Leif Frond and the Viking Games

  I waited for the Widow to slug him one right across the ear, but it didn’t happen. It should have. It so should have. But it didn’t.

  She just giggled.

  “Would you look at that?” muttered my granny, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “She knew our Karl was going to be the Champion, so she nobbled the judge. Still, if I were forty years younger, I might have done the same. I’d have given her a run for her money!”

  I smiled down into her wizened little face, thinking, And you would have, at that!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  From Frondell with Love

  Next day, our visitors packed their tents and their families back into their ships and sailed away with the tide. The last to go were the Widow Brownhilde (though we wouldn’t be calling her that for much longer) and the ex-Scourge of the Seas. Blogfeld must have somehow inveigled the secret of the boar out of Queue, for, as they moved off, an extremely convincing billow of fire and smoke shot out of the dragon-prow’s mouth, and everybody cheered. The two ships made a pretty picture as they glided down the fjord towards the open sea.

  The Games were over for another year.

  “That was fun!” my granny cackled cheerfully. Then she went off to tell my sisters the best way to clear up.

  Karl watched the two ships until they were only dots in the distance. He still looked as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a cow, but I figured he’d get over it. And I can’t remember when I last saw my father looking so contented. He wandered about happily, lending a hand with the trestle tables, thanking people for all their hard work, making encouraging noises and generally being nice to everyone who came within range.

  And then he spotted me.

  “Leif,” he said.

  “Yes, father?”

  “Do you remember our conversation earlier? When you offered to chop off the Widow Brownhilde’s head and bring it to me on a platter? Don’t think I didn’t notice how hard you tried to keep her away from me all day – so hard, in fact, that she ended up leaving with a completely different husband.” He gave me a slap on the back that nearly knocked me over. “Thank you, my boy, thank you! I don’t know how you did it – I don’t understand half the things that happened here yesterday – but I do know you did a champion’s work!”

  And if there had been a competition right then and there for which of us had the bigger grin … well, I think it would have been a tie.

  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 978-1-4729-0463-8

  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.

  This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

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

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2