Read Online West of the Moon by Katherine Langrish - Free Book Online Page B

smelly too, now he was close to her. Her clothes must be damp, mouldy, or something.
    But he was glad she was there. As they passed the millrace, he knew he would have been terrified by himself. The threshing wheel and racing water made him dizzy; there was a cold draught fanned by the wheel, and a smell of wet stone and black slime. He tripped, and the old woman steadied him, hugging his arm to her side. She felt strong, and cold.
    At the edge of the millpond she released his arm so he could step on to the narrow walkway above the sluice. The pond was so black he could not see where the surface lay. If only there was a guardrail! He shuffled out and grabbed the handle of the sluicegate, remembering it acted like a simple shutter. He leaned his weight on it, driving the gate down against the pressure of the water. The wheel slowed, its great vanes dripping. The rattle and grumble of the mill faltered and ceased. Only the sound of the water was left, tumbling over the weir.
    â€œWell done,” said the old woman. She stretched out a hand to help Peer off the bridge. He took it and then let go with a cry. It was clammy – and wet – and webbed.
    The late moon was rising. She stood quietly at the end of the plank, leaning on her stick. Her long skirt and cloak weren’t damp but wet – soaking wet. How had she got so wet? She pulled her scarf away from her head in fronds of trailing weed. She smiled. Even in the moonlight he could see her teeth were sharp points. Peer’s hand shook on the sluice handle. He had walked here with Granny Greenteeth herself!
    The woman chuckled, like the brook gurgling. “Yesss… I like to take a stroll on a fine evening. Poor boy, didn’t you know me? Shall I tell you how?” She leaned towards him. “Watch for the sign of the river,” she whispered. “A dripping hem or sleeve. Wet footprints on the doorstep.”
    Peer nodded, dry-mouthed. Granny Greenteeth drew back, as if satisfied that she had scared him. “I hate the miller,” she hissed. “Oh, how I hate him, thinking he owns my water, boasting about his mill. Now I will punish him by taking you.”
    Peer clung to the post of the sluice. “But he doesn’t care anything about me. Neither of them does. The only thing they care about is their dog, Grendel. Please!”
    â€œSsso?” Granny Greenteeth paused. Peer waited, shivering. At last she smiled, showing dark triangular teeth. “Then I shall send that dog, Grendel, with an apple in his mouth, as a dish for my friend the Dovreking’s daughter, at her midwinter wedding. But as for you! Don’t you know the miller has plans for you?”
    â€œPlans?” Peer’s heart thudded.
    Granny Greenteeth leaned both hands on her stick, like the old woman he had supposed her to be. “We’ll have a little gossip, shall we? I hear it all, you know. Every stream on Troll Fell runs into my river!
    â€œAfter the old miller died – bad riddance to him! – the two young ’uns knew where the troll gate was. And they wouldn’t let it alone. Knocking and banging, day after day! Hoping to get at the gold, weren’t they? Even tried bribes. Imagine! They left fine white bread there, and trout stolen from my water. Ah! Yet they never gave me anything.” Granny Greenteeth worked her mouth as though chewing on something bitter. She spat.
    â€œAnd this went on and on, didn’t it? And at last the Troll King got tired of all this hammering and shouting outside his gate. Not seemly was it?
    â€œSo to get rid of them he thinks up something difficult. He sends word: My eldest son will be married at midwinter. He wishes to present his bride with a slave boy, as a betrothal gift. Bring me a slave boy, and you shall have your gold .”
    Granny Greenteeth nodded spitefully at Peer. “And that’s where you come in, my son. Your precious uncles – your flesh and blood – will