West of the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

most enormous dog Peer had ever seen launched itself from the fireside directly at his throat. Uncle Grim stuck out a casual hand and yanked the monster backwards, roaring, “ Down, Grendel! Come in and shut the door,” he added roughly to Peer. “Let him smell you. Then he’ll know you.”
    Grendel was taller than a wolf. His brindled coat stood up in a thick ruff of fur over his shoulders and down his spine. He smelled Peer’s outstretched fingers, grumbling distrustfully. “Best dog in the valley,” boasted Uncle Grim, giving him an affectionate slap. “Wins every fight: a real killer!”
    Thank goodness I didn’t bring Loki in , Peer thought with a shudder as he looked about. The narrow smoke-stained room was a jumble of rickety furniture, bins, barrels and old tools. A sullen fire smouldered in the middle of the floor, and Uncle Baldur sat beside it on a stool, guzzling stew from a bowl in his lap and toasting his vast hairy toes over the embers. Two bunk beds, set into alcoves, trailed tangles of dirty blankets on to the floor.
    At the end of the room a short ladder led up to a kind of loft with a raised platform for the millstones. In the shadows Peer could make out the mill machinery, hoists and hoppers, chains and hooks. A huge pair of iron scales hung from the roof. Swags of rope looped from beam to beam.
    Cobwebs clung everywhere to the walls, loaded with old flour. Underfoot, the dirt floor felt spongy and damp. A sweetish smell of ancient bran and mouldy grain mingled with the stink of Uncle Baldur’s cheesy feet and a lingering odour of stew.
    Peer swallowed. He said faintly, “I did what you said, Uncle. I fed the animals and put them away. Is – is there any stew?”
    â€œOver there,” his uncle grunted, jerking his head at a black iron pot sitting in the embers. Peer looked in. It was nearly empty.
    â€œBut it’s all gone,” he said in dismay.
    â€œ All gone? ” Uncle Baldur’s face blackened. “ All gone? This boy’s been spoilt, Grim. I can see that. The boy’s been spoilt.”
    â€œPlenty left,” growled Grim. “Wipe out the pot with bread and be thankful!”
    Peer knelt. He found a dry heel of bread and scraped it around inside the pot. There was no meat, barely a spoonful of gravy and few fragments of onion, but the warmth of the iron pot was comforting, and he chewed the bread hungrily, saving a scrap for Loki. When at last he looked up he found Uncle Baldur staring at him. His uncle’s dark little eyes glittered, and he buried his thick fingers in his beard and scratched, rasping slowly up and down.
    Peer stared back uneasily. His uncle’s face turned purple. He convulsed. He doubled up, choking, and slapped his knees. “Hee, hee,” he gasped. “Ha, ha! Oh dear. Look at him!” He pointed at Peer. “Look at him, Grim! Some might call him a bad bargain, but to me – to me, he’s worth his weight in gold!”
    The brothers howled. “That’s good!” Grim roared, punching Baldur’s shoulder. “Worth his weight in – oh, very good!”
    Peer gave them a dark glance. Whatever the joke was, it was clearly not a friendly one. He pretended to yawn. “I’m tired, Uncle. Where do I sleep?”
    â€œEh?” Uncle Baldur turned to him, wiping tears of laughter from his hairy cheeks. “The lad’s tired , Grim. He wants to sleep .”
    Uncle Grim lumbered to his feet. He burrowed into a corner under the loft, kicked aside a couple of dusty baskets and a crate, and revealed a small wooden door not more than three feet high. Peer followed warily. Uncle Grim opened the little door. Behind it was blackness, a strong damp smell, and a sound of trickling water.
    Before Peer could protest, Uncle Grim grabbed him and thrust him through the door into the dark space beyond. Peer pitched on to his face. With a flump, a pile of mouldy