The Great Troll War

The Meeting

It was just past ten when I entered the private room upstairs at the Globe, a late-night scone bar at the top of Queen Street, a place that served top-quality scones until the clotted cream ran out or a fight started, the one generally leading to the other. Colin said that he was too big and obvious to be upstairs at the Globe, and that he would be sure to raise suspicions – so he’d perch on the roof and, if anyone asked, he’d tell them he was doing a bat survey.

I was late to the meeting as William of Anorak had taken some time to find the information I needed, and I wanted to wait until he confirmed what I already felt I knew. I greeted everyone as I entered, Exhorbitus hidden in a large sports bag. Molly was there, dressed in the trenchcoat and fedora, as was Tiger, Once Magnificent Boo, Monty Vanguard and General Worrier.

‘I know this is the wrong thing to do,’ said the worrier, chewing his knuckles nervously. ‘I’m going to be executed for sedition for sure – but if I’m not here, you’ll think me a loser and coward and a drip and that would be worse, I think.’

Molly was there because the peace accord she’d made with the Princess was now null and void, and she didn’t believe the Princess would marry Sir Matt either. I found out later she had driven herself here, then dashed in a side entrance under cover of a large blanket. Tiger was sitting with her, trying to find out which particular shade of cerulean blue the Trolls hated.

‘How about this one?’ said Tiger, showing Molly a Dulux colour swatch.

‘Nope,’ said the Troll.

‘What about this?’ he asked, showing her another with several subtly different shades upon it. ‘Anything here you find even mildly offensive?’

‘Nothing at all,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think I’d quite like the spare cave decked out in something like that.’

‘How’s it going?’ I asked.

‘Not very well,’ he said. ‘We’ve been through the whole Dulux catalogue, all of the Humbrol enamels, the Crown line, Revell, Tamiya, Little Greene and even Farrow & Ball, where we thought it might be something between “Inspid Blueberry” and “Choking Zebra”.’

‘Are those actually colours?’

‘I don’t think so. Tomorrow we’re going to go through the Pantone colour range.’

‘Keep at it. Hello, everyone. Guess who I found taking a bath of UHT milk in the Royal Bathtub?’

‘Identical sister?’ said Monty once I’d explained who the impostor was. ‘How did Grifflon find her?’

‘I think she found him,’ I said. ‘She strikes me as a particularly nasty piece of work. I just phoned William of Anorak, who did a quick search and found that her name’s Betty Scrubb. Unlike her sister Laura, who was a Royal Dog Mess Removal Operative Third Class, Betty has been in and out of juvenile detention her entire life. Last time was for fraud, so a seasoned liar. The thing is, since the original Princess was bodyswapped and the impostor had her hand removed and balm-healed, there’s no foolproof test to tell who is and who isn’t the real Princess, and while I could vouch for her as I did with the princesses, I’m not sure anyone is going to listen to what I have to say this time around.’

‘It’s not over yet,’ said Tiger, punctuating the silence that followed.

‘True,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Tiger. The situation is worse than it’s ever been, but it’s not hopeless. There are thirty-two hours until the Trolls cross the Button Trench, and we need to use that time productively. We need to find the true Princess, figure out a foolproof way of unmasking the impostor, de-king Sir Matt, get the Princess back on the throne, then defeat the Mighty Shandar and the Trolls. So, any ideas?’

‘Is “de-king” a word?’ asked the Troll.

‘It is now.’

‘We need to find when and where they were switched,’ said Tiger, ‘and see if that affords us any clues as to where she is now.’

I thought for a moment.

‘We need … a group of people who will be so worried about making a mistake and ruining everything that they won’t make any mistakes at all. We’re going to weaponise fretting – but in a positive way.’

‘Oh, blast,’ said General Worrier, ‘that’s me and my team, isn’t it? Well, okay, we’ll give it our very best but don’t yell at us all if we fail – we’ll be too busy, anyway, sitting in a dark room and staring at the wall gently weeping to ourselves, crushed inside.’

‘That’s the spirit, General. Better get on to it. Find out where the Princess is for us.’

He sighed and gathered up his notebooks. With an army of terrible worriers desperate not to ruin everything, they were, oddly enough, highly motivated to do everything correctly. General Worrier opened the door to leave and Molly gave out a sharp cry. She held her head, the pain manifesting itself in a muscle spasm that resulted in a narrow cleft that ran vertically down her forehead.

‘Close the door!’ she yelled, and Tiger complied; the pain abruptly ceased.

‘The doors must be open all the way to the street,’ she said. ‘I like my spaces small but also unbounded. You wouldn’t like me if I came over all expansive.’

She then looked sheepish, mumbled an apology and the conversation switched again to what I’d seen at Shandar’s Tower of Knowledge.

‘Eternal life is probably the biggest bribe given to anyone, ever,’ remarked Boo.

‘It’s not likely he’ll deliver,’ I said. ‘He’ll offer anything to get what he wants to fulfil his plans – whatever they are.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Boo, ‘Princess Jocaminca found a fantasy author before she became a fake queen’s lady-in-waiting. He might be able to come up with something that’s bigger and bolder than anything we can dream up.’

‘What have we to lose?’ I said in a desultory tone. ‘Better bring him in.’

Tiger went out and came back a few minutes later with a middle-aged man dressed in chinos and a shirt. He looked around the room at everyone in turn, seeming astonished to be there.

‘Goodness,’ he said finally, ‘is that a Troll?’

‘Thank you,’ said Molly in a huffy tone, ‘for that piece of stereotyping. I would have preferred: “Oh, look there’s a brave member of the resistance”.’

‘But you are a Troll,’ said Tiger.

‘Yes, that’s true, but I’m more than just a Troll.’

‘So,’ said Boo to the author, ‘what sort of stuff do you write? Science fiction?’

‘More science fantasy,’ said the author, who then added, since we all looked a little blank, ‘It’s sort of “impossible worlds made real”, rather than “improbable worlds made real”.’

‘I’m not sure I see the distinction,’ said Boo, ‘but then I’m not a big reader.’

‘Me neither,’ I said, ‘but look, we need a fantasist to come up with a scenario that would fit the facts we know, but it’s got to be bigger and bolder than we could dream up.’

‘I’m not sure that makes much sense,’ said the author, still confused, ‘but I’ll give it a whirl.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Boo, ‘we need to make sure you’re up to the task. Tell us a weird idea you’ve come up with that’s totally out there.’

‘Well,’ said the author, ‘I made George Formby president-for-life of Great Britain.’

‘Who’s George Formby?’ asked Tiger.

‘What’s Great Britain?’ asked Boo.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘here’s another: a book about Humpty Dumpty as a police procedural.’

‘I think that’s been done,’ said the Troll. ‘Everyone’s always retelling nursery rhymes. I mean, it’s not a massive stretch, is it?’

‘How about a social order based wholly on the strength of your colour vision?’

‘Better,’ I said. ‘is there a sequel?’

‘Don’t you start. I also wrote a thriller set in a world in which humans have always hibernated.’

‘I like that idea,’ said Tiger. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’

‘The last book in a series for children.’

‘How does it turn out?’

He looked down.

‘I’ve only written fifty-nine percent, so I’m not quite sure – but I think it all works out okay.’

‘What were you looking at just now,’ asked Tiger suspiciously, ‘when you looked down?’

‘Nothing.’

Everyone fell silent as we all contemplated the author, who started to fiddle with the keys in his pocket, and looked at the four walls nervously, as though they might be appearing to move or something. But since we had nothing to lose we asked him to sit down and then explained everything we knew about the Mighty Shandar, and when we had finished he looked at us long and hard.

‘World domination?’ he said.

‘We can all think of that,’ said Tiger. ‘It’s got to be much bigger and bolder than that.’

‘How much bolder?’ asked the author, an odd gleam in his eye.

‘A lot,’ said Boo.

‘How about this, then,’ he said. ‘Shandar’s not after world domination, he’s after galactic domination. He doesn’t want to be a leader, he wants to be the leader: God-Emperor of the Universe, with a thousand star systems quaking in terror at the mere mention of his name.’

‘I would not have thought of that,’ said Tiger.

‘Me neither,’ said Boo.

‘There’s a universe?’ said Molly.

‘Anything else?’ I asked.

‘He will need to launch his bid for galactic domination from here on Earth,’ said the author, starting to get quite enthusiastic, ‘and to travel the vast distances demanded by his megalomaniacal ambitions, he will need to be able to manipulate the very fabric of spacetime. To do that he will require not two raised to the power of sixty-three TeraShandars, but two raised to the power of eighty – or more. He’ll get that by siphoning off the energy of the sun itself, and transform all that thermal energy into wizidrical power by the combined emotional outpouring of billions of terrified people crying out for him to spare them from annihilation.’

‘Woah,’ said Tiger, ‘you think—’

‘Hang on,’ said the author, ‘there’s more. If all goes according to Shandar’s plan, this time next month he will not be mighty or magnificent, but Eternally Fabulous, with power to control matter, energy, physical laws, light, distance – even time. Soon, entire star systems will quake in fear and plead for mercy as news of his awesome power spreads throughout the galaxy, bringing terror and destruction before it, while in his wake the Earth will be left a cold cinder drifting in space, devoid of all life.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s not—’

‘Wait a moment,’ said the author, ‘still more. We are on the very dawn of a new age of evil that will spread misery and fear to the very farthest corners of the galaxy. Defeating him isn’t a global imperative, it’s a galactic imperative. The freedom and wellbeing of the galaxy and everything in it rest squarely on your shoulders.’

There was a pause.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m done.’

‘Wow,’ said Boo, punctuating the silence that followed, ‘that is bigger and bolder than anything I could think of. Possible?’

‘He’s been planning it for over three centuries,’ I said, ‘so yes. Monty?’

‘Harnessing the power of the sun would give him massive quantities of power – and given the number of suns in the galaxy, he can just harvest another as soon as his power wanes. But travelling to another star system? Really?’

‘Eternal life to enjoy the bounteous fruits of his own megalomania would be pretty pointless if you couldn’t move from sun to sun as they grew old and winked out,’ observed Tiger. ‘It’s true: however bad he is right now, that will appear as nothing when he spreads his evil plans across the galaxy.’

‘Was that helpful?’ asked the author.

‘It’s certainly something to build on,’ I said, suddenly realising that this whole deal was way bigger than the UnUnited Kingdoms or even the planet. ‘If the rest of the world knows he can’t be trusted, we might have powerful allies.’

‘Glad to be of use,’ said the author. ‘Anything else you need me for?’

I told him there wasn’t and asked him whether there was anything he wanted.

‘I could chronicle your adventures,’ he said in a hopeful sort of voice.

‘A plate of chips was more what I had in mind,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a tab down at the bar.’

‘Oh,’ said the author, ‘right.’

And he went out.

‘That was all a bit far-fetched,’ said Tiger.

‘On the contrary,’ I said, ‘it explains the Tower of Knowledge and everything he is placing within it. Stores, furniture, art, books, DVDs of almost everything. It also explains the internal cross-bracing of the structure and the sealed windows. It’s not his citadel, his fortress, his hideout: it’s his eternal transport to the stars.’

‘Criss-crossing the galaxy for eternity in a full-size replica of the Chrysler Building?’ breathed Monty in wonderment. ‘I can’t condone it, but that is kind of classy.’

We all fell silent, contemplating the news.

‘Now what?’ said Tiger as we heard the cathedral clock striking eleven. ‘We’re meant to be surrendering the Quarkbeast at midnight.’

‘Not going to happen. Boo, Monty, what do you make of this?’

I took the photograph out of my pocket, the one I had found in the glovebox of the Volkswagen, of me as a baby in the arms of Zambini with Mother Zenobia close by, the Quarkbeast at Zambini’s feet. Everyone who hadn’t seen it moved closer to get a better look.

‘There’s a child on the back seat,’ said Tiger. ‘You can see her hand and the top of her head.’

‘This photo was revealed to me only yesterday,’ I said. ‘Zambini and Mother Zenobia never told me the truth as to who I am and why I was left at the orphanage.’

I turned the picture over and showed them where ‘The Assetts’ was written in pencil.

‘He spelt “assets” wrongly,’ said Molly.

‘It doesn’t matter. Zambini wanted me to see this, so I need to find out more. I’m thinking the Quarkbeast and I are pivotal in defeating Shandar. But how are we assets, and what do we do?’

‘You need to ask Mother Zenobia,’ said Boo.

‘If she survived the Troll invasion,’ added Tiger.

‘Is she old?’ asked Molly.

I nodded.

‘Then she probably did,’ said the Troll. ‘Humans get very stringy and inedible anywhere past fifty years old. There are recipes, but they generally revolve around extended boiling and an over-reliance on seasoning, so are rarely worth the trouble.’

We all stared at her.

‘I’ve heard,’ she added hastily.

‘Good to know,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘If I’m still alive in half an hour, I’ll figure a way to get to what remains of the orphanage and ask her. Is there anything else to discuss?’

‘Yes,’ said Monty, ‘the Trolls. Since they managed to overrun the UnUnited Kingdoms in a little under ten days with consummate ease – why did they never do it before?’

‘Molly?’ I said.

The Troll thought for a moment, trying to tap her Hive Memory for any clues.

‘I think we did try it before,’ she said, ‘but it didn’t work out because we didn’t have the numbers.’

‘You’ve got them now,’ said Tiger, ‘there are millions of you.’

‘There aren’t millions of me,’ said Molly. ‘I’m one of a kind.’

‘I meant millions of Trolls,’ said Tiger.

‘Oh,’ said Molly, ‘right.’

Monty stared at the Troll and stroked his moustache carefully, then thought of something.

‘I’ve an idea,’ he said, ‘but I’ll need to research previous Troll invasions to try and find a weakness. Molly, would you help me out?’

She said she would be delighted, so long as there was a moussaka in the offing and there was no outdoors or buttons or cerulean blue, and once this was all agreed, I took a deep breath.

‘Okay, time to go and face the music. Tiger, would you fetch Kevin Zip and ask him to join us? We’ll be in the ballroom.’

‘Is there any point?’ asked Tiger. ‘If he’s accurately predicting the near future, he’ll be there when we arrive.’

I said goodbye to everyone and thanked them, told them to carry on the struggle without me if I didn’t make it back, and departed with Tiger, because he said he wouldn’t leave my side even if I yelled at him, and I wasn’t going to do that.

The Quarkbeast, sensing something important was going down, followed us like a lamb.