Vulgar the Viking and the Rock Cake Raiders by Odin Redbeard Page A

off?
    Would she?
    “OK,” he grumbled at last. “I’ll wash my hands. But just this once.”
    Helga lowered the axe. The corners of her mouth curved into a smile. “Wise move,” she said, turning back to the log pile.
    Stepping over the sleeping Grunt, Vulgar approached the large wooden basin the family used for washing. Everything got washed in the basin, from faces to clothes to dirty dishes. By the end of the day, the water would be a dark, murky grey, but at this time in the morning it was crystal clear.
    Please ,thought Vulgar, as he drew closer to the basin, let today be the day …
    Taking a deep breath, Vulgar stretched on to his tiptoes and looked at his reflection, shimmering on the water’s surface.
    Thor’s bum-fluff , he thought, staring crossly at his smooth, hairless chin. Still no beard.
    Vulgar wanted many things in life. He wanted a broadsword with a skull for a handle. He wanted a shield made of solid gold and silver. And he wanted to bestrong enough to lift both of them without falling over.

    More than anything, though, Vulgar wanted a beard. And not just any beard. He wanted a proper beard, like proper Vikings used to have. A big, red beard that forked into two at the bottom, like a horned helmet for his chin.
    He waggled his fingers in the water, chasing his reflection away. No beard today. Maybe tomorrow.
    Vulgar turned back into the kitchen. A lump of mouldy cheese and a hunk of stale bread lay on the table.
    “Breakfast,” said his mum. “Get it while it’s … there.”

    Vulgar pounced on the food, snatching it up before the mice could whisk it away. As he was shoving it into his mouth, the door opened and a skinny man with very clean hair shuffled inside.
    “Morning, son. Morning, wife,” said Harald, Vulgar’s dad. He stretched up to his full height and tried to plant a kiss on Helga’s cheek. Being far too short to reach, he only managed to kiss her elbow, but they both seemed happy with that.
    “How were the toilets this morning?” asked Helga, returning to her work.
    Harald shuddered. “Ooh, they were proper blocked,” he said. “Up to my elbows I was, trying to get them unclogged.”
    Crossing to the basin, Harald dipped his arms in the water. It immediately turned a murky shade of brown.
    “You’re awake early,” he said to Vulgar. “Are you up to something?”
    “No!”
    “Because you’re usually up to something.”
    “That’s what I said,” Helga told him.
    “I’m not up to anything!” insisted Vulgar. “It’s History Day today. When we learn about proper Vikings.”
    Harald dried his hands on his thin, wispy beard, then wrung them together nervously. “What, plundering and adventuring and stuff like that?”
    “Exactly!”
    “I tried it once,” said Harald. “Not my cup of tea. All those big waves. I get seasick just doing the washing-up, don’t I, dearest?”
    “That’s your usual excuse,” grunted Helga, not looking round.
    “You don’t want to bother with all thatold-fashioned stuff,” said Harald, with a wave of a brown-stained hand. “You want to get a proper job. Like me.”
    “Cleaning toilets?” spluttered Vulgar. “That’s not a—”
    “Vuuuuuuulgaaaaaaar!”
    The shout came from outside, stopping Vulgar mid-sentence.
    “Knut’s here,” said Vulgar, cramming the last of the bread in his mouth.
    “Coming!” he cried to his best friend, spraying crumbs all over the kitchen table. “Grunt! Walkies!”
    At the sound of the word, Grunt’s ear twitched, and the shaggy old dog leapt bolt upright.
    Still chewing, Vulgar grabbed his cloak and helmet from the peg on the wall, threw open the back door and bolted out into the garden, not bothering to say goodbye.
    This was it.
    History Day had finally begun!

CHAPTER TWO
THE GREAT HALL
    Vulgar and Grunt dashed along the path and cleared the garden gate in a single leap. Vulgar’s best friend, Knut Knutson, stood on the dirt track that ran past the hut. He was almost a whole foot