Troll Fell. Katherine Langrish

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СКАЧАТЬ that madman Baldur Grimsson coming back over Troll Fell.”

      “What happened?” asked Hilde sharply.

      “Nothing to worry about! He yelled a few insults, as usual. That’s not my news! Hilde, you’ll never guess—” Ralf stopped and gave her a strange look, excited and apprehensive.

      “What? What is it?” Hilde stopped grooming the pony.

      “There’s a new ship in the harbour, Hilde!” His blue eyes flashed with excitement. “A new longship, ready to sail! And I – well, no, I’d better tell your mother first. Now hurry, hurry up and you’ll soon hear all about it!” He tugged her long hair and left her.

      Hilde bit her lip thoughtfully. She rubbed the pony dry and threw down fresh straw, feeling uncomfortable and alarmed – trying not to think what he might be up to.

      She wanted to be inside with the family. It was creepy out here with the wind howling outside. The small lantern cast huge shadows. She whistled to keep up her courage, but the whistle faded.

      Kari, the little barn cat who kept down the rats and mice, came strolling along the edge of the manger. She ducked her head, purring loudly as Hilde tickled her. But she suddenly froze. Her ears flattened, her eyes glared and she spat furiously. Hilde turned and saw with horror a thin black arm coming through the loophole in the door. It felt around for the latch. She screamed and hit it with the broom. Immediately, the hand vanished.

      “Trolls!” Hilde hissed. “Not again!” Dropping the broom, she grabbed the pitchfork and waited breathlessly, but nothing more happened. After a moment she let out her breath, tiptoed to the door and peered out. Falling rain glittered in the doorway. At her feet a black shadow shifted. Squatting there in the mud, all arms and legs, with its knees up past its large black ears, was a thing about the size of a large dog. It made her think of a spider, a fat, paunchy body slung between long legs. She saw damp, bald skin twitching in the rain. Glowing yellow eyes blinked from a black pug face. For one fascinated second they stared at each other, troll and girl: then Hilde was splattered with mud as the troll sprang away in a couple of long liquid jumps.

      Hilde flew across the yard and wrenched open the farmhouse door to tell everyone about it. She tumbled straight into a colossal row.

      Her father and mother were shouting so loudly that Hilde put both hands over her ears. The door slammed again with a deafening bang. And so she forgot the troll, and didn’t see it leap as suddenly as a frog on to the low eaves of their thick turf roof and go scrambling up to the ridge.

      “I never heard such a ridiculous idea in my WHOLE LIFE!” Hilde’s mother was yelling at Ralf. “You’re a FARMER, not some sort of VIKING!”

      “Why should it be ridiculous?” Ralf bellowed back. “That’s what half those fellows ARE – farmers and Vikings!”

      His wife made a spitting sound of contempt, and Ralf, scarlet in the face, leaned back against the wall in an effort to look careless and cool. It failed badly. He folded his arms and put on a defiant smile, and Gudrun went for him. Plaits flying, she grabbed him by the arms and shook him.

      “It’s not FUNNY!” she shouted up at his face.

      “Mother – Father! Stop it,” cried Hilde. “What’s happening? Stop it – you’ll wake up the little ones!”

      In fact the twins were already awake – and bawling.

      The house shivered as the wind managed an extra strong blast. All the birch trees growing up the sides of Troll Fell reeled and danced. The troll clinging to the roof whimpered, and one of its large black ears blew inside out like a dog’s. It shook itself crossly and squirmed along the ridge to where a hole had been cut to let smoke escape. It peered over. Below was the fierce red eye of the fire. The troll got a lungful of heat and smoke and pulled back, coughing and chattering to itself: “Hututututu!” But the sound was lost in a rattle of icy rain. Grains of sleet fell hissing into the fire.

      “Very well,” said Gudrun, suddenly deadly quiet, letting Ralf go. “Let’s hear what your father thinks about this! You, his only son, to go off and leave him? To go sailing off into storms and whirlpools and goodness knows what else, on a longship? How can you think of it? It will break his heart!”

      “Why don’t you let him speak for himself?” Ralf roared. “And why don’t you give us both some supper? Starving us while you nag at me!”

      Hilde glanced at her grandfather, Eirik, who was sitting in his favourite place near the fire, and saw his eye brighten at the suggestion of supper. Gudrun saw it too. She fetched them both a jug of ale and a bowl of groute, warm barley porridge, served as Eirik liked it with a big lump of butter.

      “Now, Eirik, tell Ralf what you think of this mad idea,” she demanded, twisting her hands in her apron while Eirik carefully stirred in the butter. “Going off on a Viking ship? Imagine! You must forbid it. He’ll listen to you.”

      But Eirik’s eyes lit up. “Aha, if only I were a young fellow again! A brand-new ship that rides like a swan. Like a dragon! Long Serpent, they’re calling her. Oh, to follow the whales’ road, seeking adventure!” He tasted his groute and his eye fell on Hilde. “‘The whales’road’ – d’you know what that means, my girl?”

      “Yes, Grandfather,” said Hilde kindly. “It’s the sea.”

      Eirik was off. Leaning back in his chair he broke into a chant from some long saga he was making about Harald the Seafarer, waving his spoon to the beat. Gudrun rolled her eyes crossly, but Hilde clapped softly in time to the rhythm. Ralf tiptoed over to the twins, little Sigurd and Sigrid. He sat down between them, an arm round each, and whispered. Suddenly they came jumping out of bed.

      “Pa’s going to be a Viking!” they shrieked.

      “He’s going to bring us presents!”

      “An amber necklace!”

      “A real dagger!”

      Gudrun whirled round, her eyes flashing. “Ralf!” she cried. “Stop bribing those children!”

      Eirik’s poem reached its climax, all dead heroes and burning ships. He sat back happily. Ralf cheered. Gudrun glared at him.

      “Oh, that’s a fine way to end up, isn’t it, floating face down in the water? And very likely too. And who do you think is going to look after the farm while you’re away?”

      “Gudrun,” Ralf argued. “It’s only for the summer. Just a few weeks. I’ve sown the wheat and the oats already, and I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.”

      “And what about the sheep?” demanded Gudrun. “Somebody’s stealing them; three lambs gone already. It’s the trolls, or else those Grimsson brothers down at the mill. And that’s another thing. I can’t send our corn to the mill any longer, it comes back short – and dirty. Hilde and I do all the grinding. I don’t have time to run the farm!”

      Up on the roof the troll remembered the flavour of roast lamb. It licked its lips with a thin black tongue.

      “Speaking of the millers,” Ralf began, obviously hoping to change the subject, “did I tell you? I met Baldur Grimsson tonight as I came home!”

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