Myth-Told Tales

Any other Troll in the audience would quickly have recognized Scenario Number 15 of the Trollia Hand-book for Dealing with Other Species. In order for a pair of Trolls to have a private conversation in public, when all other means failed, this particular brawl would ensure that we had frequent close contact, while making very certain all others stayed out of the way of our wild-looking, but carefully choreographed, swings. Even a dragon would have hesitated to wander into the fray between two full-grown Trolls.

"What is it, old man? Deveels?" I asked. I twisted around, grabbed his wrist, wrenched upward, and Percy flipped into the air, landing on his back. The fall wouldn't hurt him. It didn't even knock the breath out of him. He scissored out his powerful, furry legs and caught me about the waist. I dropped back, and he sprang up and knelt on my chest, hands going for my throat. I roared aloud to cover his furtive whisper.

"No, worse!" I grabbed his throat with one hand, and he let out a loud squeak, which covered my next question.

"What could be worse than Deveels?" I asked. A further grunt covered another query as he shook his head. "Do you owe money to the Gnomes?" We rolled over and over together in the dust. An open path cleared ahead as our audience pursued behind. I bellowed.

"Worse!" Percy whispered, his face desperate. "I can't tell you! The old one will get me if I talk!"

I almost forgot to wait for his covering roar. "Who?"

"Don't ask any more, old man," Percy said, sitting on my back as he twisted my foot around. I shouted in pain. He was so nervous he was actually hurting me. "Please. I'm asking you as an old friend. I can't say any more; we might be overheard. Hmm, this is your turf. I know M.Y.T.H. Inc. well. I'd best let you win this round."

It was good of him to realize that. I assessed my position, face down in the dust. The only winning move I could make would render me utterly filthy, but that, as Aahz might observe, was show biz. I gathered my three free limbs underneath me, grabbed the earth and turned myself until I was aligned with my twisted limb. In doing so I mashed a great deal of the street into the front of my fur, but it was worth it for the denouement: I rose to all threes, Percy still riding my back, and, pushing myself upright on my one leg, deposited him to the ground. He fell, as though stunned. I jumped on him, grabbed him by shoulder and crotch, heaved him into the air, and threw him into the crowd.

"Thanks, old man," he said, just before I let go. Deveels, Imps, Ssslissi, Klahds, and others went down as a full-grown Troll landed on them.

Brushing myself off, I stumped up the street. Tananda was standing in between two tents cleaning her nails with a dagger, where she had a perfect view of the whole brawl. She grinned up at me. Guido hulked in the shadows behind her.

"Messy but effective, Big Brother." "What'd he tell you?" Guido asked. I glanced around. Night had fallen sufficiently to conceal our return to our tent. "Let's go inside."

"The old one?" Tananda asked, sitting at our conference table after I brought them up to date on my tete-a-tete with Percy. "Old what? A dragon? What's big enough to intimidate a Troll?"

"Well, we aint' gonna get no data out of the victims, or outta their collectors." Guido reasoned. "What's next?"

"Next," 1 said, tenting my fingers together on the table rather like logs at the corner of a rustic cabin, "we must lure our perpetrators out of hiding."

"How do we do that?" Guido asked, skeptically.

"They target small enterprises, do they not?" I asked. The other two nodded. "Then we establish our own."

"And wait to be approached," Little Sister said, approvingly. "Good idea, Big Brother. Now, all we need to do is figure out what would attract their interest."

"Somethin' that earns a lot of money," Guido said. "Alia the businesses have a much higher income than overhead."

"It's too much trouble to do market research on growing trends and get in merchandise from another dimension," Tananda said thoughtfully, "so, a service business of some kind. I think I know just what will do the job."

I didn't like the mischievious gleam in my sister's green eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

"Hairdressers?" Guido said, disbelievingly, surveying the contents of our hastily rented tent.

"Beauticians," Tananda corrected him, spreading out her hands in satisfaction. "It's perfect. We don't need any merchandise, apart from a few bottles of commercial tonic and cologne. And believe me, every being alive has a streak of vanity that could use a little buffing up. We will simply cater to that streak."

"But we know nothing about beauty culture," I protested. "We might disfigure someone, or hurt them."