Troll Mill (25 page)

The shock woke him right up. “I forgot!” He was tongue-tied with shame.
How could I? What must she think?
And he’d fallen into the millpond, nearly drowning Ran. What an idiot!

“Oh, Peer!” Hilde’s voice was low. “It was so awful when you went into the water. You were gone for ages. I thought you’d never come up. There, there,” she added distractedly to Ran. “Poor little thing, you’ll soon be
home, and dry…. If only the twins have gotten back. If only …”

They hurried up the path, Eirik and Ran trying to out-scream each other. The wood rang as their uncontrollable grief rasped through the evening like a couple of saws. As Peer lagged behind, he began to notice other noises. What was that whooping, high up in the birch woods?

Gudrun was almost running with Eirik, who stopped crying at last to enjoy the ride. Hilde hurried to catch up. Now the group was strung out along the track. When Peer came out of the wood, Gudrun was pushing at the farmhouse door.

“It’s barred!” she called.

“Barred!” Hilde turned to Peer with excited eyes. “Then the twins are here. They must have come home!”

“Children, are you there?” Gudrun put her ear to the door. “Open up! Let us in!” They waited, shifting restlessly in the dusk. Eirik had quieted, but Ran was still producing sniffling sobs. A boy’s muffled voice, loaded with suspicion, called from inside, “Who is it?”

“That’s Sigurd!” Gudrun sagged with relief. Everything would be all right. She turned back to the door. “It’s me, it’s all of us. Quickly, let us in!”

“Whatever’s that noise?” Hilde broke in. “Hear it?” Inside the house someone was singing or chanting in an odd squeaky voice, and it didn’t sound like either of the twins. The hairs prickled on Peer’s neck.

“There’s something in there with them,” Hilde said, her eyes wide. As she spoke, Peer heard the whooping again. He turned to look over his shoulder at the wood and the hill, where Troll Fell reared against the sky like some enormous wave.

A light was gleaming from the crest, yellow as the evening star. He spun around. “Hilde, look! Troll Fell’s open!”

“Ma, the trolls! They’ve lifted the top of the hill. But … it isn’t midsummer night….”

A yell sounded among the trees. Then another, and another. There was a prolonged echoing crack of splintering branches. More cries. A dark flood, pricked with torches, spilled from the edge of the wood.

“They’re coming for us!” Peer shouted.
“They’ve sent a whole army!” A stone flew past his head.

“Trolls!” Hilde hammered on the door. “Open up, let us in! Open the door, twins, quick!” More stones thudded against the house wall.

A wild figure came leaping over the foremost trolls, skirt kilted up above her knees, mouth wide open in a skirling yell.
The troll princess!
Peer thought dizzily.
What’s she doing here?
The torchlight streamed over the attack.

“Let us in!” Gudrun beat on the door with the flat of her hand. At last there was a rattle and a clunk as Sigurd removed the bar. The door opened a crack. “It’s them!” they heard him shout, and the group of them pushed inside, with the dogs squeezing and scuttling between their legs. The door clapped shut. Peer and Hilde crashed the bar back into its slots and leaned against it breathlessly.

The next second, it jumped and shuddered under an enormous blow.

“Give me my child!”
screamed the voice of the troll princess outside the door.

“Her child?” Gudrun said. “What does she
mean? We haven’t got her child.”

“That’s what
you
think!” said a scratchy voice. Out of the cradle rose the wrinkled face and protruding hairy ears of the troll baby. It gave Gudrun a slow grin, showing every single one of its teeth.

“Oh my goodness!” shrieked Gudrun. “What in the world is that?”

THE MILLER OF TROLL FELL

B
EFORE ANYONE COULD
answer, the door shook under another blow. Stones rattled on the wooden planking. The farmhouse trembled as the trolls stormed around the walls like a black wind, plucking at the shutters and yelling.

Sigurd clung to Gudrun, shouting explanations. Sigrid seized Eirik and sat with him on her knee, hugging him. Tears poured down her face.

“Here,” said Hilde into Peer’s ear. “Put this on.” She shoved a dry jerkin into his arms and turned to strip Ran of her sodden clothing. Peer obeyed mechanically. The noise outside was terrific. The dogs crept under the table, shivering.

The troll baby looked from one face to
another, ears cocked. Gudrun, bending to listen to Sigurd, suddenly turned to it. “You! What’s your name?”

“Me?” smirked the troll baby. “I’m just myself. No name yet, missus!”

“Is that your mother outside?” demanded Gudrun. In a lull in the racket, the troll princess’s voice soared shrilly skyward: “I want my
child!”

The troll baby pretended to listen. “That’s her,” it agreed.

“I see.” Gudrun’s lips thinned. “The twins did very wrong to steal you away from her. No!—” Sigurd tried to protest. “—I’ll speak to you later. She must have her child back
immediately!”

“Ma,” protested Hilde, “if we open that door, they’ll burst in and tear us to pieces!”

At that very moment, someone leaped onto the roof with a tremendous thump. They looked up in horror. The next moment, heavy footfalls thudded from one gable end to the other, and back again.
Crash, crash, crash!
The rafters groaned in warning.

There was heavy panting from the smokehole. A fearsome face plunged through and
twisted about, glaring. The red mouth was at the top; the black eyes were at the bottom. It shook a ruff of sooty hair and screeched, “I can see the prince, your ladyship! I knew they’d be hiding him here. I’ll punish them for you. I’ll tear off their arms and legs!”

Of course—it was Baldur Grimsson, looking in upside down! Hilde sprang for a broom and jabbed it at him. His head disappeared upward, but they heard contemptuous laughter, and the roof continued to shudder.

“Rock-a-bye, baby,” giggled the troll in the cradle. Gudrun advanced upon it, rolling up her sleeves, and it squealed. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Gudrun evenly. “But you’re not staying here another minute.”

“Wait, Gudrun.” Peer caught her arm. “Let me out first. I’ll try and draw Uncle Baldur off.”

“Peer, are you mad?” Hilde shouted.

“No …” He glanced up at the smokehole, where Uncle Baldur’s thick fingers could be seen working at the sods and wrenching at the laths that underpinned the roof. “I’ve got an idea. No time to explain.” He seized a
pinewood torch—Ralf kept a collection of trimmed branches near the door—and shoved it into the embers. It crackled and flared. He looked around at the family.
His
family.

Ralf told me to look after them. And I will.
He slipped his free hand into his pocket. It was half full of wet silt, but the carved comb was still there.

“Here, Hilde. I made this for you. Sorry it’s got a bit dirty—but you’d better have it now. When I tell you, open the door.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled. “Uncle Baldur! Can you hear me? Who’s the Miller of Troll Fell? You—or me?”

He nodded to Hilde. “Now!”

She flung herself at the door. As soon as it was wide enough, Peer slipped out. As it slammed behind him, he charged through the assembled trolls, waving his torch so fiercely that they fell back.

“UNCLE BALDUR!” he yelled again. “COME AND GET ME!” He turned and looked, poised to run.

The Grimsson brothers were outlined against the sky, monstrous riders sitting
astride the ridge and kicking great wounds in the turf roof. But now they saw him. They both rose, towering against the stars.

“COME AND GET ME!” Peer taunted once more, and waited till he saw both his uncles run down the slant of the roof and leap into the crowd of trolls. Then he took to his heels.

Back in the farmhouse, Gudrun swung the troll baby out of the cradle. It eyed her with alarm, flattening its ears. “Don’t squirm,” she told it grimly. “I’m going to have a word with your mother!”

“No, Ma!” said Hilde.

“Well? Surely you don’t want to keep it?”

“No, but—”

“And you’ll agree that the trolls didn’t steal the twins? Or Ran, or Eirik?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then this time,
we’re
at fault, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Lift the bar!”

“But …” The words died on Hilde’s lips. She did as she was told.

“Stand back!” commanded Gudrun grandly, and threw the door open. She marched
forward with the troll baby in her arms.

A shout went up from the trolls. Looking over her mother’s shoulder, Hilde saw them swarming around the doorway, thick as angry bees. In front of Gudrun stood the troll princess, her wild hair floating out, a coronet of leaves slipping from her head, her slanted eyes flashing.
“Aha!”
she hissed.

“Mommy!” said the troll baby feebly.

“My precious princeling!” the troll princess screamed. She snatched her child from Gudrun and squashed it against her bosom. “My little king!” She glared at Gudrun. “How dare you steal him from me?”

“Mmmf. Mmmf.”
The troll baby struggled to turn its face sideways and breathe. It bit. Squealing, the princess loosened her clutch.

“Mommy, don’t fuss,” it complained. “Anyway, it wasn’t her that took me. It was her boy and girl. No, stop it—get off …”

It disappeared into another stifling embrace. The princess stepped forward, snarling,
“Your children stole my baby!”

“They didn’t hurt him!” Gudrun cried. “He’s been perfectly safe. They meant no harm. They took your—your son—because
they thought the trolls had stolen their own little brother and sister. Believe me, I’ve been as upset as you have.”

A muffled howl came from the troll baby. It popped out its head, tousled and breathless, with crumpled ears. “Let go! I want that boy and girl, mommy. I wanna—I wanna—I wanna play with them!” It bared its teeth and bit her again.

“Ouch!” The troll princess snatched her fingers away. “Naughty little—precious! It’s all in fun,” she added hastily to Gudrun. “He doesn’t mean it.”

“Just high spirits,” Gudrun agreed with an odd smile. The crowd of trolls pressed closer to the door, buzzing. The princess lashed her tail suspiciously, breathing hard, staring at Gudrun. Gudrun maintained her smile. The troll baby crossed its eyes, sticking out a long purple tongue.

Then the princess sprang forward. Gudrun recoiled, stepping on Hilde’s toes. But the princess threw herself into Gudrun’s arms, crying dramatically, “I was wrong! My baby needs you. Your children shall be his little playmates. We must be friends. Who but a
mother can understand a mother’s heart? Ah, the little ones. What a trial they are! How one suffers!”

Openmouthed, Hilde watched her mother patting the troll princess on the back, the troll baby awkwardly squished between them.

“It’s your first, isn’t it?” Gudrun was asking. “Of course. Now don’t you worry, my dear, it’s—he’s—fine. Never mind his tantrums. He’s been fed, so he can’t be hungry. He’s, um, he’s very
advanced
for his age!”

“Oh, do you think so?” The troll princess drew back and looked at her infant with tearful pride. “I was a little worried—he has only thirty teeth.”

Gudrun clearly had things under control. Hilde slithered past her mother out of the door and threaded her way through the squeaking, jostling, chattering trolls. She broke into a run. She had to find Peer.

Peer burst out of the woods and raced down the track to the mill. The wind blew the torch flames shrunken and small: He was afraid it would go out. He was afraid of tripping. He was afraid the Grimssons would
catch him. Worst of all, he was afraid that they would give up the chase and go back to the farm.

He reached the millpond and risked a glance back. Were they behind him?
Come on, come on!
He jogged anxiously from foot to foot. Young and light as he was, he had outrun his lumbering uncles.

How to make sure they would still follow?
Start the mill!
That would bring Uncle Baldur like a wasp to honey. He dashed up to the sluice and sidled along the plank, holding the torch high. He managed to pull up the sluice gate one-handed. It came crookedly, and then jammed open. Water rushed through. With a creaking rumble, the mill clattered to life.

Angry yells echoed from the edge of the wood. The Grimssons had heard! Peer bounded back to the path and ran to the bridge, where, suddenly inspired, he waved the torch over his head and shouted, “Come on, you fat fools!” They came thundering down the hill toward him. He ran into the yard and stood waiting, head high, heart pounding. The torch drooped in his hand and the flames crept upward,
unfurling bright yellow petals.

Footsteps battered the bridge. Baldur and Grim charged around the end of the mill and into the yard, panting heavily. Baldur yelled with triumph and punched Grim in the shoulder. “We’ve got him, brother! He didn’t even try to hide.” Grim threw back his head and howled. Chests heaving, they moved slowly forward, and Peer retreated, step by step.