LITMIR.BIZ

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      Peer didn’t know what a Skraeling was, but nothing would have induced him to ask. He squeezed down the room and reached over Arnë’s shoulder to grab some food. Gudrun smiled at him, and Hilde flipped him a wave, but the benches were full, so he folded himself into a corner near the fire, sitting on the earth floor with his back against one of the big wooden posts that held up the roof. Loki came out from under the table to greet him. Peer pulled him close and fed him a piece of cheese.

      Sigurd was asking loudly, “What’s a Skraeling?”

      “Skraelings, laddie?” Gunnar set down his horn cup with a crack. “A Skraeling is a wretch, a pitiful rascal. It’s what we call those creatures who live in Vinland. No better than trolls. They live in tents made from bits of tree bark. They dress in skins. Your little sister knows more than the Skraelings do. Why,” he guffawed, “at one place we stopped they were so ignorant that they bartered good furs for a few miserable pieces of red cloth. And when we ran short of cloth, we tore it into thinner and thinner strips, and still the Skraelings paid in furs.”

      “That’s not what Pa told us,” said Hilde. Peer nodded agreement. Ralf’s stories had made these people sound like tall forest spirits, flitting between the trees with bright feathers in their black hair.

      Ralf said mildly, “I thought they were fine people. And why shouldn’t they barter furs for cloth, if cloth was a rarity? I don’t call that proof of ignorance.”

      Gunnar stared as though he wasn’t used to being disagreed with. Gudrun broke in, “But aren’t they dangerous? Isn’t that how you lost your hand, Gunnar—fighting Skraelings?”

      “Skraelings? No!” Gunnar’s face darkened. “No. It happened in Westfold before I left. An argument in an ale-house.” Here his wife gave him a cold glance, Peer noticed—perhaps she didn’t approve of ale-house fights. “The man jumped me before I was ready for him. Luckily I had my boy here with me.”

      “What did Harald do?” Sigurd asked eagerly.

      “Oh, I just cut the fellow’s hair for him. With this,” said Harald with a lazy wink, patting his sword. Sigurd laughed out loud, and Ralf grinned. Astrid studied her nails, and Gudrun shook her head. Peer stared at Harald in deep dislike.

      Harald twitched. He brushed at his shoulder, frowning. A moment later he shook his head, combing his fingers through his hair.Then Peer realised.The Nis, perching in the rafters, was amusing itself by dropping things on to Harald’s head—dead spiders and bits of grit and cobwebs. Brilliant! He tousled Loki’s ears, grinning.

      “Anyway, tell us about your settlement,” exclaimed Ralf. “What’s it called? What’s it like? And how’s my old friend Thorolf?”

      Peer looked up. It would be good to hear news of Thorolf; he remembered him as a tall, pleasant-faced man who had often spoken to his father in the boat sheds at Hammerhaven.

      A glance passed between Harald and Gunnar. “We’ve had no news of Thorolf since we left him in Vinland last year,” said Harald, yawning. “Have we, father?”

      “How could we?” Gunnar shivered suddenly, and the cup shook and splashed in his hand. He set it down. “Harald’s right. We left him there last year. Haven’t been back since.”

      “Ah, then you don’t know what he’s up to now,” Ralf pointed out. “He may have come after you.”

      Gunnar mumbled something. Peer, who was sitting near him, saw in surprise that his face was beaded with sweat. He noticed Astrid giving her husband a sharp, curious glance.

      Harald shook his hair. “I think we’ll find Thorolf and his men right where we left them,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think he had any plans to leave.”

      Ralf leaned forwards, rubbing his hands. “Didn’t he, now? Maybe you’re right. It’s a wonderful land. Those green forests, full of game—the rivers bursting with fish. No wonder Thorolf wants to make a home there. And you, you’re on your way back?”

      Harald nodded. “We have two good solid houses in a sheltered bay, with a river running out of the woods, and good anchorage in the river mouth. We named it Serpent’s Bay—because of the two ships, Long Serpent and Water Snake.”

      And I suppose that was your clever idea, thought Peer, watching mesmerised as a dried bean bounced off Harald’s shoulder and skittered across the table. Sigurd noticed it this time. He nudged Sigrid, and the pair of them glanced upwards and giggled.

      Arnë broke in eagerly. “Ralf, why don’t you come with us? That’s why I brought Gunnar here. He’s looking for another man, and I told him you’ve always talked about another voyage.”

      Gudrun, who’d been going round the table with the jug, knocked Arnë’s cup over. Ale washed across the table. Sigrid jumped up for a cloth, but Gudrun stood stock-still, eyes fixed on Ralf.

      “Arnë’s right.” Gunnar wiped his face and looked steadier. “It’s like this, Ralf: my old crew split up over the winter. On the profits of the last trip, some of them got married or bought land, and didn’t want to set out again this season. So I’ve been looking for new men. Picked up a couple in Hammerhaven—Arnë for one—but there’s room for another. Interested?” He didn’t wait for Ralf to reply, but went on,”Here’s the plan. Setting out this early, we ought to reach Vinland by midsummer. The Greenlanders will pay anything for good timber, and it’s there for the taking, great tall oaks and pines. Spend the winter trapping—fox and beaver. The place belongs to no one. No kings, no laws. It’s all free. You can carve yourself a piece of land and be absolute master. Think about it. You could come home and buy Gudrun a gold necklace. Or a couple of cows or more land, whatever you like. What do you say?”

      “I knew you’d ask,” said Ralf slowly. “I’ve been thinking about it all evening, deciding what to do…”

      Gunnar sat back. “Good! Let’s drink to it.”

      ”…but I’m needed on the farm,” Ralf went on. “Sigurd’s not old enough to manage, and the last time I went away Gudrun had all sorts of trouble with the trolls. I can’t leave her to cope alone.”

      Gudrun’s eyes shone, but Gunnar’s whiskered cheeks creased uneasily. “Trolls? You have many trolls here?”

      Ralf laughed, and waved his hand. “We live on Troll Fell, Gunnar.”

      “Trolls.” Gunnar shuddered. “I hate ‘em. Unnatural vermin.”

      Astrid seemed to stir. Her lips parted, but before she could speak another dried bean dropped from the rafters, splashing into Harald’s cup as he lifted it to his lips. Harald threw down the cup.

      “That’s enough, you!” He pointed at Peer, who scrambled to his feet. “Do you think I’m going to put up with this?”

      Everyone stared. Harald put his hands on the table and leaned forward menacingly. “You’ve been throwing beans at me, haven’t you, Barelegs? And you think it’s funny?”

      “I didn’t do anything,” said Peer, seriously alarmed.

      “It wasn’t Peer!” Sigrid cried.

      “No. There’s something dodging about in the roof,” said Astrid, to Peer’s great surprise. Most people couldn’t see the Nis.

      Everyone looked up into the smoky dark roof-space, cluttered with fishing nets, strings of onions, old hay-rakes and scythes.

      The Nis flung down its fistful of beans. A stinging shower rattled on to Harald’s upturned face, and as he cursed and ducked, the Nis followed it up by bouncing some small wrinkled apples off his back. Then it could be heard drumming its heels against the beam, and sniggering: “Tee-hee-hee!”

      Astrid’s face sharpened into a triangular smile. “There it is!” she breathed, fixing her eyes on a spot above Harald’s head. The sniggering broke off.

      “Where?”

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