“Come on, Knut,” pleaded Vulgar. “I can’t be Sven the Dragon-Slayer and the evil dwarf at the same time. I’d be fighting myself. Everyone would laugh, and the legend of Sven isn’t supposed to be funny.”
Knut blew out his cheeks. “I dunno, Vulgar. All those people looking at me…”
“But they won’t be looking at you, they’ll be looking at me. I’m the star. All eyes will be on me.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Come on, it’ll be great!” Vulgar said. “And if you don’t help there’s no chance I can win.”
Knut sighed. “OK, fine,” he said. “But you’d better not make me look stupid.”
Vulgar smiled innocently. “As if I would! Now, first things first. We need a name. Any ideas?”
“Vulgar and Knut?”
Vulgar tapped his chin. “Too obvious. How about we call ourselves… By Far the Greatest Viking Actors in All the World?”
“It’s a bit long, innit?”
“Maybe,” Vulgar admitted. “What’s that other word for actors, again?”
“Posers?” suggested Knut. “Show-offs?”
“No, no. Bards, that’s it. We can be the Bards of Blubber!” Vulgar clapped his hands. “Now, let’s rehearse. You be the evil dwarf and I’ll be Sven.”
Knut nodded. “Right. What should I do?”
“Just, you know. Be evil. And small.”
Knut considered this. Then he dropped to his knees and went, “Grrr.”
“Brilliant!” cheered Vulgar. He picked up a sword he’d made from two pieces of wood. He waved it around in front of him. “Then I’ll do this!”
With a loud battle-cry, Vulgar began swinging the sword. He twirled to the left. He spun to the right. He jumped up and down and swung the sword around in a wide circle. There was a smash as the sword knocked over the clay cooking pot.
“Now you’re in trouble,” Knut said, but Vulgar snatched up the pot’s lid and examined it.
“This’ll make a brilliant shield,” he said. “Now you’d better start practising to be a giant. Here.”
Vulgar handed Knut two long pieces of wood with string attached. “I’ve made you some stilts.”
Knut sat down and tied the stilts on to his boots. “Help me up,” he said, holding out an arm. With a grunt, Vulgar heaved his friend up on to his feet. Knut teetered unsteadily.
“Can you balance?” Vulgar asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Knut said, and promptly fell over. As he fell, he grabbed for the kitchen table.
The kitchen table fell, too.
There was a loud crack of splintering wood and the table broke in two. Knut looked up at his friend. “Can I be a giant later?”
Vulgar shrugged. “OK. Now you can practise being the dragon.”
“I don’t want to be the dragon as well,” Knut said. “It’s hard enough being a dwarf and a giant.”
“Well, who’s going to be the dragon, then?”
Over by the fire, Grunt let out a loud snore. A grin spread across Vulgar’s face. “Aha! Grunt can be our dragon.”
At the sound of his name, Grunt opened one eye, trumped loudly, then fell back to sleep. Vulgar hopped up and down with excitement. “This is going to be brilliant!” he exclaimed. “Ready for more rehearsing?”
Knut groaned, but before they could get back to practising, the door swung open. Vulgar’s mum and dad danced in, twirling cheek-to-cheek. Because Harald was much shorter than his wife, Helga was carrying him. They froze when they saw the broken table and the smashed cooking pot.
“Hi, Mum, hi, Dad,” said Vulgar cheerfully. “You’re back early.”
“Vulgar!” growled Helga. “What have you been doing?”
“Practising,” Vulgar said.
“Practising for what? An earthquake?
Look at the mess.”
Vulgar looked at the floor and blinked, as if only noticing the mess for the first time. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Um… sorry.”
“Tidy this up,” said Helga.
“But, Mum!”
Helga released her grip on her husband. He gave a short scream as he dropped to the floor. “Tidy it up, Vulgar,” he repeated. “Now!”
Grumbling, Vulgar and Knut set to work cleaning the hut and fixing the kitchen table. “When I’m a famous actor I’ll have people to tidy up after me,” Vulgar moaned, as they swept and scrubbed and hammered.
At last, the kitchen looked tidy. The cooking pot was still broken, and the table wobbled a bit, but Vulgar and Knut had done their best.
“Right,” said Helga when they were finished. “Now I’ve arranged something exciting for you. King Olaf has invited you round to play with Princess Freya.”
Vulgar and Knut both gasped. “What? No way!”
“Oh, come on now,” said Harald. “She’s a lovely girl. You’ll have a great time.”
“I’d rather dress as a fish and go swimming with polar bears!” Vulgar protested.
Helga cracked her knuckles and glared at Vulgar. “That could be arranged. Now get going. It means you’re out of my hair for a few hours.”
Without any effort, Helga picked both boys up by the back of their shirts and carried them to the door. They each let out an oof as she dropped them on the front step.
“But… but…” began Vulgar, still trying to find an excuse not to go, “I’m hungry. I haven’t had lunch.”
A bundle of stale rolls were shoved into his arms. “There,” said Helga, “now go!”
And before Vulgar could argue any more, the door slammed shut in his face.
Vulgar and Knut talked about the talent show as they slid their way along the icy path that led to the castle.
“What about the treasure?” Knut asked.
“What about it?”
“Well, do you have any?”
Vulgar thought about it. “No. We’ll have to use pretend treasure.”.
“It’ll have to look like gold,” Knut said. “Where could we find something like that?”
They slid on in silence for a few moments, then Vulgar looked down at the rolls in his arms. The bread was a sort of orangey-yellow colour and looked a bit like pale gold. “We could use these!”
“Aren’t you going to eat them?”
“Are you crazy?” scoffed Vulgar. He knocked two rolls together. They made a sound like rock smashing against rock. “I’d break my teeth!”
Vulgar slipped the rolls into his pockets and the two friends continued on towards the castle. The closer they got, the slower they went. Neither one liked the idea of playing with Freya, but they also didn’t like the idea of being made to swim with polar bears.
Lots of parents made silly threats to their children, the difference was that Helga actually went through with them. Vulgar could still remember the time she’d tied him to a tree for refusing to go to bed when told. Seven hours he’d been there. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d tied him the right way up.
At last they arrived at the castle’s towering doors. There was a metal dragon mounted on them, resting on an iron hoop. Vulgar lifted the metal ring and thumped it against the door a few times. From inside the castle they heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.
One of the doors opened a crack and a wrinkled face appeared in the gap. “Oh,” sneered Harrumf. “It’s you. You’ll be wanting to see Princess Freya.”
“Not really,” said Vulgar, sighing. “But if we must.”
Harrumf stood back and let the door swing open. Then the old man led them slowly through the castle corridors.
Vulgar had never been in the castle before, and nor had Knut. They walked along in a daze, admiring the armour that stood at every corner, and the weapons that hung from every wall.
After several minutes of walking, they arrived at a door with frilly lace hung around the edges, and a handle shaped like a love heart.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Vulgar.
“Don’t you dare,” Harrumf warned. “It’s me what’d have to c
lean it up.”
The old man rapped his bony knuckles on the door. A voice inside called, “Come in,” and then Harrumf shuffled off along the corridor, leaving the boys to it.
Cautiously, Vulgar pushed open the door. He let out a loud groan when he saw Princess Freya. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a circle of dolls. Some of the dolls wore baby clothes. Others wore gowns. Vulgar swallowed.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m definitely going to be sick.”
Freya looked up at Vulgar and Knut. “Well, come in, then,” she snapped. “These babies won’t feed themselves.” Vulgar and Knut exchanged a worried glance. “Er… what?”
“The babies,” Freya repeated firmly. She held up two leather baby bottles. “They need feeding. Now.”
The princess glared long and hard at the boys until Knut couldn’t stand it any longer. He took one of the bottles, sat down, and picked up the nearest doll. Vulgar couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What are you doing?! Have you gone mad?”
Knut shrugged and rammed the end of the bottle in the dolly’s mouth.
“Now you,” Freya said. She tossed the bottle to Vulgar. “Feed the baby or I’m telling my dad you were horrible to me.”
Vulgar snorted. “So?”
“And then he’ll tell your mum,” Freya added.
“Oh,” said Vulgar, his face turning pale. He sat down and picked up a doll.
“Not that one!” Freya snapped. “That’s not a baby.”
Vulgar looked the doll up and down. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s wearing a ball gown. How many babies have you ever seen wearing a ball gown?”
Vulgar frowned. “What’s a ball gown?”
“It doesn’t matter,” sighed Freya. She handed him the doll she had been holding. “That one needs burping.”
Vulgar hesitated. “You do know they’re not real babies, right?”
“I know that,” Freya said. “It’s called ‘a game’.”
“This is a game?” said Knut in amazement. “I thought it was some kind of punishment.”
BURRRRRP!
Freya turned and glared at Vulgar.
“Wow, the baby really did need to burp,” he said, grinning. He let out another loud burp and the room was filled with the smell of last night’s supper. “Better out than in.”
Knut giggled. “I think mine has done a poo,” he said. He shoved the doll’s bottom towards Freya’s nose. “Sniff that. Does that smell like poo to you?”
“Stop it!” Freya snapped. She snatched the dolls from the boys and set about positioning them back on the floor. “You’ve ruined the game now.”
Vulgar leaned over to Knut and jabbed him with an elbow. “Here, we should borrow one of Freya’s dresses,” he said in a whisper.
“Why?”
“For the talent contest. For when you’re playing the princess.”
It took a few seconds for Knut’s brain to figure out what Vulgar meant.
“I’m not wearing a dress!” he cried at last.
“You have to,” Vulgar protested. “Who else is going to play the princess?”
Freya quietly cleared her throat. “Did someone say ‘princess’?” she asked, smiling sweetly.
“Yes! She could do it!” Knut said. “Vulgar and me are doing a play about Sven the Dragon-Slayer for the talent show. I’m a dwarf and a giant.”
“A dwarf and a giant?”
“Not at the same time, obviously. Vulgar’s dog is going to be the dragon, but we need someone to be the princess.”
Freya held her head high. “I’d make a terrific princess. I’ve had lots of practice.”
“No,” Vulgar said, crossing his arms. “No way.”
“Sven the Dragon-Slayer, he found a magical golden helmet, didn’t he?” said Freya slyly.
Vulgar narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Yes. So?”
“So my dad has the only golden helmet in the whole country. You could borrow it.”
“Could we?” Vulgar gasped.
“If you let me be the princess in the play.” Freya smirked. “What do you say?”
The door to King Olaf’s bedroom creaked as Freya eased it open. A loud snoring came from within. It was the sort of sound a bear might make if it were choking on a hedgehog. The king was having his Royal Nap.
“Where’s the helmet?” Vulgar whispered. Freya pointed to the bed.
“There.”
Vulgar looked. “Where?” he said, and then he saw it. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Freya shrugged. “He likes to sleep with it on. He says it brings him good dreams.”
“Well, it’s turning into a nightmare for me,” Vulgar muttered. “Let’s come back when he’s not here.”
“No use,” whispered Freya. “He keeps it locked up when he’s not wearing it. It’s now or never.”
Vulgar rubbed his hands together. “Right then. I guess it’s now.”
Being careful not to make a sound, Vulgar and Freya tiptoed into the room. Knut stood outside, keeping guard. If they got caught, they’d be in deep trouble.
Slowly, Vulgar crept towards the bed.
Halfway there, King Olaf stopped snoring. Vulgar froze and held his breath.
“Hello, Mr Potato,” the king mumbled. “What lovely shoes you have.”
Vulgar blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. He looked back at Freya.
“He talks in his sleep,” whispered the princess. “Now, hurry.”
Vulgar continued on towards the head of the bed. He could see right up King Olaf’s royal nostrils. The king’s mouth was hanging open. A river of drool trickled into his beard.
At last, Vulgar was within grabbing distance of the helmet. His heart thumped so loudly he was sure it would wake the king, but Olaf was still grunting like a wild boar. With a final glance back at Freya, Vulgar took a deep breath then reached out for the golden helmet.
“Ducks?” spluttered King Olaf, suddenly sitting upright. “On a Tuesday?”
It took all Vulgar’s willpower not to cry out in fright. He stuffed a hand into his mouth, stifling a loud gasp before it could escape. King Olaf was sitting up, but his eyes were still closed. He began to snore again. Vulgar quickly snatched the helmet off the king’s head just before he lay down again.
The helmet was heavier than it looked and Vulgar very nearly dropped it. When he was sure he had it safely in his hands, he turned and grinned at Freya. His grin fell away when he heard Knut cough loudly outside the door. That was the sign for danger. Someone was coming!
Moving as quickly as they dared, Vulgar and Freya darted out of the room. They emerged to see Harrumf hobbling towards them. “What you doing?” Harrumf demanded.
Vulgar quickly shoved the helmet up inside his tunic, but it made his stomach look huge. He wrapped his arms across himself, trying to hide the bump. Harrumf glared suspiciously at them.
“Hello, Harrumf,” said Freya sweetly. “We were just saying hello to my dad.”
Harrumf peeked in through the open door. King Olaf was still fast asleep on the bed.
“He, er, didn’t say it back,” Freya said, smiling innocently.
Harrumf peered at the lump beneath Vulgar’s tunic. “What you got there?”
“A tummy bug,” said Vulgar, thinking fast. He bent over and groaned as if in pain. “I really need to go to the toilet.”
Harrumf prodded him with his cane. “Well, get a move on, then. I don’t want to be cleanin’ up your mess.”
“Thanks,” said Vulgar. He grabbed Knut by the arm and together they raced off down the corridor. Freya called after them as they ran.
“Hey, wait! We haven’t even had a tea party yet!”
But the only reply was the clatter of the castle’s front door as Vulgar and Knut ran out into the snow.
“Hurry up, Vulgar,” bellowed Helga. “The show starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Coming, Mum!” replied Vulgar in a muffled voice.
He was sitting on the end
of his bed, fixing a fake beard to his face with glue. He had made the beard from orange wool he’d found in Helga’s knitting basket, and the glue he’d mixed himself from snot and pond slime.
“How do I look, Grunt?” he asked, but Grunt was too busy chewing on his fake wings to reply. “Don’t eat your costume,” Vulgar told him. “Bad dog.”
Snatching up his homemade sword and shield, Vulgar led Grunt into the kitchen. He stopped when he saw his parents.
“What… are… you… wearing?”
“Ta-daa!” said Harald. “What do you think?”
He and Helga both gave a twirl, showing off the outfits they had made. Harald wore a long coat covered with hundreds of sparkly little stones. Bits of whalebone had been shaped into a big letter “H” and stuck to his back.
Helga’s outfit was nothing like her husband’s outfit. It was nothing like anything Vulgar had ever seen her wearing before, either. It was a black dress with only one shoulder strap. Her bare biceps bulged whenever she moved her arms. The dress was so short Vulgar could see his mum’s hairy knees. He’d never seen his mum’s knees before. He hoped he’d never see them again.
Helga also had a letter “H” on her back. It was the only bit of the costume that didn’t make Vulgar shudder.
“I think I’ve sprained my eyes,” he squeaked, then they all left the house and hurried over to the Great Hall.
Torches burned all around the hall, making it look spectacular in the evening gloom. Harald and Helga joined the back of the queue at the front door, but Vulgar didn’t want to wait.
“See you inside!” he chirped, then he and Grunt ducked and weaved past the rest of the queue and squeezed into the hall itself. Once inside, Vulgar spotted Knut sitting near the front. There was an empty seat beside him.
It wasn’t until Vulgar was in the seat that he realised Freya was sitting on the other side of him. “You were almost late,” she said.
Vulgar the Viking and the Terrible Talent Show Page 2