Troll Fell

“Well, well, well! Is he indeed?” he rumbled. He bent low and put his face close to Peer’s. In a hot gust of bad breath he whispered, “Do you know, sonny, you may be surprisingly useful?” Straightening, he bellowed, “Baldur? Guess what? Our little nevvie has some interesting news! Ralf Eiriksson has gone a-Viking. Leaving his family all alone.” He clapped Peer hard on the back and sent him staggering. “Come inside, my boy, and have some breakfast!”

With a sinking heart Peer realised that he had said the wrong thing. He followed his uncle into the mill, not noticing Loki trotting along behind him. It was so dark inside after the morning sunshine that he failed to see Grendel lying stretched out by the fire. But Grendel saw Loki. He surged to his feet like a hairy earthquake and strutted forwards, growling and bristling.

Peer whirled in alarm. Loki stood there, his tail wagging slower and slower as he lost confidence. Grendel crept forwards, throbbing with cruelty, his eyes riveted on the intruder, long trails of saliva drooling from his jaws.

“Grendel! Bad dog! Down!” cried Peer.

“He’ll not listen to you,” said Uncle Baldur scornfully from his seat at the table. Loki’s tail disappeared under his stomach. He raised his own short hackles in pitiful defiance.

“Please – quickly!” begged Peer, trying to bundle Loki backwards out of the door. “Tell him Loki’s a friend. Please! Can’t we introduce them, or something?”

In no hurry, Uncle Baldur finished his mouthful. “Down, Grendel!” he ordered. The huge dog flicked a glance at his master and hesitated.

“Get down, sir!” screamed Uncle Baldur, slapping his hand on the table. Slowly, Grendel sat. He shook his head, spattering Peer with froth and saliva, and at last lowered himself to the floor, still glaring at Loki with unforgiving menace.

Peer opened the door, and Loki vanished into the yard.

“Come here, laddie,” said Uncle Baldur to Peer, cutting himself some more cheese. He gulped his ale, spilling it down his front. Peer approached reluctantly till he was standing between his uncle’s outstretched legs. Crumbs of bread and cheese speckled his uncle’s beard. His stained shirt gaped open at the throat, exposing another tangle of black hair. A flea jumped out. Uncle Baldur pinched it between two thick fingers. When it popped, he wiped his fingers on his shirt and reached for more bread.

“See here,” he said to Peer, nodding at Grendel. “That dog only obeys me and Grim. Right? He hates other dogs. He’s a born fighter.”

“Killed half a dozen,” agreed Grim in a sort of proud growl.

“So if you want to keep your dog in one piece, you watch your step and start making yourself very very useful.” Uncle Baldur stared Peer straight in the eye. “Otherwise we might organise a little dogfight. Understand?”

Peer understood. He compressed his lips and nodded, as slightly as he dared.

“Right!” Baldur broke wind noisily and began to pick his teeth with a dirty fingernail. “Now what’s all this about Ralf Eiriksson?” he asked, exploring a back molar.

“I don’t know,” said Peer sullenly. “No!” he added quickly. “I mean, I talked to his daughter Hilde and she says he’s walked to Hammerhaven this morning. He’s going a-Viking for the summer. That’s all I know, I didn’t ask any more. I didn’t know you’d be interested,” he added feebly, hating himself for crawling.

His uncles winked at each other. Uncle Baldur removed the finger from his mouth and rubbed his hands together, chuckling gleefully. He kicked Peer on the ankle.

“Where did the girl go?”

“Down to the village. She was going to buy fish.”

“I want to see her on the way back,” said Uncle Baldur. He jabbed Peer in the chest. “You look out for her, and make sure you bring her to me. Right?”

He turned to the table, not waiting for Peer to reply, and tossed him a stale end of bread. “Eat that and get on with the chores,” he said abruptly. “Grim’ll show you what to do. And remember – fetch me that girl!”

CHAPTER 5

Trouble at the Mill

Hilde’s shoes sank into the wet sand and she rubbed her arms, willing the sun to climb higher. It was chilly here. The shadow of Troll Fell leaned over the beach and out across the water. The pebbles glistened from last night’s rain and from the retreating tide. Cold grey waves splashed on the shore.

“Half a dozen herring and a couple of crabs? Done!” agreed Bjørn cheerfully. He shouted to his brother who sat in the boat sorting the catch. “Find us a couple of good big crabs, Arnë!” He turned back to Hilde. “Any news?”

“I should say so!” said Hilde gloomily. “My father’s leaving – going off for the whole summer on a longship they’ve built at Hammerhaven.”

Bjørn whistled. “Hey, Arnë,” he yelled. “Come and listen to this!”

Arnë clambered out of the boat with a live crab in each hand, and Hilde discovered that explaining it all to two interested young men cheered her up – especially when Arnë fixed his dreamy blue eyes on her face.

“Lucky Ralf,” he said enviously. “I wish I’d heard about it. What’s the ship like?”

“Lovely,” Hilde assured him. “She’s got a dragon head, all carved and painted.”

“Yes,” Bjørn laughed, “but how long is she? How many oars?”

Hilde didn’t know. “Ask the boy at the mill,” she suggested waspishly. “He ought to know – his father built her.”

“What boy?”

“The millers’ nephew. I just met him this morning. They’ve taken him in because his father died.”

Bjørn’s eyebrows rose. “The millers have taken in an orphan? What’s he like?”

“He’s all right,” said Hilde without much enthusiasm. “He seems a bit nervous.”

“I’d be nervous in his shoes,” said Bjørn darkly. He elbowed his brother in the ribs. “Arnë! Dreamer! Hand over those crabs!”

With her basket full of herring and the two live crabs wrapped firmly in a cloth, Hilde rode whistling back up the steep path out of the village. The world brightened as the sun nudged up over the edge of the mountain. She thought about Pa. What a lovely morning to go to sea! How proud and happy he must feel!

Her high spirits lasted until she came in sight of the mill, crouching dismally under the trees. Even the spring sunshine could not gild its battered timbers and slimy black thatch. The brook rushed away from it, tumbling over itself in a white cascade as it tried to escape. Nobody happy had ever lived there.

Hilde gathered up her reins in case the millers’ huge dog ran out to frighten the pony. She felt sorry for the boy, Peer, but she didn’t want to stop. She trotted forwards, hoping to get past quickly. As she reached the bridge, Peer dashed out of the mill yard, waving. She drew rein.