Frankie Fish and the Viking Fiasco

by Peter Helliar

  ‘Oh great, another bear,’ Frankie moaned, jumping over a bush. ‘That’s just what we need right now.’

  But when he heard a whinnying sound, he realised that someone was chasing after them on horseback … and that he was probably about to be caught.

  ‘Keep going!’ he screamed to Drew, who was up ahead on his scooter. The words had only just left his mouth as he felt a hand grab him by the collar and lift him into the air.

  Feeling like his remaining living moments were now definitely in the single digits, Frankie squeezed his eyes shut.

  But rather than hearing the swish of an axe-blade heading towards him, Frankie found himself being tossed onto the back of the galloping horse. He opened one eye cautiously. Then the other. A huge grin spread across his face when he saw who was riding the horse. It was Birger!

  Frankie had never felt more relieved. Birger called out something that Frankie figured probably meant, ‘Hold on!’ and he did just that. He held on to Birger as tightly as a mouse in a cyclone holding onto the last piece of cheese in town.

  Drew Bird, who had whipped up some serious speed on his blue scooter, led the way back to the gnarled tree (which seemed to look more like Grandad every time Frankie saw it), where the group finally slowed to a stop.

  Birger dismounted from his noble steed in a single, effortless movement, but Frankie wished he had a ladder to get off the huge horse. He slithered down cautiously and was extremely happy when his feet finally hit the ground. He turned to see Drew standing in front of Birger.

  ‘Birger,’ said Drew, looking shame-faced. ‘I’m so sorry about the Viking helmet. I thought no-one would mind if I borrowed it for a bit, because it was so old and scuffed up.’

  ‘Brynjar is very proud of his helmet,’ Birger explained, once the padlock had done its translation. ‘Our father gave it to him.’

  ‘Oops,’ said Drew guiltily. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know.’

  Birger smiled. ‘It was a mistake. Everyone makes them,’ he said. Then his smile faded. ‘Except my brother. Everything he does is perfect.’

  ‘My big sister is like that,’ Frankie said, sympathetically.

  ‘Your sister is good at wielding an axe too?’ Birger queried. ‘And she is the village arm-wrestling champion? And she has the best beard?’

  ‘Well, no,’ admitted Frankie. ‘But she always gets straight As and she never burps at the table. It’s hard to live up to her standards.’ Frankie felt extremely sorry for Birger. And his guilty conscience about his own role in Birger’s father’s death was weighing on him heavily. Maybe he and Drew should just tell Birger what they’d done to the bear. Or maybe Drew was right, and they should go back in time to undo their mistake …

  Drew tapped Frankie on the shoulder. ‘Um, sorry to break this up, but we should go,’ he said. ‘I think I can hear someone coming.’

  Frankie nodded. If Brynjar was on his way, it was definitely time to go. But then his insides lurched as he remembered something. ‘I don’t have time to set up the protective force field, and we’ve lost Grandad’s extra-long belt!’ he exclaimed. ‘How are we going to form the Circle of Safety?’

  Drew grinned. ‘Already thought of that. There are heaps of stones lying around here. We can make the circle out of them.’

  ‘Will that work?’ Frankie said doubtfully. ‘Grandad said there couldn’t be any breaks in the circle. It’d be better if we used a scarf or a skipping rope.’

  Drew rolled his eyes. ‘Somehow I don’t think we’re going to find those things in a forest in the middle of the Viking era,’ he pointed out. ‘What we have are rocks. They’ll have to do. Let’s do this – and fast.’

  As Frankie didn’t have a better plan, he set to work helping Drew, with Birger watching on curiously. The boys worked as fast as they could, knowing at any moment Brynjar might appear. When they were finished, Drew grabbed the suitcase, the boys stepped into the circle and Frankie began rattling off a hurried farewell to Birger.

  ‘As much as we would love to hang out with you,’ he said, ‘we have a very important Halloween Parade to –’

  But his words were cut short by a loud rumbling noise that rolled through the woods. It sounded like thunder but much more scary. Even worse, it was growing louder by the second. Their hearts thumping with terror, Frankie and Drew turned to see the one person they didn’t want to see right then (and no, it wasn’t one of the Mosley triplets or Lisa Chadwick).

  It was, of course, a raging Brynjar – his anger red hot and visible even from approximately one hundred metres away.

  He spotted the terrified group and ROARED as he charged towards them, pushing his way between trees and leaping over boulders.

  Frankie flung open the suitcase and rainbow-coloured light poured out. With trembling hands, he mashed in the co-ordinates. He could smell Brynjar, could feel him hurtling towards them, only seconds away.

  He heard a huge scream as Brynjar launched himself into the air and towards the stone circle. Then there was another roar as Birger also leapt up, like an AFL footballer taking a mark, colliding with his brother and pushing him away just in the nick of time.

  Brynjar fell to the ground a metre or so away, but Birger fell inside the stone circle, groaning as he clutched his head.

  ‘We have to get him out of here,’ said Drew, desperately trying to push the huge Viking teenager out of the circle.

  With a groan, Brynjar began staggering to his feet. Not knowing what else to do, Frankie swung the open suitcase around to face him, hoping to dazzle Brynjar long enough for them to make their escape. Brynjar looked at the colours and whirling things inside the suitcase, his eyes wide.

  ‘I can’t shift Birger,’ yelled Drew.

  Now, not all ideas are equal. There are brilliant ideas and very, very stupid ideas. The idea that came to Frankie fell somewhere near the middle, although somewhat closer to the stupid idea side. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and Brynjar had just stopped looking at the suitcase and started shaking his fist at Frankie and Drew instead …

  ‘We’ll have to take Birger with us!’ Frankie shouted.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Drew gasped.

  ‘I’m positive it’s not, but we have no choice!’ Frankie flung back, screwing his eyes shut and pressing the final button on the suitcase’s dashboard. ‘Happy travels, I guess –’

  And the boys disappeared from the forest … before anyone could notice that in all the chaos, one of the white stones in the Circle of Safety had been knocked out of place.

  Imagine being stretched

  Stretched over time and distance and music and space. Stretched like a slingshot pulled back by a giant’s hand, but not knowing if you are facing forwards or backwards, so that as the giant releases the shot you cannot be sure if you are travelling up or down or sideways.

  Abraham Lincoln eats pizza as Steve Irwin gets tickled by a crocodile giggling like a three-year-old on Christmas morning. Achilles has his ankles strapped by Arthur Conan Doyle.

  Marilyn Monroe dances with Weary Dunlop as a World War II army tank shoots fireworks into outer space.

  In time travel, nothing makes sense, but somehow, nothing feels like nonsense either.

  Drew tried to scream at Frankie but the only things that came out of his mouth were bubbles.

  Frankie was just able to make out a spinning ant below his feet. It wasn’t really a spinning ant, though. It was actually planet Earth and Frankie, Drew and Birger were hurtling towards it at the speed of sound.

  And before they could say, ‘Hold on,’ the boys were back at home. Well, they were in Grandad Fish’s backyard, actually. To be even more precise, Drew was hanging upside down from the apple tree and Frankie had landed smack bang in the compost heap. Birger, who was out cold, was stretched beneath the Hills hoist, his head resting on Nanna Fish’s peg bucket. Frankie and Drew took a few moments to get themselves together. They weren’t just in a state of shock – they were in an entire country of shock.
>
  Which isn’t so surprising. Only seconds earlier they were about to be hit by a raging Brynjar and now they were sitting in a suburban backyard in the late afternoon with a couple of garden gnomes and an unconscious Viking. Neither of the boys had any idea what to do next. And then Birger began to stir.

  ‘What should we do?’ Drew asked, his eyes round. ‘Take him back before he wakes up fully?’

  Frankie considered this option, then shook his head. ‘No, Brynjar might be there waiting for us. And besides, the Sonic Suitcase needs to be recharged. And the padlock’s come off.’ The charge level on the suitcase’s display read 17 per cent. He looked over at the shed and saw a crack of light shining through the curtains.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to Grandad about it,’ Frankie decided.

  Grandad was definitely the family member who was least likely to freak out about Frankie turning up on his doorstep with a Viking. On the other hand, Frankie wasn’t sure how Grandad would react when he heard that Frankie and Drew’s actions had led to the death of someone in history, even though it had been an accident.

  The bad feeling about what had happened was still lodged in the pit of Frankie’s stomach. Drew seemed to sense his nervousness. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he offered.

  But even as Drew spoke, his phone began to beep furiously from within his backpack as a backlog of messages began downloading (there’s no phone reception in time travel – not yet, anyway).

  Drew fished it out and groaned. ‘Seventy-three messages from Mum, and counting,’ he reported. ‘She must have been trying to reach me while we were away.’ With a regretful sigh, Drew stood up. ‘I’d better go. She’ll freak if I don’t make it home in time for dinner.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘Sure. Call me later?’

  Drew grinned. ‘You bet!’ Then he added, ‘I really am sorry about the helmet, Frankie. I was just borrowing it. I didn’t mean to cause all that trouble.’

  As Drew hurried away, Birger started to sit up, rubbing his head and looking around in complete bewilderment. It was lucky that he seemed to be a ‘take it all in his stride’ kind of Viking, Frankie reflected. All the same, Frankie thought it best if he kept him out of Grandad’s sight, at least initially.

  ‘Stay here … just for a moment,’ Frankie instructed him, leading Birger over to Nanna’s exquisite flowerbeds and praying he wouldn’t stomp all over her forget-me-nots. The padlock in his hand didn’t make a sound, but Birger seemed to understand, so Frankie scooted over to the Forbidden Shed – only to find the door was locked.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! went Frankie’s fists on the old wooden door. No-one answered. Frankie pressed his ear against the wooden planks. He could definitely hear murmurings inside – it sounded like two people were in there. He recognised Grandad’s gravelly tones straight away. And then Frankie froze. The other voice was female … and it definitely wasn’t Nanna.

  ‘Grandad! Are you in there?’ Frankie bellowed.

  The murmurings abruptly stopped and Frankie heard someone walking cautiously across the squeaky floorboards. Then the door opened a crack and Grandad’s head appeared.

  ‘What do ye want, kiddo?’ Grandad snapped. He seemed flustered, and not particularly happy to see Frankie.

  ‘Can I come in?’ asked Frankie urgently.

  ‘Um …’ said Grandad, nervously looking back over his shoulder into the Forbidden Shed. ‘No. Not now. I want to have a chat with ye soon, but not right now, OK?’

  ‘But I've got to charge the suitcase!’ wailed Frankie.

  Grandad’s right hook shot out, grabbed the suitcase and pulled it into the Forbidden Shed. The door shut with a bang.

  Frankie began thumping on the door again. ‘Grandad, is someone in there with you?’ he called. ‘I need your help with something. It’s important!’

  But there was no answer.

  Briefly, Frankie considered asking Nanna Fish if he and Birger could stay with them. But then he remembered it was Friday – the night Nanna held her Family Feud Fan Club meeting. There was no way he could bring a teenage Viking into Nanna’s house when all her friends were there, shouting at the TV!

  Frankie walked despondently back to Birger, who was keeping a careful eye on a moth that was fluttering around his nose.

  ‘Well, Birger. It looks like you’re staying at my house tonight,’ said Frankie.

  Birger just looked straight back at Frankie, puzzled. The padlock in his hand seemed to have been damaged in the landing and was – hopefully only temporarily – not working.

  Typical! Frankie thought grumpily. It felt like his problems just kept getting bigger and more complicated.

  What Frankie didn’t realise was that his problems were actually way bigger and far more complicated than he could even imagine. Because, shortly after he led an extremely curious Birger home through the side gate, another figure woke up, tucked away out of sight behind the (once again) Forbidden Shed.

  Confused, dizzy and disoriented, the figure sat up and looked around, trying to work out where he was. He seemed to be wedged behind some kind of small wooden building, not completely dissimilar to the one he himself lived in roughly nine hundred years in the past. But he was quite sure this was not his house and that somehow he’d ended up very far away from home.

  Brynjar frowned. This was the fault of those strange thieving boys, he was sure of it. He staggered to his feet.

  ‘Birger?’ he called, a little worried. Then, getting no reply, he grabbed his axe and stomped out towards the street …

  Historically, Frankie’s parents – Ron and Tina Fish – had not been particularly keen on sleepovers, particularly in recent times as they worked around the clock to keep their business, Fish Pest Control, running. The last thing they wanted when they finally got home in the evening was extra kids in the house.

  But Frankie was fast running out of options. He had considered taking Birger to Drew’s house, but Gary Bird had very sharp eyes and would surely notice a giant Norse teenager in his living room. And anyway, Frankie’s parents were far less observant. The stress of their new business meant they weren’t always completely aware of what was going on in their children’s lives.

  Frankie was pretty sure Ron Fish had hastily wrapped up a set of playing cards for his eleventh birthday only after he’d found the huge sign Frankie had taped to the toilet door that said, ‘Tomorrow is Frankie’s Birthday’. On the same day, Tina Fish had presented him with a ‘birthday cake’ that was simply a Wagon Wheel with a single candle stuck on top with Blu Tack.

  Yep, that birthday kind of sucked.

  BUT, on the bright side … his mum and dad barely noticed when Frankie got a D in Geography last year, or that Frankie often stayed up late watching the bottle-flipping championships – the Flippies – on YouTube.

  So there was a good chance Ron and Tina Fish wouldn’t be aware that a strange bearded boy dressed like, well, a Viking, was camping out in their house. At least, Frankie hoped so.

  ‘This is where I live,’ Frankie announced to a still bewildered Birger after they had miraculously managed to make it to the Fish house incognito. He opened the front door and led Birger downstairs, to the rumpus room – the rather neglected space where he had once spent hours playing as a kid. Ron and Tina Fish had long ago declared it a kids-only area (possibly so they didn’t have to deal with the hassle of renovating it into something more modern), which made it the best place in the house to hide Birger. So long as Birger stayed in there, things would be fine.

  ‘And this is the rumpus room,’ said Frankie, gesturing to various things in the room. ‘It’s got a table-tennis table, bean bags, a TV …’

  Birger walked slowly towards the blank TV screen. What is this strange little box? Frankie imagined Birger thinking to himself.

  To be fair, even Frankie thought the TV was weird. Ron Fish took his time updating technology, hence the bulky, box-like old telly and the ancient VCR that sat beneath it. (Being in the rumpus room was a bit like being stuck in a 1990s time w
arp – one you didn’t need a time machine to get to.)

  ‘You don’t seem to be freaking out about all of this as much as I thought you might,’ Frankie mused.

  Birger pointed around at the room. ‘Valhalla? Birger … in … Valhalla?’

  ‘Um ...’ came the less-than-helpful response from Frankie Fish, Professional Tour Guide for the Historically Misplaced.

  Frankie only knew little bits of Viking mythology, mostly gleaned from the Thor movies and that one documentary he’d seen with his dad. He remembered, however, that Valhalla was where Vikings hoped to go when they died, sort of like heaven.

  It was a tricky question for Frankie to answer. On one hand, saying ‘yes’ would explain the transition of worlds that Birger had just experienced in a way that he would understand. On the other, it would lead Birger to believe he was dead.

  This is not the kind of dilemma that a twelve-year-old should have to deal with but then again, most twelve-year-olds are not time travellers (please contact the publisher if you are aware of any).

  ‘No, not Valhalla,’ Frankie heard his mouth saying, without waiting for permission from his brain. ‘Rumpus room.’

  ‘Rumpus røm,’ Birger repeated slowly, nodding his head with reverence like he was inside a holy church.

  ‘That’s right,’ Frankie confirmed, impressed that Birger was already picking up some English, especially as the padlock still seemed to be on the blink. As Birger tentatively touched the worn-out old couch, Frankie heard the phone ringing upstairs. ‘Stay here,’ he said, and bolted off to answer it.

  It was Drew. ‘What’s happening?’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Is Birger still here?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in my rumpus room,’ Frankie replied, barely believing the words floating out of his mouth.

  ‘No. WAY!’ Drew screamed with laughter.

  ‘Well, it’s only for tonight hopefully, just until the Sonic Suitcase recharges ...’