LITMIR.BIZ

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“Ho, ho!”

      “We want – to see – the Gaffer,” Hilde gasped.

      A dark hooked arm bowled the ball of light towards them. They dodged, and the quivering light rolled past, illuminating the first few yards of a long passage. They looked back at the stone door, trying to see the gatekeeper, but their own shadows blotted it out – except for a long clawed foot, like a bird’s, scraping along the floor.

      Peer and Hilde turned and ran. “Oh my goodness,” panted Hilde. “It must have been standing right behind us in the dark!”

      “What now?” Peer demanded. “What do we do?”

      “Follow the light, I think. Come on!” She tugged his hand. Peer came, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder. But only darkness followed them.

      At first, the passage was wide enough to walk abreast. Peer clumped along in his wet boots, trying not to shiver. Troll Fell had swallowed him and here he was in its long stone gullet. The air was chill. The floor rose and fell, with unexpected puddles.

      Sometimes the passage twisted, or branched into side passages, which corkscrewed up or dived into darkness. Sometimes the roof dipped, and they had to duck. Or the walls bulged, nipping the passage into a tight waist. “One at a time here,” muttered Hilde, sliding sideways. “Come on!” Peer squeezed after her: the stone felt wet and smooth, slick as a cow’s tongue.

      On the other side Hilde clutched him, shouting. “Look at that!”

      A rough cataract of yellow water shot from a hole in the ceiling and hurtled into a pit. The only way past was along a slanting ledge on the left-hand wall. Peer looked down the shaft. The water careered into darkness.

      “I’ll go first!” he said grimly. He needed to keep moving. When he stood still, he felt as though the whole weight of Troll Fell was pressing on his shoulders. “It’s not too bad,” he shouted. “Keep near the wall like this, and – ah!”

      His foot slipped and in panic he snatched at the rocks. One hand curled over a sharp rim and he hung over the drop, kicking. Water drummed on his back. Hilde screamed; then her hand caught his flailing wrist and she hauled. He dragged his knee up and over, and clawed his way further up the slippery shelf. Together they crawled out of the spray to where the passage opened again on the far side of the shaft.

      The ball of light was loitering there, bluish and fitful. As they scrambled to their feet it turned a couple of brisk spins, brightened, and whirled off down the tunnel. Bruised and bedraggled, Peer and Hilde limped along. They stumbled up a flight of shallow steps. At the top the light sprang up and hung overhead, rotating lazily.

      Deep in the rock of the left-hand wall was a crevice, shaped into a rough archway. Set back into it was a solid wooden door.

      Peer looked at Hilde. She gave him an anxious nod. He knocked.

      In a moment the door opened a crack and small troll looked out, holding a smoking pine branch in one fist. It saw them and hissed, exposing needle sharp teeth and began to shut the door again, but Peer stuck his foot in the way.

      “We want to see the Gaffer!”

      The troll jerked at the door. Peer got his fingers around the edge and dragged it back. Feverishly, Hilde unwrapped the golden cup.

      The troll’s eyes grew round and black. It let go of the door and sprang up and down, tail lashing. “Give! Give!” it squeaked.

      “It’s not for you.” Hilde held the cup high in the air. “It’s for the Gaffer. We want to see him – now!”

      The little troll’s claws shot out and its ears folded flat like an angry cat’s, but it stood back and opened the door wide. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, Peer and Hilde stepped in.

      It was a large chamber, gloriously warm and smelling of pine needles. In the middle of the floor a brazier glowed red, filled with logs. The troll pitched the burning branch back into the flames.

      Beyond the brazier was a stone bed. Its four crooked posts seemed to have dripped from the ceiling and grown from the floor. Peer and Hilde tiptoed closer. On it, snoring loudly under a pile of sheepskins, the old Gaffer of Troll Fell lay – apparently asleep. His mouth hung open, showing two long brown curving teeth like tusks. His eyes were closed. But in the middle of his forehead a third eye glared, red-rimmed and weeping. It rolled around and fixed on Peer and Hilde.

      “I see strangers,” the Gaffer mumbled in his sleep. He yawned, stretched and sat up, opening his other eyes – and as he did so, the eye in the middle of his forehead fluttered slowly shut.

      “Hutututu! What’s this, what’s this?” growled the Gaffer. Peer and Hilde grabbed hands.

      “I’m Ralf Eiriksson’s daughter.” Hilde spoke up bravely. “I’ve come for my little brother and sister. The millers of Trollsvik stole them.”

      “We brought you something in exchange,” Peer added as the Gaffer scowled.

      Hilde held up the golden cup. “This! You lost it years ago. Give me back my brother and sister, and in return —”

      “Lost it?” the Gaffer interrupted. “It was stolen! Stolen by your father, a thief if ever there was. How dare you make bargains with me?”

      “How dare you call him a thief?” Hilde cried. “You trolls tried to poison him!”

      “Hilde —” said Peer.

      “It wasn’t poison!” shouted the King of Troll Fell.

      “Then why did it burn all the hair off his pony’s tail?” Hilde yelled.

      “Hilde —”

      Hilde grabbed a sheepskin from the Gaffer’s bed and shook it in his face. “See that?” she panted. “See that mark? That came from one of our sheep – and so did this!” She seized another fleece, and another. “Who’s the thief now?” She threw them down and stood glaring at him.

      Peer expected the Gaffer to call his trolls and have both of them torn to pieces. To his immense relief, the huge old troll began to laugh. He screwed up all three eyes and rocked to and fro on the edge of his bed, choking.

      “Well, what’s a little borrowing between neighbours?” he coughed, slapping his knees. “Give me that!” He snatched the cup and turned it in his claws, admiring it.

      “Nice timing,” he grinned at Hilde. “We need this for the wedding. It’s the Bride Cup of Troll Fell, always used at weddings. Traditional! Belonged to my grandmother. Skotte!”

      The little troll in the corner gave a shrill squeak and stood to attention.

      “Get everyone up,” said the Gaffer. “If I’m awake, no one else sleeps. There’s plenty to do. I want the Hall ready before midnight. Wake up the princess. I want to see her.” The little troll doubled over in a bow and scuttled out.

      The troll king reached for his coat, which was made of sewn-together cat skins, mostly tabby. There was a slit in the back for his cow-like tail. He thrashed about. “Help me!” he growled, and Peer gingerly bent and hooked the tail through.

      “Follow me,” the Gaffer commanded. He threw open the door and stumped out. The ball of light, idly drifting against the ceiling, brightened rapidly and bounded ahead of him as he marched along the tunnel.

      Peer and Hilde began to hear noises ahead: bangs, crashes and whoops. The passage ended in some steps, and they found themselves looking into the splendid Hall under Troll Fell.

      It was a huge cavern. The roof was an arch of darkness, patrolled by many floating lights, golden and blue. Their own ball whirled aloft to join the others.

      Opposite them, a waterfall found its way in white threads down between rocks. At the foot of the waterfall was a stone chair. The water divided around it and flowed away in a channel under an archway.

      The Hall was filling with trolls. Some

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