Troll Fell (18 page)

“And keep them quiet,” ordered the troll princess.
“Or I'll bite them!” She cast a critical eye over Hilde and
Peer. “Come here, you two. Let me look at you.” Her
brother beckoned to Peer. Hilde squeezed Sigurd and
Sigrid, whispering, “Hush now! It's all right. Wait here!”

“Humph!” said the troll princess. “They're bigger and
stronger. I suppose that's better. Oh! Look at her boots!
Why, they're better than mine!”

Hilde looked down. It was true she was wearing a
good pair, made by her father and embroidered round
the tops in red and blue thread.

The princess hoisted her skirts and showed a foot
shod in a clumsy wooden clog.

“Let her have 'em,” Peer advised from the corner of
his mouth.

“Take them,” said Hilde quietly. She pulled them off
and gave them to the princess, who kicked off her clogs.
Hilde slipped her own feet into them with a slight
shudder.

The princess tugged the boots on. She was very
pleased, and stuck out her feet. “Now I shall be finer
than the Dovreking's daughter! They pinch, it's true –
but that's the price of elegance!”

“Now, there's plenty to do,” the Gaffer shouted. “Has
the beer come in yet?”

“Not yet. The bog-wife has been brewing for us all
week. I ordered twelve barrels. When the steam rises from
her vats, the humans say, ‘Oh, there's mist on the
marshes!'” laughed his son.

“Twelve barrels of strong black beer? Excellent, my
boy!” The Gaffer licked his lips with a long red tongue
and turned to his daughter. “Take the girl away, my dear.
She can help you to dress. As for you, boy, roll barrels or
move tables. Make yourself useful!”

Peer looked at Hilde with a jolt of fright. They were
being separated! They would be alone! Hilde
understood, but she could only squeeze his hand and
whisper, “I'll take the children with me. Good luck! I'll
see you later.”

And so Peer was set to work. It was like a fevered
dream. The tables were now in place, so he joined a
group of trolls sweeping the dance floor. It was made of
polished black stone from an old volcano. As soon as it
was shining like a sheet of black ice he was called away
to help to stack barrels. The bog-wife's beer had just
arrived. Meanwhile the nixies were laying the tables
with a gold plate at every place. There were no knives:
the guests would eat with their fingers.

Or paws, or claws
, thought Peer, looking at the strange
creatures working beside him. No two trolls were alike.
He stopped one that went trotting past him with huge
eyes and a long beak like a curlew, and asked it what to
do next.

“Come to the kitchens,” piped the troll. “Help the
cooks!” It seized his arm and rushed him over to a dark
crack in the floor. Hot air rose from it, and the strangest
smells. As Peer teetered on the edge, the troll pushed
him. With a cry he shot down into the darkness,
whipping down a natural slide, and was spat out into a
lower cavern filled with a red mist of steams and smokes
and cooking fires. He landed on all fours. The troll
popped out beside him. Peer got up painfully, rubbing
bruised knees. He choked on the fumes.

“Whatever are they cooking?” he coughed. The troll
piped something hard to hear – had it really said, “Frog
soup, eel pie, spittle cakes – bone bread?”

So these were the kitchens. Hot fires blazed
everywhere, and frenzied trolls rushed about with ladles,
wooden spoons, colanders and platters. A rhythmic
thumping came from one corner where a couple of
trolls were working a huge pestle and mortar, pounding
a pile of bones into smaller and smaller fragments.
Nearby was a stone quern for grinding them into flour,
and a series of wooden troughs where several small trolls
danced up and down on the dough. Batches of the gritty
bread were being lifted out of the ovens.

Great steaming pots hung over the fires. Peer glanced
into one. It held a bubbling glutinous mess that looked
like frogspawn. He gulped and backed off.

By one fire a greasy little troll was crouching,
turning a spit on which a whole pig was roasting. Or
was it a—?

“Dog!” squeaked the troll. That wasn't –
Grendel
, by
any chance, he wondered? It looked big enough. He
looked quickly away, feeling ill, and wondered how he
and Hilde would live. Never, never, could they eat troll
food.

We'll escape
, he swore to himself.
They can't guard us for
ever. We'll pretend to be happy. When they trust us, we'll escape.
Perhaps we can follow the stream – it must find its way out
somewhere!

A particularly pungent smell caught him in the throat,
and he coughed till he retched. Now the Hall above
seemed an airy refuge. How could he get back up? Surely
the food couldn't go that way? Through streaming eyes he
spotted a flight of steps. His troll had forgotten him, and
he darted across and ran up a twisting spiral. Emerging
into the cool Hall he blinked. It must all have taken longer
than he'd thought, for the tables were all prepared and
guests were arriving and being shown to their seats. It was
confusing to look at so many different creatures, but he
did notice the merrows, sitting in their tubs of water. The
women were beautiful, with long mournful faces, but the
men had swarthy green skins that looked rough and scaly.
Everywhere, gold gleamed and silver shone. Jewels winked
on the crowns of the Gaffer of Troll Fell and of his son
and daughter, who stood in front of the throne
welcoming the arrivals. Peer noticed that the crow was
now perching on the rim of the Gaffer's crown, where it
looked like a strange black crest.

Where was Hilde? Over there, sitting forlornly on the
rocks by the waterfall, with Sigurd beside her and Sigrid
on her lap. He waved his hand. She spotted him and gave
him a wan smile. And there, on the far side, were Baldur
and Grim, seated at a table, heads together, deep in some
grumbling conversation. They wouldn't go without their
gold. Peer smiled grimly: he thought they would have to
wait a very long time! A group of pig-snouted musicians
tuned up – well, maybe they were playing? One blew a
twisted ram's horn; another sawed notes from a one-
string fiddle; a third rattled a stick up and down a sheep's
jawbone. It was a terrible noise.

There was a shout. “The King of the Dovrefell! He's
arriving, he's here!”

“Raise up the hill!” shouted the Gaffer of Troll Fell.
“Time for some fun!”

With a rumbling and rattling of all the dishes on the
tables, the roof began to rise. All round the Hall a gap
appeared, a widening strip of night sky, fringed with
trailing roots and ragged earth. Clods rained down from
the edges, and a draught of cold air rushed into the Hall,
smelling of snow, fresh earth and freedom. Hoisted up on
four strong red pillars, the hill stood open to the
midwinter night, spilling light to all sides. Dazzlingly
bright, Troll Fell shone like a beacon.

As the musicians struck up a lively march, sadly out of
tune, the King of the Dovrefell and his party swept down
into the Hall on the night wind. They landed in a
chattering group, collecting themselves and adjusting their
clothes. Peer pushed forwards, trying to see. The King of
the Dovrefell was taller than the Gaffer of Troll Fell, very
cool and dignified. He threw back the hood of his white
bearskin cloak and strode forward, with his son behind
him and his daughter clutching his arm. Peer couldn't see
her face. He remembered that this was the princess whose
elder sister had two tails. Hadn't the Nis said she was
beautiful? She lifted her veil, and a murmur of admiration
ran round the hall. The Troll Fell princess was looking as
cross as two sticks. Peer edged round curiously.

The princess had three tails. Two were draped
nonchalantly over her elbows; the other sprouted from
the middle of her forehead and was knotted up elegantly
to keep it out of her eyes. The Troll Fell prince greeted
her eagerly, looking smitten already. Peer closed his eyes
and shook his head.

The Gaffer and the Dovreking clasped hands.
“Welcome!” boomed the Gaffer. He slapped the
Dovreking on the back. “A drink to warm you after your
journey! And we'll let the young people get to know
each other, hey?” He laughed loudly.

The two princesses were bristling at one another like
cats.

“What a funny little place you have here,” observed
the Dovre princess loudly. “Very rustic. I see you have a
sod roof. At home in the Dovrefell, our hall is so high
that the roof is carved from ice.”

The Troll Fell princess smiled coldly. “That must be
very chilly. Here, we enjoy simple comfort, and despise
ostentation.”

“I imagine you have to,” replied the Dovrefell
princess.

“Will you dance?” asked the Troll Fell Prince,
hurriedly. But his bride said she was tired and would
rather sit down.

The Dovre prince bowed to the Troll Fell princess
and remarked that her dress was charming (
The spiders
must have finished it in time
, thought Peer!) but after that
he fell silent and found very little to say. They sat stiffly
together and the Troll Fell princess yawned.

“Now then! Brighten up!” shouted the Old Man. He
and the Dovreking were laughing and drinking, and
seemed to be getting along famously. “You're not
allowed to quarrel till
after
you're married, you know!
You boys, don't be shy. Give your brides a hug and a kiss
to break the ice!”

“Vulgar old fellow!” muttered the Dovre princess.

“Let's exchange presents,” boomed the King of the
Dovrefell in a deep voice. “That'll cheer them all up! We
brought a few small things from the Dovrefell.”

He snapped his fingers. Two stout trolls stepped
forwards with a heavy sack. They untied the mouth and
poured a stream of jewels on to the floor. Diamonds,
rubies, amethysts, emeralds, rattled out of the sack like
peas and lay on the floor in a shimmering drift. Many
bounced and rolled under the tables. Baldur and Grim
crashed heads as they both lunged to pick up a skipping
diamond. They climbed off their chairs and grovelled,
crawling about stuffing more gems into their pockets.

“Very pretty!” said the Gaffer. From its perch on his
head the crow peered down at the glowing heap and
croaked derisively. The Gaffer beckoned to various
servants who went scuttling off and came staggering
back with piles of gold: necklaces, rings, bracelets, chains
and crowns.
It looks like a
dragon's
hoard!
thought Peer, his
eyes widening.

“Part of a dragon's hoard,” said the Gaffer, waving his
hand casually. Peer glanced at his uncles. They were
stretching their necks, and their mouths were wet with
excitement.

The Dovreking frowned, and snapped his fingers again.
This time his trolls laid out piles of beautifully woven and
embroidered clothes, each one of which would have taken
a human seamstress a year to make. But these were not
made by mortals. There were scarves snipped from the
trailing ends of the Northern Lights, embroidered by
fireflies. There were petticoats trimmed with the most
delicate frost. There were seven-league boots lined with
ermine. The Troll Fell princess got a cloak of moonshine
which pleased her so much she threw her arms round the
Dovreking and gave him a kiss.

“Aha!” said the Dovreking, pinching her cheek. But
the Gaffer grinned triumphantly.

“Now for a little extra – a special present,” he gloated.
“You won't have brought anything like
this
from the
Dovrefell!”

Two little trolls dashed forwards and caught Peer by
the arms. They dusted him down quickly and hung a
clammy cloak over his shoulders. Two more were doing
the same for Hilde. Peer's heart leaped uncomfortably.
He caught Hilde's eye, wishing he could tell her his idea
about escaping along the stream. She mouthed at him,
“Here we come!”

Together they stepped forwards.
Better make a good job
of it!
thought Peer gloomily, and he bowed low. Hilde was
curtseying to the three-tailed princess, who screamed in
mock terror and clutched her bridegroom's arm.

“Oooh! What is it? What is it for?”

“A little rarity,” the Gaffer boasted. “Something you
don't see every day. Your Highness's new maidservant!”

“Humans!”

“Yes, of course!” broke in the Troll Fell princess. “We
wanted something different.” She pushed the pile of
jewels with a contemptuous toe. “We see so much of this
kind of thing. We decided to be original!”

The two free tails of the Dovre princess swished
angrily; the one knotted up above her face could only
twitch.

“What a strange idea,” she said. “She's very plain. All
that unhealthy daylight, I suppose. Turn around, girl. I
thought so! This ugly creature has no tail at all!”

“We don't have tails!” said Peer, angry for Hilde, who
was blushing miserably.

“Take her away at once and fix one on!”

“Oh, no! Please!” cried Hilde. “We think tails are ugly
– only on humans, I mean!” she added hastily.

“Oh, what an insult!” screamed the Dovre princess.
But the Gaffer stepped forwards and bowed as gallantly
as he could. “Now, now,” he rumbled. “No cause for
concern. We all appreciate your beauty, my dear. I myself
have three eyes,” (he coughed modestly) “but three tails
are rare indeed.”

His daughter scowled. The Dovre princess simpered.

“No,” the Gaffer went on: “we've simply neglected
one small ceremony. After that, these humans will see
things as
we
do. Here, you two!” He snapped his fingers
and led them aside.

“Ceremony?” Peer asked apprehensively, as they
followed.

The Gaffer turned. “You haven't yet tasted our food
or drink! A morsel of bread, a sip of our beer, and you'll
see things our way for ever and ever!”

“For ever and ever?” Peer repeated blankly.

“Excuse me – but we'll think the Dovre princess is
beautiful?” asked Hilde.

“You will indeed,” agreed the Gaffer.

“Then we won't notice that tail growing out of her
face?”

“You'll glory in it!”

“And the food?” Peer was too shaken to be polite.
“We'll enjoy eating frog soup and rat stew?”

“And the music,” put in Hilde quickly. “At the
moment it sounds like – like a cat on the roof and a cow
in pain. It's giving me a headache.”

“I'm getting annoyed!” said the Gaffer ominously. He
squared up to them. “Now look! This is all a matter of
opinion! See my son! Isn't he handsome?”

Hilde looked. The Troll Fell prince swaggered a little.
He was wearing his bejewelled crown tilted over one
hairy ear.

“We can't have servants who don't admire us!” went
on the Gaffer. “Once you've drunk our brew you'll
think black is white! You'll think night is day, and
wrong is right! And so they are. It's only another way
of looking.”

“But then,” said Hilde, appalled, “we won't be us!”
She looked round wildly. “We are what we think! We
won't be human any more. Inside, we'll be trolls!”

“AND WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THAT?”
roared the Gaffer furiously.

There was a moment's silence. Peer and Hilde stared
at the glittering crowds, and then at each other.
Everything seemed very sharp and clear, and also a little
distant. Peer tasted fear, sour in his mouth. Between the
red pillars supporting the roof he could see the dark
spaces of the night sky. Out there lay freedom, the snowy
slopes, the stars. But he would never reach it.

We won't escape
, he thought in horror.
We'll never follow
the stream out of the hill. I thought we'd get out one day, even
if we had to wait months or years. But now!

He shuddered. He who eats a troll's food becomes a
troll. And so, when he and Hilde had eaten a mouthful
of bone bread, or drunk a drop of the bog-wife's beer,
they wouldn't even want to leave. They would live for
ever like earthworms under Troll Fell. They might still
look the same, but on the inside they would have
changed completely.

We might as well be dead
.

One of the Gaffer's trolls came trotting up. Dimly
Peer recognised it, the kitchen troll with the long beak.
It bowed to the Gaffer, presenting a gold platter and a
cup. The platter was heaped with fragments of crumbly
whitish bread. The cup was Ralf's cup, the Bride Cup,
the one they had brought with them: and it was half full
of beer.

“Right!” said the Gaffer, briskly lashing his tail.
“Who's going first?”

Hilde met Peer's eyes, despairing but steady.

“I'm so sorry I got you into this, Peer,” she muttered.

“You didn't!” said Peer. “I wanted to come.”

She reached out for the goblet, but Peer was quicker
and snatched it up first. “Wait!” he said breathlessly.

He looked down into the cup. The dark liquid
swirled, a bottomless whirlpool. He glanced up, to look
at the world for the last time as himself. His throat closed
up. There was a drumming in his ears. Or was that the
Gaffer, growling as threateningly as Grendel himself? He
bent his head over the cup, lifting it reluctantly to his
lips, spinning out the seconds…

The moment dragged past. There was no time left.

And Hilde shouted. “Peer!
Stop!
” He lowered the cup.
Out in the dark beyond the pillars, he saw lights.
Lanterns! People were out there, real people struggling
up through the snow! Someone else shouted; a dog
barked. The trolls began to turn round, chattering
uneasily. With a rattle of feathers the crow took off from
the Gaffer's crown and swept out into the darkness and
back again, croaking a harsh warning. More shouts,
closer! A scuffle broke out, a clang of metal! Then uproar
as a band of rough-looking men came shoving their way
into the Hall. They were staring about in amazement,
pointing here and there. Hey, that was Bjørn! And there
was Arnë! But who was that big man in front, wearing a
dented iron helmet over his long hair? He was looking
about anxiously and shouting, “Hilde! Hilde!”

Peer felt Hilde reel against him. He turned and saw
her shocked white face, mouth open, eyes like stars.
“Peer! That's my
father
!” she whispered.

“Pa!
Pa!
” There were screams from Sigurd and Sigrid,
who picked themselves up from the corner where they
had been sitting quiet as mice, and tore across the floor
to fling themselves at their father. Ralf hoisted Sigrid to
his shoulder. Behind him, Gudrun appeared, bundled in
furs, her thin face alive with gladness as she seized
Sigurd.

The trolls backed away, and the Dovre princess
screamed. Two dogs dashed through the crowd, barking
madly. As neatly as if he were cutting through a flock of
sheep, Alf threaded his way up to Hilde, followed by
Loki, who threw himself madly on Peer, bowling him
over. Both dogs were bursting with pride and excitement.

“The dogs knew!” Ralf bellowed, thrusting his way
towards Hilde. “By thunder, they knew! They've dragged
us all the way up from the fjord – ripped my clothes, see?
We had to leave poor old Eirik behind – he'd have killed
himself trying.
Good
dog!
Good
dog!” (This to Alf, who
was fawning round him.) He reached Hilde and
wrapped her in a bear hug. “The dogs showed us the
way, but the gate was shut!” He squeezed her half to
death. “We've been desperate – searching the slopes for
hours. Thank God they opened the hill!”