The Great Troll War

I could feel my heart beat faster. The Great Zambini popped out of non-existence every now and again, and never more than for a few minutes. I had to assume that he had met with this Troll, found a friend, had a few words, and then sent her off to find me.

I had to know more.

Still keeping a wary hand on Exhorbitus I slid the window open, and poked the Troll to wake it up. She groaned, farted and rolled over, and I poked her again.

‘Jenny?’ came Tiger’s voice from just behind me. ‘What are you doing?’

‘There’s a Troll in this Mini.’

‘Crumbs,’ said Tiger when he saw what I’d found. ‘How did she get across the Button Trench? No, wait, scrub that – how did she even get herself inside that Mini?’

I told him I had no idea, showed him what was written on the back of her hand, then asked Tiger why he had come to find me.

‘Just that lunch is ready,’ he said, ‘and it’s macaroni cheese.’

‘My favourite,’ muttered the Troll, lifting its eyelids a fraction to stare at us both with a sleepy expression.

‘Fetch an armed guard,’ I said. ‘Actually, make that several. Tell them to blindfold her, lead her to one of the hotel basements, then say that I, Jennifer Strange, will be along to see her just as soon as I can.’

‘I need to stay in the car,’ said the Troll in a sleepy voice.

‘Why?’

‘Wide open spaces don’t agree with me. Or with you, come to think of it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

She opened an eye fully and regarded me minutely.

‘It’s a Troll thing.’

I took a deep breath.

‘Okay,’ I said to Tiger, ‘have a guard drive our guest to the hotel garage and tell them to watch her like a hawk until I come and see her.’

‘Shall I tell them to use lethal force if she doesn’t comply?’

‘You know what?’ I said, staring thoughtfully at the massive creature. ‘If her favourite meal is macaroni cheese and she likes Mini Travellers, I have a feeling she’ll be no trouble at all.’

Dinner

The restaurant in the Queens Hotel was offering a reduced-service buffet owing to circumstances, but had to keep their waiting staff on hand to assist the princesses, who didn’t know what a buffet was and, even when it was explained to them very, very slowly and in great detail, could not really get their royal heads around the concept of ‘waiting in a line and serving yourself’. After half an hour of fruitless explanations, the staff went and got their food for them, and everyone was happy.

The weather had worsened while I had been walking in town, and a small water spout had descended from the storm clouds a few hundred yards offshore. It moved in rapidly, picked up some salty old sea dogs who had been mending nets on the beach, and then blew them in tight orbits around the promenade outside the hotel. The gnarled men of the sea seemed entirely unfazed and presented us with a medley of sea shanties as they were blown past the dining-room windows. After five minutes of this, the clouds lifted, the water spout collapsed, the fishermen went back to their nets and it was a bright summer’s day again.

I selected some food and sat down at the table that had been reserved for the UnUnited Kingdoms government-in-exile. One of the other princesses tried to join us but was beaten to the last place by Once Magnificent Boo, who could move quite fast when she wanted to.

‘I found a female Troll hiding in a Mini,’ I said, and when I’d answered ‘no’ to the ‘did you put her to death without hesitation?’ question and ‘I don’t know’ to the ‘why was she in a Mini?’ question, I explained about the message from the Great Zambini on the back of her hand and added that I thought it needed further investigation.

‘If Trolls have a Hive Memory,’ cautioned the Princess, ‘anything she witnesses here could be useful intelligence to every other Troll.’

I told them I would take precautions.

‘It might be a trick,’ said Lady Mawgon.

‘I’m not sure Trolls do tricks,’ said Monty. ‘They’re more of a “go on a rampage and kill everything in sight” sort of creature.’

Everyone nodded in agreement. The Troll had little need or use for sneaky subterfuge; in fact, they positively hated it. When you met a Troll, there were few, if any, surprises. A meeting invariably went like this: capture, death, snack. The only real variation was the time interval between the three.

‘This Troll seems different,’ I said, ‘but I’ll be careful.’

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Colin, padding up to the table on his hind legs and laying some photographs on the table. ‘Feldspar got a fix on where the Mighty Shandar was holed up, so I went on a photographic reconnaissance trip to have a look.’

He placed the pictures on the table and we pored over them.

‘Isn’t that … the Chrysler Building?’ I asked, staring at where the Art Deco New York skyscraper was now sprouting out of a cow field in Devon.

‘A full-size replica,’ he said. ‘I called the New York Tourist Information bureau and they said they weren’t missing one, although I did get them to go and check, just to be sure.’