ELBOWS BRACED, SIGURD kicked for a foothold. “It goes down a long way!”
“Don’t get stuck,” whispered Sigrid as he sank into black shadow.
“There’s loads of room. Ouch!” he added. Sigrid heard gasps and grunts. “Your turn,” he called softly. “I’m down.”
With Sigurd guiding her, Sigrid joined him at the bottom of the crevice. It was completely dark, except for the narrow streak of sky overhead, fringed with ferns.
“This way!” Sigurd pulled her hand. “It keeps going. There’s a passage into the hill.” He twisted round and squeezed himself into a gap at the end of the crevice. With a shiver, Sigrid followed.
The passage was not wide. They had to slide along crab-wise, bruising knees and elbows on projecting ribs of rock. Sigrid didn’t realise at first that the troll was only just ahead of them. It was twittering and swearing as it yanked the sack along.
A wider space opened out. The troll dropped the sack with a thump. It whistled; shrill and impatient. A slow light dawned. The twins saw the passage walls, streaked with water, and, only a few yards away, the small hunched back of the troll, sitting on the sack with its tail twitching. A globe of swirling bluish fire sped around a distant bend in the tunnel, whirled up to the troll, and hung, dancing up and down in the air.
The troll jumped up. “To the kitchens!” it squeaked, heaving the sack on to its shoulders. The light began floating down the tunnel, and the little troll hobbled after it, still muttering and complaining. Its claws scritched on the stones as it trotted away.
Sigrid started forwards, but Sigurd caught her arm. “Let it go, Siggy. We don’t want the kitchens.”
“But we can’t find our way in the dark!”
“I know. I’ve got an idea.” The troll turned a corner, and huge shadows squeezed back down the tunnel. Sigurd fumbled in his pocket and produced Peer’s little wooden whistle. “We’ll call for our own light,” he said.
“Can we?”
“Let’s see!” Night swept over them again as Sigurd blew. Two pure little notes warbled out, mimicking the sound the troll had made. Blinking uselessly in the darkness, Sigurd waited a moment and tried again.
“It’s working!” Sigrid saw a cold glow far down the passage. They turned dirty faces to each other in triumph. Another of the blue lights came dashing up like a dog answering the whistle, and drifted around their heads, crackling. Fine strands of Sigrid’s hair floated up towards it, and their scalps prickled.
“Take us to Eirik!” Sigurd demanded. The ball of light flickered. It sank, pulsing nervously.
“You can’t ask that,” Sigrid said. “It doesn’t know who Eirik is. You’re confusing it. Eirik’s a baby,” she explained to the light. “We want to find him. Can you take us? Where’s the baby?”
The ball of light brightened. It zoomed off, and the twins hurried hopefully after. The stone floor rose and fell, and sometimes narrowed to a deep V with water at the bottom, so that they had to scuffle along with a foot braced on each side. Cold air breathed from cracks and splits in the tunnel wall. Through one opening they heard a sort of pounding rumble, and smelt spray: an underground waterfall pouring invisibly from darkness into darkness. Through another, they heard distant voices. Sigurd glanced at their guiding light. “I hope it’s taking us by the back ways,” he muttered. “Hey, you up there! We don’t want to meet anyone.”
The light winked, and vanished through a black hole in the ceiling.
“How do we get up there?” Sigrid wailed.
Her brother pointed. A dead pine tree had been propped against the wall. Its roughly trimmed branches formed a crude ladder. Sigurd shook it dubiously. “I’ll hold it for you,” he suggested, “and then you hold it at the top for me.”
Prickly pine needles showered on Sigurd as Sigrid clambered up. Then it was his turn to climb the sharp spokes of the branches. They sat at the top, sucking their sore fingers.
“I’m so tired,” Sigrid moaned. “How long have we been in here?”
“Seems like hours. It must be daybreak, outside. Ma will be frantic.”
“I’m thirsty.” Sigrid licked her lips.
“So am I. But,” warned her brother, “we mustn’t eat or drink any troll food.”
“Or we’ll turn into trolls. I know. That’s what happened” – Sigrid’s face went suddenly white – “to the Grimsson brothers. Oh, they’re down here, too! What if we meet them?”
“Let’s hope we don’t.”
“I wish Peer was with us,” said Sigrid.
“So do I. But wishing’s no good. Let’s find Eirik!”
They got up, looking around at the new tunnel. It was smaller, and warmer, and the walls were smoothly cut.
As though sensing their tiredness, the ball of light bobbed along slowly. Sigurd and Sigrid followed, holding hands.
Somewhere down the passageway, a door opened and closed. They heard footsteps, briskly approaching.
Sigurd whirled. “Hide!”
“Where? Keep walking,” Sigrid ordered urgently. “With any luck, they’ll think we’re trolls. Pull up your hood and keep your head down!” She beckoned the light with a fierce gesture, and obediently it spun behind them, so their faces were in shadow. Hearts pounding, the twins walked on.
Stealing a look under the edge of her hood, Sigrid saw a new light approaching, a greenish one this time. A bulky figure trotted along behind it, wearing hard shoes that clicked on the floor. It was carrying something that looked like an enormous stack of folded linen. As it got closer, they heard it complaining to itself in a thick, muffled voice: “‘Fetch this, nursie! Fetch that, nursie!’ Ooh, my poor feet. Now, let’s see. Green nettle coverlets, half a dozen. Sheepskins, a score. The best silk spiderweb sheets for my lady’s bedchamber, or she’ll make trouble. Nothing but work, work, work! – and never a chance for poor nursie to sit down and drink a drop of beer with her old friend the bog-wife!”
The green light and the twins’ blue light met in the tunnel roof and whirled around like a couple of friendly puppies. The twins shrank close to the wall as a strange figure came hurrying past: a large troll with a piggish face, pressing its chin into the teetering pile of linen. A white cap perched on its head, with little peaks like curly horns. Without so much as glancing at them, it tapped by on horny, cloven hooves – not shoes at all – muttering, “Rush here, rush there – not a moment’s peace since my lady came back from the Dovrefell! And the washing bills from the water nixies – scandalous!”
It was gone.
Sigrid and Sigurd scuttled on, while their blue light disentangled itself from the green one, and sped after them. And a moment later, they had arrived in a square hall. To the right, and straight ahead, were the dark mouths of two more tunnels. To the left was a carved doorway, set with a stout oak door. The light floated towards it.
Sigrid trembled. “Is this it? Have you brought us to the baby?” The light flashed brightly. “Yes! We’ve found him, Sigurd! Quick!”
“Ssh. Not too fast.” Sigurd leaned his ear against the thick oak planking, and listened. “Can’t hear a thing.” He lifted the latch as carefully as he could, and the door swung silently open. They slipped inside.
It was a large chamber with an arched roof. The entire roof and walls sparkled with sharp white crystals. In amazement, Sigrid put out a finger to touch the glittering crust. A bead of blood sprang on her fingertip.
To one side of the door was a stone platform covered with fleeces, obviously a bed. On the other side was a plain wooden chair with a straw seat and a carved back, and next to it, a high chair with a bar across the seat to stop a child from falling out.
At the foot of the bed, near the brazier, was a stout wooden cot, carved in woven patterns with little snarling faces. A string of pine cones dangled over it.
“It’s a nursery,” Sigurd said. “He must be in the cot. Hurry!”
Sigrid peered into the cot, her heart banging with hope and terror. She drew a joyful breath. There at the bottom was a soft humped shape, just Eirik’s size: an infant sleeping on its side, rolled up in black lambskins.
“Oh, he’s safe! We’ve found him.” She reached in. “Stop!”
“What’s wrong?” She turned a frightened face to her brother, who was staring into the cot as if he’d seen an adder.
He said in a choked whisper, “It isn’t him.”
The infant rolled on to its back, and the blue glow from the light played over its sleeping face. Sigrid pressed her hands to her mouth.
It was the ugliest baby she had ever seen.
Its skin was crumpled, wrinkled and damp, like hands that have been in the wash too long. A squashed little snout twitched and snuffled in the middle of its face. Above the tightly shut eyes, long hairs sprang from its brows, like bristles on a pig’s skin. Its mouth was extremely wide, and its ears were hairy.
Sigurd looked sick. “It’s a troll. We’ve come all this way for nothing!”
“Where’s Eirik?” asked Sigrid faintly.
“How should I know?” Sigurd kicked the floor. “We’d better go.”
“But we haven’t got Eirik!”
“How can we find him now?” Sigurd asked in despair. “He might be anywhere.” He tried to drag her towards the door.
Sigrid resisted. “But the light was taking us to him!”
In the cradle, the troll baby cautiously opened one eye.
The twins didn’t notice. “Don’t you see?” Sigurd jigged with panicked impatience. “We asked the light to take us to a baby. So it brought us here, to the only baby it knows.”
The troll baby quickly closed its eye. Then it opened the other a slit, and peeked through its lashes.
“That’s not a baby, it’s a monster,” Sigrid cried.
“It’s a prince,” said Sigurd gloomily. “Remember what the Nis told Peer, about the troll princess’s son?”
Sigrid stiffened. “A prince!”
“What does it matter, Sigrid – just come, now, before we get caught!”
But Sigrid seemed to catch fire. She jerked free from Sigurd, flew back to the cradle, and scooped the troll baby into her arms, swaddled up like an enormous cocoon, with its wizened face sticking out at the end.
“What are you doing?” Sigurd screeched.
“We’re taking it with us.” She gripped the baby – which appeared to be sound asleep – and faced Sigurd with hot cheeks and flashing eyes. “If they’ve got our baby – we’ll take theirs!”
Sigrid’s mouth fell open. “We can’t do that.”
“Yes, we can!” Sigrid stamped her foot.
Their eyes met. Slowly, Sigurd’s stunned expression altered to one of mischievous delight. He laughed excitedly. “We’ll do it. We’ll trade their prince for Eirik. Let’s go!”
They stole out into the corridor, the ball of light bouncing gently after them. Sigurd looked up, his face stark in the blue glow. “Back the way we came, please!” he ordered, with a slight quiver to his voice. What if it realised what they were doing? But obediently it began rolling along the ceiling.
They hurried after. Sigrid kept stopping to hitch up the troll baby. “It’s awfully heavy,” she whispered.
“Let me take it.” They shuffled the baby from Sigrid’s arms to Sigurd’s. Its cold, hairy ear twitched against his cheek, and he shuddered. “Is it awake?”
A diamond glint squeezed through the troll baby’s flickering lashes. Next second, its eyes were tightly shut again. The twins exchanged scared glances. “Hurry!” said Sigurd. “We’re done for if it starts yelling.”
Moments later, they reached the dark pit in the floor of the tunnel. The light hovered, sinking slowly.
“Here we go,” panted Sigurd. “Back down the pine tree. Listen. You climb down halfway and I’ll try and lower the baby to you. Then I’ll climb past you, and we’ll do the same thing again.”
Sigrid nodded. She sat on the edge and dipped her legs into the darkness, feeling about for the first spokes of the pine tree. She turned on her stomach and slithered down, till she was neck deep in the hole.
“All right?” whispered Sigurd.
“I can’t see my feet. And my skirt’s catching!” The dead tree shivered and rustled as she kicked her way lower.
“Stop there!” Sigurd hissed. “Are you ready? Reach up as high as you can. Here it comes!” He knelt awkwardly on the brink of the pit, and, getting a good grip of the swaddled bundle, lifted it out over the drop.
The troll baby’s eyes flew open. It grimaced in alarm.
“Don’t drop me!” it squawked in a shrill, harsh voice. Sigurd almost let go.