Читать книгу Troll Fell - Katherine Langrish - Страница 11

Although the sky was fresh and clear, the yard still lay in chilly shadow. Peer splashed through the puddles, keeping a wary eye on the silent mill, its blind shutters and tattered thatch. The reed thatching had once been twisted into fancy horns at each end of the roof, now so damaged they looked like crooked ears. A dismal thread of smoke wavered from the smoke hole and trickled into the yard, as if it were too tired to rise. There was no sign of anyone awake.

Peer walked out of the yard and round the end of the building to the bridge. He leaned on the rail, looking upstream at the big wooden waterwheel. It towered higher than his head, a motionless monster, its dark teeth dripping. The central shaft, thick as a man’s thigh, ran through an aperture into the side of the mill. Peer recognised it, wincing. No wonder his head felt bruised!

He stared up the narrow channel of the mill race and shivered. A cold breath came off the water, which flowed listlessly under the wheel in inky creases, since the sluicegate was shut. Beside the wheel, the overspill from the millpond plunged into white fury over a little weir and went boiling down under the bridge. Hesitant swirls of foam detached themselves and went venturing up the millrace on back eddies, before losing heart and hurrying off downstream again. Peer watched the changing patterns until he felt dizzy. Then he crossed over and turned left up the bank to take a look at the millpond.

It was a gloomy place, even on this sunny morning. Twisted willows frowned into the water, as if they were studying their own reflections and disliked what they saw. Patches of green slime rotated slowly on the dark brown water, which seemed hardly to move except at the very edge of the weir, where it developed glassy streaks and furrows and tumbled smoothly over into the ferment below. Peer sniffed. There was a damp, cold reek about the place.

He walked further along the bank, till his way was blocked by a narrow, deep-cut channel, fed by an open sluice in the side of the millpond. The water sprayed in a glittering arc over a sill slotted between wooden posts, and dashed noisily away to join the tailrace below the bridge. Peer threw a leaf on to the surface of the pond and watched it move imperceptibly towards the open sluice, before suddenly flashing over and down.

He turned back. Loki had run off, nosing into the reeds with his tail high. He dashed back and jumped at Peer with muddy paws.

“Get down!” Peer pushed him off. “Phew! That mud stinks!” It was fine, thick, black mud, the sort that dries to a hard, grey shell. Peer grabbed Loki and tried to wipe his paws with a handful of grass, and Loki tried to help by lavishly licking both his own paws and Peer’s fingers. In the middle of this mess Peer heard a pony coming down the road towards the mill, and looked up.

A girl of about his own age was riding it, brightly dressed in a blue woollen dress with red stitching. On her head she wore a jaunty red and yellow cap, and her hair was done in two long plaits tied with pieces of red and blue wool. She sat sideways on the shaggy little pony, with a basket on her knee. Her eyes widened when she saw Peer, and she pulled the pony to a stop.

“Hello!” she called. “Who are you?”

She looked clean and colourful. Peer looked down at himself. His old clothes were drab and torn, and his hands were smeared with mud.

“My name’s Peer Ulfsson,” he mumbled.

“Ulf’s son?” said the girl. “Now wait, I know everyone, don’t tell me. I’ll get it. Yes! There was an Ulf who was old Grim’s stepson. Is that him?”

Peer nodded. “But he died last week,” he told her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Peer. Is that why you’re here? Have you—?”

“I’ve come to live with my uncles,” Peer agreed stolidly.

“That’s terrible for you!” the girl cried. “Whoops!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes gleamed. “Perhaps you like them?”

“No, not much,” said Peer cautiously. “What’s your name?”

“Hilde, Ralf ’s daughter. Welcome to the valley!” said Hilde with a flourish. “Come and visit us if you like. Ours is the highest farm in the valley, we own most of the north side of Troll Fell. You won’t meet my father Ralf, though, because he went away this morning. My mother’s really upset. He’s gone off to Hammerhaven to join some wretched new longship they’ve been building, and he’s going to be away all summer. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing!” Peer growled. “It’s the ship my father helped to build, that’s all!”

“Oh!” Hilde went red. She said awkwardly, “Then you and I ought to be friends. Pa says the ship is wonderful – he’s so proud to be sailing on her. Hey!” She pointed at Loki. “Look at your dog!”

They both laughed in relief. Loki and the pony had stretched out their necks as far as they could and were sniffing each other, nose to nose. The pony snorted loudly and Loki nearly fell over backwards in fright.

“Don’t let him go near that millpond,” Hilde warned seriously.

“Why not? He can swim.”

“I know, but Granny Greenteeth lives in there. That’s why there aren’t any ducks or moorhens. She pulls them under and eats them. So people say.”

“Really?” asked Peer with a shiver. He turned and looked at the sullen, brown water with its oily reflections. It was easy to believe that Hilde could be right.

“What’s she like?” he asked anxiously.

“She has green teeth, of course,” said Hilde. “Pointed. Some people say she has webbed feet. Green weedy hair. I don’t know, I’ve never seen her, but a man in the village met an enormous eel one night, sliding along in the grass – and that was her, too!”

“How did he know?” asked Peer reasonably.

“He just did! And that’s not all,” said Hilde darkly. “There are all sorts of spooky stories about this mill. I don’t envy you, living here. Still, you probably won’t have very much to do.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing I’m afraid your uncles are so unpopular that a lot of us went back to hand-grinding at home.” She pulled a face. “Mother makes me do it. I hate it. You see, the Grimssons are lazy. They think they’re so important just because they’re the millers, and yet the mill only runs once in a while. They’re always cheating people and not giving fair measure. Our flour used to come back full of chaff and dirt, which they put in on purpose. We even found a dead mouse once.”

“Why would they do that?” asked Peer in irritated disbelief. He began to think he didn’t like this girl. Couldn’t she say anything good about the place?

“We have a feud with them,” said Hilde cheerfully. “They claim they own one of our fields. They don’t, of course.” She grinned at him. “I suppose that means we have a feud with you, too, if you’re family.”

“A feud!” Peer exclaimed, ignoring the last bit. “And your father’s called Ralf?”

“Ralf Eiriksson.”

“I saw him last night! Didn’t he come over Troll Fell in all that rain? So that’s why my uncle was yelling. I thought I’d seen your pony before!”

“You were there? Pa never said. What happened exactly?”

“It was so dark and wet, he probably didn’t see me,” Peer told her. “I was getting soaked in the bottom of the cart. He came up behind us where the road is narrow. I don’t know who my uncle thought was coming, but as soon as he heard your father’s voice he went crazy. He stood up and began shrieking and yelling—”

“Yelling what?”

“He called him a crawling worm,” said Peer. “And a thief.”

“Did he!” Hilde flashed. She clenched her knuckles on the reins and prepared to ride on.

“Hey, you asked!” said Peer. “It’s not my fault. And if you hate them so much, why are you here this morning?”

Hilde laughed scornfully. “I’m not coming to your precious mill! I’m riding past, on my way down to the village.” She patted her basket. “I’m going to see Bjørn the fisherman, and trade some cheese and butter. Mother wants fish and my grandfather Eirik fancies a roast crab for his tea.”

Cheese! Butter! Roasted crabs! Peer swallowed. He suddenly realised how terribly hungry he felt. His downcast look must have touched Hilde, for she said in a more friendly way, “Well, I hope you’ll like living here. Your uncles will give you an easy time at first, won’t they? I know! I can bring our corn to you now, instead of to your uncles. If you don’t tell them who it’s from, maybe they’ll grind it properly for us. That would be a joke!”

“I don’t really think I could,” began Peer stiffly, feeling sure that her jokes could get him into a lot of trouble.

“Oh, forget it!” said Hilde impatiently. “Of course I didn’t mean it.” She gave him a look, plainly wondering how anyone could be so boring and serious, and Peer flushed. Hilde waved. “I’ll be seeing you!” she cried.

She rode across the wooden bridge, and on down the hill. Peer blew out his cheeks.

“Who cares what she thinks?” he muttered. “Eh, Loki?”

Despondently, he called Loki to heel and trailed back into the yard. The mill door was open and he saw one of his uncles standing dishevelled in the morning sunshine, scratching under his arms and staring darkly after Hilde’s back as her pony picked its neat-footed way down the road to the village. He summoned Peer with a jerk of the head.

“Were you talking to that lass?” he demanded accusingly.

“Yes, Uncle Grim,” said Peer meekly.

He received a slap that made his head ring and his eyes water. “That’s for chattering and wasting time,” growled his uncle. “Your time is my time now, see? And time is money. What did she say?”

“If you don’t want me to talk to her, why do you want to know?” asked Peer angrily, rubbing his ear.

Uncle Grim lifted his hand again.

“Oh, well let me see,” said Peer sarcastically. “She asked me who I was. I told her my name. Then she told me her name is Hilde, and she welcomed me to the valley, which she seems to think she owns. Isn’t this interesting?”

Uncle Grim didn’t seem to notice sarcasm. “What else?” he asked.

Peer wasn’t going to repeat what Hilde had said about the mill. He racked his brains for something else. “Oh, yes!” he remembered. “She said her father went away this morning. He’s going off a-Viking for the summer, on the new longship.”

Uncle Grim’s black beard split open in a very nasty smile, showing all his brown and yellow teeth.

“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!”