Free Troll Mill by Katherine Langrish

narrow yard, with a line of rough sheds and a pigsty to the north, backing up to the millpond. A cluster of trees grew around the buildings: bare brown brooms just softening into green. Above the dilapidated thatch of the mill roof, the high bulk of Troll Fell rose, clean-edged against the sky.
    Go on. Go in.
    Peer hesitated. It was all so very quiet, and he was by himself.
    Scared? In broad daylight? Oh, come on. It won’t take a minute!
    He walked slowly into the yard, his feet sinking into soft, untrodden leaf mold and moss. Underneath were cobblestones, buried by years of neglect. Peer padded warily toward the barn and looked in. There was a choking smell of damp, mildewed straw, a litter of bird droppings and old nests, and a breathless, dusty silence. He backed out and went to stand in the center of the yard, trying to look over both shoulders at once.
    Something bitter rose in his throat. A rush of memories swept over him. For a moment he was twelve years old again, cringing halfdefensively, half defiantly, under the harsh hand of Uncle Baldur.
    Here, there was nothing to be proud of. Here, he’d been weak, starved, humiliated. He’d slept in that dusty barn, in the straw with the hens. Over there by the mill door, Uncle Baldur had knocked him down. Peer remembered every inch of the yard. One hot summer’s day, Baldur’s twin brother, Uncle Grim, had made him sweep it twice over, first with a broom and then on his knees with a hand brush. He could still see his uncle’s gloating face, red, oozing with little beads of sweat, hanging over him like an evil sunset as he pointed out tiny bits of twig and chicken feathers that Peer had missed.
    Get the yard clean, boy! No supper until you do….
    Peer’s head jerked up, almost as if he heard that grating voice. A fresh wave of anger rolled over him like a sickness. His fists were clenched, the nails digging into his palms.
    Nobody,
nobody
, was going to treat him like that again!

CHAPTER 6
EXPLORING THE MILL
    N
OBODY’S EVER GOING to treat me like that again!
The words rang out in Peer’s mind. He straightened his shoulders, letting the anger drain away. A subdued Loki looked up at him, pressing closely to his legs.
    They stood in front of the mill door. It leaned on its hinges, half open, streaked with bright green moss. Peer pushed gently, and it scraped inward over a rubble of earth and stones and decayed leaves. Holding his breath, he cautiously stepped through.
    There was a shriek and a clatter of feathers. Peer reeled back. A frantic starling swept out over his head and disappeared over the barn roof, chattering hysterically. Loki rushed after it, barking.
    Peer sank against the doorpost, his heart thundering. “It’s all right, Loki,” he managed to say, as the dog returned at a stiff trot, hackles high. “Just a bird! What a couple of cowards we are. Come on!”
    It was dark inside. The shutters were closed, so the small, deeply set windows were outlined only by a few bright cracks of daylight. Peer trod carefully forward. There was a strong damp smell, and his nose prickled. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw spectral weeds growing in the long-dead ashes of the central fireplace. Pale and unhealthy, they straggled upward on hopeless spindly stalks, trying to reach the weak light filtering through the smoke hole. Peer brushed past them, shuddering.
    The place was smaller than he remembered. At the far end, a ladder led up into the shadowy grinding loft, and at its foot lay a worn old millstone, cracked in two, among a litter of splintered and broken wood. On either side of the hearth were the two bunks that his uncles had slept in, built into dark alcoves in the wall. A lump of some pale fungus was growing over the pillow of thenearest. The wrinkled blankets trailed in damp, dirty folds and looked as though they had been nibbled by mice. Peer looked away, grimacing, and bumped into a huge pair of scales, dangling from the rafters on a