Viking in Trouble

by Jeremy Strong

  Mr Ellis asked if there was a problem. Why did they need to arrest Sigurd? Constable Pritty immediately launched into a long description of all the charges, with Mr Thripp grinning and hopping excitedly from one foot to another and adding bits here and there. Finally Constable Pritty asked to see Sigurd’s passport.

  ‘Pass-the-pot?’ repeated Siggy. Glancing round the hotel entrance he saw a rose bush standing in a big tub. Of course! That must be it! Sigurd seized the flowertub with both hands, picked it up and thrust it into Constable Pritty’s chest. ‘Pass-the-pot!’ Siggy repeated excitedly, thinking this must be some new party game.

  ‘What are you doing? Are you trying to be funny?’ cried Constable Pritty. Sigurd nodded and grinned even more.

  ‘I funny. You funny. Funny man in funny blue hat!’

  Constable Pritty thrust out his chin and snapped at his helmet strap. ‘I am not funny at all, and neither is my hat,’ he growled.

  Mr Ellis hastily came to Sigurd’s aid. ‘Sigurd doesn’t have a passport, Officer. You see, it’s not that he comes from another country, but that he comes from another century – the tenth century, and they didn’t have passports then.’

  ‘Oh yes? And my name is Darth Vader!’

  ‘I thought he was taller,’ murmured Mrs Ellis.

  ‘This is not a laughing matter, Madam. This Viking will have to come down to the police station with me for questioning.’

  Mr Ellis turned to Sigurd and tried to explain the situation to him, but Siggy would have none of it. ‘I no go with Mr Blue-hat.’

  ‘Insulting a police officer,’ muttered Constable Pritty reaching for his notebook again. ‘I’m afraid that you have no choice, Sir. Just come with me please and don’t make things worse for yourself.’

  It was at this point that Constable Pritty made a bad mistake. He tried to pull Sigurd along by the arm. In an instant Sigurd had leaped backwards, pulling Nosepicker from his scabbard as he did so.

  ‘Hah!’ yelled Sigurd. ‘Death to my enemies and to the enemies of my enemies and the enemies of the enemies of enemies – I think. By Thor, I make you all into barbecue meat!’

  It was no use trying to calm the Viking down now. His blood was up. He stood there waving Nosepicker over his head so violently that he cut down three hanging baskets. Constable Pritty and Mr Thripp stared in horror at the mad Viking warrior and slowly began to back down the path.

  Constable Pritty was secretly delighted at all this. Flotby was such a boring town normally and now he had a full scale incident on his hands.

  ‘I think reinforcements are called for,’ he hissed to Mr Thripp. ‘Come on, back to the station – fast!’ The two turned tail and ran, leaving Sigurd standing on the hotel steps waving Nosepicker. Mr and Mrs Ellis looked desperately at each other.

  By this time Tim and Zoe had come outside to see what all the fuss was about. When they heard that Sigurd was about to be arrested and taken away they were horrified.

  ‘Do something, Daddy!’ cried Tim.

  ‘I can’t. I don’t know what to do,’ wailed Mr Ellis.

  ‘But he hasn’t done anything wrong!’ cried Zoe.

  ‘No? What about chasing Mr Thripp with a hedge trimmer, not to mention trying to skewer a policeman with Nosepicker.’

  ‘But that was self-defence,’ argued Zoe.

  ‘Smell the fence!’ shouted Sigurd with a big grin.

  ‘Not smell the fence – self-defence,’ corrected Zoe. Sigurd nodded violently.

  ‘Smell the fence!’

  Mr Ellis buried his face in his hands. He could hear the wail of fast-approaching police cars. Tim stared out from the hotel steps. ‘Quick!’ he shouted. ‘You’ve got to do a runner, Sigurd. They’re after you.’

  But Sigurd stood his ground. ‘I no go. I no coward. If Blue-hat wants Sigurd he come and take him.’ Sigurd slowly drew Nosepicker and strode to the front of the steps as six police cars burst on to the forecourt. Doors sprung open and twenty police officers leaped from the cars. Constable Pritty stood near the back with a megaphone.

  ‘Give yourself up!’ he shouted. ‘There is no escape. You are outnumbered. It’s twenty against one. Give yourself up!’

  Sigurd’s answer to this was quite extraordinary and took everyone by surprise. He started taking off all his clothes. He pulled off his boots. He pulled off his jacket. Then he removed his shirt and started on his leggings.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ whispered Mrs Ellis.

  ‘Taking all his clothes off,’ said Mr Ellis, not quite believing what he was seeing. Zoe clutched at her father’s arm.

  ‘Daddy I know what he’s doing! He’s going berserk!’

  ‘Berserk?’ repeated Mr Ellis. ‘He’s stark raving bonkers if you ask me!’

  ‘No, no! That’s where the word berserk comes from. A “berserk” was a Viking warrior. When faced with terrible odds in a battle they took off all their clothes and then charged into the fight!’

  ‘What an extraordinary thing to do, and what peculiar things you learn at school,’ said Mr Ellis.

  By this time Sigurd was sitting on the stone floor, pulling at his leggings and muttering to himself. ‘I berserk warrior. I cover garden with blood of Mr Blue-hats!’

  Seizing his chance, Constable Pritty shouted ‘Charge!’ and a line of twenty police officers pounded towards the steps of the hotel, while Sigurd desperately tried to make up his mind. Was he going to pull his leggings off, or pull them back on again?

  5

  Sigurd Makes His Escape

  Yelling furiously because it made them all feel a lot braver, the policemen stormed the hotel steps. Sigurd struggled to his feet and pulled up his trousers. He waved Nosepicker violently. The police paused for a moment and watched the bare-chested Viking warily. Sigurd glared at each and every one with a murderous glint. Then suddenly he shouted ‘Bοο!’, turned tail and vanished into the hotel.

  ‘Charge!’ squeaked Constable Pritty once more, and the police plunged after Sigurd, only to get completely jammed in the doorway. There was an awful lot of huffing and puffing and grunting and grumbling as they sorted out the pile-up. Then they were up and stumbling after the laughing Viking.

  Sigurd was having a wonderful time. He raced up one staircase and reappeared at the top of a quite different set of stairs. He slid down the banisters, rushed through the kitchen, back into the hotel, up the stairs again, and in and out of the bedrooms causing astonished shouts from the guests. Then he went downstairs again, through the lounge, into the garden, up the fire escape… and all the time the number of people chasing him grew and grew, as guests came out of their rooms and joined in.

  At last Sigurd decided he had done enough running. He cast a quick look over his shoulder to watch the long blue snake bobbing up and down on his trail, then he dipped along a short corridor and vanished, leaving nothing but a flapping door to show where he had passed.

  Twenty policemen and fifteen guests ran panting into a small room only to find it completely empty. There was no sign of Sigurd apart from an open window. Constable Pritty rushed over and stared out into the garden. Siggy was standing down there, waving to them all.

  Constable Pritty gritted his teeth. There was no way he was going to leap down into the garden from this height. He rushed out to the stairs and raced down to the garden. Sigurd had vanished again. ‘Search the place!’ screeched the constable. ‘He must be around here somewhere!’ The policemen ran round and round the garden like escaped guinea-pigs, shaking their heads.

  Mr and Mrs Ellis and Tim and Zoe knew exactly where Sigurd was and they couldn’t bear to watch. Perhaps it was the terrible crashing of gears that finally gave the police the clue they so desperately needed.

  A car engine whined furiously and, with a lot of wheel spin, one of the police cars suddenly rocketed from the hotel driveway. The siren blared and, with another ear-shattering scrunch of the gears, Sigurd whizzed out through the hotel entrance and on to the main road. Mrs Ellis covered her eyes. Tim and Zoe jum
ped up and down with excitement.

  ‘Go on, Sigurd! Show them what you can do! Yeehah!’

  The police watched in disbelief, until a frustrated cry from Constable Pritty sent them scurrying to the remaining cars. The air was filled with howling sirens, stones were catapulted from spinning wheels and five police cars set off in hot pursuit.

  Slowly the sirens faded away and the dust settled on the hotel forecourt. Penny Ellis slipped one arm round her husband’s waist. ‘What happens now, Keith?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I can cope with much more.’

  Mr Ellis stood staring out along the main road. At last he turned back to the hotel. ‘I’m going inside. I’m going to make a pot of tea and I’m going to take three aspirins for my headache – that’s what is going to happen next. Then we shall sit down and wait. I am quite certain that it will not be long before we hear from the police again.’ Mr Ellis went wearily into the hotel. Zoe and Tim watched in silence as Mrs Ellis followed her husband. Tim looked up at his big sister.

  ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘Big trouble,’ said Zoe, and they sat down on the front steps and waited.

  ‘The car chase did not last long. Sigurd’s driving had certainly not improved since he had taken Mr Ellis’s car for a swimming lesson in the hotel duck pond. Before he had worked out how to steer he had driven straight down on to the beach. Startled holiday makers took to their heels, screaming in alarm, as the roaring, wailing police car bounced round and round and finally took off in a series of sand-churning zig-zags before plunging nose-first into the waves. Perhaps Sigurd thought this car might float and he could just carry on driving until he reached Denmark. Of course it didn’t work. The car came to a full stop with an engine full of sea water. Sigurd opened the door, stepped straight into a large wave, fell over, choked, came up gasping and collapsed right into the arms of Constable Pritty, ably assisted by nineteen other officers.

  Constable Pritty grinned. ‘You’re booked, my son!’ There was a click of handcuffs and Sigurd was hauled away, bundled into a police car and whisked off to Flotby Police Station. The telephone call that The Viking Hotel was dreading came sooner than expected. Mr Ellis stood there with the telephone at one ear, grim-faced and looking very tired. It was Mr Thripp speaking from the other end, and he was obviously enjoying every moment of his triumph. At last Mr Ellis put the ‘phone down. ‘He’s been locked in the cells. That’s it. He doesn’t stand a chance. The police don’t take kindly to being threatened with swords and having their police ears stolen. What a mess! I don’t know what to do now.’ He slumped down in an armchair.

  Mrs Ellis straightened up. ‘I know what to do,’ she said, going to the telephone. She dialled a long number which seemed to ring for ages before it was answered. ‘Hallο?’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘Is that you, Mrs Tibblethwaite? It’s Penny here. How is your sister?’ There was a long speech from the other end, but at last Mrs Ellis said ‘Oh good. I’m so glad she’s making a good recovery. How is everything here? Well, we do have a little bit of a problem. Yes. Just a wee one. Sigurd is in prison…’

  There was a yell of horror down the telephone that even Mr Ellis and the children could hear. On and on went the routings and ravings. At length Mrs Ellis put the ‘phone down and smiled across at her husband and children. ‘Mrs Tibblethwaite is catching the next train to Flotby,’ she announced.

  ‘I don’t see what good that will do,’ said Mr Ellis gloomily.

  ‘Well, put it this way, Keith. If you were Constable Pritty and you had just put Sigurd in a police cell, would you like to face Mrs Tibblethwaite and explain it to her?’

  A slow smile spread across Mr Ellis’s tired face. He kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘You, Penny, are a clever and dangerous woman.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I’m not half as dangerous as Mrs Tibblethwaite when she’s on the rampage!’

  ‘Is there going to be a fight, Dad?’ Tim asked. ‘Can I join in? Is Mrs Tibblethwaite going to bash them all up?’

  ‘Tim! That’s not a nice way to talk at all!’ interrupted Mrs Ellis. Tim sighed.

  ‘I was only asking,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Well why don’t you go and do something useful – like tidy your room – before we have to go and meet Tibby’s train. Go on.’

  Tim heaved another sigh and went upstairs. He tried tidying his room but he was far too excited. The next few hours of waiting were a nightmare.

  But if Tim was bored with waiting at the hotel, it was nothing compared to the rage and frustration felt by Mrs Tibblethwaite as her train slowly made its way towards Flotby. She couldn’t believe a train could move so slowly. When the ticket collector made his way down the carriage she even asked if he would like her to get out and push. He didn’t think it was at all funny.

  Mrs Tibblethwaite had spent the last few days nursing her sister, and already she felt that she had been stuck indoors for far too long, running backwards and forwards with cups of tea and hot-water bottles. She now had a great deal of unused energy, and as the train crawled into Flotby station the door was already open. Mrs Tibblethwaite leapt down on to the platform, suitcase in hand and galloped to the barrier where the Ellises were eagerly awaiting her arrival.

  ‘Where is he? Where is my Siggy?’ she cried.

  Mr Ellis took her by the arm and steered her towards the car, which had only recently come back from the garage, not only working, but dry. As they all got in Mr Ellis told her the whole story.

  Tibby sat in the back seat with tears struggling down her cheeks. She clenched and unclenched her fists, over and over again. Then she began to beat her knees with her fists and finally the back of the driver’s seat. She nearly sent Mr Ellis through the front windscreen and the car over a red light.

  ‘For goodness sake!’ cried Mr Ellis. ‘Be careful!’

  ‘I’ll kill that Mr Thripp! I knew it was all his fault. He’s a mingy, mangy, mean little pipsqueak. I’ll kill him!’

  ‘That won’t help much,’ Mr Ellis pointed out. ‘Listen. We’ll go back to the hotel and have a nice cup of tea and sit down calmly and think it all through. What we need is a plan.’

  6

  The Bomb Falls

  A cup of tea did little to calm Mrs Tibblethwaite. She sat at one of the dining tables drumming her fingers angrily on the polished surface. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her coat. The Ellis’s watched her, wondering what she was thinking, and what she was going to do.

  Tim was the first to break the silence. ‘Suppose we rush into the police station and shout “Fire! Fire!” Then everyone will come running out and we can nip in and rescue Siggy.’

  ‘How do we unlock his cell?’ Zoe demanded.

  ‘We could saw through the bars.’

  ‘Timmy! That’s a crackpot idea.’

  ‘Well you think of something better then – Brainy bottom.’

  Mrs Ellis threw a cold glance across the table at the children. ‘Okay, that’s enough, you two. We have enough problems without the two of you arguing.’ Mrs Ellis turned to Tibby and patted her gently on the hand. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite shook her head. It was plain to all that she was quietly seething inside, and they waited for her to explode. But she didn’t. At last she pushed back her chair and picked up her handbag.

  ‘I’m going down to the police station,’ she announced. ‘Mr Ellis, would you kindly give me a lift please?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to them. I cannot believe that this policeman – Pretty boy, or whatever his name is – can be stupid enough not to realise what a terrible mistake has been made. I am quite sure it is all a simple misunderstanding. Come on. The sooner we go, the sooner this whole mess will be cleared up.’

  There was no stopping Mrs Tibblethwaite now, so everybody piled into the car and Mr Ellis drove to the police station. Just as they expected Constable Pritty and Mr Thripp were both there. They were sitting behind the front desk eating som
e large cream cakes and looking very self-satisfied. Beyond the desk could be seen a row of cells. One of them had a very sad looking heap of smelly rags piled in the corner.

  Mrs Tibblethwaite marched up to the desk and rapped on it with her knuckles. ‘I believe you have my husband, Officer, and I would like him back if you don’t mind.’

  Constable Pritty was nonplussed. ‘I’m very sorry, Madam. You must be mistaken. The only person we have here is… hmmm!’ Constable Pritty glanced at Mr Thripp and they both began to snigger. ‘I can only describe him to you as being a raving madman, dressed in the smelliest, filthiest, most ridiculous clothes you’ve ever seen. He thinks he’s a Viking! What a laugh! We do see some nutters in here, Madam.’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite smiled back at the grinning policeman. That nutter is my husband, Officer, and for your information he is not mad. He is a Viking. Kindly release him.’

  Constable Pritty and Mr Thripp stared at each other. Mr Thripp had a chocolate eclair stuck halfway to his mouth. Both men looked across at the Ellis’s.

  ‘She’s telling the truth,’ said Mr Ellis helpfully.

  ‘God’s honour!’ added Zoe.

  ‘Cross our hearts and hope to die!’ Tim put in for good measure.

  Constable Pritty leaned forward across the desk, unwittingly putting his elbow right on a cream doughnut. Jam and cream splurted out on all sides. ‘Well, Madam, I am afraid your husband is facing some very serious charges.’ And he went through the whole list, finishing with, ‘stealing a police car and trying to drown it’.

  ‘But he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. He’s a tenth century Viking!’

  ‘Oh of course Madam! And I’m Donald Duck!’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite was rapidly running out of patience. ‘It was all done in self-defence,’ she said wearily.