id="ue86ae656-8b90-5944-bf7c-f46a260083e7">
Troll
Mill
KATHERINE LANGRISH
For David, Alice and Isobelwith love
Warm thanks to: Liz, for everything, and especially uprooting the elder trees
Catherine, Michele, Jackie and Carol for being the best agents anyone could have
Phil Scott of Regia Anglorum for first-hand advice on how to sail a faering
And once again to Alan Stoyel and Critchell Britten for your help on water mills.
My apologies to you all for any remaining mistakes
Last but not least, thanks to Gillie, Sally and Robin, my wonderful and understanding editors; to Becky for the exciting cover designs; and to everyone else at HarperCollins
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1 What Happened on the Shore
CHAPTER 2 A Brush with the Trolls
CHAPTER 3 A Warning from the Nis
CHAPTER 8 Voices at the Millpond
CHAPTER 9 The Nis Behaves Badly
CHAPTER 10 The Nis in Disgrace
CHAPTER 11 Success at the Mill
CHAPTER 15 The Lubbers at Large
CHAPTER 18 The Troll Baby at the Farm
CHAPTER 19 Granny Greenteeth’s Lair
CHAPTER 20 The Miller of Troll Fell
CHAPTER 1 What Happened on the Shore
The boat danced ungracefully in from the fishing grounds, dipping and rolling over lively waves at the mouth of the fjord. Her crew, a man and a boy, reached steadily forward and back, tugging their two pairs of oars through the choppy water.
The boy, rowing in the bows, looked up over his companion’s bent back. Out west beyond the islands, the wind tore a long yellow rift in the clouds, and the setting sun blinked through in stormy brilliance, splashing the water with fiery oils.
Dazzled, the boy missed his next stroke, slicing the oars through air instead of water. Braced to pull, he flew backwards off his seat into a tangle of nets and creels and a slither of fat, bright fish. He lay breathless as the boat heaved under his spine, hurling him skywards, then sinking away underneath as though falling through space.
“Resting?” teased his friend Bjørn. “Had enough rowing for one day?”
Peer laughed back from the bottom of the boat, long arms and legs sprawling. “Yes, I’m tired. I think I’ll just stay here. Ouch!” Salt water slapped his face as the prow cut through a wave, and he scrambled up hastily with dripping hair, snatching at the loose oars.
“Ship them,” said Bjørn over his shoulder. “I’ll take us in.” He leaned unhurriedly on his own pair of oars, and Peer knelt, clutching the slender bows, looking forwards at the land. The water under the boat lit up a cloudy green; over on the shore the pebbles glittered, and the sea-grass on the dunes glowed gold. The late sunlight
