Thorfinn and the Terrible Treasure Read online

  “Belt up, spud-face!” snapped Velda.

  “Well, I’m not staying!” said Oswald, sounding like an annoyed gannet as he turned away. “The sand plays havoc with my bunions.”

  Harald loitered behind his men, reluctant to leave his son. Thorfinn tugged gently at his father’s bearskin cape. “Dearest Dad, why don’t you let me take the Green Dragon? We’ll go searching for the treasure. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of all this.”

  The Green Dragon was Thorfinn’s own longship, which Harald had recently gifted to his son. Harald stroked his giant bushy beard. “Hmmm… Magnus said you were to stay here until the fourteen days are up.”

  “So?” said Velda. “How will they know?”

  “So…” He hesitated for a moment. “I can’t allow it. The Green Dragon comes home with me.”

  Velda groaned with disappointment. Thorfinn gave a light-hearted shrug. “OK, my dear old dad.” He reached up and hugged his father.

  “Farewell, son.” Harald’s eyes were moist as he turned briskly for the ship.

  “Farewell, Father,” cried Thorfinn, as Indgar’s longships pushed off without them. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  The three children gazed out across their new home, which was sad and treeless and populated only by a few mangy goats.

  CHAPTER 6

  Thorfinn, Velda and Olaf climbed to the island’s highest point, a rocky windswept crag, and watched the ships sail off. Percy flitted high above them.

  Through his spyglass, which he always carried, Thorfinn could see his dad at the stern of his longship, staring back sadly in their direction.

  Thorfinn waved enthusiastically. “COO-EEE, Father!”

  Olaf tutted. “What have you got to COO-EEE about? Look at this dump.”

  “Oh, quit moaning, potato features,” said Velda.

  Thorfinn swung his spyglass round in the other direction and pointed it at a distant speck on the horizon. It was a ship, and it was sailing southwards, away from the island. “Hmm, that’s strange.”

  “What’s strange?”

  Thorfinn handed Olaf the spyglass. “Pardon me, but do you see that ship?”

  “Yes,” said Olaf, “but what’s so strange about it?”

  “Don’t you notice anything unusual?”

  Olaf took another long look. “Single mast, square sail, double-ended, forty oars. So what?”

  Velda sighed. “Gimme.” She snatched the spyglass off Olaf and squinted through it. “It’s one of those big Scottish galleys. And forty oars means it’s someone fancy. You don’t see many of those about.” She handed the spyglass back to Thorfinn.

  “Oh, very well done, my dear pal.” He grinned, and patted Velda on the shoulder. “Anyone with forty oars is important, possibly even royalty, and the ship is hot-footing it away from this island.”

  Olaf’s eyes lit up. “You think it could be the treasure thieves?”

  “Perhaps…” Thorfinn scratched his cheek for a moment, deep in thought, before waving his finger. “Aha! Follow me!”

  He turned away, before turning back again and adding, “That is, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh, get on with it!” Velda shoved him forwards.

  Thorfinn led them back down to the spot where the treasure had been stolen. He paced around for a moment, his arms clasped behind his back, peering down at the ground.

  “What are you searching for?” Velda asked. “You look like a bird strutting about on the sand.”

  “That!” Thorfinn pointed out a long trail of raked sand heading south. “The thieves brushed over their footprints with branches to hide their tracks. Very clever, except that it leaves a trail of brush marks instead. Come on!”

  He dashed off, before dashing back and adding, “That is, if it’s not too inconvenient.”

  “Oh, move it!” yelled Velda.

  Thorfinn led them to a beach on the south side of the island, where he stopped.

  “This is where the treasure was loaded.” He pointed at some marks in the sand. “The brush marks divide near the water, which suggests a number of small boats beached here. They were probably serving a bigger boat that was anchored offshore.”

  “That big galley!” Olaf strutted around, his face flushing red, then punched his palm with his fist. “We have to go after them. We have to track them down and get back our treasure.”

  “Brilliant idea, birdbrain,” said Velda. “Except we’re stuck here.”

  Just then, the prow of a longship appeared around the sea cliffs, topped with a green dragon head.

  CHAPTER 7

  “It’s the Green Dragon!” cried Olaf.

  Thorfinn’s devoted crew waved to their friends on the beach and cheered. The ship beached nearby.

  First to greet Thorfinn was Harek the Toe-Stamper, who was the chief warrior on board. He was a big man with wild eyes, although that might have been because they were both pointing in different directions. He was also the most accident-prone man in Norway.

  “Thorfinn, Hell-OHHHH!” Harek swung off the side of ship from a rope, only to realise he’d forgotten to tie the other end to anything. He hit the ground like a sack of spuds.

  Next they saw Grimm the Grim, the helmsman: a sad-faced man who was always miserable. Even his beard seemed droopy.

  “I don’t suppose Thorfinn even remembers who I am,” he moaned in his long, droning voice. “I wouldn’t if I were him.”

  The ship’s cook was Gertrude the Grotty, a warty-faced, greasy-haired woman whose chief speciality was recipes with insects: in particular, flies, several of which were constantly orbiting her head.

  She banged her pot with a spoon and shrieked, “Thorfinn, I’ve gots a nice bowl of lentil and cockroach soup here for you!”

  Then there was Grut the Goat-Gobbler, a short, tubby man, whose stomach was always grumbling. He was eyeing the livestock roaming the island.

  “Mmmm, those wild goats look tasty.”

  A tall, golden-haired man swung over the side of the Green Dragon, landed on the beach beside Thorfinn and grinned. It was Torsten the Ship-Sinker, Thorfinn’s navigator. His Viking name sounded impressive, until it became clear that the only ships he’d ever sunk were his own. Unfortunately, he was not very good with directions.

  “I knew we’d find you here,” he told Thorfinn. “Oswald said you’d be at the south of the island, but I knew it would be the north.”

  “But, my dear friend, this is the south of the island,” replied Thorfinn.

  “Oh,” said Torsten, scratching his head.

  Oswald was there too, craning his head over the side, waving his walking stick and yelling in his loud, whiny voice, “Come aboard immediately, you young fool!”

  While Torsten prised Harek out of the sand, Thorfinn climbed the rope, with Velda close behind.

  “Aren’t you coming, old pal?” Thorfinn called back to Olaf.

  Olaf gazed around at the island, as if weighing up his options. Then he sighed and grabbed the rope. “I can’t believe I’m going to sea with these losers AGAIN.”

  Thorfinn vaulted the ship’s rail and embraced his crew.

  “Thank you so much, everyone. But how did you manage to get away from the others?”

  “Chief Harald sent us back to help you,” said Torsten. “He wanted the others to think we’d left you behind, then he told us to skip away when they entered a fog bank.”

  “He thinks Magnus stole the treasure,” said Harek. “Up to his old tricks as usual.”

  “Your father believes you are the only one who can solve this mystery and save the village,” said Oswald.

  Then Olaf cut in, telling the others about the forty-oared galley they’d seen heading south. “It’ll be way out of sight now, though, and it’s much too fast for us.”

  “What shall we do, Thorfinn?” asked Velda.

  “Ahem…” Thorfinn cleared his throat, smiled and stepped onto a barrel to address the crew. “My dear friends, there’s no denying it: this will be our most
challenging adventure yet.”

  “Why?” said Grut. “Have we run out of food?”

  “Well, I’m up for anything,” said Torsten, “as long as it doesn’t involve going further south.”

  “We’re going south,” announced Thorfinn.

  “Oh,” said Torsten.

  “Wait! I’ve got another idea to get our money back!” shouted Olaf. “Instead of trying to chase that treasure, let’s do what we Vikings do best – pillage! In fact, we could raid every town between here and Norway.”

  This brought a murmur of approval, until Thorfinn swiped his hands through the air, sending Percy fluttering around his shoulders.

  “My dear friends,” said Thorfinn. “There will be no pillaging. We’re going to search for that galley and track down the treasure that’s rightfully ours. They probably plan to stop at the nearest port heading south – Dunadd City.”

  CHAPTER 8

  On the third morning of their voyage south, Thorfinn and his crew woke to a cold fog and the sound of Grut shamelessly wolfing down the last of their supplies.

  “Nom, nom… schlom schlom…”

  They threaded their way through a gap between two craggy islets, and into a large natural harbour. A smoky, ramshackle town spread out along the shoreline.

  “Dunadd City,” muttered Oswald, who was standing at Thorfinn’s shoulder. “The capital of the Scots. A wretched place, full of cutpurses, bootleggers and gamblers.” The narrow, tightly packed buildings rose up to a wooden hill fort perched on a rock. “And the worst of them lives in that castle – the rogue King Appin,” Oswald continued.

  They tied up at the pier, checking all the boats in the harbour. There was no sign of the huge galley they’d seen speeding away from the treasure island.

  “Let’s ask around,” said Thorfinn. He picked out a warty, toothless old fisherman hobbling along in front of them. “Ah, this looks like a fine fellow.”

  Velda snorted. She’d seen finer fellows dug up from a grave.

  Thorfinn raised his helmet to the man. “Good day, my dear sir. Would you happen to have seen a forty-oared galley docking here?”

  The man gulped down his surprise, as he was not expecting such politeness from a Viking. “Aye, there’s only the one in these waters. That’s the king’s boat, the Sea Viper.”

  “I see,” replied Thorfinn, sharing a look with Oswald and Velda. “And have you seen this boat around recently?”

  “The king himself waved her off four days ago and she has not yet returned.”

  The fisherman hobbled off, and Velda punched a wall. “That has to be it!”

  “We could head back out to sea and look for it?” said Torsten.

  “Yes!” said Olaf. “We could find her, board her and fight the crew.”

  “No,” yawned Oswald. “I’m too tired for all that rubbish. I need a nap.” And he let his head fall to one side.

  “ZZZZZZ…”

  “There’s no time to lose, Thorfinn! We have to find that treasure or Indgar will be lost!” cried Velda.

  “Hmmm…” Thorfinn sat down on the pier and drummed his fingers on his chin. Percy perched beside him and fluttered his wing. “Even if the king’s ship isn’t here right now, the chances are it will return at some point because the king is here.”

  “Thorfinn’s right,” said Harek.

  “So,” said Thorfinn, “if we want to find the ship, the best thing we can do is to wait.”

  “What do you mean, ‘wait’?” asked Olaf. “We’re Vikings! We don’t WAIT!”

  The silence was only broken by Grut’s stomach rumbling.

  “That reminds me,” said Velda, “we’ve run out of food! We don’t even have a biscuit left. Grut’s eaten it all.”

  “Yes, and I’m still starving,” Grut complained.

  “And, more importantly, we don’t have any money left to buy anything,” added Velda.

  Gertrude nodded. “There’s is some lovely harbour midgies, I’ve noticed. I could make yous a nice midgie and weevil hotpot.”

  Velda made a sick face. “I’d rather eat my shoe.”

  “There’s nothing else for it,” said Thorfinn, getting to his feet. “We’ll have to get jobs.”

  The crew groaned. “WHAT??!”

  “HOOLLLLD your horses!” said Olaf. “Vikings don’t do jobs. I’m NOT getting a job.”

  “Cork it, pumpkin features,” said Velda, twirling her axe at him. “Or maybe you’d rather starve?”

  “Well, quite, and remember: if we don’t find that galley, getting jobs and saving our money will be the only way of paying back the other chiefs for the stolen treasure,” said Thorfinn.

  “That’s rubbish,” said Olaf. “We’re Vikings! Can’t we just nick it?”

  “Oh, dear, no,” said Thorfinn, horrified. “We have to obtain the money honestly.”

  They looked around them. The harbour was a colourful, bustling place, with dock workers hauling goods on and off ships, hawkers selling their wares, and gangs of pickpockets eyeing the chance to steal from unsuspecting sailors.

  Fortunately for Thorfinn’s crew, Velda swinging her axe about was enough to scare them all off. That, and the smell of Gertrude.

  “Look,” said Harek, pointing at a dusty sign on a wall nearby. It looked like it had been there for decades.

  CHAPTER 9

  Meanwhile, back in Norway…

  Thorfinn’s home village of Indgar was nestled beside a beautiful fjord. It was a tranquil place, except for the folk who lived there, who spent their days roaring, skirmishing, farting, burping and brawling, not to mention a great deal of HUZZAH-ing.

  But today was different.

  Very different.

  The Vikings were anything but their usual selves.

  They assembled in the square and listened to their chief delivering the bad news.

  “We have ten days left, either to find the missing treasure or pay back Magnus,” Harald the Skull-Splitter said sadly. “Or he will take over the village.”

  He looked round at their shocked faces, and his heart sank. This is all my fault, he thought. I’ve let them down. Even worse, I’ve let my own son down too. My little boy.

  He wondered where Thorfinn was now, and whether the crew he had sent in the Green Dragon had rescued him. He would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Thorfinn.

  Erik the Ear-Masher roared with frustration, hoisted a barrel over his head, and launched it into the air. It flew across the square and crashed through the cowshed wall.

  “Enough of feeling sorry for ourselves!” he cried. Then he climbed onto a mound of turnips, which the Vikings never ate, of course, as turnips are vegetables. They used them either as elk feed or as ammunition for their catapults. Erik poked a finger at his chief. “Harald’s to blame. He led us to this.”

  The other Vikings gasped. Erik was challenging the chief himself.

  Harald’s eye twitched at Erik. “I’ll have no more of your insolence, Ear-Masher!” He whipped out his sword and leapt at his second-in-command.

  Erik drew his own sword. Sparks flew – not to mention bits of turnip – as the two men clashed in the square.

  They locked swords, face to face.

  “You one-eyed snake!” growled Harald.

  “You two-eyed weasel!” snarled Erik.

  A terrifying scream pierced the air like a blade, and a figure jumped between them and pulled them off one another.

  It was Thorfinn’s mother, Freya, her fierce green eyes staring out from under a mane of blonde hair. She grabbed the two men by the ears. “Our village is under threat, and you two are fighting each other?”

  Grown men were known to weaken at the knees under Freya’s steely glare, and these two were no different – even Harald, a man who was known as ‘The Terror of the North Sea’.”

  “Sorry, dear,” he said sheepishly.

  She tugged Erik’s ear. “You say sorry too!”

  “Ow! OK! Sorry,” said Erik, and she let them go.
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  Freya pushed the two men away and stood alone on top of the mound of turnips, staring round at the villagers’ faces.

  “Everyone!” she yelled. “Dig up what valuables you have and bring them here to the marketplace. Let’s see if we can pay off some of this debt.”

  The villagers turned away. Harald reddened under his wife’s savage gaze. He wondered if she would ever forgive him for bargaining away their village and putting their son at risk – or if he could ever forgive himself.

  CHAPTER 10

  Back in the Scots’ capital of Dunadd, Thorfinn and his crew stared at the VIKING JOB CENTRE sign.

  “Ah-ha!” said Thorfinn. “That’s just the ticket.”

  The sign led them along an alleyway, then up a rickety flight of steps, until they came to a tiny, bare office lit only by a small window. A scruffy old man wearing fingerless gloves was sitting behind a dusty desk. He looked surprised to see them.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Thorfinn approached the desk while the rest of the crew squeezed in behind him. He removed his helmet and beamed. “Good day, my dear sir. We’re Vikings and we’re looking for jobs.”

  “Are you? Really?” The man’s face lit up and he punched the air. “Oh, that’s WONDERFUL! I haven’t had a single customer since I opened.”

  “When did you open?” asked Olaf.

  “Thirty years ago.” The man grabbed Thorfinn’s hand and shook it up and down. “So you must forgive my excitement. My name’s Wibblish.”