Troll Blood. Katherine Langrish

work!” shouted Gunnar. He seemed glad to be at sea again: his face had a healthier colour; he straddled forwards, his good hand on Harald’s shoulder to help his balance, bad arm tucked under his cloak.

      “Right, lads, listen up! Some of us are old friends already. Magnus, Floki, Halfdan…” His eye roamed across the men, who grinned or nodded as he named them. “Anything you others want to know about me, ask them—but don’t believe more than half of it. The way I like to run things is this: you jump when I say jump, and we’ll get along fine. We’re going a long way together, and if you don’t like the idea, you’d better start swimming.” He bared his teeth ferociously, and the men laughed. “I lost my hand a few weeks ago. But if anyone thinks that makes me less of a man, just speak up now.” The men glanced at each other. No one spoke. “We’re going to Vinland, boys, and we’ll come back rich! That’s all, except—we’re the crew of the Water Snake, we are, and there isn’t a better ship on the sea!”

      The men cheered. Even Peer felt a stirring in his blood. The crew of the Water Snake—sailing to Vinland, across the world!

      Waves smacked into the prow. Spray sprinkled his face. The dragonhead nodded and plunged. They were out of the fjord already, and the wind was strengthening.

      He looked back. There was the familiar peak of Troll Fell, piebald with snow-streaks, but behind it other mountains jostled into view, trying to get a good look at Water Snake as she sailed out. As the ship drew further and further away, the details vanished, and it became more and more difficult to pick out Troll Fell from amongst its rivals, until at last they all merged and flattened into a long blue smudge of coastline.