LITMIR.BIZ

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and feathers. “News!” it carolled.

      “I don’t care,” Peer groaned. “All right, what news?”

      “News from Troll Fell!” said the Nis slyly.

      “All right, I’m interested – go on!”

      The Nis hopped. “The Gaffer’s son will marry the King of the Dovrefell’s daughter,” it said.

      “You told me that already.”

      “But now there’s more, Peer Ulfsson. Much more! I hear your uncles saying that now…” it took a deep breath, “the King of the Dovrefell’s son will marry the Gaffer’s daughter!”

      Peer tried to work this out. “Instead?”

      “No!” the Nis said impatiently. “As well!”

      “Ah. So it will be a double wedding?”

      The Nis nodded in ecstasy. “Even bigger wedding! Even bigger feast!”

      Peer rubbed his eyes. He understood that the Gaffer of Troll Fell had pulled off an important alliance for his son and daughter, but he didn’t see why he should care. Still, one thing puzzled him. “Why would it bother the Grimssons, Nis? Why did they look so cross?”

      The Nis had gone skipping off over the stalls. It answered from the other side of the barn. “Now they has to find a girl as well as a boy.”

      “What!” Peer sat up.

      “A girl to serve the Prince as well as a boy for the Princess,” explained the Nis. “Or the King of the Dovre will be offended.”

      “You mean you knew all the time that Baldur wants to sell me to the trolls?” Peer gasped. “And you didn’t tell me?”

      The Nis stopped scampering about. “Doesn’t you want to serve the trolls?” it asked, amazed.

      “No!”

      “Why not?”

      Peer struggled to reply. “I’m a human,” he said at last. “I can’t work for trolls.”

      “I’m a Nis,” said the Nis huffily, “and I works for humans.”

      “Sorry,” said Peer, a little ashamed. “But you can’t like working for Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim.”

      “No, because of cold groute with no butter,” the Nis agreed. “But for them that gives me hot, sweet groute with a big lump of butter, or a bowl of cream – for them, Peer Ulfsson, I works willingly.” It sighed.

      “It’d take more than a bowl of hot porridge to get me working for the trolls,” muttered Peer. “Under the mountain? In the dark?” He shuddered.

      “Under the hill is rich and splendid!” the Nis insisted.

      “I’m sorry, Nis, it doesn’t appeal to me.” Peer was overcome by an enormous yawn. “So you’re saying the trolls want a girl as well as a boy, or the deal’s off? Good news for me. Lucky I don’t have a sister.” He lay back in the straw. Moonlight was blending into dawn. “I’m so tired.” He yawned again. “I wonder what my uncles will do now…?”

      “They has to find a girl, of course,” the Nis replied – but Peer was already asleep.

      The black cockerel woke him with a falsetto shriek of “cock-a-doodle-doo!” right beside his ear. Peer sat up with a gasp. The cockerel gave him a malicious glance and stalked away, tail feathers quivering.

      “I’ll tell the Nis to pull them out,” Peer threatened, pushing the barn door open. As the morning sunlight streamed in, he remembered everything he had learned.

      If the trolls want a girl as well as a boy, I’m safe, he thought. Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim don’t have a niece, or any female relations. Did they even know any girls?

      His eyes suddenly widened in horror.

      Hilde was a girl!

      They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

      Could they?

      No! thought Peer. But – all the same – I’ve got to warn her!

      Chapter 8

       A Day Out

      BUT PEER DID not see Hilde again for a long time. Weeks passed. White windflowers sprang up in the birchwoods on the flanks of Troll Fell; the ploughed field above the mill sprouted with green barley, and still Hilde did not come riding down to the village, and Peer was kept far too busy to go walking up the valley to find her. He woke each morning sore and tired, and fell asleep at the end of each long day half dead with exhaustion.

      One fine afternoon Hilde decided to take her little brother and sister down to the sea.

      It was washday. Gudrun and Hilde had carried nearly every piece of clothing in the house to a place where a waterfall tumbled into a little pool. They had kilted up their skirts and trodden the clothes down till their legs were blue and aching. Bringing the dripping load back to the farm they found that Eirik, sitting outside the door in the sunshine, had nodded off. Unwatched, Sigurd and Sigrid had taken it into their heads to try riding the cow. They had untied her picket rope, scrambled on her bony back and allowed her to amble down the steep little valley where the wild garlic grew. She had gorged herself on the pungent leaves and flowers.

      “The milk will taste of garlic for a week!” Gudrun scolded.

      “We can make cheese,” suggested Hilde. “Ma, you need a rest. Let me get the children out of your way. We’ll take the pony and go down to the fjord, and you can sit in the sun and spin.”

      “That would be lovely,” Gudrun agreed thankfully.

      As Hilde led the pony downhill through the wood, the white trunks of the birch trees shone as if newly scoured and the brook flashed in the sunlight. Sigrid sang one song, Hilde another. Sigurd pounded the pony with his heels to make it trot. On leaving the woods the path slanted across the fields to the wooden bridge. The mill was working, clattering busily, and Hilde looked eagerly for Peer.

      As it happened, Peer saw her first. He was cleaning the pigsty, a lean-to shed at the back of the mill on the other side of the millpond. Stripped to the waist, his ragged trousers rolled up, Peer shovelled out mud and smelly straw and cabbage stalks, while Bristles the boar basked against the wall, his hairy sides heaving. Resting for a moment to wipe sweat from his eyes, Peer saw Hilde and the children coming out of the woods. He almost ducked out of sight. Why did Hilde always have to see him this way, covered in dirt? But there were things he needed to tell her. He climbed out of the sty and waved.

      Hilde waved back. “Hello! We’re going to the sea. Want to come?”

      To the sea! Suddenly Peer didn’t care what his uncles did or said. A sunny afternoon with Hilde would be worth almost anything that could happen afterwards. He threw down his shovel. “I’ll catch you up,” he called, and Loki, who had been lying in gloomy boredom with his nose between his paws, jumped up wagging his tail.

      Peer ran around the back of the barn, skirting a bank of green stinging nettles, and crept through the bushes till he was out of sight of the mill. He emerged on the path breathless, and fell into step with Hilde.

      “Good for you!” she greeted him. “I hope you won’t get into trouble.”

      “Oh, I will,” said Peer grimly. His face hardened. “I just don’t care any more.”

      Hilde glanced at him. He was burned brown from working in the sun with his shirt off. He was covered with mud, and his trousers were nothing but rags. He looked thinner, taller and older. And Loki’s coat was rough, and his ribs showed.

      “Oh!” she said, shocked.

      Peer scowled, as though daring her to comment. “Loki doesn’t get enough to eat,” he said curtly. “Grendel gets it all.”

      Hilde

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