Leif Frond and Quickfingers (7 page)

A cheer went up when we reached the outermost enclosure of Frondfell, and we were home. Everyone rushed out to welcome us, the horses were seen to, and at last we were all able to cluster round the fire in the Hall to eat, to thaw out, and to talk.

“Well,” said my father, turning to Sigli, Queue and me. “I imagine this will turn out to be quite a story. Queue? Perhaps you could tell us how on earth you managed to get to the foot of the Pass so quickly? I can only think you and my son must have sprouted wings and flown!”

“Funny you should say that,” said Queue, trying not to sound too smug – and failing. “What I did was this…” And he told all about the amazing flight of the skite. The whole Hall was spellbound – even my hard-boiled sister Thorhalla seemed impressed. But the tricky part of my cunning plan was still to come…

“Then,” Queue was saying, “as we crept up from the shore, quiet as shadows through the trees, we suddenly heard – but perhaps young Sigli and Leif should take the story from here.”

Sigli and I looked at each other and gulped.

It was up to us.

I took a deep breath, and began.

“BANG!” I shouted, making everyone jump. “CRASH! ROAR! An attack was going on up ahead! We rushed forward, yelling and thrashing through the undergrowth, and I think we must have sounded like a much bigger party than we really were. By the time we reached the clearing where Sigli and Quickfingers were camped, the attackers had gone – and so had the old Pedlar.”

Well, I thought, that at least is true!

“What had happened, Sigli? Can you tell us?” asked my father in a kind voice.

“Trolls,” said Sigli. His voice was low, but the word carried to the furthest corner of the Hall and made everyone shudder – even, I noticed to my surprise, Thorhalla!

“They came… no warning… so awful…” He covered his face with his hand.

“Take your time,” said my father quietly.

Sigli nodded, and paused for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and tried again. His voice was stronger now.

“I was waiting at the foot of the Pass, just as my master had ordered, but the days went by and he didn't come back.”

“He was with us the whole time,” I said, and everyone nodded.

“Ah,” said Sigli. “Well, I didn't dare move from our campsite – he could be harsh, my master, if you disobeyed – but then the first snow came and I thought I'd have to leave or freeze to death. Before I could act, though, he came back, laden with stolen goods and chuckling with pleasure at how well he'd tricked you all.”

There was a low, angry murmur at that, but nobody wanted to interrupt the story. Sigli was in full swing now.

“ ‘Get me food, you lazy scum!' my master growled, but before I could stir, a horrible, rumbling, roaring noise sounded from amongst the trees.

“ ‘What's that?' my master cried. ‘Has someone followed me? It can't be those stupid villagers – I sent them off in the wrong direction using their very own stupid cow – who could it be?'

“The horrible noise came again – from two places this time. My master began to panic.

“ ‘It sounds like… it can't be … is it?… oh no, oh no –
trolls
!'

“The moment the word left his mouth, rocks began to fly out of the woods from every side. The roaring got even louder, and there was trampling and thundering as if the undergrowth was being crushed under angry, giant feet.”

I glanced round the Hall. Every eye was fixed on Sigli; every mouth was a round O.

“It was terrifying. My master was tottering back and forth, whimpering, trying to find a place to hide – and then one of the trolls' rocks hit me. I felt as if my head had exploded and then I… I must have fainted. The next thing I knew, Leif and the good Artificer werebending over me and looking after me and being so kind…”

His voice broke a little here, and everyone tutted sympathetically.

“And where was your master?” asked my father gently.

Sigli shook his head. “I don't know. Gone. Disappeared.”

“He maybe ran away or it might be that the trolls took him,” I suggested. “It looked to us as if there had been a desperate struggle.” I put on my very best beseeching face and looked up at him. “No matter which, poor Sigli's all alone now. He has nobody. Don't you think, Father, that he could stay here, with us, at Frondfell?”

This was it. This was crunch time.

I could see Thorhalla's eyes light up and I knew what she was thinking before she even opened her mouth. When she looked at Sigli, it was as if there was a great big sign hanging over his head that said ‘Laundry Assistant'. I gave Queue a sharp nudge with my elbow.

“Ow!” he yelped. “What? Oh. Right. Yes. Ah, I need an apprentice.”

“I need help with the laundry!” bleated Thorhalla, just too late. (See,
I knew
that was what she was thinking.)

My father hid a smile in his beard.

“Well, then, young Sigli,” he said in his kindest voice. “I think if you'd like to stay here and have a try at being our Artificer's apprentice, that would be very good. We'll give it the winter, shall we, and see if you suit each other? And if not, then there's always laundry.”

Thorhalla scowled, I grinned, Queue looked smug and Sigli – well, Sigli looked as if he really
had
been hit over the head. But in a good way.

Afterwards, we three gathered in Queue's workshop, where Sigli would be living from now on.

“We got away with it!” said Sigli, sounding dazed and amazed.

“Of course we did,” said Queue. “Build up the fire, Apprentice – my old bones are still frozen. Leif, put Sigli's sleeping furs over there.”

When we had everything to the Artificer's satisfaction, we flopped down by the fire, too tired to do anything more. There was silence for a while, broken only by the sound of a log shifting or the crack of sap into flame. And then, “It's too bad we couldn't tell the real truth,” murmured Queue. “The bards could make up a fine song about us. All about Sigli Quickfingers, the cunning trickster.”

“And Queue, the greatest inventor the world has ever known.” said Sigli.

“And what about me?” I asked. “What would I be in this song?”

“Oh, that's easy,” the others replied. “You'd be the hero.”

Leif the Hero
, I thought with a happy smile.
I like the sound of that.

 

 

Leif wants to be a hero, but as the youngest and smallest member of his huge Viking family, he's never had the chance to shine. Can he finally become a champion at the Midsummer Games?

All he has to do is compete with some fully grown Viking heroes at sports including archery (no problem, with his very special bow from Queue the Artificer) and wrestling (big problem, the other contenders are all twice his size). Oh, and keep the Widow Brownhilde away from his father before he does something stupid like marrying her. And stop his meddlesome granny from cheating. And avoid his gigantic troll-like sister and her list of chores....

Easy.

 

£
4.99

ISBN: 9781472904621

 

Copyright

First published 2014 by A & C Black

An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

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Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Copyright © 2014 A & C Black

Text copyright © Joan Lennon

Illustrations copyright © Brendan Kearney

The rights of Joan Lennon and Brendan Kearney to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

eISBN 978-1-4729-0454-6

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

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