“Lubbers is low. Look where they live!”
Peer shuddered. “Are there any more nasty creepy things living here? I hate this place.”
The Nis refused to tell him anything more. It stole about overhead with sudden flurries of activity and snatching movements, keeping Peer awake.
“What are you doing?”
“Collecting spiders.” Its voice floated down.
“Would you stop it and let me sleep?”
“Very well!” said the Nis, highly offended. “Everyone must hush, everything keep still as a stone while Peer Ulfsson sleeps!” It flounced away and silence fell.
Next day there was an unaccountable plague of spiders in the mill. Big, small and medium-sized, they scuttled here and there across the floor, ran out from every crack and cranny, and wove webs in every corner. Uncle Baldur set Peer to get rid of them. It took him all day.
Chapter 10
Bad News
AUTUMN ARRIVED WITH crisp biting winds and skeins of wild geese flying south. The birch leaves turned a clear pale yellow and fluttered to the ground.
The trolls grew bolder. Things went badly at Hilde’s house. Animals strayed, rain came through the roof, the children quarrelled, and things were mislaid. As autumn grew older the trolls became very bold indeed. The family saw them often now at twilight, hiding near the walls, sending looks of ill will on the house. The twins met one scuttling short and squat around a corner one evening, and were frightened by its pattering feet and slate-grey skin and odd eyes like live pebbles. And sleepless at night in their warm beds, the family lay worrying about Ralf. Nobody spoke of it, but everyone knew he was late, late, late.
One frosty morning Bjørn Egilsson knocked at the door with his brother Arne. They came in and Arne stood awkwardly while Gudrun fussed and exclaimed and offered them breakfast.
Arne looked tired and weatherbeaten; his clothes were waterstained and faded. When Hilde smiled at him he looked at the floor. Alf, the old sheepdog, ambled stiffly to greet him, and Arne stroked his ears as if grateful for something to do.
“Tell us your adventures, Arne,” said Gudrun brightly, but her hand shook as she poured ale for the visitors.
Bjørn and Arne exchanged glances. Arne cleared his throat. “Well – you know I wanted to join Ralf ’s ship but missed the sailing? I followed in my own boat, hoping to catch her at some place further south. For a while I got plenty of news of her from villages along the coast. I was sure I’d catch up. Then – well, then the news dried up. Nobody knew anything about her.”
“‘All right,’ I thought, ‘they’ve struck out to sea at last, and I’ve missed them.’ I was disappointed, but I got a place on one of those pot-bellied cargo ships instead. But now…”
He stopped and went on with a rush. “I hate to tell you this, Gudrun. I’m afraid there’s been news of a wreck. Part of a dragon-prowed longship was washed up on rocks south of Hammerhaven. No survivors.”
Gudrun flinched, and Eirik suddenly looked very old. “Is Pa dead?” wailed Sigrid. Hilde hugged her.
“We don’t know that,” said Bjørn hastily. “We just thought you ought to hear it from Arne before the story gets garbled all around the dale.”
“Thank you,” said Gudrun quietly.
“I wouldn’t have brought such news for the world,” Arne muttered.
“It may not be true,” said Bjørn.
“We must wait to hear more,” said Gudrun, knowing full well that more news was unlikely ever to arrive.
“I hope I’m wrong.” Arne took Gudrun’s hand. “If there’s anything we can do, anything…”
Gudrun stifled a sob. The two brothers looked very troubled as they departed.
Hilde took a pitchfork out to the cowshed. Where no one could see her, she leaned on the smooth wooden rail of Bonny’s stall, and buried her head in her arms.
Now I know how Peer felt when he lost his father.
Hot-eyed, she thought about Peer. She remembered that day in early spring when they had first met. The day Baldur Grimsson had threatened her; the day he had told her to keep off the Stonemeadow; the day he had claimed Ralf ’s sheep. He had said Ralf would never come back; and he had been right. Drearily she realised how different everything would be from now on. She wouldn’t even be able to help Peer escape from his uncles. The Grimsson brothers had won.
She gritted her teeth. “No they haven’t! They shan’t have the sheep, for a start. I’ll go up to the Stonemeadow and fetch them down myself!” And she marched straight back into the house to tell Gudrun so.
Her mother gasped in horror.
“Go up the mountain by yourself? At this time of the year, with trolls about? And wolves, and bears? And the Grimssons, up there all hours of the day and night, thick as thieves with the Troll King himself ? I won’t allow it. Hasn’t this house seen enough trouble?”
“Then what will we do?” asked Hilde in a low voice. “Hand everything over to the Grimssons on a plate? And what about poor Peer Ulfsson?”
“I’m sorry for the boy, but he’s not our problem,” cried Gudrun.
“All right!” said Hilde, very white. “But those are our sheep up there, on our land. And the Grimssons have had the wool off them already this year – and it was Peer who told me. Oh Ma! If I don’t bring them down to our sheepfold, we’ll lose them altogether. Pa would have done it weeks ago – if he’d been here.”
Hunched over the fire, old Eirik stirred. “The girl is right,” he said unexpectedly. “The sheep do have to be brought down. She’s a brave girl, and sensible. She can manage.”
“I’ll be all right,” Hilde added eagerly. “I’ll take Alf. He’ll look after me.”
“He’s too old!” Gudrun protested.
“Ma, he knows every inch of the hills, and he knows the sheep. I can’t get lost with Alf. Look at him!”
The old dog had heard his name and was looking up enquiringly. Eirik slapped his thigh. “Knows every trick. The old ones are the good ones!”
With bad grace Gudrun gave way. “I suppose you may go, Hilde – since your grandfather approves… But be careful. Get back before dark!”
“I’ll try.” Already Hilde felt better, wrapping herself up in a sheepskin jacket and pulling on a pair of soft leather boots. She grabbed a stick. “For cracking trolls on the head,” she joked.
“Oh dear.” Gudrun looked anxiously out. The sky was overcast and a chill wind swept the farmyard. “It looks like snow.”
“Get inside and keep warm,” said Hilde impatiently. “Keep Grandpa off the ice. And don’t worry about me. Come, Alf!” She set off, the old sheepdog trotting beside her.
