “Bring the kiddies. Don’t be shy!” Sigurd and Sigrid were still crying. Uncle Baldur stood staring after them until they disappeared into the trees. At last he turned on his heel and strode back to the yard.
“I’m a fair man, see,” he said to Peer, showing his teeth. “You deserve a bit of fun. Bring your friends here any time you like. Make sure you tell them. Any time! Show them how the mill works. They’ll like that.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Peer was determined to do no such thing. Baldur opened his mouth as if to say something more, and changed his mind. He swung away, aiming a kick at Loki, who jumped deftly aside.
Peer lay in the straw that night, wrapped in the worn old cloak Hilde had given him. Though his bruises hurt, he didn’t mind them, because now he had a future. At midwinter – or sooner, as soon as Ralf Eiriksson came home – he and Loki would escape up the valley.
Ralf would protect them. Secretly Peer hoped that Ralf would let him stay. Surely a boy could help on the farm? Peer wouldn’t eat much. He would train Loki to herd sheep. As for his uncles – well, perhaps once their plan had failed, they would not care enough to try and recapture him.
He pulled the cloak over his head and fell asleep. But dark water came spilling into his dreams. He was swimming in the middle of the millpond, far from the bank. Below him, Granny Greenteeth came rising through the water. She wrapped long skinny arms about his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Come to me,” she crooned. “Come to your old granny. Nobody else cares!”
“No, no!” cried Peer. But tangled in her strong arms he sank deeper and deeper.
He woke sweating, all wound up in the cloak. The barn was completely dark. Loki pushed a cold nose into his hand, a mouse whisked over his foot, and a scuffling overhead suggested the Nis. Peer stood up. He needed to go outside.
It was raining. A sweet smell of new hay puffed from the damp fields. The rain came on harder, as if it had been just waiting for him to step outside. Peer could not afford to let his only cloak get soaked. He felt his way along the side of the barn to the privy, a small stone shed built against the wall, pushed at the creaky old door and slipped inside.
Here it was warm and smelly. Some Grimsson ancestor had built it years before, dug a deep trench and erected a plank seat with three holes in it. Peer wrinkled his nose. But it was a dry place to go. He sat down on the first seat.
It was too dark to see much. Just as well, thought Peer, or I might start imagining things. There was a black shadow away to his left that was just the shape of a person sitting there. Probably a stain on the wall. He stared at it harder. Actually it wasn’t so like a person. No one could really have such a short body and lumpy head, with one ear much, much bigger than the other. No one could really —
The shadow sitting on the third seat coughed quietly, and Peer’s hair stood upright on his head. He burst into the yard trying to run and haul his trousers up at the same time. He had the nasty impression, though he could not swear to it, that a second misshapen head had popped up through the middle seat as he rushed out.
He went quickly behind the barn, among the wet nettles, and returned to Loki, zinging with nerves.
It was a relief to hear the Nis skipping about again after all that. Peer called to it, and in a trembling voice, asked what he had seen.
“Lubbers,” replied the Nis with a contemptuous sniff.
“Not trolls?” Peer cleared his throat. “What’s a lubber?”
The Nis would not come down. It was chasing spiders, and he heard it muttering to itself: “Butter! They all promises butter to poor Nithing. But promises melt easy in the mouth.”
“I’m sorry.” Peer saw he was out of favour. “I did ask my friend to get you some butter, but she hasn’t been able to. Please, what’s a lubber? Would they hurt me?”
“Hurt you? Only if they catches you. Lubbers is stupid, slow,” said the Nis impatiently. “Lubbers is low. Look where they live!”
Peer shuddered. “Are there any more nasty creepy things living here? I hate this place.”
The Nis refused to tell him anything more. It stole about overhead with sudden flurries of activity and snatching movements, keeping Peer awake.
“What are you doing?”
“Collecting spiders.” Its voice floated down.
“Would you stop it and let me sleep?”
“Very well!” said the Nis, highly offended. “Everyone must hush, everything keep still as a stone while Peer Ulfsson sleeps!” It flounced away and silence fell.
Next day there was an unaccountable plague of spiders in the mill. Big, small and medium-sized, they scuttled here and there across the floor, ran out from every crack and cranny, and wove webs in every corner. Uncle Baldur set Peer to get rid of them. It took him all day.
Chapter 10
Bad News
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br /> AUTUMN ARRIVED WITH crisp biting winds and skeins of wild geese flying south. The birch leaves turned a clear pale yellow and fluttered to the ground.
The trolls grew bolder. Things went badly at Hilde’s house. Animals strayed, rain came through the roof, the children quarrelled, and things were mislaid. As autumn grew older the trolls became very bold indeed. The family saw them often now at twilight, hiding near the walls, sending looks of ill will on the house. The twins met one scuttling short and squat around a corner one evening, and were frightened by its pattering feet and slate-grey skin and odd eyes like live pebbles. And sleepless at night in their warm beds, the family lay worrying about Ralf. Nobody spoke of it, but everyone knew he was late, late, late.
One frosty morning Bjørn Egilsson knocked at the door with his brother Arne. They came in and Arne stood awkwardly while Gudrun fussed and exclaimed and offered them breakfast.
Arne looked tired and weatherbeaten; his clothes were waterstained and faded. When Hilde smiled at him he looked at the floor. Alf, the old sheepdog, ambled stiffly to greet him, and Arne stroked his ears as if grateful for something to do.
“Tell us your adventures, Arne,” said Gudrun brightly, but her hand shook as she poured ale for the visitors.
Bjørn and Arne exchanged glances. Arne cleared his throat. “Well – you know I wanted to join Ralf ’s ship but missed the sailing? I followed in my own boat, hoping to catch her at some place further south. For a while I got plenty of news of her from villages along the coast. I was sure I’d catch up. Then – well, then the news dried up. Nobody knew anything about her.”
“‘All right,’ I thought, ‘they’ve struck out to sea at last, and I’ve missed them.’ I was disappointed, but I got a place on one of those pot-bellied cargo ships instead. But now…”
He stopped and went on with a rush. “I hate to tell you this, Gudrun. I’m afraid there’s been news of a wreck. Part of a dragon-prowed longship was washed up on rocks south of Hammerhaven. No survivors.”
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