Thorfinn and the Disgusting Feast

by David MacPhail

  For Rebekah – D.M.

  To Jayne the Foot-Hacker – R.M.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Viking village of Indgar was nestled beside a beautiful fjord. Longships floated tied up in the glassy water, and chimney smoke drifted gently into the cold, still air. It was a peaceful place, except for the Vikings themselves, who spent their days either:

  a) practising their fighting skills,

  b) boasting about how good they were at fighting, or

  c) just fighting.

  It was nearing lunchtime when the smell of barbecued food wafted across the village.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing, even those in the middle of a fight. If there was one thing the Vikings loved more than fighting, it was food.

  “Oooooh, who’s having a barbecue?”

  They followed their noses to the marketplace, where a small boy with freckles was standing behind a sizzling charcoal brazier, armed with a wooden spatula. It was Thorfinn the Very-Very-Nice-Indeed, son of the chief.

  He had an unusual name for a Viking. Being called Thorfinn the Very-Very-Nasty-Indeed would have been perfectly normal, but Thorfinn wasn’t a normal Viking. For a start, most Vikings used pigeons for target practice, but the small, speckled pigeon on Thorfinn’s shoulder was his best friend, Percy.

  And, most importantly, this boy was NICE. And POLITE. Such things were very unusual for a Viking.

  “Come along, there’s plenty for everyone!” Thorfinn declared as he flipped what looked like a delicious meat pattie between two halves of a bun. “I call it a burger.”

  He ushered the Vikings into a line. Vikings weren’t known to queue, so it really was a sight to behold.

  One by one they accepted a burger from Thorfinn.

  “Mmmmm!” said one of the Vikings as he wolfed it down. “What kind of meat is in it?”

  “I beg your pardon, my dear friend?” replied Thorfinn.

  “Venison? Beef? Elk?” the man asked.

  Thorfinn shook his head. “It contains no meat at all, I assure you.”

  Each and every one of the Vikings stopped mid-bite, their eyes wide.

  “WHHATTT?”

  “They’re vegetarian burgers,” said Thorfinn. “They’re made from vegetables.”

  “POO-AAAAAHHH!”

  The whole line of Vikings spat out their food.

  “That’s disgusting, Thorfinn!” cried slimy-haired, warty-faced Gertrude the Grotty. “You shouldn’t be cooking that horrible stuff!” She sold specialities like venison-and-earwig pie at her marketplace stall. A sign hanging above it read:

  I only use free-range earwigs

  At which point the village chief, Harald the Skull-Splitter, appeared on the scene. He was Thorfinn’s father, and one of the roughest, toughest and meanest Vikings ever to have lived.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Harald.

  With him was Erik the Ear-Masher, his second in command. He was almost as grizzly and fierce as Harald, with a face like a bruised cabbage, and only one eye.

  “Yes, what’s all this noise about?” added Erik.

  Erik’s son, Olaf, stepped forward. He also had a face like a cabbage, one that had gone off, then been squashed under the wheels of a cart. “It’s Thorfinn, Dad. He’s trying to poison us!”

  “With vegetables!” said one of the other men.

  Harald turned and glared angrily at Thorfinn. “What? Is this true?”

  Thorfinn smiled, a broad well-meaning smile that would melt anyone’s heart – but serving vegetables was a serious accusation.

  “Yes, it’s true, Father,” he beamed. “You know, statistics show that vegetables are very good for you, and our diet is quite meat-heavy.”

  Erik the Ear-Masher erupted, “Our diet IS meat, you idiot!”

  “Yes,” added Olaf. “We HATE vegetables.”

  “DEATH TO ALL VEGETABLES!” cried someone at the back.

  The other Vikings roared in agreement, grabbed their axes and hacked the ground to bits all around them. “RAAR! Take that, ground! See, that’s how much we HATE vegetables.”

  Harald turned his ferocious gaze to a tiny girl standing on the sidelines. She wore an oversized helmet and leaned on a massive axe that was almost bigger than she was. It was Thorfinn’s friend Velda.

  “YOU!” Harald yelled. “You’re supposed to be keeping him out of trouble.”

  Velda shrugged. “I DID tell him. He doesn’t listen.”

  Harald sighed, took his son by the shoulder and led him aside. “Look, boy. You’re the cleverest of us all. You’ve saved this village many times. But you need to be more like your fellow Vikings.”

  The wise man of the village, Oswald, appeared at his friend Thorfinn’s side. He was very old, he had a long white beard and he spoke in an incredibly loud and whiny voice. In fact, he sounded like a donkey having a nightmare.

  “If I may say so, Chief, perhaps it is you who doesn’t see.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Harald, his eye twitching at the old man. Harald’s eye always twitched when he was angry.

  “Thorfinn’s a boy of many talents and abilities that the other Vikings don’t possess. Perhaps you just need to find the right use for his talents.”

  “Hmmm…” Harald stroked his chin, but he barely had a chance to consider the old man’s suggestion when suddenly the ground started shaking and a noise like thunder filled the air. For a split second Harald looked worried that Thor himself might be about to drop in for a visit.

  CHAPTER 2

  The villagers had to dive out of the way as a team of horses leading a huge four-wheeled wagon charged into Indgar. There was a gaggle of people aboard, all laughing and cheering.

  Harald coughed and spluttered as he wafted the dust away to reveal the figure of a large man on one of the horses. His old enemy, Magnus the Bone-Breaker, chief of the neighbouring village, was staring down at him.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Bone-Breaker?” cried Harald. “You have no right to drive through my village at that speed.”

  “Oh no? I’d like to see you stop me! I’m selling four-wheel-drive chariot tours of the wild to rich Vikings from down south. Only your stupid village is ruining the view. Now shift!”

  He yanked his horse’s reins, barging through the angry crowd. Then he stopped and turned, the grin on his face even more smug than before.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard, but the King himself is coming to tour the fjord.”

  The crowd gasped.

  “The King?” asked Harald. “He’s coming here?”

  “Yes, in three weeks. He’ll be staying at all the villages – in fact he’ll be in yours the night after mine. My village will be a tough act to follow.” He grinned. “I’ve got my own chef. Who have you got?” He laughed, a great booming guffaw that echoed around the marketplace. Then he clicked his heels and galloped off.

  Everyone was stunned.

  It was Thorfinn who spoke first. “This is wonderful news! The King himself. It will be so much fun.”

  But the rest of them weren’t so sure. They gathered round their chief, while Harald stroked his bushy blond beard.

  “Hmm. No, this is not good news,” said Harald.

  “Oh?” said Thorfinn, puzzled. “But there’ll be music, dancing, a feast. Perhaps I’m missing something, Father?”

  “Magnus is right. If we don’t please him we’ll be in trouble.”

  “The King has been known to burn villages to the ground when he gets angry,” said Erik. “The Queen is kinder. She’s the only one he’ll listen to.”

  Oswald, too, was stroking his beard, deep in thought. “Then it is the Queen we should seek to please. Her Majesty is sai
d to enjoy exotic delicacies, especially seafood…”

  “Yuck! Fish!” cried Olaf.

  “That’s DISGUSTING!” cried Gertrude the Grotty as she reached down to scoop some ants into her bag.

  “Yes, DEATH TO ALL FISH,” jeered the crowd.

  “We all agree, fish is the most rubbish type of meat,” said Erik. “Almost as bad as vegetables. We can’t cook fish for the King!”

  Harald paced around, shaking his head. “Magnus will try anything to impress. If the King is coming straight from his village, we’ll need to get everything right.”

  Erik groaned. “Then we’re stuffed.”

  ***

  Harald went off to throw axes at trees. He did this any time he needed to think. Whenever Harald went for a think EVERYONE rushed indoors. His aim was terrible.

  After he finished, he gathered the villagers back into the marketplace. He called Thorfinn and Velda to the front. “I thought about Oswald saying we should use your talents, Thorfinn. I’m putting you in charge of the King’s feast.”

  Thorfinn jumped up and down with excitement. “That’s SOOOOOO great, Father! I’m SOOOOO happy! Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, son. The King has been known to catapult chefs into the sea.”

  “You can’t put that idiot in charge! He tried to feed us vegetables earlier!” said Erik.

  “If anyone can think up an exotic feast fit for the Queen, it’s Thorfinn,” said Oswald.

  “As a matter of fact,” Thorfinn said, “I’ve already had loads of ideas. Oswald is quite correct, if you please the Queen then you’ll please the King. So might I suggest we take a boat and go fishing?”

  “You really want to cook FISH for the KING? We’re doomed!” cried Erik. “And how are you even going to catch them?”

  “The Vikings of Indgar have no idea how to catch or cook fish,” added Oswald.

  “Well then,” said Thorfinn. “It might be a good idea to visit Uncle Rolf. He works for the Earl of Orkney in his kitchens. He knows everything about seafood.”

  “Uncle Rolf, eh? He’s the only one in the family who is remotely like you – nice.” Harald brightened. “But that is a good idea. Very well, you’ll need a ship and a crew.”

  Thorfinn’s face lit up. “My own crew? Really?” He turned to Velda and began jumping up and down again. “I’ll be a sea captain!”

  “And I’ll be your second mate, yelling orders!” cried Velda, who was also jumping up and down. “Move it, you pig-dogs! Hoist the sail, you swine! Man the oars, you rollicking oafs! Ha ha, brilliant!”

  Erik sighed. “You’re really going to give Thorfinn his own ship? And a crew? You’re mad!”

  Harald ignored his second in command. “Go to Orkney first, learn from Uncle Rolf, and then go fishing.” He stood up. “You leave on the next tide, which is tomorrow, one hour after dawn.”

  Velda began waving her arms around in circles, singing, “I’m going to sea-ea! I’m going to sea-ea!”

  “Remember,” said Harald. “The future of the village is at stake. We’re relying on you, Thorfinn. Don’t let us down. You have three weeks.”

  CHAPTER 3

  That night Thorfinn could hardly sleep. He was so excited about going on a voyage with his own crew.

  Dawn broke, bright and crisp and beautiful. He packed up his things and picked some fruit and vegetables from his little garden.

  Velda arrived soon after, bouncing over the hill, whistling and carrying her massive axe. “Are you ready, Thorfinn? This is going to be brill.”

  “I certainly am, dear pal.”

  Percy flapped onto his shoulder and they set off.

  They stopped by Oswald’s cottage first, which was set high on the hillside next to a waterfall.

  “We’ve come to say goodbye, old chum!” Thorfinn called through the window.

  “What do you mean, you’ve come to say goodbye?” said the wise man, sounding like a seal with a bad headache. “I’m coming with you!”

  “Are you really, old friend?” said Thorfinn.

  “Of course. I’m not hanging about here while you two go off having adventures. Plus, the word on the fjord is that Erik the Ear-Masher has picked the worst crew ever for you, so you’ll need back-up. Now come in and sit down while I fetch breakfast.”

  Thorfinn took a seat at the table. He watched Percy peck up berries, and Velda practise kicking and punching – something she called ‘kick-boxing’.

  “We’re going to catch the best fish EVER,” she said. “And if anyone tells us fish is rubbish, I’ll knock their block off!” She punched the air.

  BLAM!

  “Then we’re going to make the best feast EVER. And if anyone tries to burn down our village, no matter who they are, they’ll have to answer to ME!”

  She swung her leg in the air.

  “HI-YAA!”

  She kicked the door – just as Oswald hobbled through carrying a tray!

  CRASH!

  Velda froze, her hands clasped to her mouth.

  The door wobbled open again, to reveal Oswald lying on the floor splattered in porridge and jam. The old man simply shrugged, then spooned some up with his finger and slurped. “Mmmm… good jam!”

  CHAPTER 4

  An hour later the three friends arrived at the pier, where their longship was waiting. The green dragon head on the prow glinted in the sunlight.

  The whole village had turned out to see them off. Harald and Erik were waiting at the water’s edge.

  “Come aboard and meet your crew,” said Erik smugly as he led Thorfinn up the gangplank.

  It looked like the rumours about the rubbish crew were true. First was Grimm the Grim, the ship’s helmsman – in charge of steering the boat. Everything about him was sad. Even his beard seemed droopy.

  Thorfinn raised his helmet. “How pleased I am to meet you, Mr Grimm.”

  “Really?” the helmsman replied in a limp voice. “I’m not very interesting.”

  “I’m sure you’re very interesting. Deep down,” said Thorfinn hopefully.

  “Hmm. It must be very deep down, because I haven’t found it yet.” Grimm trudged off, his shoulders slouched.

  “He’s a-laugh-a-minute,” said Velda.

  Next they greeted the chief warrior on board, Harek the Toe-Stamper. He had a large black beard and a wild look in his eyes, perhaps because they were pointing in opposite directions.

  “Toe-Stamper – that’s a tough-sounding name for a chief warrior,” said Thorfinn.

  “Yes,” said Erik. “Except it’s his own toes he stamps on, clumsy oaf.”

  “I am NOT clumsy,” Harek objected and stamped his foot. A loose plank pronged up, which tripped one of the porters, who dropped the barrel he was carrying, which rolled down the boat and smashed into a giant pyramid of barrels, which collapsed, bouncing the barrels into the water one by one.

  Harek coughed and looked sheepishly down at the deck.

  Then there was Grut the Goat-Gobbler, perhaps the greediest man in all of Norway. He was quite short for a man with such a huge appetite.

  “He was our only volunteer for this mission,” said Erik.

  “I heard it was food-related,” grunted Grut.

  “Is it really true that you once ate an entire goat in one go?” asked Velda.

  “Oh yes,” he replied. “Goat is my favourite, apart from elk, and bear, and beaver, and swan…”

  “OK, we get the picture,” said Erik. “And talking of food, here’s your cook.”

  It was Gertrude the Grotty, who ran the stall in the marketplace. A squadron of flies were orbiting her head.

  “Oh great,” said Velda. “So what’s for dinner tonight? Ant stew?”

  “You haves a choice of menus,” Gertrude croaked. “There’s wild boar and spider sausages or there’s sheep and nits pie.” She reached up and plucked something from her scalp then rubbed her fingers together. “The nits gives it a lovely grainy texture. Mmmm.”

  The crew already looked seasick,
and they hadn’t even set sail yet.

  “That sounds, er, delightful,” said Thorfinn cheerfully. “Though I’ve brought my own food from the garden.”

  “I’m eating what Thorfinn’s eating!” Velda cut in. “Even if it’s vegetables.”

  “I’m on a diet,” said Oswald, who was never on a diet.

  Finally, there was Torsten the Ship-Sinker, a tall man with a golden beard. “Now that sounds like a good name for a warrior,” said Thorfinn.

  “It would be,” laughed Erik. “But he’s your navigator. He has no sense of direction whatsoever. He’s sunk more ships than the kraken that guards the Gates of Valhalla.”

  “That’s not fair!” said Torsten. “You know I get confused. People keep saying ‘port’ and ‘starboard’, ‘aft’ and ‘stern’, but what’s that supposed to mean? Why can’t people just say ‘right’ and ‘left’, ‘forward’ and ‘back’?”

  “Yup,” said Velda to Oswald. “You were right. The WORST crew in the world.”

  Also on board was Olaf, Erik’s son, sulking at the back. “Oh great,” he said. “All the losers of the village on one boat. I would have been hoping you’d sink, but unfortunately I’m coming with you.” He cast a sullen glance at his father.

  “You’re to keep an eye on this lot, Olaf,” said Erik. “It’ll be good experience for you.”

  Olaf huffed. “Good experience of getting shipwrecked, more like.”

  Harald cast his twitchy eye once more over the ragtag bunch Erik had chosen for Thorfinn’s first solo voyage. He glared at Erik, who struggled to hide his smug grin as he stepped down from the boat. But there was no time to lose if they were to get back in time for the feast.

  “I trust my son to lead you well,” said Harald, gulping. “Now get going.” He leapt off the longship. “And don’t forget, Thorfinn, we’re relying on you.”

  “I won’t let you down, Father,” Thorfinn replied.

  The gangplank was whisked away, at which point all eyes on board turned to Thorfinn.

  “You’re the captain. They’re waiting for your command,” whispered Oswald.