not,” said Gudrun,” as the case may be.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, if Gunnar wants you on that boat before noon, we’d better move.”
There seemed mountains of stuff to load on to the pony. “We’ll never need all this, surely?” Hilde laughed.
“I’m sure you will,” said her mother grimly.
“What’s this?” Peer picked up a tightly rolled sausage of woollen fabric.
“That’s a sleeping sack,” said Gudrun. “Big enough for two. It’s for you, Peer—we’ve only the one, and Astrid says she’ll share hers with Hilde. Ralf used it last, when he went a-Viking.”
“Thank you, Gudrun,” Peer said with gratitude. He hadn’t thought about Loki. He hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements. What else had he missed?
“My tools—I’d better bring them.” He dashed back into the empty house and looked around, caught by the strangeness of it all. Would he ever come back?
“Nis,” he called quietly, and then, using the little creature’s secret name, “Nithing? Are you there?” He listened. Nothing rustled or scampered. No inquisitive nose came poking out over the roofbeams. “Nis?”
Perhaps it was curled up somewhere, fast asleep after the shocks and excitement of last night. “I’m going,” he called, raising his voice. “Goodbye, Nis…I’m going away. Look after the family.” Again he waited, but only silence followed. “Till we meet again,” he ended forlornly.
He picked up his heavy wooden toolbox and went out, closing the door behind him. The pony lowered its head and snorted indignantly as this last load was strapped on.
“On guard!” said Gudrun to grey-muzzled old Alf, who settled down in front of the doorstep, ears pricked. Hilde carried Elli. Astrid was wrapped in her blue cloak again, shoulder braced against the weight of her bulging goatskin bag.
Peer held out his hand. “Give that to me, Astrid. I’ll carry it for you.”
“No!” Astrid clutched the strap. “I’ll carry it myself. It’s quite light.”
It looked heavy to Peer, but he didn’t care enough to insist. “Are we ready, then? Off we go.”
Through the wood and downhill to the old wooden bridge—each twist of the path so familiar, Peer could have walked it with his eyes shut. Past the ruined mill, where a whiff of burning still lingered in the damp air, and into the trees again. On down the long slope, till they came to the handful of shaggy little houses that made up Trollsvik. They swished through the prickly grass of the sand-dunes and dropped down on to the crunching shingle.
The fjord was blue-grey; beyond the shelter of the little harbour it was rough with white caps. Short, stiff waves followed one another in to land, turning over and collapsing abruptly on to the pebbles. And there was the ship, Water Snake, bare mast towering over the little jetty, forestay and backstay making a great inverted “V”. It was a shock to see her, somehow—so real, so—
“So big!” Gudrun gasped.
Astrid stopped, her cloak flapping in the wind. Her face was sombre, and she braced her shoulders. “Here we go again!”
Most of the village was there on the shore, trying to sell things to Gunnar. “Chickens—you’ll want more chickens. Fresh eggs and meat for the voyage!” That was old Thorkell, gripping a couple of hens by their legs and brandishing them, flapping, in Gunnar’s face. The jetty bristled with people, onlookers jostling against cursing sailors who were manhandling barrels of fresh water and provisions into the ship.
There was Harald, his long hair clubbed back in a ponytail, heaving barrels and crates around with the crew. Peer’s eyebrows rose in grudging respect: he’d thought Harald too much the “young lord” to bother with real work. He noticed with relief that neither Harald nor Gunnar were wearing swords this morning. That would even things out a bit. Of course, those long steel swords would rust so easily; they’d be packed away in greased wool for the voyage. I suppose they got them out yesterday to impress us all, he thought sourly.
Ralf and Arnë came to unload the pony. Ralf seized Hilde. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. And before Peer could hear her reply, somebody grabbed him, too, and swung him round.
It was Bjørn, a tight frown on his face. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded. “How can you think of sailing with Harald?”
Peer’s gaze slid past Bjørn’s shoulder to where Hilde was standing with Ralf. “I’ll be all right, Pa,” she was saying in an earnest voice. “I really, truly want to go.”
“Ah,” said Bjørn. “So this is Hilde’s idea, is it? I might have known.”
“Not entirely,” said Peer, blushing.
Bjørn shook him. “I thought we were going to work together. I thought you wanted to build boats, like your father.”
“I do.” Peer touched the silver ring he always wore, his most treasured possession. It had been his father’s, and it never left his finger. He added earnestly, “And I do want to work with you, Bjørn. When I come back—”
“When you come back!” Bjørn exploded. “If you come back! Peer, this is no fishing trip. Whatever they say, Gunnar and his men are Vikings, and that ship is—is like a spark from a bonfire that goes floating off, setting trouble alight wherever it lands.” He added wryly, “Well, I’m not usually so poetical. But you see what I mean?”
“Yes,” said Peer. “But your brother’s going, isn’t he? This is a trading voyage, not a Viking raid. Gunnar has his wife with him. He’s not going to fight anyone in Vinland, he’s just going to cut down trees for a cargo of timber. Besides—”
He broke off. Who am I trying to convince? And yet he still felt the unexpected longing that had squeezed his heart yesterday evening as he looked westwards from the stern of Water Snake. “Bjørn,” he said awkwardly, “the very last ship my father worked on, the Long Serpent, she’s in Vinland now. Think of it, she sailed all that way! He’d have been so proud of that. I’d like to follow after her, just once. I’d like to find Thorolf and say, ‘Remember me? I’m the son of the man who built your ship.’”
Bjørn began to speak, then shook his head.They stood looking at each other for a moment, while the gulls screamed and circled, and the men shouted on the jetty.
“One thing you should know,” Bjørn said at last. “Gunnar’s own men have been gossiping that he and Harald killed a man in Westfold and had to run for it. No wonder they’re on their way back to Vinland.”
“But that’s no secret,” said Peer. “He told us about it. That’s when he lost his hand. It was self-defence. The other man started it.”
“You mean, the same way you ‘started’ that fight with Harald yesterday?”
“You might be right,” said Peer after a pause. “But I won’t back out now.”
Bjørn sighed. “Arnë won’t change his mind, either. He’s always been crazy, but I thought you had sense.Well, stick together.” He caught Peer’s expression. “You can trust Arnë. You know him. But keep out of Harald’s
