Troll Blood (13 page)

The Nis listened fearfully. At last it interrupted. “But how did I get here, Peer Ulfsson?”

“Well …” Peer hesitated; he knew the Nis wouldn’t like this. “I’m afraid Astrid stole you. I think she must have
put something in your food.”

“In—my—food?” the Nis repeated slowly, swelling up. In the darkness its eyes were two angry sparks. “Something in my food, my lovely food that the mistress gives me?” Peer nodded.

The Nis took a deep breath, but at that moment Loki lost control of himself and lunged at it excitedly. With a terrified shriek, the Nis hopped up to the base of the dragon-neck, where it crouched precariously, holding on by the forestay.

“Get down from there,” Peer cried. “Look out!”

“Keep that dog off me,” panted the Nis, “or … Oooh!” It screamed and leaped for the deck as the prow lifted and plunged over a big wave, and spray soaked them.

The Nis curled on the planking like a drowned spider, a bedraggled, pitiable figure. Loki tried to pounce on it. Peer grabbed his collar. “Sit!” he ordered angrily.

He looked at the Nis. What on earth could he do? It needed to get dry and warm. Above all, it needed to feel good about itself again. And then he heard a voice and saw someone clambering toward him from the waist of the ship. By the size of the silhouette, it was Big Tjorvi. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Peer tore open his thick jerkin and the linen shirt under it, scooped up the limp Nis, and stuffed it out of sight against his skin. He’d done the same thing with orphaned lambs in bad weather, and the Nis was not much bigger.

“Off you go, son.” Tjorvi patted him on the shoulder. “Your chance to sleep.” Peer was grateful for the friendly tone. He
would have stayed and talked for a while, but he was afraid Tjorvi would notice the lump he was clasping to his chest. And the Nis wouldn’t keep still; it squirmed about and clutched him with cold froggy fingers. Trickles of seawater ran down under his clothes.

He unrolled his sleeping sack one-handed, clumsily, and slithered in, cold and damp. What a good thing he had a sack of his own and didn’t have to share with another of the men. He made a space for Loki, who crept in and turned around. The Nis crawled out of his jerkin. It wrung out its beard, sniveling. Loki growled. Peer grabbed his muzzle. “Bad dog!” he said in a low, fierce voice. “From now on, you and the Nis have got to be friends.” Loki flattened himself in shame.

Peer shut his eyes, wondering what he could say to the Nis. It had been drugged, kidnapped, made to look a fool, and finally drenched. How could he salve its wounded pride?

“Nis, I’m really sorry this has happened, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” As he said it, he realized he meant it. The whimpering quieted. The Nis shook itself and seemed to listen. “Hilde will be glad, too. We’re going to need all the friends we can get,” Peer went on. He added, hoping the Nis would be pleased, “Do you know you just scared everyone on board nearly to death? They all thought you were some kind of—I don’t know—ghost or evil spirit or something.”

But the Nis took offense. “I was never bad, Peer Ulfsson, I was always good. I never does anything but sweep the house and help the mistress, and I doesn’t deserve to be taken away
and put in a bag. And I doesn’t like ghosts, Peer Ulfsson. All stiff and cold, they are, and they make nasty sliding drafts.”

Icy fingertips tickled Peer’s neck. He said hastily, “Oh, come on, Nis, you know you enjoy playing tricks. I’d have thought you’d be glad to scare the people on this boat. Astrid kidnapped you, and Gunnar’s certainly hiding something, and Harald—I don’t have to tell you about Harald, do I? You dropped beans on him, remember? That was so funny.”

The Nis sniffed.

“You know something?” said Peer. “I bet you’re the first Nis in the world who has ever gone to sea. Imagine that, the very first!” Inspired, he added, “You should have a special name. People who do important things always get given special names. Like Thorolf. They call him ‘the Seafarer’ because he’s such a good sailor.”

The Nis stared at him, dewdrop eyes luminous with excitement. It drew a trembling breath. “Could I really, Peer Ulfsson? Could I really be called that?”

“Nithing the Seafarer?” Peer asked. “Yes, why not?”

“Nithing the Seafarer,” the Nis breathed in ecstasy. It cracked its knuckles and did a little hop.

“That’s right,” Peer said, smiling. “And when we get to Vinland you’ll meet Thorolf, and you’ll see he’s a real hero, a real sailor—and you’ll be a hero, too. But listen. You mustn’t let Harald or Gunnar or the others on this ship see you. Harald’s dangerous, Nis. If he finds you, he’ll try and kill you. He told me so.”

“Don’t worry, Peer Ulfsson.” The Nis had completely recovered its spirits. “They can’t catch me,” it boasted. “Nithing the Seafarer is too quick, too clever.”

Peer said no more. He didn’t want to frighten the Nis, and he reckoned it could keep out of sight if it tried—there were plenty of hiding places on board. He yawned. With three of them in it, the sleeping sack was beginning to feel warm, and was reeking of salty wet dog. He was dropping asleep, when the Nis jerked and wriggled. He forced his eyes open to see why—and held his breath. The disgraced Loki had wormed his way so close to the Nis that he was nosing its fluffy hair. His tongue flicked out in an apologetic lick—and another—and to Peer’s utter astonishment the Nis cuddled contentedly against Loki’s side and allowed the dog to go on washing him.

Friends at last!
Deeply relieved, Peer sank back and closed his eyes. A moment later, he was fast asleep.

“Lee-oh! Let go and haul!”

A soaking wet rope whipped through a hole in the gunwale, scattering icy water into Peer’s hair. Someone jumped over him—he got a good view of a pair of boots just missing his head. Up in the sky, the yard changed angle as the men on the braces hauled it around. Peer felt the deck tip slightly as the ship heeled and the sail filled. Gunnar was putting
Water Snake
onto the port tack.

Peer levered himself out of the sack and got up. He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours, but it was too uncomfortable
to lie there any longer. There was no sign of the Nis. He dragged a reluctant Loki out of his warm nest, rolled up the sack, and looked around.

Dawn was in the sky.
Water Snake
rode over broad gray swells, leaving a wake like a long furrow drawn across the sea. Most of the crew were awake, but no one seemed inclined to talk. Magnus stood at the tiller. He nodded to Peer and spat over the side. “I hate the first night at sea.” He yawned. “And that one was worse than most” Peer grinned wanly. Gunnar stood bundled in his cloak on the port side, brooding.

Peer moved away and leaned on the wet gunwale. The sun climbed out of the waters behind them, and the shadow of the great square sail streamed ahead of them across the waves.

“G’morning,” said Hilde. He turned. She looked pale and moved stiffly. Her hair was tousled. She had wrapped herself up in a brown shawl, and the tip of her nose was pink with cold. He wanted to put his arm around her, to hug her to his side and warm her up. But would that be loverlike, or brotherly, or just plain affectionate? He didn’t know himself. And suddenly he didn’t care.

“You look frozen,” he said. “Want to share my cloak?”

Hilde leaned against him and shivered. “What wouldn’t I give,” she said through chattering teeth, “to be standing over a nice hot fire?”

“Sorry you came?” said Peer, half teasing.

“No,” she said after a second, but she didn’t sound too sure. “Here—have some nice cold breakfast.” She passed over
oatcakes and a piece of dried fish.

Loki sat promptly, eyes glued to the food, and Peer broke an oatcake and dropped it into his greedy jaws. “Loki and the Nis actually made friends last night,” he told Hilde in a lowered voice. “And you know what? They have a lot in common. They both love food!”

“The poor Nis; how is it?”

“It was very upset last night, but it’s fine now. It’s got a new name it’s terribly proud of” He grinned, wanting to share the joke.” ‘Nithing the Seafarer!’”

Hilde’s laugh sounded hollow, and he glanced at her. “Is something wrong?”

She nodded, staring out to sea. “Something I found out last night. I’d better just tell you quickly. You know Gunnar said we’d be coming home next summer? Well, we won’t.” She stopped. “Where’s Astrid? Is anyone listening?”

Peer looked over his shoulder. “I don’t think so. Astrid’s combing her hair. Why? What’s happened?”

She began to whisper. “Oh, Peer, it’s an awful story. The man Harald killed in Westfold was someone Astrid really liked. He was called Erlend, and she’d wanted to marry him, but he was too young and poor, so her father wouldn’t agree. He made her marry Gunnar instead. But Gunnar was jealous of Erlend, and when they met he picked a quarrel with him, and Erlend defended himself, but he was alone and Gunnar had Harald and it was two against one. So Erlend died. Poor, poor Astrid!”

Peer thought of Harald’s long steel sword and winced.
Poor, poor Erlend!

“But what’s it got to do with us?” he asked.

“Harald and Gunnar were blamed for the killing. They’ve been outlawed for five years. That’s why they’re running for Vinland. Five years, Peer. And there’s no way of telling Ma and Pa. They’ll think we’re never coming back.”

Peer’s heart dropped like a stone. “I
knew
Harald and Gunnar couldn’t be trusted. Bjorn even said they were running from justice. He didn’t say they’d been outlawed, though.”

Hilde said miserably, “It’s my own fault. I wanted to come so much, I didn’t let anything put me off. Now I keep thinking of that story Sigrid was telling, about the boy who sailed across the sea. Remember it? East of the sun and west of the moon, and he was away for so long his mother and father thought he was dead. And I was mean to Sigrid and wouldn’t let her finish it—and now who knows how long it will be before I see her again?” She dashed a hand across her eyes.

“Hilde, it’ll be all right. We’re fine. They won’t start worrying for ages, and by then we’ll have found a way to get home.” Peer scowled suddenly. “But Astrid—she should have told you about this.”

“I know,” said Hilde. “She wanted a friend. It was selfish of her—like kidnapping the Nis, I suppose. She wants it to help with the housework in Vinland. But she’s really sorry now, Peer. She was crying last night.”

She cried to make you feel sorry for her
, thought Peer, but there was no point in saying so. “What about the crew?” he asked. “Are they all in on this?”

She said despondently, “They know about the killing. Everyone does. Harald joked about it, remember? He made it sound funny. It didn’t seem real. But the five-year sentence … Well, I’m sure Arnë doesn’t know, Peer, or he’d have said.”

“You’re right,” Peer conceded. He looked at Hilde’s forlorn face and felt a rush of angry determination. “I promised Ralf I’d bring you home, and I will, even if I have to build a ship with my own hands,” he swore. Then his eyes opened wide. “Wait, Hilde, there
is
another ship. The
Long Serpent!
We’ve forgotten about Thorolf. He’s no outlaw. He’ll help us.”

Hilde’s face cleared. “Thorolf! Of course!”

“Thorolf’s a good man.” Peer stopped and thought. “He’ll be there. He settled in Vinland. Why should he leave? Even if he went away for the winter, like Gunnar, he’ll be heading back there for the summer to cut more timber, just like us. One way or the other, we’re bound to meet him.”

“And maybe we could come home on the
Long Serpent
. On your father’s ship, Peer. Funny to think it might rescue us!” Hilde looked far more cheerful. She added rather shyly, “You always think of a way out.”

The sun seemed to be shining twice as brightly. It was a beautiful morning. Peer put his arm around her shoulders and said gaily, “You see? Nothing to worry about. On to—where? West of the sun?”

“East of the sun,” Hilde corrected him.

“Oh, that won’t do; we’re sailing west—”

“Would you like to know where we are, Hilde?”

It was Arnë, cutting across him in a loud, rude voice. Hilde turned, startled.

“Can you see those clouds?” Arnë took her elbow, deftly detaching her from Peer, and pointed to the northwest, where some vague, steamy, ghostly clouds lay above the horizon. “That’s where the Faroe Islands are, the Islands of Sheep. We’ll be passing them later.”

“Land,” breathed Hilde. “I’m already missing it.”

“We won’t be setting foot there, alas,” Arnë laughed. “Just passing by, on our way west.” He gave her one of his wide smiles. His beard was already growing through; the glittering stubble gave him a raffish, attractive air. Peer’s hand went to his own smooth chin. Arnë put a foot up against the side timbers and leaned there.
Posing deliberately
, Peer thought.

Several white gulls with long black-tipped wings had appeared out of nowhere and were flying above the ship. Ignoring Peer, Arnë said to Hilde, “See those gulls? That’s a sure sign we’re not far from land. Maybe it was one of those that was screaming last night.” Hilde flicked a humorous glance at Peer—and the gray surface of the sea shattered without warning. Out shot three, four, five dark curving bodies, and plunged back in wings of spray. Arnë’s pose slipped, and he grabbed at the gunwale to steady himself. There was a shout from Magnus at the tiller: “Dolphins!” Harald raced
along the starboard side, shoving Peer out of his way.

“Dolphins!” Hilde leaned out over the side. “Look at them go!”

The dolphins were springing out of the water again, traveling faster than the ship.

Something like a long black needle flashed out from
Water Snake’s
bow and sank into the waves.

Hilde whirled around. “It’s Harald. He threw a harpoon!”

“Missed,” came a disappointed yell. Harald leaned over the side, hauling in the line and retrieving his dripping harpoon.

Astrid picked her way over the deck behind them, stepping daintily as a disapproving cat. “He just likes killing things.” She eyed Harald as he scrambled lightly back toward them, harpoon in hand. He was laughing, and his long golden hair hung loose to his waist.