West of the Moon by Katherine Langrish Page B

floor by the fire his uncles had left a bowl full of cold, congealed groute, but it did not look very appetising.
    I suppose that’s for the Nis, anyway , thought Peer. Even Grendel hasn’t touched it.
    He prowled round the room. His uncles hadn’t said how late they’d be. He suspected they had gone out drinking. It was time to try and find where they had hidden his father’s money.
    He lifted the lids of several wooden bins, built on either side of the ladder to the loft. Most were empty except for a few dusty grains at the bottom. One held a tangle of old leather harness. And one would not open. The lid was secured with an iron padlock. Peer rattled it. By the fire, Loki raised his head inquiringly. “I’m sure this is the one, Loki!” Peer told him. But knowing that did not help very much.
    Reluctantly he climbed the rickety ladder to the grinding loft. A soft ring of flour encircled the millstones. Peer shovelled it into the waiting sack. He peeped into the hopper, which was getting low, and refilled it from a half-full sack of barley, which he could just lift. Pleased with himself, he was about to climb back down, when Loki leaped from his place by the fire and burst out barking, hackles up. Peer looked over the edge of the loft in alarm. Were his uncles coming back? Was it thieves?
    Loki pranced, growling, then jumped and snapped at something above his head. He backed a few steps and barked some more, watching the rafters.
    Peer slid down the ladder. “Loki, shut up! It’s only a rat.” And he sat on the dirty rush mat and reached out his hands to the fire. Slowly his eyes closed. His head nodded forwards. But Loki barked again, and he sat up with a jerk.
    â€œStop it!” he complained. Loki flung him an apologetic glance but continued to stand braced and staring upwards. Peer’s head drooped again, but as his eyelids closed he heard a familiar voice. “See my leg?” it giggled. There was another flurry of barks from Loki, who jumped about as if on springs.
    Peer’s eyes flew wide. By the flickering firelight he saw something sitting on one of the cross beams. A spindly little leg covered in a worn grey stocking dangled temptingly just over Loki’s head.
    â€œSee my little leg?” teased the voice again. Loki leaped again in frustrated frenzy.
    â€œIt’s only the Nis, silly!” Peer got up and grabbed his pet, closing his hand around Loki’s muzzle to keep his mouth shut. “Now be quiet.” He stared up into the beams. The leg had been withdrawn. He could just see a dim shape sitting with its arms wrapped round its knees. “Hello!” he said.
    â€œYou spoiled the fun,” the Nis sulked.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    The Nis shuffled round on the beam till it had its back turned.
    â€œHow’s the groute this evening? Have they given you any butter?” asked Peer cunningly. The Nis came to life at once.
    â€œI doesn’t know, Peer Ulfsson. Has they? Let’s see.”
    It ran briskly along the beam and down the wall like a big spider. Peer watched, delighted. It was a little grey, whiskery thing with big hands and long knobbly fingers. Its ragged grey clothing seemed part of it, but it wore a little red cap on its head. Loki backed away grumbling.
    The Nis scampered to the bowl of groute and lifted it. “Cold!” it muttered. “Cold as their cruel hearts, and lumpy, too!” It stirred the bowl, scooping up the groute in messy splodges, then sat distastefully licking its fingers.
    â€œWas there any butter?” asked Peer. The Nis shook its head.
    â€œNow for the housework!” it said suddenly. “I has to do the housework, Peer Ulfsson. As long as they feeds me, I has to do the work. But I doesn’t have to do it well. See me!”
    The little creature seized a broom bigger than itself and went leaping about the room like a grasshopper, sweeping up great clouds of floury