West of the Moon. Katherine Langrish
lives in there. That’s why there aren’t any ducks or moorhens. She pulls them under and eats them. So people say.”
“Really?” Peer looked at the sullen brown water with its oily reflections. It was easy to believe that Hilde could be right.
“What’s she like?” he asked.
“She has green teeth, of course,” said Hilde. “Pointed. Green weedy hair. I’ve never seen her, but a man in the village has. He met an enormous eel one night, sliding along through the grass – and that was her, too!”
“How did he know?” Peer asked reasonably.
“He just did! And that’s not all,” said Hilde. “There are all sorts of spooky stories about this mill. I don’t envy you, living here. The Grimssons think they are so important, just because they’re the millers, and yet the mill only runs once in a while. They’re always cheating people and not giving fair measure. They won’t touch our corn any more. We have to grind it at home with the hand mill.”
“Why’s that?” Peer began to think he didn’t like this girl. Couldn’t she say anything good about the place?
“We have a feud with them,” said Hilde. “They claim they own one of our fields. They don’t, of course.” She grinned at him. “If you’re their nephew, I suppose that means we have a feud with you, too.”
“A feud!” Peer exclaimed. “And your father’s called Ralf? I think I saw him last night. Didn’t he come over Troll Fell in all that rain?”
“You were there? Pa never said. What happened exactly?”
“It was so dark he probably didn’t see me,” Peer told her. “I was in the bottom of the cart, getting soaked. As soon as my uncle saw your father, he went crazy. He jumped up and started calling him names —”
“What sort of names?”
“A crawling worm, and a thief —”
“Did he?” Hilde flashed.
Peer shrugged. “You asked. It’s not my fault. Anyway, if you hate the millers so much, why are you here this morning?”
Hilde laughed. “I’m not coming to your precious mill. I’m riding down to the village.” She patted her basket. “I’m going to see Bjørn the fisherman, and trade some cheese and butter. Mother wants fish, and my grandfather fancies a roast crab for his tea.”
Cheese! Butter! Roast crabs! Peer swallowed. He realised how terribly hungry he felt. His downcast look must have touched Hilde, for she said in a more friendly way, “I hope you’ll like living here. Your uncles will give you an easy time at first, won’t they? I know! I can bring our barley to you now. If you don’t tell your uncles who it’s from, maybe they’ll grind it for us. That would be a joke!”
“I don’t think I could,” said Peer, alarmed. He felt sure that her jokes could get him into a lot of trouble.
“I didn’t mean it,” said Hilde impatiently. She gave him a look, plainly wondering how anyone could be so dull and serious, and Peer flushed. Hilde waved. “I’ll be seeing you!” she cried.
She rode over the bridge and on down the hill. Peer blew out his cheeks.
“Who cares what she thinks?” he muttered. “Eh, Loki?” He called Loki to heel and trailed back to the yard. The mill door was open, and he saw one of his uncles standing dishevelled in the morning sunshine, scratching under his arms and staring at Hilde as her pony picked its neat-footed way down the road to the village. He summoned Peer with a jerk of the head.
“Were you talking to that lass?”
“Yes, Uncle Grim,” said Peer meekly.
He received a slap that made his head ring. “That’s for chattering and wasting time,” growled his uncle. “What did she say?”
“If you don’t want me to talk to her, why do you want to know?” asked Peer angrily, rubbing his ear. Uncle Grim lifted his hand again.
“Oh well, let me see,” said Peer with an edge to his voice. “She asked me who I was. I told her my name. Then she said her name is Hilde, and she welcomed me to the dale, which she seems to think she owns. Isn’t this interesting?”
Uncle Grim didn’t seem to notice sarcasm. “What else?”
Peer wasn’t going to repeat what Hilde had said about the millers. He racked his brains for something else. “Oh yes,” he remembered. “She said her father went away this morning. He’s going a-Viking for the summer, on the new longship.”
Uncle Grim’s black beard split open in a wide grin, showing a set of brown and yellow teeth. “Has he, indeed? Baldur!” he bellowed. “Ralf Eiriksson has gone a-Viking. Leaving his family all alone!” He clapped Peer on the back. “Maybe you’ll be useful after all, sonny!”
With a sinking heart Peer followed his uncle indoors. Loki trotted at his heels. And Grendel, sprawled out beside the fire, saw Loki. He surged to his feet like a hairy earthquake and crept forwards growling, eyes riveted on the intruder, strings of saliva drooling from his jaws. Peer whirled in alarm. Loki stood there, his tail wagging slower and slower as he lost confidence.
“Down Grendel! Down!” cried Peer.
“He’ll not listen to you,” said Uncle Baldur scornfully from the table.
“Tell him Loki’s a friend,” Peer begged, trying to bundle Loki backwards out of the door. “Can’t we introduce them, or something?”
In no hurry, Uncle Baldur finished his mouthful. “Down, Grendel,” he ordered. The huge dog flicked a glance at his master.
“Get down, sir!” screamed Uncle Baldur, slapping his hand on the table. Grendel shook his great head, spattering Peer with froth, and lowered himself to the floor, still glaring at Loki with unforgiving menace.
Peer got the door open and Loki vanished into the yard.
“Come here,” said Uncle Baldur to Peer, cutting himself some more cheese. Peer approached reluctantly till he was standing between his uncle’s outstretched legs. Crumbs of bread and cheese speckled his uncle’s beard. His stained shirt gaped open at the throat, exposing another tangle of black hair. A flea jumped out. Uncle Baldur caught it, cracked it, wiped his fingers on his shirt, and reached for more bread.
“That dog,” he said, nodding at Grendel. “That dog only obeys me and Grim. Right? He hates other dogs. He’s a born fighter.”
“Killed half a dozen,” agreed Grim in a sort of proud growl.
“So if you want to keep your dog in one piece, you watch your step and make yourself very, very useful.” Uncle Baldur stared Peer straight in the eye. “Otherwise we might organise a little dogfight. Understand?”
Peer understood. He compressed his lips and nodded, as slightly as he dared.
“Good.” Baldur explored a back molar with a dirty fingernail. “Now what’s all this about Ralf Eiriksson?”
“I don’t know,” said Peer sullenly. “No!” he added. “I mean, all I know is what I’ve told you. His daughter says he’s walking to Hammerhaven this morning. He’s going a-Viking for the summer. I didn’t ask any more.”
His uncles winked at each other, and Uncle Baldur kicked Peer on the ankle. “Where did the girl go?”
“To the village,” said Peer in a small voice. “To buy fish.”
“I want to see her.” Uncle Baldur jabbed Peer in the chest. “Watch for her coming back. Bring her straight to me. Right?”
He turned to the table, not waiting for a reply, and tossed him the end of a loaf. “Eat that and get on with the chores,” he said abruptly. “Grim’ll show you what to do.