Katie wondered if she should have been clearer with Mum about Amber. But, as Gary said, if grown-ups are so stupid as not to see what’s in front of them, then it probably is alright to have a Viking living in your house.
Chapter Four
All’s Fair in War
AMBER THE LITTLEST Viking soon decided that she liked living in the Lloyd household. Her favourite pastime was to hold the family hairdryer in front of her and pretend she was trudging across the sands of the Sahara desert with the hot winds blowing in her face. Then she would stop in front of the open fridge door and pretend she’d journeyed to the Arctic. This never lasted long, as she usually saw something new in the fridge to eat and would begin inventing sandwiches. If the other weren’t up, she sat for hours in front of the television eating peanut butter, ham and ketchup sandwiches and wondering why the man who did the weather forecasts never answered when she spoke to him.
Mind you, he wasn’t the only grown-up who ignored Amber. They all did. No one over the age of twelve seemed to see her.
One morning, while Joshua and Gary were explaining to Amber that the remote control only worked for the television and not on people, Katie burst in looking upset.
‘I’m afraid we’ve got bad news,’ she said.
‘Are we out of peanut butter?’ asked Amber, wiping a last bit of ketchup from her plate.
‘No. Mum’s had a letter from the Residents’ Association.’ Katie paused for dramatic effect. ‘Mr Gray wants everyone to sell the garden.’
‘The garden! The garden!’ Amber exploded. ‘They can’t. Just let me deal with them!’ The small Viking began pacing up and down in a great temper, banging furiously on her helmet.
‘We can’t beat anyone with birch twigs and dip them in sour milk,’ said Gary, remembering Amber’s advice for getting rid of troublesome trolls.
‘No,’ agreed Joshua. ‘They’ll send the social services round.’
‘Can the Residents’ Association really sell the garden, Katie?’ asked Gary.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Katie replied. ‘The plot of land is owned by all seven houses. If more than four owners vote in favour, then that’s it. There’s a meeting tomorrow. I think a property developer wants to build a supermarket.’
The children went out into the garden and looked at the wide, familiar lawns. Frost covered the ground, but here and there a few early snowdrops were beginning to poke up their shoots. Soon the bushes would have their first leaves, ready for playing hide-and-seek among during the summer. The children sat down despondently on the stone steps.
Amber was incensed: ‘Don’t sit down! We need to think of a plan. We need to save the garden.’
‘What can we do?’ said Gary, digging his heels into the mud at the bottom of the steps.
‘When my uncle, Erik the Red, discovered the ice-cap in the north, no one wanted to go there until he had a wonderful idea. All the land was completely white and frozen, yet he called it “Greenland”. He said that people would want to go to the new land if it had an attractive name.’
‘Are we going to name the garden?’ asked Joshua, who couldn’t see what good that would do.
‘We could,’ replied Amber, ‘but most of all we are going to make the garden seem so wonderful that no one will ever dream of taking it away.’
Gary started nodding. ‘I see. We make everyone see how wonderful it is and then nobody will want to sell it.’
‘But how do we do that?’ asked Katie. ‘They can see the garden every day and it hasn’t helped so far.’
‘We can write a letter telling everyone how wonderful the garden is,’ said Joshua.
‘No!’ cried Amber. ‘We must be more cunning than that. We must trick them into it. Let them discover for themselves. Make them believe that saving the garden is their own idea.’
‘What about Mrs Marchmont?’ asked Katie sensibly. She knew that Mrs Marchmont was by far the most troublesome of all the neighbours. But Amber just laughed.
‘Don’t worry about her. Mrs Marchmont is exactly like the old woman who went against the stream. She lived in the next village to us. She was so contrary that even when she fell in the water and drowned, she floated upstream.’
The children exchanged glances and waited patiently. Amber’s stories didn’t always make sense straight away.
Amber sighed: ‘Mrs Marchmont likes her own way. If she believes you want to sell the garden, then she will want the opposite, just to be annoying.’ Amber paused to make sure that everyone was following her argument before she continued: ‘Now, what do you know about the garden?’
Katie looked at the lovely expanse of grass running up to the avenue of large trees. ‘The garden’s been here at least a hundred years. Mum used to play in it when she was little. Mrs Marchmont must have done too.’
‘Then we must remind her,’ said Amber. ‘Grown-ups do seem to have terrible trouble remembering things. First, we’ll get her to see the garden the way she did when she was a child. Once she’s remembered how lovely it was, we’ll tell her we want to sell it. I bet she won’t agree.’
Katie leaped to her feet. ‘Mum’s got some old black-and-white photographs of the garden. I’ll go and get them.’
The children studied the old photos of their mum in pigtails, playing hula hoop and tag in the garden years ago with a whole band of other kids. Even the grown-ups in some of the pictures were smiling as they sat eating their picnic teas. Amber, who had never seen a photograph before, sat rubbing the surface of one of the pictures and wondering how they’d captured a child on such a small piece of paper.
‘I wonder if Mrs Marchmont has any pictures of herself like this,’ mused Gary.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Joshua. ‘Mrs Marchmont was never a child.’ The others ignored him.
‘Mrs Marchmont might have pictures of herself in her house,’ explained Katie. ‘Everyone has got some pictures from when they were little.’
Amber said she didn’t have any, although her aunt had done a rather nice engraving on a reindeer bone once – but everyone agreed that didn’t count.
The children looked up to Mrs Marchmont’s balcony. All the houses in the terrace had their main living room on the first floor at the back overlooking the sea and, of course, the garden. Katie was quite sure that Mrs Marchmont, who didn’t like children at the best of times, would never invite any of them in to look at photographs. It was a problem. They couldn’t exactly climb up onto the balcony and look in through the window.
‘Ratatosk!’ called Amber and began marching up the steps towards the house as her pet squirrel jumped onto her shoulder. Without another word to the children, she whispered something to the tiny squirrel who promptly leaped up an old bit of trellis along the wall and onto Mrs Marchmont’s balcony.
Before they knew it he had slipped through an open window and into the house.
‘What’s he doing?’ whispered Katie.
‘Looking for photographs,’ said Amber confidently.
‘Sssh,’ said Gary, looking round and lowering his voice. ‘That’s stealing!’
Joshua wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t think it is if a squirrel does it.’
In a few moments Ratatosk reappeared carrying a small album. He scrambled back down the trellis.
‘Well done, Ratatosk,’ called Amber. ‘It’s the very thing we need.’
Katie was bewildered. ‘How did he know what to look for? I mean . . . he’s a squirrel!’
‘Don’t start asking questions like that now,’ scoffed Gary. ‘Amber’s a Viking and we don’t seem to be too bothered about that!’
Ratatosk clapped his hands and turned cartwheels as Gary opened the book. Inside, on heavy sheets of black paper, were pasted photograph after photograph of a youthful Mrs Marchmont – Mrs Marchmont running through the garden as a girl, standing beside her father and, best of all, having her wedding photographs taken in the garden.
‘She was beautiful,’ said Katie.
‘Must have been taken before s
he had her troll hide put on,’ replied Amber.
The children began making their plans.
‘Remember,’ said Amber, ‘the plan will work best if all the grown-ups believe it was their idea to save the garden.’
So Katie, Gary, Joshua and Amber began the preparations for a Good-Riddance-to-the-Garden party.
Katie set about making a large board with a display of old photographs showing her mum and Mrs Marchmont, while Gary started work on the invitations. Amber went to look for some tables and chairs in the garden shed, and Joshua followed her. He wasn’t very good at invitations – his colouring-in was splendid, but his alphabet was still quite hit and miss. With his spelling the neighbours might have missed the party altogether.
In the shed, Joshua and Amber found several deck chairs, an old wrought-iron table and most of a croquet set. Katie delivered the invitations.
‘You hafn’t come pestering me about zat garden business, haf you?’ snarled Dr Ativan when she rang his bell.
‘Not at all,’ replied Katie in her best-behaved voice. ‘We think selling the garden is a splendid idea, Doctor, so we’re having a Good-Riddance-to-the-Garden party to celebrate getting rid of it.’
‘Oh!’ said the Doctor, completely taken aback. ‘Good idea, good idea.’ The doctor took his invitation and didn’t even slam the door.
In fact, everyone in the terrace was so surprised that the children were in favour of selling the garden that they all agreed to come to the party. Mum even said she’d provide the tea and biscuits, although she did have a slight feeling that the children were up to something. She couldn’t understand what had turned them against their beloved garden.
‘I know we could do with the money,’ she said, ‘but I thought you loved that garden.’
‘We’re not really bothered,’ said Gary.
The day of the party was one of those bright winter days where the blue sky makes you feel as though spring is on its way. Or, as Amber put it, you felt as if you could sail all the way to Valhalla. Gary and Amber set up the table and chairs and Katie carefully carried her board of photographs down to a hiding place behind the mulberry bushes.
‘Now remember,’ said Amber, mustering her troops. ‘You must all be very pleased the garden is going. Tell everyone it’s wonderful that there won’t be anywhere to run around any more or have picnics. Be really happy.’
Mum and Mrs Belcher were the first to arrive. Katie poured them some tea.
‘This is lovely,’ said Mrs Belcher with a smile. ‘I don’t get out enough. I suppose I’m a bit of a party pooper.’
‘That’ll be all the beans you eat,’ replied Joshua. Katie kicked him in the shins.
Mum sipped at her drink and looked out to sea. ‘Do you know, I haven’t been out on the lawn in ages,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t the sea look blue?’
‘I think it’s far too windy,’ said Katie, passing round the biscuits. ‘It’ll be much better when the garden’s gone. If they build a supermarket here we might not even be able to see the sea from the house. Much better.’
Mum frowned suspiciously as Katie moved on to Dr Ativan. He was standing with Pat and Bobby Kane, who were home for the weekend. Gary was telling them how pleased he was about selling the garden since he wouldn’t have to play out any more. He could just stay inside and watch television. The Kanes worked in the theatre and didn’t like television. They glowered at Gary.
Amber sidled up to Katie: ‘I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.’
The children slipped away round the corner.
‘Ratatosk has been spying on Mr Gray,’ said the little Viking. ‘He’s already got all the papers he needs for selling the garden and he’s going to bring them to the party for everyone to sign today.’
‘But we haven’t had enough time for people to realize how much they’ll miss the garden,’ groaned Gary.
‘Whatever shall we do?’ wailed Joshua.
‘I know the very thing,’ said Amber. ‘We’ll just have to go berserk.’
Katie tried to stay calm: ‘Amber, getting cross is not going to help.’
‘No, I mean we must frighten off Mr Gray until we’ve had more time for the garden party. Joshua and I will dress up as berserks and frighten him off while you and Gary keep the party going.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Joshua. ‘What’s a berserk?’
‘They were great warriors and fierce fighters. They used to wear huge bearskins and run at the enemy rolling their eyes while they bit the edges of their shields and yelled terrible animal noises. It usually frightened the enemies so much that they ran away and no one even had to fight. Joshua and I will be berserks and keep Mr Gray away from the party.’
Katie and Gary went back to their guests.
‘Well done for selling the garden, Dr Ativan,’ said Katie, patting him on the arm.
‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘It should make a nice bit of money for all of us.’
The doctor eyed them over the top of his glasses. ‘It’s terrible to zee children zinking zo much about money. In my day ve would have vanted to keep zee garden and run about and play,’ scolded Dr Ativan. ‘I zink it’s a disgrace, don’t you, Mrs Paling?’
Old Mrs Paling, who didn’t hear very well, thought the doctor said she’d got a nice face, and she smiled. She hadn’t had a compliment since the last black-out in the Second World War. She shyly took the doctor’s arm and strolled off across the garden agreeing with him.
Meanwhile Joshua and Amber snuck into the house to become berserks. They had some trouble finding bearskins to wear – as Joshua explained, nobody did that any more because Mum belonged to something called Greenpeace, which said it was wrong. In the end Amber settled for a pink bath mat tied around her middle and Joshua wore the Thunderbirds rug from beside his bed. Two of Mum’s big saucepan lids did as shields and Joshua insisted on putting the little rubbish bin from the bathroom on his head as a helmet. Ratatosk joined in too, by putting on a tea-cosy and poking his head through the hole for the spout.
The two tiniest Vikings and their squirrel companion set off on their mission.
Mr Gray was feeling very confident. He didn’t care about the garden. He’d never played in one as a child and now his bad hay fever meant he didn’t want to go in one as a grown-up. He carefully gathered the papers for the sale into a small folder and tucked them under his arm. He wasn’t particularly keen on going to the garden party, but it was the perfect opportunity to get everyone in the terrace to sign the sale papers. Nothing would stop him now.
However, as Mr Gray opened his front door, the strangest thing happened. From either side of the step, three terrifying creatures rushed at him, screaming and hollering like demented animals. They were no more than three feet tall but the noise was terrible. One of them looked rather like a small boy wrapped in a fur spaceship, but the others consisted of nothing but an enraged bath mat and a lunatic tea-cosy floating in mid-air. Mr Gray ran inside and slammed the door shut. He blinked his eyes.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ called his wife from upstairs, where she’d been kicking the tumble dryer.
‘Uh, n-n-n-nothing,’ stuttered Mr Gray. He shook his head and decided that he really must have a holiday this year. Then, he took a deep breath and opened the door again.
The party was going well. By now even Mrs Marchmont had arrived and was actually chatting with some of her neighbours. Katie brought out the board of photographs, along with Mum’s camera.
‘I thought we’d take one last picture of every-one in the garden,’ she announced.
Mrs Marchmont fixed her with a glare and strode up to the board.
‘Where did you . . .?’ she began crossly, and then she caught sight of herself fifty years before in her wedding gown under the cedar tree. ‘Oh,’ she said, sighing, and her face softened.
‘I think Mrs Marchmont just lost her troll hide,’ whispered Gary. At that moment a great cry went up from the steps and a small bath mat followed by a bedside rug and plastic rubbish b
in pelted down the stairs and into the bushes, pursued by a furious Mr Gray. He would have carried on chasing them except that something looking like a rabid tea-cosy bit his leg as he leaped off the last step.
‘What on earth?’ cried Mum, who was now even more suspicious of the entire party. Mr Gray sat rubbing his ankle.
‘Good riddance to the wretched garden,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve brought the papers for you all to sign. I think we should do it now.’
Everyone was silent. Mrs Marchmont stepped forward.
‘I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind,’ she announced. ‘I no longer wish to sell.’
‘Neizer do I,’ said Dr Ativan.
‘Nor me,’ added Mrs Paling, who for once had followed the entire conversation perfectly.
Strangely not one of the owners wanted to sell any more. They all turned their backs on Mr Gray and returned to the tea party. He limped around for a while, muttering about profit margins and seizing opportunities, but no one was interested and he soon went home.
Later, all the grown-ups in West Cliff Terrace took a short walk around the garden to enjoy the view. They watched the sun setting across Pegwell Bay before finally going back indoors. Of course, they didn’t really explore the garden. If they had wandered behind the shrubbery to the clearing they would have been very surprised at what they saw. For sitting beneath the mulberry bush was the littlest Viking, wrapped in a bath mat and singing ancient Norse songs of victory.
Chapter Five
The Great Little Dragon Ship
THE AVERAGE VIKING house in Amber’s home town was made of dirt, with grass growing on the roof and windows at either end covered with the see-through membrane of a calf’s birth sac. This may not seem too attractive to you and me and was probably a nightmare to clean, but to Amber, the Hammer of the North, it was home. She had been living with Katie, Gary and Joshua for over a week now and, however much she loved her new friends, she couldn’t help feeling homesick.
The Littlest Viking Page 4