Troll Fell (14 page)

“Have you found them?”

“No, not a sign. Ma, the trolls are out there. It's so
dark, I can't see anything. They've been snowballing me.
Ma, can the trolls have stolen them?” She clutched
Gudrun's arm and they stared at each other, white-faced.

“We must tell Eirik,” said Gudrun. She ran to him
and shook his shoulder. “Eirik, wake up! Wake up, Sigurd
and Sigrid are missing!”

Eirik opened his eyes with a start and listened,
bewildered, while Hilde and Gudrun gabbled.

“They're missing.”

“It was after Bjørn left!”

“No, it was before!”

“They went out with you the first time.”

“I know, but—”

“Did they ever come back in?”

“I don't remember. Did they, Grandfather?”

Eirik slapped his knee in irritation. “What are you
talking about?” he asked.

Hilde repeated the story in desperation. “They're
lost
!
In the
snow
! And the
trolls
are out! And I made them go!
Oh, if only they come back, I'll never be mean to them
again! Sweet little Sigrid with her little fair plaits!” She
began to cry.

“Have you looked for them?” asked Eirik. Gudrun's
control broke.

“Of
course
she's looked for them! Why can't you
listen
?
Oh, whatever shall we do? My poor little twins, lured
away to die in the snow. Oh, I told Ralf there'd be trouble
with the trolls, I
told
him, but did he ever listen to me? Oh,
Sigurd, Sigrid, what shall we do?” She threw her apron
over her head and sat down crying hysterically. Hilde
hugged her, but Eirik struggled upright in his chair.

“Hush, Gudrun, hush,” he began tentatively. This
having no effect, he cleared his throat and then
thundered, “Woman!”

It worked. Gudrun raised a startled face from her apron.
She dabbed at her eyes and gave a final sniff and hiccup.

“Will you be quiet?” demanded Eirik. He got to his feet
in great excitement. “It's not the trolls. It's not the trolls, I
say. It's the Grimssons who've stolen our children away!”

“The Grimssons?” asked Gudrun wonderingly.

“Of course it is!” Eirik raised his stick and whacked
it down. “What did you tell us about them, Hilde? Didn't
they want a pair of children? And isn't tonight
midwinter's eve?”

“They've taken
Sigrid
?” screamed Hilde. “They've
taken
Sigurd
and
Sigrid
?”

There was pandemonium.

“I'll kill them!” yelled Hilde, shaking her fists. Alf
leaped to his feet, barking loudly. Eirik was still explaining.
“… crept up under cover of the dark and snow – probably
followed Arnë and Bjørn – lay in wait for the children—”

“All that fuss when you fell over,” gasped Hilde,
remembering. “Perhaps they grabbed them then! There
did seem a lot of big footprints, but I never thought—
Oh, I can't bear it! They'll be so frightened.” She turned
round. “Mother, where are you going?”

Gudrun, white-lipped, was wrapping herself up. “To
look for them, of course. Hilde, you stay here and look
after Grandpa.”

“By Odin,” shouted Eirik furiously, grabbing for his
boots, “you take me for a fool, you do! Hilde, you will stay
here. Gudrun, you may come with me. We shall go to
Arnë Egilsson's and raise the village. Ha!” He stamped his
foot down into a boot and broke into an old battle chant.

Hilde looked at her mother helplessly. Gudrun
shrugged. Her pale face relaxed and her set mouth
softened into a very faint smile.

“He's exactly like his son,” she remarked proudly.

Peer leaned against the privy wall, taking deep slow
breaths to fight down the panic. 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.

He crouched down, shivering, wrapping his arms
round his knees to try and preserve some warmth. The
uneven dirt floor was usually wet, but now the puddles
had frozen hard. It was too dark to see. He closed his eyes.
If he did that, he could pretend there was a light. He could
pretend the door was open – that he could walk out.

The only comfort was that Loki had got away. Peer
couldn't think what would happen to him or where he
would go, but at least Grendel had not killed him. It was
Grendel who was dead!

“Never thought I'd be grateful to Granny
Greenteeth,” he muttered through chattering teeth.

Everything else was a disaster. Baldur and Grim were on
their way up to Hilde's farm. They would capture her. He
imagined the two big men kicking the door open and
simply dragging her out. How could her mother and her
old grandpa stop them? He groaned aloud. Trapped here –
his heart banged painfully – trapped here, there was no way
he could warn Hilde or do anything to help. With Hilde in
their power, they would return to the mill for him, Peer, and
drag the pair of them off up Troll Fell. Hilde and he would
become slaves of the trolls, and the Grimssons would collect
their golden reward.

As for Loki, he would probably die in the woods, lost
and cold and starving. He was a pet, with no chance of
surviving in the wilds! Peer groaned again in anguish.

There was a slithering sound somewhere over in the
corner. Peer went very still. New fear tingled through
him. He had completely forgotten about the other
inhabitants of this privy.

The slithering sound came again, accompanied by a
sort of creaking noise. Peer imagined somebody hoisting
themselves through one of the holes in the wooden seat.
Now there was a sound of snuffly breathing. Trying to
control his own breathing he sat motionless.

A voice spoke suddenly. “'Oo's there?” it squeaked.

Peer dared not answer. There were some more
creaking and slithering noises. A second voice spoke
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. Black shadows moved dizzily down the
walls as 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, twisting this way and that. It spotted Peer and
there was a squeal.

“Ooh! Look at that!”

“It's a boy,” declared the first one in deep disgust.

Peer had never seen such strange-looking 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!

The one in the corner sneezed juicily and the flame
bent and danced wildly.

“Don't blow it out!” snapped the other.

“Can't help having a cold,” said the first one
defensively, smearing its hand across its face. Its great
nose wobbled.

“Are you – lubbers?” quavered Peer.

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
awkwardly 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.

Peer cleared his throat. “I don't want to be here,” he
began cautiously.

“
No one
wants to be here,” interrupted the first
lubber. “
We
don't want to be here. Do we?” it asked its
friend.

“No, I mean – my uncles locked me in,” Peer
explained.

The lubber seemed astonished.

“You mean you can't get out?” it asked.

“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.”

There was a moment's silence, while 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 to be any reply to that. During the
next minute's silence both the lubbers came a little bit
closer again.

Peer shifted anxiously. Quietly he pushed the door,
testing it. It would not move. The Grimssons must have
stacked half the woodpile against it.

“That's interesting, your light,” he said quickly. “How
do you do it? I mean, what does it burn?”

“Gas,” said the first lubber. But Peer had never heard
of gas.

“Plenty of gas down there,” said the second lubber,
pointing into the hole behind him.

“Where there's muck, there's gas,” they chimed
together.

“It's the only benefit of living in a place like this,” said
the first lubber.

“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
like a lantern, purple and red. 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,
almost in 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 feel 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 was a
scramble, two splashes, and the light went out. Peer was
alone in the dark, though a mumbling, grumbling
argument seemed to be going on in the pit below.

A small pearly light dawned near the roof. Peer
looked up.

“Thank you, Nis!” he said in heart felt gratitude.

“That's all right, Peer Ulfsson,” said the Nis. It giggled
proudly. “Lubbers is fools, no match for Nithing!”

“No, I'm sure they're not,” said Peer. His legs gave
way and he sat down.

“Get up! Get up!” hissed the Nis.

“What for?” groaned Peer.

“What for?” The Nis clicked its tongue in disbelief.
“For to escape, of course! Hurry! Hurry!”

Peer didn't move. “Nis, I'm sorry, but I can't get
through little holes like you do. And the door's barred
with dozens of tree trunks, by the feel of it. I'm trapped!”

The Nis nearly spat, it was so irritated.

“‘The door is barred, I can't get out,'” it mimicked.
“What is the knife for? To cut your way out through the
thatch, of course!”

“Of course!” cried Peer, jumping to his feet. He
climbed up on to the wooden seat (hoping no lubber
would snatch at his ankles) and began stabbing away at
the tightly packed bundles of reeds that made up the low
roof. The Nis sat swinging its legs and muttering to itself.
It was sitting at the edge of a narrow tunnel running
through the thatch; a rat hole perhaps. As Peer chopped
away he discovered to his delight that the roof was
almost rotten, and riddled with holes, birds' nests and
passages. He shoved his way through, cursing as the thick
snow covering the roof 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, trying to sit up. “Loki, you're
safe! All right now, stop it, that's enough! Stop it!”

He pushed Loki off and got up, gulping down fresh
air in freezing lungfuls. It was snowing again. The Nis
went scampering past him 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 minutes all Peer
could do was lean shuddering over the long hearth,
warming himself above the embers. The fire was dying;
his uncles must have been away for at least an hour. Peer
was afraid they would soon be back, but he had to get
warm first. The red and violet embers gave hardly any
light, but they were still hot. He turned himself 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 in the dim light.

“I don't know how to thank you,” Peer said. “You've
saved my life, and you saved Loki earlier, didn't you? You
pushed down all that snow off the roof.”

The Nis scratched itself uncomfortably and skipped
down on to the floor where it sat cross-legged near the
fire, spreading out its long spindly fingers.

“Why did you do it?” Peer asked. “I thought you
were so keen on this wedding.”

The Nis looked at him sideways. “They hasn't invited
me,” it said, dolefully.

“Oh…”

“Nobody remembers poor me,” said the Nis
miserably. Its head drooped and its lower lip wobbled.
“Such a big wedding… the hill to be raised on red pillars.
So much food… but they forgets the poor Nis.”

Peer was sorry to see the Nis so crestfallen. He tried
to cheer it up. “Never mind, Nis, perhaps they're only
inviting trolls!”

But the Nis shook his head. “Stromkarls, nixies,
merrows even, all are going!”

Peer could see it was no use. “I bet the lubbers aren't
going!” he said heartily. But this was a mistake.

“So he thinks the Nis and the lubbers can stay home
together, does he?” the Nis snapped, very put out. It
cracked its knuckles angrily and sat, twitching.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” cried Peer hastily. “I didn't mean
that. Of course the two cases are quite different. I'm sure
in your case it's been a – a dreadful oversight!”

The Nis was appeased. It pursed its lips and nodded
slowly.

“They'll probably apologise!” Peer invented. “But,
Nis,” he went on, “Loki and I have to escape before my
uncles get back. They went to get Hilde, so they can
take the two of us up to Troll Fell and give us to the
trolls.”

He jumped up. “But it's not going to happen!” he said
fiercely. “If I'm not here, they won't have the pair they
need. And I'm leaving! I've had enough of living with
Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim!”

“Leaving for where?” asked the Nis inquisitively.

“Hammerhaven,” said Peer. “I know some people
there.” He took a deep breath. Brand and Ingrid would
look after him for a while, he was sure. The only problem
(and a big one) would be getting there alive, in the
freezing depths of midwinter.

“Right!” he muttered. “I'm having what's mine, to
start with!” He strode over to the locked bin where the
money was and rattled the lid. He glanced at the Nis.

“I need to break into this. Any ideas?”