“NIS!” PEER CROUCHED on the cargo, trying to see into the chicken coop. His blood was racing. I faced down Harald.
More than that – standing next to Hilde in the dark, he’d nearly kissed her. At the last moment, he’d lost his nerve. What if she protested, shoved him away? Everyone would know.
He was furious with himself. So much for those bold resolutions to behave as he felt. Well, he couldn’t cope with it now. He bundled the thoughts away and tried to concentrate on the Nis. He had to get it out of this coop. In the darkness he could only make out a whitish frill of feathers here, the glint of an eye there. The hens crooned softly, weird burbling sounds. But he thought he could also detect quick, shallow breathing.
“Nis, it’s me, Peer. It’s all right.”
Loki lurked behind him, interested and suspicious. Peer pushed him. “Go and lie down. I can’t have you upsetting the Nis now. Go!” Loki backed reluctantly away.
“Nis, do come out,” Peer pleaded. “If I stay here much longer, someone will notice, and we need to talk. I have to explain what’s happening.”
No reply.
“All right, come and find me. I’ll be in the prow, by myself – that’s the pointed bit with the dragon head,” he added. “But don’t leave it too long, or they’ll change the watch, and somebody else will be there.”
Before he could move, a sliver of a voice whimpered, “Wait…”
“I am waiting,” Peer said after a moment, as patiently as he could.
“Has there been a flood?” the voice quavered.
“A flood? All this water? That’s not a flood, Nis, it’s the sea. We’re at sea.”
No answer, though a hen squawked, as though someone had startled it with a sharp movement.
“In a boat,” Peer amplified. “I know it’s very frightening for you, but come out and let me tell you how it happened.”
A moment later, the hens rustled again. From under their feathers a small shadow scuttled on all fours. It slipped between the bars of the coop.
Peer led the way into the windy bows. Up here it was like balancing on a high seesaw. Spray flew past the dragon neck, and the decking was wet. He tucked himself into the angle below the dragon, next to the anchor, and the Nis actually climbed into his lap. Loki pressed jealously against Peer’s knees, grumbling. Peer gently rubbed the little creature’s shoulders, feeling the tiny knobbles of its backbone under its ragged grey clothes. Its heart was jumping in its sides. The wind messed its wispy hair, and it had lost its little red hat.
“Where am I?” it wailed. “Why is I here? One minute I was supping up my groute, Peer Ulfsson, nice groute with butter and a bit of cream – and the next, I wakes up in the dark bag, all hot and smothery, and then I gets out, and there’s no house, and no hills. Where’s Troll Fell, Peer Ulfsson? Where’s home?”
“Good question,” Peer muttered. He tried to explain. “We’re a long way from home, Nis. How much did you overhear, last night? This ship is going to Vinland…”
The Nis listened fearfully. At last it interrupted. “But how did I get here, Peer Ulfsson?”
Peer hesitated; he knew the Nis wouldn’t like this. “I’m afraid Astrid stole you. I think she must have put something in your food.”
“In – my – food?” the Nis repeated slowly, swelling. In the darkness its eyes were two angry sparks. “Something in my food, my lovely food that the mistress gives me?” Peer nodded.
The Nis took a deep breath, but at that moment Loki lost control of himself and lunged at it. With a terrified shriek, the Nis hopped up to the base of the dragon neck, where it crouched precariously, holding on by the forestay.
“Get down from there,” Peer cried. “Look out!”
“Keep that dog off me,” panted the Nis, “or … Oooh!” It leaped for the deck as the prow plunged into a big wave, and spray soaked them.
The Nis curled on the planking like a drowned spider, coughing and wailing. Loki tried to pounce on it. Peer grabbed his collar. “Sit!” he ordered angrily.
The Nis had been drugged, kidnapped, made to look a fool, and finally drenched. How could he salve its wounded pride? Then he saw someone clambering towards him from the waist of the ship. By the size of the silhouette, it was Big Tjørvi. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Peer tore open his thick jerkin and the linen shirt under it, scooped up the limp Nis, and stuffed it out of sight against his skin. He’d done the same thing with orphaned lambs in bad weather, and the Nis was no bigger.
“Off you go, son.” Tjørvi patted him on the shoulder. “Your turn to sleep.” Peer was grateful for the friendly tone. He would have stayed and talked, but he was afraid Tjørvi would notice the lump he was clasping to his chest. And the Nis squirmed about, and trickles of sea water ran down under his clothes.
He unrolled his sleeping sack one-handed and slithered in, cold and damp. What a good thing he had a sack of his own and didn’t have to share with another of the men! He made a space for Loki, who crept in and turned around. The Nis crawled out of his jerkin and wrung out its beard, snivelling. Loki growled. Peer grabbed his muzzle. “Loki, stop it,” he said in a low, fierce voice. “From now on, you and the Nis have got to be friends.”
The Nis huddled against him, dabbing at itself like a wet cat. Peer gave Loki a warning tap on the nose, and released him. “Bad dog!” he added for good measure. Loki flattened himself in shame.
“Nis,” Peer began, “I’m really sorry this has happened, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” As he said it, he realised he meant it. “Hilde will be glad too. We’re going to need all the friends we can get.” He added, hoping the Nis would be pleased, “Do you know you just scared everyone on board nearly to death? They all thought you were some kind of – I don’t know, ghost or evil spirit, or something.”
But the Nis took offence. “I was never bad, Peer Ulfsson, I never does anything but sweep the house and help, and I doesn’t deserve to be taken away and put in a bag. And I doesn’t like ghosts. All stiff and cold, they are, and they make nasty sliding draughts.”
Icy fingertips tickled Peer’s neck. He said hastily, “Oh, come on, Nis, you know you enjoy playing tricks.” The Nis sniffed.
“I bet you’re the first Nis in the world who has ever gone to sea,” Peer went on. “Imagine that, the very first!” Inspired, he added, “You should have a special name. People who do important things always get given special names. Like Thorolf. They call him ‘The Seafarer,’ because he’s such a good sailor.”
The Nis stared at him, dewdrop eyes luminous with excitement. “Could I really, Peer Ulfsson? Could I really be called that?”
“‘Nithing the Seafarer’?” Peer asked. “Yes, why not?”
“‘Nithing the Seafarer’,” the Nis breathed. It did a little hop.
“That’s right,” Peer said, smiling. “And when we get to Vinland you’ll meet Thorolf, and you’ll see he’s a real hero, a real sailor – and you’ll be a hero too. But listen. You mustn’t let Harald or Gunnar or the others on this ship see you. Harald’s dangerous, Nis. If he finds you, he’ll try and kill you. He told me so.”
“Don’t worry, Peer Ulfsson.” The Nis had completely recovered its spirits. “They can’t catch me,” it boasted. “Nithing the Seafarer is too quick, too clever.”
Peer said no more. He didn’t want to frighten the Nis, and he reckoned it could keep out of sight if it tried – there were plenty of hiding places on board. He yawned. With three of them in it, the sleeping sack was beginning to feel steamily warm, though reeking of salty wet dog. He was dropping asleep, when the Nis jerked and wriggled. He forced his eyes open – and held his breath. The disgraced Loki had wormed his way so close to the Nis that he was nosing its fluffy hair. His tongue flicked out in an apologetic lick – and another – and to Peer’s utter astonishment the Nis cuddled contentedly against Loki’s side and allowed the dog to go on washing him with repetitive strokes of his long warm tongue.
Friends at last! Deeply relieved, Peer closed his eyes. A moment later, he was fast asleep.
“Lee-oh! Let go and haul!”
A wet rope whipped through a hole in the gunwale, scattering icy water into Peer’s hair. Someone jumped over him – he got a good view of a pair of boots just missing his head. Up in the sky, as it seemed, the yard changed angle as the men on the braces hauled it round. Peer felt the deck tip as the ship heeled and the sail filled. Gunnar was putting Water Snake on to the port tack.
Peer hadn’t slept for more than a few hours, but it was too uncomfortable to lie there any longer. There was no sign of the Nis. He dragged a reluctant Loki out of his warm nest, rolled up the sack, and looked around.
Dawn was in the sky. Water Snake rode over broad grey swells, leaving a wake like a long furrow drawn across the sea. Most of the crew were up, but no one seemed inclined to talk. Magnus stood at the tiller. He nodded to Peer and spat over the side. “I hate the first night at sea,” he yawned, “and that one was worse than most.” Peer grinned wanly. Gunnar stood bundled in his cloak on the port side, brooding.
“G’morning,” said Hilde. He turned. She looked pale and moved stiffly. Her hair was tousled. She had wrapped herself in a brown shawl, and the tip of her nose was pink with cold. He wanted to hug her to his side and warm her up. But would that be lover-like, or brotherly, or just plain affectionate? He didn’t know. And suddenly he didn’t care.
“You look frozen,” he said. “Want to share my cloak?”
Hilde leaned on him and shivered. “What wouldn’t I gve,” she said through chattering teeth, “to be standing over a nice hot fire?”
“Sorry you came?” said Peer, half-teasing.
“No,” she said after a second, but she didn’t sound too sure. “Here – have some nice cold breakfast.” She passed over oatcakes and a piece of dried fish.
Loki sat, eyes glued on the food, and Peer broke an oatcake and dropped it into his greedy jaws. “Loki and the Nis made friends last night,” he told Hilde in a lowered voice.
“The poor Nis; how is it?”
“Very upset last night, but it’s fine now. It’s got a new name.” He grinned, wanting to share the joke. “‘Nithing the Seafarer!’”
Hilde’s laugh sounded hollow. He glanced at her. “Is something wrong?”
She nodded, staring out to sea. “I’d better just tell you quickly. You know Gunnar said we’d be coming home next summer? Well, we won’t.” She stopped. “Where’s Astrid? Is anyone listening?”
Peer looked over his shoulder. “I don’t think so. Astrid’s combing her hair. Why? What’s happened?”
She began to whisper. “Oh, Peer, it’s an awful story. The man Harald killed in Westfold was someone Astrid really liked. He was called Erlend, and she wanted to marry him, but he was young and poor, so her father wouldn’t agree. He made her marry Gunnar instead. But Gunnar was jealous of Erlend, and when they met he picked a quarrel with him, and Erlend defended himself, but he was alone and Gunnar had Harald and it was two against one. So Erlend died. Poor, poor Astrid!”
Peer thought of Harald’s long steel sword. Poor, poor Erlend!
“But what’s it got to do with us?” he asked.
“Harald and Gunnar were blamed for the killing. They’ve been outlawed for five years. That’s why they’re running for Vinland. Five years, Peer. And no way of telling Ma and Pa. They’ll think we’re never coming back.”
Peer’s heart dropped like a stone. “I knew Harald and Gunnar couldn’t be trusted. Bjørn even said they were running from justice. He didn’t know they’d been outlawed, though.”
Hilde said miserably, “It’s my own fault. I wanted to come so much; I wouldn’t let anything put me off. Now I keep thinking of that story Sigrid was telling, about the boy who sailed across the sea. Weren’t you there? East of the sun and west of the moon, and he was away for so long his mother and father thought he was dead. And I was mean to Sigrid and wouldn’t let her finish it – and now who knows when I’ll see her again?”
“Hilde, don’t. We’ll get home – we’ll find a way.” Peer scowled suddenly. “But Astrid – she should have told you about this.”
“She wanted a friend. It was selfish of her – like kidnapping the Nis. She wants it to help with the housework in Vinland. But she’s sorry now, Peer. She was crying last night.”
She cried to make you feel sorry for her, thought Peer, but there was no point in saying so. “What about the crew?” he asked. “Are they all in on this?”
“They know about the killing. Everyone does: Harald joked about it, remember? He made it sound funny. It didn’t seem real. But the five years’ exile – well, Arne doesn’t know, Peer, or he’d have said.”
“You’re right.” Peer looked at Hilde’s forlorn face. “I promised Ralf I’d bring you home, and I will, even if I have to build a ship with my own hands,” he swore. Then his eyes opened wide. “Wait, Hilde, there is another ship. The Long Serpent! We’ve forgotten about Thorolf. He’s no outlaw. He’ll help us.”
Hilde’s face cleared. “Thorolf, of course!”
“Thorolf ’s a good man.” Peer stopped and thought. “He’ll be there. He settled in Vinland, why should he leave? Even if he went away for the winter, like Gunnar, he’ll be heading back there for the summer to cut more timber, just like us. One way or the other, we’re bound to meet him.”
“And we could come home on the Long Serpent. On your father’s ship, Peer. Funny to think it might rescue us!” Hilde looked far more cheerful. She added rather shyly, “You always think of a way out.”
It was a beautiful morning. Peer put his arm around her shoulders and said gaily, “You see? Nothing to worry about. On to – where? West of the sun?”
“East of the sun,” Hilde corrected him.
“Ah, but we’re sailing west —”
“Would you like to know where we are, Hilde?”
It was Arne, and Hilde turned, startled. He took her elbow, detaching her from Peer, and pointed to the northwest, where some vague clouds lay above the horizon. “See those clouds? That’s where the Faroe Islands are, the Islands of Sheep. We’ll be passing them later.”
“Land,” breathed Hilde. “I’m already missing it.”
“We won’t be setting foot there,” Arne laughed. “Just passing by, on our way west.” He gave her one of his wide smiles. His beard was already growing through; the glittering stubble gave him a raffish, attractive air. He put a foot up against the side timbers and leaned there.
Several white gulls with long black-tipped wings had appeared out of nowhere and were flying above the ship. Arne said to Hilde, “See those gulls? That’s a sure sign we’re not far from land. Maybe it was one of those, screaming last night.”
Hilde flicked a glance at Peer – and the grey surface of the sea shattered. Out shot three, four, five dark, curving bodies, and plunged back in wings of spray. Arne’s pose slipped, and he grabbed at the gunwale to steady himself. There was a shout from Magnus at the tiller. Harald raced along the starboard side, shoving Peer out of his way.
“Dolphins!” Hilde leaned out over the side. “Look at them go!”
The dolphins were travelling faster than the ship, springing out of the water again on the starboard quarter.
Something like a long black needle flashed out from Water Snake’s bows and sank into the waves. “Missed,” came a disappointed yell. Harald leaned over the side, hauling in the line and retrieving his dripping harpoon.
“He threw a harpoon!” Hilde cried.
Astrid picked her way over the deck, dainty as a disapproving cat. “He just likes killing things.” She eyed Harald. He was laughing, and his long golden hair hung loose to his waist.
“I’m out of practice,” he said to the two girls.
“Yes, Harald, we noticed,” said Astrid sweetly.
“I think I grazed one, though.”
“Why did you do it?” Hilde demanded. Harald gave her an impertinent grin. “Sweetheart, when I’m at sea, I take every chance to amuse myself.” He examined the tip of his harpoon. “Can you see any blood?” He waved it under her nose, and laughed again as she drew back.
“Fool,” said Peer, not quite under his breath.
Harald jabbed the harpoon at Peer. “Did I hear you speak?” He jabbed again, and Peer had to twist aside to avoid the point. “What did you say to me, Barelegs?”
“If you must know,” began Peer, breathless —
“Yes, I must. I must!” With blank, bright eyes Harald sliced the harpoon towards him. Peer tried to dodge again, but there was nowhere to go. “Stop it!” screamed Hilde, and Arne’s arm flew out to deflect the stroke. A heartbeat later, Arne was gripping his forearm tightly and cursing. Bright blood ran liberally between his fingers and dripped on to the deck.
“Arne!” Hilde gasped.
Harald stepped back one dancing pace, lowering the harpoon. “Sorry, my friend. You shouldn’t have got in the way.”
“Shame on you!” Astrid spat like a wildcat. She raised her voice, “Gunnar, see what Harald’s done! Look what’s he’s done to Arne!”
Harald glared and threw the harpoon down. Gunnar came striding over. His eyebrows curled together in a thick frown, but all he said was, “Can you use the hand? Good. Take him away, Astrid, and tie that up.”
“It’s only a cut.” Arne looked up at Peer, standing shocked by the suddenness of it all. “Get out of my way! Just clear off and keep out of trouble,” he burst out in a hard, exasperated voice, adding softly, “This was a good trip till you came on it.”
Peer went without a word, ducking under the sail. When Hilde came to tell him that Arne’s wound was only a long deep scratch, he turned away in silence. She stared at him. “What’s the matter with you? Arne saved your skin, and you haven’t even thanked him.” She marched off.
Peer was too angry to care. He doesn’t want my thanks. He doesn’t even like me. I was trying to stand up for you… He waited for Hilde to come back, so that they could talk properly, but she didn’t.
In the mid-afternoon, the low shapes of mountains became visible along the northern horizon, greyish scarps and knobs, dark or faint, some near, some further away. Peer began to come out of his self-imposed isolation. He looked around. Floki, Magnus, Halfdan and Big Tjørvi were sitting under the taut arc of the sail, throwing dice and talking.
“Are those the Islands of Sheep?” Peer called.
“That’s right.” Tjørvi got up and leaned on the rail beside Peer, looking northwards. “Bare, bleak places. Nary a tree to shelter under, but good enough for sheep. Narrow waters and dangerous currents.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I’m from there,” said Tjørvi quietly. “That’s home. Got a wife there, and a little daughter. Haven’t been back for years. Always meaning to; never make it. Maybe next time…”
Many more seabirds were now flying alongside the ship. One of them swooped past and scanned Peer with its fierce, yellow-rimmed eye. “How they stare,” said Halfdan, looking up at the gracefully wheeling birds.
“Gulls are strange things,” Tjørvi rumbled. “Have you seen them turning and circling over the place where a boat’s gone down? And that’s because they’re tracking the drift of drowned corpses on the seabed.”
“Is that so?” Halfdan shivered. Floki said, “I’ve heard how the souls of dead sailors put on the form of seagulls, and go flying after their shipmates, a-crying and a-calling…” They all turned their heads to look at Peer.
“Was that really a gull last night?” Tjørvi asked.
Peer hesitated. He didn’t want to reinforce the fears about ghosts. But he couldn’t afford to have news of the Nis reaching Harald. “It seemed just an ordinary bird,” he said lamely.
“Ordinary?” Magnus growled. “It didn’t sound like one.” Remembering the Nis’s screams, Peer couldn’t blame him for thinking so.
“It’ll be back, you’ll see,” said Floki with a mournful shudder. “The skipper knows. Did you see the look on his face?”
“Will you shut up, Floki,” said Magnus. “I’ve told you before.” But he sounded irresolute, as if his heart wasn’t in it, and this time Floki was unabashed.
“Now wait a minute, boys.” Tjørvi glanced around and put the question Peer was longing to ask. “If there’s really a ghost, whose is it?”
Magnus got to his feet. “I’m out of this.” He glanced at Floki, who sat stubbornly where he was. Halfdan looked at his feet.
“Don’t tell ’em,” said Magnus. “I’m warning you, all right? Just don’t say.” He marched off. Floki licked his lips. “I’ll name no names,” he muttered. “It’d be asking for trouble, naming a ghost. But there was a man the skipper killed…”
“It was young Harald finished him off,” Halfdan put in sombrely.
Erlend, thought Peer.
“And he cursed him as he lay dying. I wasn’t close enough to hear him myself, but Magnus was. Magnus heard the curse. He said —” Floki’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper: “‘A cold life and a cold death to you, Gunnar. A cold wife and a cold bed. Look out for me when you close your eyes. For I’ll follow you wherever you go and bring you to a cold grave.’ And he’d have cursed Harald too, Magnus says, but Harald was too quick for him. He dealt him the death blow.”
Though he knew that what they’d heard last night was no ghost, but only the Nis, Peer was glad of the sunlight on his face, and the bright spray blowing.
“And it’s working, isn’t it?” added Floki. “That Astrid – she’s a cold piece, all right.”
“If I’d ha’ thought a ghost was following this ship, I’d never have joined,” said Tjørvi heavily, chewing at his thumb.
Peer said guiltily, “Where did you join the ship, Tjørvi?”
“In Hammerhaven, lad, like your friend Arne.”
Peer couldn’t help himself. “He’s not my friend. Not any more.”
The three men stared at him. “Arne stopped a harpoon on its way to you,” said Halfdan. “And you say he’s not your friend?”
“Yes, but —” Peer went hot to his ears.
“Anyone’s a friend that stands up for you against Harald,” said Tjørvi decisively. “He’s not one to cross.”
“Right,” Halfdan agreed. “You never know where you are with Harald.”
“He’s a natural-born fighter,” Floki said with pride.
Peer was quiet. The men went on talking about Harald with a mixture of horror and admiration. As usual, Floki’s tongue chattered most freely, dropping Magnus says into almost every sentence. Magnus had started out as one of Gunnar’s farmhands in Westfold, and knew lots about Harald. At nine years old Harald had almost killed another boy, a playfellow who’d tripped him in a ball game, by pounding his head with a rock. At twelve years his mother, Vardis, had given him his first sword. He’d killed a man with it before his thirteenth birthday. Since his mother died, he’d accompanied his father on all his voyages. It was said he was a berserker, who lost all control when he fought.
“A berserker?” Peer’s skin crawled.
Berserkers could fall into a kind of mad fury. They would howl like wild beasts and hurl themselves screaming at anyone in their way. A warrior who went berserk would have terrible strength.
“Magnus says Harald’s mother fed him raw wolf-meat, to make him strong,” Floki whispered, wriggling with gruesome delight. “So when the fit’s on him, he’s as wild as a wolf. We’ve seen it, haven’t we, Halfdan? We’ve heard him howling. Enough to scare you to death!” He laughed suddenly, stupidly. “Didn’t they all run!”
“Shut up.” Halfdan looked half angry, half sick. “Magnus is right, Floki. You talk too much.” He got up and moved restlessly away. Floki stuck out his bottom lip like a child.
“I’d follow Harald anywhere,” he said defiantly. “Magnus is Gunnar’s man, but I’m Harald’s. I’d like to put my hands between his and swear to serve him. That’s what real warriors do!”
“Floki, Floki!” Tjørvi suddenly burst out laughing. He put out a big hand and ruffled Floki’s tight curls. “You don’t want to be a warrior, son, believe me. Stick to being a sailor.” Floki’s rough, red face flushed even redder. He went off in a huff, leaving Tjørvi and Peer alone.
“I’d better be more careful,” said Peer gloomily. “Gunnar doesn’t think much of me. Harald hates me, and he’s a berserker. Floki thinks Harald’s wonderful. Arne’s angry with me…”
“Angry?” said Tjørvi. “Angry’s nothing.”
“I used to like Arne,” Peer cried, out of a sore heart. “I —” He remembered how he’d admired Arne when he first met him years ago. Arne and Bjørn had seemed like heroes to him, brave enough to stand up to his bullying uncles when no one else dared. “If he won’t be friends with me, what can I do?”
Tjørvi looked shrewdly at Peer. “No wonder they say women on board ships is unlucky. It’s that young lass that’s causing all the trouble, isn’t it? And is she fond of you?”
“I don’t think she knows,” said Peer.
“Ask her and be done with it,” said Tjørvi.