go on for ever,” said Peer, laughing. Just then a distant bellow floated up from the mill. He stopped laughing and jumped up. “I’d better go.”
“Yes, you’d better.” Hilde looked sorry for him. “Watch out for yourself, Peer.” She offered her hand, which Peer took shyly. “See you soon!”
Peer raced for the mill, Loki bounding ahead. He reached the yard to find his uncles talking to a carter, a surly-looking man who had just unloaded some sacks of barley. Grendel lay in a patch of sunlight by the mill door, gnawing a bone. He growled at Loki, who pottered past and cocked a cheeky leg on the corner of the barn.
“Grind it small,” shouted the carter as he drove his cart out into the lane. “We want fine meal. I’ll collect it tomorrow.”
“You’re going to learn about the mill, boy,” said Uncle Baldur to Peer. “Grim’s just a farmer, but me – I’m the miller!” He rapped his chest. “You’re a lucky lad to have me to teach you. I hope you’re thankful.”
Something flamed up in Peer’s heart. “Thankful? What have I got to be thankful for? You treat me like a slave, you can’t even remember my name!”
Baldur raised a fist the size of a ham and clouted Peer casually over the ear. Peer found himself sitting on the ground, clutching his ringing head. Loki streaked across the yard, teeth bared for Uncle Baldur’s leg. Grendel rose silently from the doorstep and hurled himself at Loki.
“Loki!” Peer screamed. Loki saw Grendel out of the tail of his eye and veered off around the corner. Grendel dropped his hackles and slouched back to his bone.
“Come inside,” said Uncle Baldur as if nothing had happened. “I’ll show you what to do. Pay attention. You’ll be doing a lot of this.”
“You’re not going to take me to the Gaffer, then?” said Peer on impulse.
Uncle Baldur swung round, fast for such a big man.
“What?” he said in a menacing whisper. Their eyes met. Peer thought fast. “Something Uncle Grim said,” he invented. “He said, er, if I didn’t work hard, you’d give me to the Gaffer.” Come to think of it, it sounded exactly the sort of thing Uncle Grim would say.
Uncle Baldur clearly believed it. He muttered something about Grim being a chattering fool, then grabbed Peer. “The Gaffer,” he whispered, “is the King of Troll Fell. He lives up there under the crags, not far away. And naughty boys, why, he likes to tear them in pieces! So watch your step, laddie.”
He pulled Peer into the mill and climbed the creaking ladder to the loft. Peer followed, overhung by his uncle’s bulky bottom, and found himself standing on a dark, dusty platform, badly lit by one little louvred window high in the apex of the roof. In front of him in the middle of the floor sat two millstones, one above the other, cartwheel sized slabs of gritstone rimmed with iron.
“Power!” Baldur wheezed, slapping the upper millstone. “See how heavy that is? But finely balanced. What drives it? Water power. Ah, but who controls the water? Me, the miller!
“The brook obeys me, boy. I control it with my dam and my sluice gates. It turns my waterwheel and drives my millstones.
“It all comes down to power. The power of the water, the power of the stones and me. I’m the most powerful man in the valley.” He gave the millstone another affectionate pat.
“See that?” he went on, straightening up. Peer banged his head on the corner of a big wooden box with sloping sides that hung suspended over the millstones from four thick ropes. “The hopper,” his uncle grunted. “You fill it with barley, which runs out through this hole in the bottom, and shakes down through this hole in the upper millstone, which is called the runnerstone. Because it’s the one that turns. Understand?”
To his own surprise, Peer did. He tried to show an interest. “Does everyone bring their corn here?” Perhaps Hilde had been exaggerating. Perhaps the mill was doing quite well.
But Uncle Baldur scowled. “They soon will,” he growled, “now that blackguard Ralf Eiriksson has gone. Spreading lies…Telling everyone I put chalk in the flour – or dirt –” He shook his fist. “This will be the best mill in the valley. I’ll put in another wheel – another pair of stones. They’ll come to me from miles around. But first —” He stopped. “But first,” he said in a different tone of voice, “get that hopper filled, boy. I haven’t got all night!”
To lift the sack high enough to pour the barley into the hopper was quite beyond Peer. With a bad-tempered grunt, Uncle Baldur hefted the sack in his thick arms and let the glossy grain pour effortlessly into the hopper. Then he took Peer outside to open the sluice and start the wheel.
It was getting late. The sun had set and it was cold by the stream. Peer looked anxiously for Loki as he followed his uncle up to the dam. The millpond seemed more sinister than ever as darkness fell. A little breeze shivered the surface and the trees sighed sadly. He hoped with all his heart that Loki had kept away from this dark water.
Uncle Baldur showed Peer how to work the sluice gate. He stood on a narrow plank bridge and simply tugged the gate up. It slid up and down between grooves in two big timber posts. He banged in some wedges to keep it stuck in place. A rush of water boiled from under the gate, filling the air with thunder, and the great black waterwheel stirred into life. The mill machinery began to clack.
“You’ll do that job next time,” Uncle Baldur said. “And don’t hang about here after dark. Or Granny Greenteeth will get you.”
As if he cared, thought Peer. Aloud he asked, “Who is Granny Greenteeth?”
“She lives at the bottom of the pond,” said Uncle Baldur briefly. “She likes to come out at night – the old hag. So watch yourself.”
It was now almost quite dark. Peer looked over his shoulder as they walked back to the mill. What was that dark patch floating in the shadow of the willows? Weeds? Or the spreading hair of Granny Greenteeth rising from her slimy bed? A fish splashed, and ripples lapped against the bank… He hurried after his uncle. Something crashed through a nearby bramble bush and leaped on to the path. Peer’s heart nearly stopped – then he saw what it was.
“Loki!” he gasped in relief. “You crazy dog!” Loki leaped and lashed his tail. Peer hugged him. “Come on,” he said, and they ran into the yard together.
Chapter 6
Trolls from the Dovrefell
A MILE OR SO further up the valley, Hilde was eating supper. Through mouthfuls, she told her family about meeting Peer, and the Grimsson brothers’ threats.
“I knew there’d be trouble,” Gudrun exclaimed. “Your father should never have gone.”
“You could always give them the golden cup ?” Hilde cocked an eyebrow at her mother.
“Over my dead body,” said Gudrun promptly. “I never wanted the thing, but it’s your father’s pride and joy. They can’t have it.”
“I thought you’d say that. I’d better keep an eye on our sheep, then, hadn’t I? In case the Grimssons steal them. I’ll ride up to the Stonemeadow tomorrow.”
“Oh no, you won’t.”
“Why
