Troll Mill (10 page)

Peer straightened. He turned and ran through the nettles, across the yard, and without stopping for breath dived through the door and into the dark, stuffy mill. He groped his way to the nearest bunk bed, felt for the blanket, and jerked. It came up in stiff, stinking folds. It felt like something that had died and was rotting. He could hardly bring himself to touch the one on the other bed,
but he did it, and dragged them both out into the yard. Black stuff showered off—wood lice, pieces of decaying wool, and mouse droppings.

“Hey!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “I’ve got your blankets here! And if you don’t come out, I’m going to throw them in the millpond!”

There was a shriek of alarm from inside the privy.

“So come and get them!” Peer shouted. “Both of you! I know you’re in there. Do you want me to come after you?
With my dog and my shovel?”

He stopped, panting. He could hear the blood beating in his ears, the wind rustling in the bushes, the steady pouring of the water over the weir. Then there was a thud and a scraping sound from inside the privy. He strained his eyes through the gathering gloom. A lump appeared on the privy roof. It gathered and surged upward, becoming a spindly figure with a very large head and one flyaway ear, just visible against the dark trees.

Peer backed away a few steps. “Where’s your friend?” he called roughly. “Come on, I
want both of you out of there.”

Slowly a second head emerged from the hole in the privy roof. It was pale and bald, and glimmered horribly in the dusk. He couldn’t make out any eyes and didn’t know if it was looking at him or not. He took another step back and nearly fell over Loki. Recovering, he brandished the blankets, and more pieces dropped off. “They’re here, see!” he called. “But you can’t have them till you’re out of the yard.”

The first lubber twisted over the edge and slithered down into the nettles with a squashy flump. The second followed reluctantly. There they crouched, gaping at Peer with dark, froglike mouths, and he stared back, quivering with revulsion. One of them hissed—a loud, startling noise. He flinched, and both lubbers twitched irresistibly forward. A moment’s loss of nerve and they would rush him.

“Out!” he yelled, waving the blankets like a banner. “Come on, Loki!” He ran at them, gripping the shovel in his left hand like a sword. Loki hurtled ahead, barking enthusiastically. The lubbers fled, screaming. Peer
drove them before him, right out of the yard, across the lane, and into the wood. With all his strength, he flung the reeking folds after them. In a flash, the nearest turned and snatched up both blankets. In sly glee it gamboled away into the trees, lifting its bony knees high. The other limped after it, screaming. Peer bent to catch his breath, listening as the crashes and cries and howls got fainter and farther away.

Peer burst out laughing. “What cowards. They’ve gone! We’ve done it, Loki. We’ve cleared them out of the mill!”

It was the perfect ending to a difficult day. He turned back toward the mill, smiling. As he did so, there was a step behind him. A twig crunched; a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. For a second his heart stopped. But Loki was wriggling and wagging in ecstatic welcome—and Ralf’s voice said in hearty greeting:

“Peer, my lad! What on earth have you been doing?”

A FAMILY ARGUMENT

R
ALF LISTENED IN
amazement as Peer rattled off an account of his day.

“Well, I’ll be darned, I’ll be,” he exclaimed. “You chased off those lubbers, all by yourself?”

“Loki helped.” Peer dragged Ralf into the yard and showed him the cleared cobbles. “See, only a few hours work and I’ve made a big difference. It’s my mill, Ralf, and I’m sure I can do it. I remember how the machinery works. What do you think? Isn’t it a good idea?”

Ralf looked around at the dark buildings and hesitated. Peer’s high spirits sank. An owl hooted from the woods. The trees around the mill whispered, rubbing their branches together as though plotting something
unpleasant. The yard was a dreary mess. And something scuttled along in the shadow of the wall.

Peer realized that he was hungry and cold, and his back ached.

“Let’s talk about it at home,” Ralf suggested, leading him out of the yard. “It’s late, and I’ve had a hard day. You, too!”

“What happened?” Peer asked awkwardly. “Is there any news?”

“No,” Ralf said as they crossed the wooden bridge. “Half the village turned out at low tide, and we combed the shore, right under the south cliffs. Not a sign of her. And Harald Bowlegs took his boat across the fjord to search the Long Strand on the other side. He found nothing. But Bjorn keeps insisting she isn’t dead. I wish he wouldn’t. People are beginning to look at him in a funny way. All sorts of rumors are flying around.”

“Like what?”

Ralf snorted. “Dreams, omens—all kinds of rubbish. There was a white fog on the fjord first thing this morning, and what must old Thorkell say but that he’s seen a boat gliding through it—but only half a boat, if you please,
with a ghostly sail like shreds of mist, all tattering and curling. ‘The draug boat,’ he says, ‘coming for Bjorn now his luck is gone!’”

“Really?” Cold fingertips touched Peer’s spine.

“No one else saw it,” said Ralf, “and we all know Thorkell’s eyesight isn’t what it should be. And then Einar got going. He says he heard a voice crying in the dark last night, but when he looked out, there was no one there.”

“That could have been me!” said Peer, shamefaced.

“I thought it might.” Ralf nodded. “But now everyone’s at it. They’ve all seen or heard something strange. Raps and noises and strange messages.”

“Don’t you believe any of it?” asked Peer.

“There was a storm last night,” said Ralf. “Of course people heard noises!”

“But, Ralf.” Peer didn’t quite know how to say it. “You know there are trolls—and lubbers—and Granny Green-teeth in the millpond down there. Why shouldn’t these other things be true too?”

Ralf stopped. “They may be, Peer. Indeed they may. But we don’t need to rush to
believe in them. Some folks enjoy looking for bad luck everywhere. A man makes his own destiny. That’s what I think.”

He gripped Peer’s shoulders, gave him a little shake, and strode on uphill. Peer walked after him, deep in thought.

A man makes his own destiny. And I will. I’m going to take Troll Mill and make myself a future!

They were nearly home now, coming out of the wood. Ahead was the farm, snuggling against the black hillside: just the outline of the shaggy turf roof and a whiff of smoke from the fire. Loki ran ahead, eager for his supper. Peer slowed down and let Ralf go into the house without him. He felt awkward about meeting Hilde.

What should he do? Apologize again? Or pretend the quarrel had never happened?
Hello, Hilde
, he could say.
Had a good day? I did!

“Hello, Peer!” came a crisp voice behind him. Peer leaped like a shot deer and swung around. Hilde stood there, carrying the milk pail. “Back at last?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve missed evening milking. I shouldn’t have to do
all
your chores!”

“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, reaching for the pail. “Let me carry that in for you.”

“No, never mind,” she said, setting it down. “I’m glad I saw you. Come with me, I want to say something.” She led him away from the farm toward the sheepfold, and he followed, his mind whirling.

She turned to face him, her eyes clear in the last of the twilight. “I was rude to you this morning, Peer. I shouldn’t have said what I did. And I’m sorry.”

You look like a heron! If I did think about anybody, it certainly wouldn’t be a little boy like you!

The words buzzed in the air around Peer’s head, and they stung just as much as they had that morning. He flushed and mumbled something, looking down.

“Ma said it was wrong,” continued Hilde. “She said it was unkind.”

Peer looked up, horrified. “You
told
your
mother?”

“Oh, Peer, she overheard most of it!” said Hilde impatiently. “We weren’t exactly whispering, you know!”

“Yes, but—” He needed to impress her. He said boldly, almost boastfully, “I’ve been
cleaning out the mill all day. I’m going to start working it again.”

“The mill?” Hilde stared. “You’re joking!”

“No. I’ve cleared out half the yard already. And I know the machinery still works, because—” He stopped suddenly, unwilling to describe the fright he’d had when the empty mill started working by itself in the dark. “Because I’m sure it does—it looks all right. I’m going to be the new miller. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s
wrong?
Do you need me to tell you? Think about Granny Green-teeth! Think about the lubbers!”

“No problem,” said Peer airily. “I’ve thrown the lubbers out.”

“What do you mean?”

Peer explained, enjoying Hilde’s complete attention. She gave a satisfying gasp as he told how the lubbers had jumped out at him. And when he got to the bit about the blankets, she laughed out loud. “Brilliant! But did it work?”

“Oh yes.” Peer couldn’t help grinning. “One of them grabbed both blankets, and the other one chased it into the woods.”

Hilde became serious again. “But they
won’t stay there, will they? They’re bound to come slinking back. Why be a miller? What’s it for? You don’t have to do this, Peer. You live with us.”

“Forever?” asked Peer. He watched as Hilde hesitated. “I’ve made my mind up,” he went on. “You don’t believe I can do it, but just wait and see!”

“Don’t be silly,” Hilde snapped. “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

The last of the evening glow had faded. An owl hooted from the farmhouse gable, and the grass under the fence rustled as a mouse whisked into cover. Hilde’s face was visible only as a pale splotch. In the dark it was easier for Peer to say what he wanted.

“When I was at the mill this morning, I remembered what it was like to live there. How scared I was of my uncles. The way I crept about. I felt ashamed.”

“But they were great big men, and you were only twelve years old! It wasn’t your fault!” Hilde cried.

Peer shook his head. “And I want to take something back from them.”

“What?” asked Hilde.

“My self-respect,” he said, through gritted teeth.

There was silence. The owl called again, a wild, quivering note. Hilde sighed. “And you can do that by taking over the mill?”

“Yes! The mill was the only thing that really mattered to Uncle Baldur, Hilde. I want to change it—make it a good place to be!”

“All right,” said Hilde. She half flapped her arms. “All right, Peer, I can see you have to try. So I’ll help you. Count me in!”

Eirik was crying noisily when Peer and Hilde entered the farmhouse, and the din covered the sound of their low-voiced, furious disagreement.

“If it’s safe for you, it’s safe for me.” Hilde held the door open for Peer as he carried in the milk pail.

“Well, perhaps it isn’t safe!” Peer poured the milk into the shallow skimming pan so that the cream could rise. “But it’s my business, Hilde, not yours.”

Hilde looked ready to say something sharp, but before she could open her mouth, Gudrun’s voice soared above the clamor.

“You rowed to the skerries in that little boat!” She stood, joggling Eirik in her arms and looking down at Ralf, as he sat in his big wooden chair.
“Ralf!
You could have capsized—drowned!”

“No, no.” Ralf stretched his legs out to the fire with a groan of relief. “Whew! I’m stiff. Bjorn knows every inch of that water, Gudrun. We were quite safe. He was too tired to go alone. I haven’t rowed so far in ages. Blisters, look! But nothing else to show for it.”

Gudrun looked unconvinced. “Everyone says it’s so dangerous out there when the tide is running.”

“We were there at slack water,” Ralf reassured her. “We tossed around between the stacks, scaring the gulls, shouting like fools for Kersten. And yes, we saw some seals. They took no notice of us, as far as I could tell.

“I’ve been thinking,” he went on. “Seems to me someone should go over to Hammerhaven and find Arnë. Bjorn needs his brother at a time like this.”

Peer glanced quickly at Hilde. She didn’t look up, but the tips of her ears glowed.
“That’s a good idea,” Gudrun was saying. “Who’ll go for him? Harald Bowlegs, in his boat?” She looked at Ralf with suspicion. “Not you, Ralf? We’re so busy. Surely it doesn’t have to be you!”

“No-oo.” Ralf shifted uncomfortably. “But everyone else is busy too. Einar hasn’t sown his oat field yet, and Thorkell’s too old.”

“So you’ve offered already!” Gudrun’s eyes snapped sparks. “I might have guessed. Any excuse, Ralf Eiriksson, any excuse will do for you to go roaming off!”

“That’s not fair!” Ralf raised his voice. “I’m trying to help Bjorn!”

“You should ask me first before you go promising all sorts of things!” cried Gudrun. “Here I am, with an extra child to care for—” She broke off, patting Eirik on the back as he wriggled and roared.

“She’s no trouble, is she?” Ralf demanded. “You’ve got plenty of help—Hilde and Peer, and even the Nis.”

“Oh, have I?” Gudrun cried. “Not today, I haven’t! The Nis has been sulking. It hasn’t so much as swept the hearth.”