West of the Moon

The first one jumped and the flame swerved and nearly went out. “It talks!”

“Of course it talks,” growled the second lubber. “All boys talk, you fool. Give me that!” It clambered nimbly through the hole and snatched the flame back. Then it crossed its legs and sat on the edge of the seat, looking at Peer.

“Whatcher doing here, then?” it asked chattily, but its bald turnip head and slit-like features did not reassure him.

“My – my uncles locked me in,” Peer explained.

The lubber seemed astonished. “You mean you can’t get out?”

“N-no,” Peer faltered, aware of making a mistake. The lubber in the corner nudged its friend.

“He can’t get out,” it said.

“Yeah,” said the lubber with the light. “I heard.”

They both stared at Peer, and then as if by unspoken agreement they both shuffled a bit closer to him along the bench.

“So,” said the lubber with the light. “Right cosy little party, this.”

There didn’t seem any reply to that. During the next minute’s silence, both lubbers came a little bit closer again.

Peer shifted anxiously. He pushed the door, testing it. It would not move. The Grimssons must have stacked half the woodpile against it.

“That’s an interesting trick,” he said quickly. “Your light, I mean. H-how does it work?”

“Watch this,” said the lubber with the light. He opened his mouth, wider and wider, till it looked as if his throat had been cut. He placed the flame inside his mouth and shut it. For a moment his cheeks glowed purple and red like a lantern. He gulped, and the flame went out.

In the ensuing darkness Peer felt both the lubbers scuffling much, much nearer.

“Then I snap my fingers,” said the lubber’s voice, close to his ear, “and back comes the light. Neat, or what?”

The bluish, bobbing flame appeared not far from Peer’s nose.

“It’s his party trick,” said the other lubber. They were now one on either side of Peer, and he did not know which way to look.

“It’s very clever,” he said desperately.

“It is clever,” agreed the lubber. “It’s very, very clever, but you know what? It always – makes me – hungry!”

Its mouth yawned open next to Peer’s shoulder. He leaped aside, cannoning into the other lubber. The touch of it made his flesh crawl: it was clammy and cold.

“Grab him,” shouted the lubber with the light, “the first square meal in ages, I’m sick of beetles and slugs —”

It would be like being eaten by frogs. Mad with loathing, Peer raised his arms to ward the hideous creatures off – and felt something hard being slipped into his hand from above. His fingers knew what it was, they closed over the hilt instinctively.

“Look out!” shrieked the second lubber. “He’s got a knife!”

The two lubbers rushed for the holes. There were two splashes, and the light went out. Peer was alone in the dark, though a mumbling, grumbling conversation was going on in the pit below.

A small pearly light dawned near the roof. Peer looked up. “Thank you, Nis!” he said in heartfelt gratitude.

The Nis giggled. “Lubbers is fools, no match for me!”

“I’m sure they’re not.” Peer’s legs gave way and he sat down.

“Get up! Get up!” hissed the Nis.

“What for?” Peer groaned.

“What for?” The Nis clicked its tongue in disbelief. “For to escape, of course. Hurry! Hurry!”

Peer didn’t move. “Nis, I can’t get through little holes like you do. The door’s barred. I can’t get out.”

“The door is barred, I can’t get out!” the Nis mimicked. “What is the knife for? To cut your way out through the thatch, of course!”

“Of course!” cried Peer. He climbed on to the wooden seat, hoping no lubber would grab his ankles, and began chopping at the bundles of reeds that made up the low roof. They were almost rotten, riddled with rat-runs, bird’s nests and passages. He soon broke through, cursing as the thick snow outside fell down his neck and on to his shoulders, and half slithered, half fell down into the yard, where a bundle of hysterical doggy joy leaped upon him and pushed him flat.

“Loki!” spluttered Peer. “Loki, you’re safe! All right now, stop it. Let me get up!”

He got up, gulping fresh air in freezing lungfuls. It was snowing again. The Nis scampered past like a little whirlwind and opened the mill door. Peer and Loki ran inside, and the Nis closed the door behind them.

It was blessedly warm. For a few moments all Peer could do was lean shuddering over the long hearth. The fire was dying; the red and violet embers gave little light, but they were still hot. His uncles must have been away for at least an hour. Peer was afraid they would soon be back. He turned around to get warm all over, and saw the Nis perching on the back of Uncle Grim’s big chair. It looked at him steadily, eyes gleaming.

“You saved my life,” said Peer. “And you saved Loki earlier, didn’t you? You pushed that snow off the roof.”

The Nis scratched itself. It skipped to the floor and spread its long spindly fingers over the fire.

“Why did you do it?” Peer asked. “I thought you were so keen on this wedding.”

“They hasn’t invited me,” said the Nis sadly.

“Oh…”

“Such a big wedding.” The Nis looked miserable and its mouth turned down. “The hill to be raised on red pillars. So much food… but they forgets to invite the poor Nis.”

“Perhaps they’re only inviting trolls.”

But the Nis shook its head. “Stromkarls, nixies, merrows even, all are going!”

Peer bit his lip. “I’m sure it’s been a dreadful oversight. But Nis – Loki and I have to escape before my uncles come back. They’ve gone for Hilde, so they can take the two of us up Troll Fell and give us to the trolls. But it’s not going to happen!” he went on fiercely. “If I’m not here, they won’t have the pair they need. And I’m leaving! I’ve had enough of Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim! I’m going back to Hammerhaven.” Brand and Ingrid would take him in for a while, he was sure. “But first I want what’s mine.” He strode over to the locked bin where the money was and rattled the lid. “I need to break into this. Any ideas?”

The Nis darted him a mischievous look. It reached out a long arm and hooked its wooden bowl out of the ashes. It was empty. Baldur and Grim had forgotten to fill it. “I has had enough too, Peer Ulfsson,” the Nis announced importantly. “See me!”

It scampered up the ladder and disappeared over the edge into the loft, where it began puffing and groaning. Bewildered, Peer climbed up to find it heaving away at the upper millstone, trying to lift it from its spindle.

“What on earth?” Peer began, and then he saw. If they could roll the millstone over the edge, it would fall on the chest below. But it must weigh half a ton. They could never lift it.

The Nis doubled limply over the millstone and lay panting. Peer looked about for something else to use. He clenched his fist in triumph. Standing upright against the wall, dark with dust, was the old worn millstone that had been replaced in Baldur’s father’s time. No need to lift it: it was already on its rim, with just a couple of chocks driven in on the underside to stop it rolling.