Leif Frond and Quickfingers Read online

  That made me shiver. Of course my family drove me crazy – but having no family at all? It sounded so bleak.

  Queue said, “Where is your master now?”

  “He died. Last winter. We were snowed-up in a shepherd’s hut and he got ill and he didn’t get better.” He shrugged again. “At first I couldn’t think what to do, and then I realised there was only one thing I could do. I could go on travelling, trading – and stealing. Only now, I’d be the Pedlar, and not the servant.”

  “But why the disguise?” It didn’t make any sense to me.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Sigli said. “People accept you if you’re old. They aren’t always pestering you with questions and telling you what to do. Think about it. If you’re my age – our age – people want to know where your master or your family is, and why you’re not with them, and what a mere boy is doing on the road, without any adults in control of him.”

  “Not unreasonable questions,” said Queue mildly.

  “Maybe. But then the nice ones want to take you over and mother you and the nasty ones…well, at best they see you as free labour. No, my way’s been best. And some day I’ll be old. Then I won’t need to wear a white wig or paint wrinkles on my face with walnut juice and a feather.”

  “You had us all fooled,” said Queue. “A master of disguise.”

  “Oh, well. All you have to do really is hobble a bit, and talk in a creaky old voice, and remember not to jump up too quickly from a bench – ”

  “Or keep wanting to be the one who tests the dangerous flying machine,” I muttered.

  He pulled a face. “Or that. Oh, I was so jealous!”

  It was strange hearing him say that when I remembered how jealous I’d been of him! I shifted about on the log. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

  “You’re very good at making things,” said Queue into the silence.

  “The moment I walked into your workshop I knew there was nothing on earth I wanted more than to do what you do. Be an Artificer.” The look on Sigli’s face was so eager and shiny-eyed as he spoke that I felt all strange in my stomach. I had to turn away.

  Suddenly I wished we could just forget why we were here. There was an uncomfortable pause and then Queue said the thing that had to be said.

  “You stole my Book.” His voice was low and very, very sad.

  Sigli hung his head. “I know. And I know you can never forgive me for that, no matter how sorry I am. And I am. Sorry. I… I just panicked. I’d been so caught up in what we were doing, and so happy, and so, I don’t know… It was as if I belonged, and I just forgot everything else. I forgot about how I needed to watch the weather, and time my leaving just right, and get my pack filled up with goods again for the next settlement, and make sure I didn’t give myself away…” He turned suddenly, grabbed hold of the bulging pack and thrust it at us. “Here! Take it back. Take it all back!” Shockingly, he began to cry.

  And then Queue said something that made me want to cry too.

  “I know what it’s like to be lonely,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any family either.”

  I felt cold inside. I mean, I can imagine just about anything, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be like, not being up to your eyeballs in family. I’d longed to be shot of mine so many times, but would I really want to be free and on my own? If I were in Quickfingers’ boots, would I have done the same as he did? (Come to think of it, Wandering Nell was in Quickfingers’ boots, but that wasn’t the point.) Would I have been brave enough to go on alone? What would Leif the Hero have done?

  I was so busy wondering that I missed the next bit. Something seemed to have passed between the other two, though I wasn’t sure how. Maybe they hadn’t used words.

  “But we’re not the same blood,” Sigli was saying. “We couldn’t be family.”

  “It doesn’t have to be blood,” said Queue. “Salim al-Basri was more family to me than my father or my mother. We were a family up here.” And he tapped his forehead.

  Sigli just stared at him, while all sorts of expressions wandered across his face – hope, doubt, wishfulness. And suddenly, I was feeling all those things too. I wanted more than anything for Quickfingers to have a home and a family, and I wanted more than anything for that to be at Frondfell, and not anywhere else.

  And when you want something so much, sometimes it makes your brain work extra hard.

  “I can never go back to Frondfell,” Sigli was saying. “They know I’ve stolen from them – they’re not going to forget it. And even if they did, somebody from some other settlement I’ve stolen from might show up someday and denounce me.”

  “That’s true,” I said, trying to sound calm, as my brain bubbled with a truly cunning plan. “But answer me this. Since your master’s death, have you always disguised yourself the way you were at Frondfell?”

  “I never use exactly the same disguise. That would be asking for trouble.” Sigli frowned, uncertain where this was going.

  “But you were always disguised somehow?” I persisted.

  “Yes.”

  “And can you, by any chance, paint fake bruises or wounds on yourself, as part of a disguise?”

  “Easily.” Sigli looked even more bewildered.

  “Right then,” I said. “This is what we’re going to do…”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Leif’s Cunning Plan

  I didn’t sleep much, and judging by the tossing and turning on either side of me, neither did Sigli or Queue. Thinking in the dark hours of the night, I realised my plan was crazy, ill-advised and downright stupid. In the cold pre-dawn light, it didn’t look any better. We scuffed out the fire anyway, and headed for home, back along the northern shore of the fjord.

  By mid-morning we met with my father and the others. They were astonished to see us, and delighted that we’d retrieved all the stolen goods. They were also surprised to see a strange boy with us – a strange boy with a nasty-looking head wound.

  “His name is Sigli, Father,” I said as I clambered up behind my father on his horse. “There was an attack. You see – ”

  “Tell me when we’re safe at home, Leif,” he rumbled. “I don’t like the look of those clouds one bit.”

  He was right. Men and horses were already tired but there was no time to rest. By pushing hard, my father got us round the head of the fjord and almost back to Frondfell before the snowfall got serious.

  A cheer went up when we reached the outermost enclosure of Frondfell, and we were home. Everyone rushed out to welcome us, the horses were seen to, and at last we were all able to cluster round the fire in the Hall to eat, to thaw out, and to talk.

  “Well,” said my father, turning to Sigli, Queue and me. “I imagine this will turn out to be quite a story. Queue? Perhaps you could tell us how on earth you managed to get to the foot of the Pass so quickly? I can only think you and my son must have sprouted wings and flown!”

  “Funny you should say that,” said Queue, trying not to sound too smug – and failing. “What I did was this…” And he told all about the amazing flight of the skite. The whole Hall was spellbound – even my hard-boiled sister Thorhalla seemed impressed. But the tricky part of my cunning plan was still to come…

  “Then,” Queue was saying, “as we crept up from the shore, quiet as shadows through the trees, we suddenly heard – but perhaps young Sigli and Leif should take the story from here.”

  Sigli and I looked at each other and gulped.

  It was up to us.

  I took a deep breath, and began.

  “BANG!” I shouted, making everyone jump. “CRASH! ROAR! An attack was going on up ahead! We rushed forward, yelling and thrashing through the undergrowth, and I think we must have sounded like a much bigger party than we really were. By the time we reached the clearing where Sigli and Quickfingers were camped, the attackers had gone – and so had the old Pedlar.”

  Well, I thought, that at least is true!

  “What had happened, Sigli? Can you tell us?” aske
d my father in a kind voice.

  “Trolls,” said Sigli. His voice was low, but the word carried to the furthest corner of the Hall and made everyone shudder – even, I noticed to my surprise, Thorhalla!

  “They came… no warning… so awful…” He covered his face with his hand.

  “Take your time,” said my father quietly.

  Sigli nodded, and paused for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and tried again. His voice was stronger now.

  “I was waiting at the foot of the Pass, just as my master had ordered, but the days went by and he didn’t come back.”

  “He was with us the whole time,” I said, and everyone nodded.

  “Ah,” said Sigli. “Well, I didn’t dare move from our campsite – he could be harsh, my master, if you disobeyed – but then the first snow came and I thought I’d have to leave or freeze to death. Before I could act, though, he came back, laden with stolen goods and chuckling with pleasure at how well he’d tricked you all.”

  There was a low, angry murmur at that, but nobody wanted to interrupt the story. Sigli was in full swing now.

  “ ‘Get me food, you lazy scum!’ my master growled, but before I could stir, a horrible, rumbling, roaring noise sounded from amongst the trees.

  “ ‘What’s that?’ my master cried. ‘Has someone followed me? It can’t be those stupid villagers – I sent them off in the wrong direction using their very own stupid cow – who could it be?’

  “The horrible noise came again – from two places this time. My master began to panic.

  “ ‘It sounds like… it can’t be … is it?… oh no, oh no – trolls!’

  “The moment the word left his mouth, rocks began to fly out of the woods from every side. The roaring got even louder, and there was trampling and thundering as if the undergrowth was being crushed under angry, giant feet.”

  I glanced round the Hall. Every eye was fixed on Sigli; every mouth was a round O.

  “It was terrifying. My master was tottering back and forth, whimpering, trying to find a place to hide – and then one of the trolls’ rocks hit me. I felt as if my head had exploded and then I… I must have fainted. The next thing I knew, Leif and the good Artificer werebending over me and looking after me and being so kind…”

  His voice broke a little here, and everyone tutted sympathetically.

  “And where was your master?” asked my father gently.

  Sigli shook his head. “I don’t know. Gone. Disappeared.”

  “He maybe ran away or it might be that the trolls took him,” I suggested. “It looked to us as if there had been a desperate struggle.” I put on my very best beseeching face and looked up at him. “No matter which, poor Sigli’s all alone now. He has nobody. Don’t you think, Father, that he could stay here, with us, at Frondfell?”

  This was it. This was crunch time.

  I could see Thorhalla’s eyes light up and I knew what she was thinking before she even opened her mouth. When she looked at Sigli, it was as if there was a great big sign hanging over his head that said ‘Laundry Assistant’. I gave Queue a sharp nudge with my elbow.

  “Ow!” he yelped. “What? Oh. Right. Yes. Ah, I need an apprentice.”

  “I need help with the laundry!” bleated Thorhalla, just too late. (See, I knew that was what she was thinking.)

  My father hid a smile in his beard.

  “Well, then, young Sigli,” he said in his kindest voice. “I think if you’d like to stay here and have a try at being our Artificer’s apprentice, that would be very good. We’ll give it the winter, shall we, and see if you suit each other? And if not, then there’s always laundry.”

  Thorhalla scowled, I grinned, Queue looked smug and Sigli – well, Sigli looked as if he really had been hit over the head. But in a good way.

  Afterwards, we three gathered in Queue’s workshop, where Sigli would be living from now on.

  “We got away with it!” said Sigli, sounding dazed and amazed.

  “Of course we did,” said Queue. “Build up the fire, Apprentice – my old bones are still frozen. Leif, put Sigli’s sleeping furs over there.”

  When we had everything to the Artificer’s satisfaction, we flopped down by the fire, too tired to do anything more. There was silence for a while, broken only by the sound of a log shifting or the crack of sap into flame. And then, “It’s too bad we couldn’t tell the real truth,” murmured Queue. “The bards could make up a fine song about us. All about Sigli Quickfingers, the cunning trickster.”

  “And Queue, the greatest inventor the world has ever known.” said Sigli.

  “And what about me?” I asked. “What would I be in this song?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” the others replied. “You’d be the hero.”

  Leif the Hero, I thought with a happy smile. I like the sound of that.

  Leif wants to be a hero, but as the youngest and smallest member of his huge Viking family, he’s never had the chance to shine. Can he finally become a champion at the Midsummer Games?

  All he has to do is compete with some fully grown Viking heroes at sports including archery (no problem, with his very special bow from Queue the Artificer) and wrestling (big problem, the other contenders are all twice his size). Oh, and keep the Widow Brownhilde away from his father before he does something stupid like marrying her. And stop his meddlesome granny from cheating. And avoid his gigantic troll-like sister and her list of chores....

  Easy.

  £ 4.99

  ISBN: 9781472904621

  Copyright

  First published 2014 by A & C Black

  An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

  www.bloomsbury.com

  Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Copyright © 2014 A & C Black

  Text copyright © Joan Lennon

  Illustrations copyright © Brendan Kearney

  The rights of Joan Lennon and Brendan Kearney to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  eISBN 978-1-4729-0454-6

  A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

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  Printed by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

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