Like an enormous, slewed curtain, the sail almost cut off the front of the ship from the rear. To be heard by someone in a different part of the vessel, you had to shout across the wind. Just now, Harald was steering, and Peer was in the bows, almost as far away from him as it was possible to get. He leaned back, watching Loki scramble over the stacks of crates and barrels amidships, sticking his nose in everywhere. Loki was having no problems adjusting to his new life at sea!
And neither was Hilde. On leaving home this morning, she’d been as close to tears as Peer had ever seen her – but now she was sitting on a crossbeam, chatting to some of the men. Trust Hilde, he thought to himself with a rueful smile. She knew the names of half the crew already, and was busy finding out about the others.
“No trolls in Vinland?” she was saying now. “So you’ve been there, Magnus – you’ve sailed with Gunnar before?”
“That’s right.” Magnus was a middle-aged man, his face criss-crossed with tiny lines from screwing up his eyes against sun and weather. He beamed at Hilde. “Me, and Halfdan, and young Floki here, we were all with the skipper on his last voyage. Never saw a troll. Floki’s my mate. I look out for him, and he does what I says. Like a father to him, I am, ain’t I, Floki?” Floki was a youngish man with curly hair and a rather vacant expression. Magnus dug him in the ribs, and he sniggered amiably.
“What the skipper does, you see, Missy,” Magnus went on, “he splits us into two watches, so we can take turns to sail the ship and rest. There’s us three, and your brother here, Peer —”
“I’m not her brother,” said Peer firmly. Hilde looked at him in surprise.
“Oh, aye?” Magnus showed three missing teeth in a grin. “And in the other watch there’s Arne —”
“We both know Arne,” Hilde interrupted.
“And young Harald Silkenhair, and Big Tjørvi,” Magnus finished. He frowned at his hands and bent down gnarled fingers, muttering, “Six, seven… that’s eight of us, counting the skipper, who’s in charge but who don’t do much hauling and rowing any more. See?”
“It makes ten of us,” Hilde corrected him. “Counting Astrid and me.”
“Women don’t count,” said a deep voice. A man ducked under the edge of the sail and straightened up – and up, and up, a blond giant like a white summer cloud, the kind that towers up against a blue sky. His hair and beard were as fluffy as dandelion seeds. He regarded Hilde with a straight-faced, solemn expression.
“Why don’t women count?” Hilde demanded.
“Too weak,” said Big Tjørvi.
“I like that! We may not be as strong as you, but brains count for something!” Hilde took in the men’s grins and nudges. “You’re teasing me. Aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t dare.” Big Tjørvi’s eyes gleamed.
“Better not,” Magnus joked. “This girl took on a whole mountainful of trolls, so she tells me.”
“Not by myself,” said Hilde. “Peer was there too.”
“Did you, now?” Tjørvi looked at the pair of them with interest.
“Tell Tjørvi about that troll baby,” urged Floki. “She saw a troll baby, Tjørvi. With a pig’s snout and a purple tongue. Like this!” He pushed his nose up with his thumb, and stuck out a slobbery tongue.
“Don’t tell that tale to the skipper,” said Halfdan darkly.
“Why not?” asked Peer.
Several of the men looked round. But Gunnar was in the stern with Harald and Astrid, and with the wind blowing as it was, there was no chance he could overhear this conversation. The men were uneasy, vague. “The skipper’s a bit – you know…”
“Edgy,” said Halfdan, a small, skinny man with narrow-set eyes.
“He’d reckon talking about trolls is unlucky,” said Magnus. “Lots of things is unlucky at sea. Like whistling.”
“Whistling’s unlucky?” asked Hilde, who could whistle nicely herself.
Everyone nodded. “’Cos it brings the wind,” said Floki. He pursed his lips and mimed a breathy little whistle. There was no true sound, but Magnus aimed a cuff at his head. “Stow that, you young fool!” he growled.
It could have been coincidence, but a strong gust sped over the water. The ship put her bows hard into the next wave. Several of the men glared at Floki, and a small shiver ran down Peer’s back. Out here at sea, maybe these things weren’t funny.
“There’ll be no good luck this trip,” went on Floki, who seemed to have no sense of self-preservation. “Women on ships is unlucky, too, and here we are with two of ’em!” Hilde gasped indignantly, but the men weren’t thinking of her.
“Astrid…” There was a general mutter.
“The skipper got a wrong ’un there.”
“What’s she got in that bag of hers?”
“I reckon she’s half a witch.”
“You know what I heard?” Halfdan said in low tones. “I heard she’s got troll blood in her veins – it runs in the family. But her father tried to hush it up. Who’d marry a troll? Likely the skipper doesn’t know. Well, who’d tell him?”
Peer tried to exchange a sceptical glance with Hilde, but she was examining her nails. Floki’s rather protuberant blue eyes opened wide. Magnus sucked air in through his teeth.
Big Tjørvi stretched. “I reckon that’s rubbish,” he said slowly. “At least she looks after the skipper. She’s got healing herbs in that bag of hers.”
“Then why’s he still sick?” demanded Magnus.
“What’s wrong with him?” Hilde asked. “Not just his hand?”
Magnus seemed to take this as criticism. He glared at her. “The hand? Take more than losing a hand to stop an old sea-wolf like Gunnar. No. But he gets awful fevers and black sweats that shake him till he can’t hardly stand.”
“That’s no ordinary sickness what’s wrong with the skipper,” said Floki in a melancholy sing-song. “There’s a ghost a-following after him, ah, and it won’t rest till it gets him.”
“A ghost?” Peer sat up.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Magnus lunged at Floki. He grabbed a handful of shirt and twisted it up under Floki’s chin, shaking a hard fist under his nose. “I told you not to talk about that!” he said.
Floki screwed up his face, flinching and crying, “Sorry, Magnus, sorry. I won’t do it again!”
“See you don’t. Or see what you’ll get!” Magnus dropped him. “Don’t listen to him,” he added to Hilde. “He’s simple, a moon-calf. The skipper would kill him if he heard. There’s no ghost. There’s no ghost!”
Peer and Hilde looked at each other. Peer got stiffly to his feet. With Loki at his heels, he made his way up into the prow, where the tall neck of the dragonhead divided the darkening horizon. Hilde murmured an excuse and came after him.
“Well. What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know,” said Peer. “It doesn’t sound good.” Ranks of surly waves slopped up at the ship and sank back. He wished they had never come on board: but if Hilde was here, he was glad to be with her. He leaned over the side and Hilde did the same, her left arm almost touching his right. He thought of saying, At least we’re together. But before he could get the words out, Hilde said crisply, “Not good? I call it very odd indeed. A ghost? Whose ghost?”
Peer sighed. “Well, Gunnar and Harald killed a man in Westfold. Maybe Floki’s thinking of him. But that doesn’t mean there really is a ghost,” he added, seeing she looked disturbed. “I don’t think Floki’s very bright.”
“Then why did Magnus get so upset? And Astrid said Gunnar’s afraid of the dark.”
“Did she?” Peer frowned. It seemed a strange thing for a girl to say about her husband. “Do you like her? The men don’t. All that stuff about troll blood…”
“I do like her – I think,” said Hilde. “It’s odd, though: she wanted me to come, but ever since we got on board this morning she’s avoided me. If I sit with her, she moves away. If I talk to her, she barely answers. It’s as though she’s hiding something. What’s going on?”
Peer di
dn’t really want to talk about Astrid. “Perhaps she’s feeling seasick.”
“A ghost,” Hilde repeated. “How could a ghost follow a man over the sea?” She looked out across the heaving water and shivered. “But remember the draug?”
“Yes…” Peer thought of the fearsome sea spirit that roamed the seas in half a boat, with a crew of drowned corpses. He’d glimpsed it once – a tattered sail and a dark hull, manned by stiff silhouettes. He began to understand why sailors didn’t talk about such things. That ragged cloud on the horizon – could it be a sail?
“Hey!” said a voice behind them.
They both jumped. “Time to eat,” said Arne cheerfully. “Astrid wants you, Hilde. Serving out the rations is women’s work!” And he winked at Peer, much to Peer’s surprise.
“All right,” said Hilde mildly. She began clambering back along the ship towards the stern. Peer made to follow her, but Arne held him back. “A word, Peer?”
“Well, what is it?” asked Peer after a moment.
Arne lowered his voice, fidgeting. “You know I’ve always liked Hilde. More than liked her. She’s a grand lass, and I don’t reckon I could do better when I come to get a wife. No, listen!” He threw up his hand as Peer tried to interrupt. “I know, you’re thinking, Why’s he telling me this? You see, I always thought you’d taken a sort of boy’s fancy for Hilde yourself. But after what she said the other night, I saw I was wrong.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “I should have known you’re like brother and sister. Shake hands – and if you could put in a good word for me with Hilde…?”
“No. Look,” Peer said in confused anger, ignoring Arne’s out-thrust hand. “You’ve got it wrong. She’s not my sister. I’ve never felt like her brother, and I never will.”
Arne recoiled. “So that’s your game?” he said in a voice brimful of disgust. “And you told Ralf and Gudrun you were only coming along to protect Hilde.”
“I didn’t! I mean, I am!” Peer stammered in dismay and increasing rage.
“Well, she says you’re her brother. So what’s this about? Using her trust to take advantage of her?”
“Leave me alone!”
“With pleasure. And you leave her alone.” Arne turned away.
Peer boiled over. “It’s up to Hilde who she spends her time with!” he yelled, and saw Arne check and stiffen, before ducking under the sail and walking on.
The meal was cheerless: dried herring, and cold groute – barley porridge which had been cooked on shore and left to congeal in the pot. The crew sat around, scraping their spoons into the sticky mess. And although Gunnar had taken on fresh wter only that morning, it already tasted odd. When Hilde suggested warming the food, Astrid said scornfully, “Light a fire? On a ship?”
“Oh, of course…”
“There won’t be any hot food till we touch land.”
“And when will that be?” asked Hilde, looking around. “How far is it to Vinland? And how do we find the way?”
“Depends on the weather,” Gunnar grunted, through a mouthful. “Three weeks. Four. As for how…” He shrugged.
Talkative Magnus waved his spoon. “See, first we go past the Islands of Sheep, just far enough south that the mountains show half out of the sea. And then we follow the whales past Iceland. And so, west to Greenland.”
“I know how to spot Greenland,” said Floki eagerly. “Don’t I, Magnus? Remember, last time, you pointed out the old Blueshirt Glacier? I’d know that again.”
Magnus reached across and tugged Floki’s ear. “That’s right, laddie,” he said with a grin. Floki squealed.
“That’ll be our first landfall, Greenland,” said Gunnar, ignoring this.
“You’ll all be glad to stretch your legs by then,” said Magnus, relentlessly jokey. “And then off we go, west again, till we strike a rocky, barren sort of coast, and follow it south with the land on our right, till we get to Vinland.”
Peer hadn’t realised it was so far. His teeth chattered. The wind struck a dash of spray flew into his face. “Such a long way,” he muttered under his breath.
Harald’s voice came quietly out of the dusk:
“May the white-armed women of the waves
Speed us safely through the sea-kingdom,
Through the whales’ home and the heaving waters
To the far strand where the sun westers.”
For a moment everyone was still. Even Peer was held by the music of the words and the rhythm of the waves. Then Harald broke the spell he himself had cast.
“Worrying again, Barelegs?” he jeered. “Wishing you hadn’t come?”
Arne laughed out loud.
Peer’s face flamed. Before he could think what to say, he felt a large hand grasp his arm. “Time to turn in,” said Big Tjørvi calmly. “Skipper? Gunnar? Who’s for the first watch?”
Gunnar chose Magnus, Peer, Halfdan and Floki. Stringy, dark-haired Halfdan took the steering oar. Magnus and Floki propped themselves against the sides, each holding one of the long braces that trailed dizzyingly upwards to either end of the wide yard. Peer went off forward for the solitary task of lookout and tacksman. The rest of the crew unrolled their wide two-man sleeping sacks wherever they could find a bit of empty deck, and scrambled in.
Astrid’s sack was already spread out in a spot as sheltered as any, in the lee of the starboard side. She slid into it as neat as a knife into a sheath, and snuggled down without speaking, but Hilde sat for a few more moments, knees drawn up to her chin. Harald’s jeer and Arne’s laugh hadn’t escaped her. Peer and Arne – they’d never got on. She half-guessed why, but pushed it out of mind. Blue-eyed Arne: she’d always liked him. But Peer – Peer was family. Arne had no right to laugh at him, and especially not to side with Harald against him.
I hope the other men will like Peer. I hope he’ll be all right…
The sky wasn’t totally dark. It had a deep colour tinged with lingering light against which the sail looked black, a great square of starless night hanging over the ship.
Lonely wonder overcame her. Whatever was she doing out here on the ocean, listening to the chuckle and truckle of water running along the sides and under the bottom boards? She imagined the close, smoky darkness of the farmhouse. Have they gone to bed? Has Ma left the dough to rise on the hearthstone? Has she put out the bowl for the Nis? Is she lying awake, missing me?
A feeble glow kindled in the stern. Halfdan had lit a small, horn-windowed lantern and put it at his feet.
Hilde pulled off her shoes and tried to stuff her legs into the sleeping sack without her skirt bunching up. Nobody undressed on a ship, and in any case it was too cold. She inched her way in like a caterpillar, trying not to disturb Astrid who lay with her face turned away. It wouldn’t be a comfortable night. The ship tilted and tipped and swung; she heard the mumbling voices of the men on watch, and the coughs and grunts and snores of those, who like herself, were sleeping or trying to sleep.
Her bare feet touched something at the bottom of the sack. A sort of bundle, firm but yielding, with a hairy surface. She prodded it with her toes – and it jerked.
“Ouch!” Hilde twitched her feet away. And suddenly Astrid was sitting upright. “Hush!” she hissed.
“Astrid!” Hilde seized her arm. “There’s something in there. It moved!”
Astrid heaved an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you had to find out. But just keep quiet about it, right?” She ducked into the sleeping sack, delving past Hilde’s legs, and heaved out her goatskin bag by its long strap.
“Your bag?” whispered Hilde. She remembered Astrid’s little buzzing box. What else did she keep in there? Something alive?
“What is it?” She drew back. The bag bulged and bounced, as if something inside it was kicking and punching. Then came a muffled, furious squeaking: “Help, he-elp!”
“The Nis?” Hilde gasped.
“You open it.” Astrid shoved the bag at Hilde. “It might bite me.”
“Oh, you haven’t. You couldn’t.” She wr
enched at the buckle, tore open the flap, and almost dropped the whole thing as a frantic little whirlwind clawed its way out, fell into her lap, kicked itself away and shot up the mast with a noise like a cat fight: “Aiaieiyoooooooooo!”
With a yell of fright, Floki let go of the port brace. “There’s something on the mast! An evil spirit!”
Astrid snatched the bag from Hilde and thrust it into the sleeping sack. “Lie down,” she whispered fiercely. “Pretend you’re asleep.”
“Asleep?” Hilde cried. In the darkness overhead, the Nis caterwauled and shrieked.
“Shut it up, then! Make it stop!” Astrid lay back and screwed her eyes firmly shut.
Hilde struggled out of the sleeping sack. Where’s Peer? I have to find Peer. By now everyone was yelling and rushing about. Loki barked madly. From the top of the mast, the dreadful screaming went on.
“Peer?” she shouted. With a noise like a rough kiss, waves slapped into the side, and spray showered on board. Halfdan had accidentally steered Water Snake too far into the wind. The sail went aback, clapping and thundering, and the ship hung in the water, tossing. Hilde lost her balance and staggered into someone tall and slender who caught her and steadied her. It was Peer. She pulled his head down and said urgently into his ear, “It’s the Nis – Astrid’s brought the Nis!”
Peer gave her one incredulous look, nodded grimly, and disappeared. Hilde sank to the deck. Peer was good with the Nis: he would deal with it somehow…
“Get back on the tack!” Gunnar bellowed. Young Harald sprang past her, his long hair flying, threw Halfdan off the steering oar, and grabbed it himself. Water Snake swung back on course. The terrible screeching stopped. What had happened? Had Peer coaxed the Nis down – or had it fallen overboard?
Big Tjørvi held up the lantern. The tiny flame made the darkness darker, the steep sides of the waves as black and glossy as coal. It gleamed on Gunnar, staring about as though he expected to see slimy hands clawing out of the sea. His face stretched, eyebrows high, mouth agape, eyes popping.
“What made that noise?” he choked. No one answered. His voice climbed. “By Thor and his Hammer! One of you must have seen it. There’s something on board this ship, and I swear when I find it, I’ll cut it into tiny pieces!” Spittle caught in his beard.
West of the Moon Page 36