Leif Frond and the Viking Games (6 page)

B
y midnight, even the greediest of our guests was starting to slow down. The young men who'd spent the last part of the day hunting Granny's imaginary eagle had returned. They were all full of tales about how close they'd come to trapping the bird and what hungry work it had been. They certainly did the Frondfell feast justice. (The ones who'd spent the same amount of time in the Frondfell latrines were a bit more careful.) My sisters were dragging themselves back and forth, continuing to serve the company with fixed smiles and gritted teeth. Why do visitors never seem to notice when it's time to call it a day? I leaned back against the wall and imagined how popular I would be if I were a magician. A
champion
magician who specialised in Go Home spells. I would rent myself out to anyone hosting a feast… I would be much sought after… treated with huge respect…

I opened my eyes, half expecting
our
Hall to be emptied of guests. But, of course, even a dozen magic spells wouldn't get anyone to budge until we'd heard the results of the day's competition – who was to become Harald Blogfeld's latest recruit?

But before we could find out the answer to that, we had to find out what had become of Harald Blogfeld. Nobody knew where he'd got to. And another thing – where was the Widow Brownhilde? She, too, seemed to be missing. It was very strange…

And then, the answer to our questions strolled in through the door.

Harald Blogfeld and the Widow Brownhilde, together!

There was a strange expression on the big man's face, and the Widow looked like the cat who's got at the cream. They were walking arm in arm.

At the sight of the Scourge of the Seas every man in the Hall scrambled upright and tried to look full of energy and totally untouched by the day's efforts. But Harald Blogfeld didn't appear to notice.

It was my father's place to put the contestants out of their misery.

“So, honoured guest,” he said to Blogfeld. “You have seen our young men compete, and now the games are over. Can you tell us who has been chosen?”

This is it
! I thought, and my mouth went dry.
This is when he tells us who it's going to be
!
Will it be Karl
?
What's he waiting for
?
Why doesn't he say
?
Get on with it
!

“Hmm?” said Blogfeld.

My father looked a little surprised. “We want to know who you've
chosen
,” he said, a little louder this time.

“Chosen?” murmured Blogfeld. “Eh?” And forsome reason, that word made the Widow
giggle
.

We all looked at each other in bewilderment. Where was Blogfeld's storm-at-sea voice? Where were his flashing eyes and booming laugh?

“Oh! Oh yes, I've chosen,” he went on, with a very silly grin. “I've chosen… the finest woman in all the land.”

“What?” cried half the Hall.

“Who?” cried the other half.

“This dear lady and I are going to be married. As soon as possible. If not sooner.” And Blogfeld turned to the Widow and smiled in a
really
embarrassing way. She simpered back.

I turned to look at my father. He seemed to have forgotten it was his job as host of the Games to get the great man back on topic. I don't think I've ever seen a more relieved, ecstatic look on a person's face before. Brownhilde wasn't after
him
any more. He'd been saved!

But those who hadn't just been reprieved from a ghastly fate had other things on their minds.

“But who have you chosen
to take raiding
with you?” cried one of the contestants. They were all crowding forward now.

“Tell us!” shouted another. “We have to know –
who won the Games
?”

Harald Blogfeld, Champion of the Waves, Scourge of the Seas, the Viking's Viking, paused and looked around vaguely.

“Won?” he said dreamily. “Who won?”

“Yes
! Who won the games? Who have you chosen to take raiding with you?”

“Raiding?” He actually sounded puzzled by the word. “Oh no, not this year. I'm not thinking of any raiding this season. In fact, I don't expect I'll be going raiding again. Ever. So I guess that means, um, you
all
won. Congratulations!”

There was a silence you could have cut with a blunt axe. It was wall-to-wall goggling eyes and dropped jaws. I know I must have looked just as gob-smacked as the rest of them. But Blogfeld and the Widow didn't appear to notice. In fact, they didn't seem to be aware of anything at all, except each other.

Yeurchhh
!

As they wandered out into the night again, they passed quite close to where I was standing. Blogfeld was gazing at the Widow Brownhilde. There was a look on his face that for some reason made me think of puppies.

“I feel as if I've died and gone to Valhalla,” he murmured huskily. “You are my Valkyrie.”

I waited for the Widow to slug him one right across the ear, but it didn't happen. It should have. It so should have. But it didn't.

She just giggled.

“Would you look at that?” muttered my granny, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “She knew our Karl was going to be the Champion, so she nobbled the judge. Still, if I were forty years younger, I might have done the same. I'd have given her a run for her money!”

I smiled down into her wizened little face, thinking,
And you would have, at that
!

CHAPTER EIGHT

From Frondell with Love

N
ext day, our visitors packed their tents and their families back into their ships and sailed away with the tide. The last to go were the Widow Brownhilde (though we wouldn't be calling her
that
for much longer) and the ex-Scourge of the Seas. Blogfeld must have somehow inveigled the secret of the boar out of Queue, for, as they moved off, an extremely convincing billow of fire and smoke shot out of the dragon-prow's mouth, and everybody cheered. The two ships made a pretty picture as they glided down the fjord towards the open sea.

The Games were over for another year.

“That
was
fun!” my granny cackled cheerfully. Then she went off to tell my sisters the best way to clear up.

Karl watched the two ships until they were only dots in the distance. He still looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach by a cow, but I figured he'd get over it. And I can't remember when I last saw my father looking so contented. He wandered about happily, lending a hand with the trestle tables, thanking people for all their hard work, making encouraging noises and generally being nice to everyone who came within range.

And then he spotted me.

“Leif,” he said.

“Yes, father?”

“Do you remember our conversation earlier? When you offered to chop off the Widow Brownhilde's head and bring it to me on a platter? Don't think I didn't notice how hard you tried to keep her away from me all day – so hard, in fact, that she ended up leaving with a completely different husband.” He gave me a slap on the back that nearly knocked me over. “Thank you, my boy, thank you! I don't know how you did it – I don't understand half the things that happened here yesterday – but I
do
know you did a champion's work!”

And if there had been a competition right then and there for which of us had the bigger grin … well, I think it would have been a tie.

 

Copyright

First published 2014 by A & C Black

An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

www.bloomsbury.com

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 978-1-4729-0463-8

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

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

Printed by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2