“He’s exactly like his son,” she remarked proudly.
Chapter 13
The Nis to the Rescue
PEER CROUCHED ON the frozen privy floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. He was so cold that in spite of Uncle Baldur’s last words to him, he rather thought he might die before morning. That would spoil their plans, he thought bitterly.
The only comfort was that Loki had got away. Everything else was a disaster. He imagined Baldur and Grim kicking open the door of Hilde’s house and dragging her out – her mother and her old grandfather would be unable to stop them. With Hilde in their power they would return to the mill for him, Peer, and take the pair of them away up Troll Fell. The Grimssons would collect their golden reward, and he and Hilde would become slaves of the trolls.
As for Loki, he would probably die in the woods, lost and cold and starving. Peer groaned in anguish…
…and heard a slithering sound somewhere over in the corner. He went very still. New fear tingled through him. He had completely forgotten about the other inhabitants of this privy.
The sound came again, accompanied by a creaking noise. Peer could imagine somebody hoisting themselves through one of the holes in the wooden seat. He tried not to breathe.
A voice spoke suddenly. “’Oo’s there?” it squeaked.
Peer dared not answer. A second voice spoke up from the pit below, hollow and muffled. “What’s up?”
“There’s someone ’ere!” squeaked the first voice.
“Light coming up,” boomed the second voice. In utter amazement Peer saw the three holes in the long wooden seat light up, throwing three round patches of light on to the rough roof. An arm came up through the middle hole, carrying a bluish flame.
The creature in the corner reached out and took it; the flame transferred easily from the first hand to the second and seemed not to belong to any oil lamp or taper. It was just a flame, flickering away by itself.
The second creature’s head now appeared through the hole. It spotted Peer and squealed. “Ooh! Look at that!”
“It’s a boy,” declared the first one in deep disgust.
Peer had never seen such strange beings. Their heads reminded him of turnips. They were lumpy and blotchy and bewhiskered. The one in the corner had an ear that stuck out like a cabbage leaf on one side of its head, while the other ear was small and knobbly. The one peering out of the hole seemed to have no ears at all. And the nose on it! And the mouth! Like a thin line with no lips.
“Are you – lubbers?” Peer quavered.
The first one jumped and the flame swerved and nearly went out. “It talks!”
“Of course it talks,” growled the second lubber. “All boys talk, you fool. Give me that!” It clambered nimbly through the hole and snatched the flame back. Then it crossed its legs and sat on the edge of the seat, looking at Peer.
“Whatcher doing here, then?” it asked chattily, but its bald turnip head and slit-like features did not reassure him.
“My – my uncles locked me in,” Peer explained.
The lubber seemed astonished. “You mean you can’t get out?”
“N-no,” Peer faltered, aware of making a mistake. The lubber in the corner nudged its friend.
“He can’t get out,” it said.
“Yeah,” said the lubber with the light. “I heard.”
They both stared at Peer, and then as if by unspoken agreement they both shuffled a bit closer to him along the bench.
“So,” said the lubber with the light. “Right cosy little party, this.”
There didn’t seem any reply to that. During the next minute’s silence, both lubbers came a little bit closer again.
Peer shifted anxiously. He pushed the door, testing it. It would not move. The Grimssons must have stacked half the woodpile against it.
“That’s an interesting trick,” he said quickly. “Your light, I mean. H-how does it work?”
“Watch this,” said the lubber with the light. He opened his mouth, wider and wider, till it looked as if his throat had been cut. He placed the flame inside his mouth and shut it. For a moment his cheeks glowed purple and red like a lantern. He gulped, and the flame went out.
In the ensuing darkness Peer felt both the lubbers scuffling much, much nearer.
“Then I snap my fingers,” said the lubber’s voice, close to his ear, “and back comes the light. Neat, or what?”
The bluish, bobbing flame appeared not far from Peer’s nose.
“It’s his party trick,” said the other lubber. They were now one on either side of Peer, and he did not know which way to look.
“It’s very clever,” he said desperately.
“It is clever,” agreed the lubber. “It’s very, very clever, but you know what? It always – makes me – hungry!”
Its mouth yawned open next to Peer’s shoulder. He leaped aside, cannoning into the other lubber. The touch of it made his flesh crawl: it was clammy and cold.
“Grab him,” shouted the lubber with the light, “the first square meal in ages, I’m sick of beetles and slugs —”
It would be like being eaten by frogs. Mad with loathing, Peer raised his arms to ward the hideous creatures off – and felt something hard being slipped into his hand from above. His fingers knew what it was, they closed over the hilt instinctively.
“Look out!” shrieked the second lubber. “He’s got a knife!”
The two lubbers rushed for the holes. There were two splashes, and the light went out. Peer was alone in the dark, though a mumbling, grumbling conversation was going on in the pit below.
A small pearly light dawned near the roof. Peer looked up. “Thank you, Nis!” he said in heartfelt gratitude.
The Nis giggled. “Lubbers is fools, no match for me!”
“I’m sure they’re not.” Peer’s legs gave way and he sat down.
“Get up! Get up!” hissed the Nis.
“What for?” Peer groaned.
“What for?” The Nis clicked its tongue in disbelief. “For to escape, of course. Hurry! Hurry!”
Peer didn’t move. “Nis, I can’t get through little holes like you do. The door’s barred. I can’t get out.”
“The door is barred, I can’t get out!” the Nis mimicked. “What is the knife for? To cut your way out through the thatch, of course!”
“Of course!” cried Peer. He climbed on to the wooden seat, hoping no lubber would grab his ankles, and began chopping at the bundles of reeds that made up the low roof. They were almost rotten, riddled with rat-runs, bird’s nests and passages. He soon broke through, cursing as the thick snow outside fell down his neck and on to his shoulders, and half slithered, half fell down into the yard, where a bundle of hysterical doggy joy leaped upon him and pushed him flat.
“Loki!” spluttered Peer. “Loki, you’re safe! All right now, stop it. Let me get up!”
He got up, gulping fresh air in freezing lungfuls. It was snowing again. The Nis scampered past like a little whirlwind and opened the mill door. Peer and Loki ran inside, and the Nis closed the door behind them.
It was blessedly warm. For a few moments all Peer could do was lean shuddering over the long hearth. The fire was dying; the red and violet embers gave little light, but they were still hot. His uncles must have been away for at least an hour. Peer was afraid they would soon be back. He turned around to get warm all over, and saw the Nis perching on the back of Uncle Grim’s big chair. It looked at him steadily, eyes gleaming.
“You saved my life,” said Peer. “And you saved Loki earlier, didn’t you? You pushed that snow off the roof.”
The Nis scratched itself. It skipped to the floor and spread its long spindly fingers over the fire.
“Why did you do it?” Peer asked. “I thought you were so keen on this wedding.”
“They hasn’t invited me,” said the Nis sadly.
“Oh…”
“Such a big wedding.” The Nis looked miserable and its mouth turned down. “The hill to be rais
ed on red pillars. So much food… but they forgets to invite the poor Nis.”
“Perhaps they’re only inviting trolls.”
But the Nis shook its head. “Stromkarls, nixies, merrows even, all are going!”
Peer bit his lip. “I’m sure it’s been a dreadful oversight. But Nis – Loki and I have to escape before my uncles come back. They’ve gone for Hilde, so they can take the two of us up Troll Fell and give us to the trolls. But it’s not going to happen!” he went on fiercely. “If I’m not here, they won’t have the pair they need. And I’m leaving! I’ve had enough of Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim! I’m going back to Hammerhaven.” Brand and Ingrid would take him in for a while, he was sure. “But first I want what’s mine.” He strode over to the locked bin where the money was and rattled the lid. “I need to break into this. Any ideas?”
The Nis darted him a mischievous look. It reached out a long arm and hooked its wooden bowl out of the ashes. It was empty. Baldur and Grim had forgotten to fill it. “I has had enough too, Peer Ulfsson,” the Nis announced importantly. “See me!”
It scampered up the ladder and disappeared over the edge into the loft, where it began puffing and groaning. Bewildered, Peer climbed up to find it heaving away at the upper millstone, trying to lift it from its spindle.
“What on earth?” Peer began, and then he saw. If they could roll the millstone over the edge, it would fall on the chest below. But it must weigh half a ton. They could never lift it.
The Nis doubled limply over the millstone and lay panting. Peer looked about for something else to use. He clenched his fist in triumph. Standing upright against the wall, dark with dust, was the old worn millstone that had been replaced in Baldur’s father’s time. No need to lift it: it was already on its rim, with just a couple of chocks driven in on the underside to stop it rolling.
The Nis saw, and the sparkle came back into its eyes. It probed under the old millstone, pulling out the chocks. Peer grabbed the top of the stone and felt it roll forward. Between them, they guided it to the edge of the loft. At the very brink they paused and looked at each other. The Nis giggled. Peer grinned and pushed.
There was an ear-splitting crash, and pieces of wood flew like daggers. Loki fled under the table. Peer looked over to see the damage. The millstone had cracked in two, and the wooden bin was firewood. He jumped down, reached into the wreckage, and pulled out a soft leather bag.
It was all there, his father’s hard-earned wages – thin copper pennies, and worn silver pieces that slipped gently through his fingers. At the bottom of the bag was his father’s old silver ring. He shut his eyes and pushed it on to his own finger. Father, are you there? Can you hear me? I’m doing what you did, Father. I’m running away. He waited, as if there could be an answer, before opening his eyes.
He pulled on one of Uncle Baldur’s old tunics. It was smelly but warm, and came down to his knees. He seized the best of the blankets from Grim’s bed and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak. Next he chose the smallest pair of boots. They were still huge, so he stuffed the toes with straw and laced them up tightly.
“We need some food,” he said, taking a loaf from the bread crock. He tore some off to munch and gave half to Loki. The Nis watched, bright-eyed.
“Want some?” asked Peer. The Nis sprang into the rafters and sat nibbling like a squirrel. Peer took a last look at the dark room, the glowing bed of the fire, the shattered millstone and broken bin. “I’m off. Goodbye, Nis. I’ll never forget you. But I have to go now, before they get back.”
Snow was falling thickly in the yard. Peer crossed the bridge and decided to leave the road. He did not want to meet his uncles on the way home. Somewhere behind the snow-laden clouds the moon had risen, and he could pick his way up over the glimmering white fields. In spite of the cold and the dangerous journey ahead, he felt he had come to life.
“I’m free!” he said, savouring the word. It was a pity he was leaving the Nis behind. And Hilde. He desperately hoped Hilde would be all right. But leaving seemed to be the only thing he could do for her now. Hilde and her family belonged here: the neighbours would look out for them. Arne and Bjørn would, for example. But Peer? He was nobody’s business. We’re just strays, Loki and me. We’d better look out for ourselves. Nobody else will.
At the top of the big field above the mill, the same field Ralf had galloped across escaping from the trolls all those years ago, he stopped for breath, leaning against the tall stone called the Finger. Out of the steadily falling snow, a white fox came trotting downhill. Loki pricked his ears, whining, and Peer caught his collar. The fox froze with one foot lifted and looked sharply at the boy and his dog.
“Hello!” said Peer, amused. “Going down to the farms to see what you can find? There’s a black cockerel at the mill. You can have him and welcome!”
The fox shook its head and sneezed. It sprang away with flattened ears, disappearing into the white world in seconds. Peer laughed. But beside him, Loki growled. A moment late, Peer realised why.
Only a few yards away, two huge shapes emerged from the greyness, plodding uphill. He heard the grumble of two familiar and hated voices. His heart nearly stopped.
Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim!
Chapter 14
Peer Alone
PEER CROUCHED, his mind spinning. Were they after him? How could they know where he was?
Had they caught Hilde? Were they taking her to the Troll King all by herself?
Cheek pressed to the stone, he looked around the edge. And one thing was clear: his uncles had no idea he was there. Their hoods pulled well down, they trudged past his hiding place without looking left or right. And Hilde wasn’t with them. He sighed in relief. But each of them carried a large bundle over his shoulder.
What were those bundles? Was it just the poor light, or were they moving? Peer strained his eyes. With a jolt of horror he suddenly saw what they were. Two small children, bundled in sacking and swathed in ropes.
“Sigurd and Sigrid!” Peer breathed. A girl and a boy. Twins.
A matching pair!
He stood in the snow, in full view if his uncles turned around, his mind racing. What could he do? What could he possibly do, all by himself? How could he rescue the twins from two huge, powerful men – or from a whole hill full of trolls?
If he had been slower leaving the mill, or if he had gone by the road, he would never have known – never have seen what his uncles were doing. He gazed after their disappearing backs. It was nearly too late. In a moment they would vanish into the dim night and falling snow. He could go on to Hammerhaven as if nothing had happened.
But into his head slipped a memory, the memory of Sigrid’s high little voice in the summer, screaming at Uncle Baldur: “I don’t like the nasty man! I hate him!” Sigrid and Sigurd were only little, but they were his friends.
Peer stood as still as the big stone. He knew what he should do. He should follow, and see where his uncles were taking the children. He should tell the whole village what they had done. If he didn’t he would blame himself for ever.
“Loki!” he said with a furious sob. “This way!”
Loki gambolled along at his heels, thinking this was a game. Peer was terrified he would bark and give them away. He was afraid of losing his uncles, and afraid of getting too close. Already their shadowy shapes were disappearing into a little valley. Peer ran, as if in a bad dream. His cumbersome boots dragged half off at each stride.
The valley was no more than a dimple on the hillside, but it was full of drifted snow. Both Peer’s boots came off as he ploughed through it. There was no time to empty out the snow; he just shoved his numb feet back in and plunged on. The tracks turned uphill again. Peer dropped into a plod, forced himself to run, fell to plodding again. On and on he went. It stopped snowing, and the moon sailed out over a landscape of white slopes and black rocks. Deep dragging marks showed where his uncles had turned aside towards the foot of a cliff – twenty feet or so of glistening stone capped wi
th a snowy overhang. The tracks continued along the base to a place where a rockfall of boulders offered a way up. Peer and Loki picked their way, slipping and bruising themselves on half-buried stones.
At the top of the cliff, the ground levelled out into a wide ledge. Peer reached it, gasping. A few hundred yards ahead, clear in the moonlight, two dark figures strode towards a narrow ravine. If they turned around, Peer would be in plain view. But they didn’t turn.
He looked back, realising he was not far from the top of Troll Fell. The land fell away in all directions, and he could sense the bulk of the mountain below him. Other lonely peaks reared up white in the dark sky to the north. An inhuman silence reigned.
Loki pawed at his legs. Peer was suddenly very thankful for his dog. “Good boy. Come on!”
The snow was shallow here, combed thin by the wind. Peer hurried up the slope in his uncles’ tracks, determined to keep them – and the twins – in sight to the end. They were heading into the ravine. Steep cliffs leaned over, slashed black with shadows. And then a shrill yell rang out, ringing off the rocks. Uncle Baldur was shouting to the gatekeeper of Troll Fell: “Open! Open up!”
The troll gate opened.
A hairline of light appeared in the dark root of the cliff. Silently and swiftly it widened as the stone door turned on unseen pivots. Spellbound, Peer crouched in the snow as golden light spilled down the mountain.
The dark shapes of his two uncles, carrying the bundles that were Sigurd and Sigrid, stood out black for a moment against the gold, then vanished inside. Smoothly, silently, the door swung shut. The rectangle of light shrank to a line, narrowed to a filament, and was gone. The shock passed through the ground as though Troll Fell shivered, and prickled over Peer’s skin.
He ran, scrambling over the pebbles at the base of the cliff and threw himself at the cold face, patting and fumbling for the door. Nothing. Solid stone without a crack. His legs gave way. He sank to the ground, ashamed to have come so far and been so useless. His hand felt something in the snow beside him. It was Sigrid’s woolly cap, gritty with melting snow crystals, but still warm.
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