The Great Troll War

Monty explained that there were roughly ten thousand or so Trolls living in between the Troll Walls, but as soon as the gates opened they could expand to over three million as they spread out to meet their preset density ratio, which was based on food supply, terrain and area. It sort of made evolutionary sense, too, for in this way a creature could never exceed the limits imposed upon them by their environment.

‘That’s why they hate us so much,’ said the Princess, ‘for humans can do what they cannot: expand unchecked beyond the levels at which their environment can support them.’

‘There’s a moral in there somewhere,’ said Tiger.

‘So hang on,’ I said. ‘Molly told us that 6.66 per cent of Trolls were vegetarians. That’s ridiculously precise unless … she is the only one. In which case—’

‘There are only fifteen individual Trolls,’ said the Princess, who was a little quicker at maths than the rest of us. ‘But we can check. Molly, can you name all your fellow Trolls?’

‘Sure. There’s Keith, Uuuurg, Estelle, Dave, Ugrax, Gluuurg and Charlotte, who is my mum. There’s also Gretal, Grnxtly, Polly, Ug, Dexter, Simon and Daphne.’

‘Yup,’ said the Princess, ‘fifteen. Molly, as a percentage of all the Trolls named Molly that are anywhere, how many are in this room now?’

‘One hundred per cent,’ said the first Molly, while the second stared at the diagrams on the wall and then turned to us and added: ‘I bounded myself in the Mini so that I should not suffer any indignities from any Troll anywhere in the Kingdoms.’

And she sighed deeply. Monty ordered the room divided in half again, but this time not by a curtain, but by a long string embroidered with buttons. Since it was an imposed boundary, it had the same effect as the curtain, and within a couple of seconds Molly had recombined herself back into a single Troll. It wasn’t so painful, and she looked much relieved.

‘I feel better as unit one’ she said. ‘If you want me I’ll be in the Mini.’

We all thanked her and within a few moments she was happily back inside the small car. The Princess, Monty and I all exchanged looks. We knew then the method by which we could defeat them.

‘I know,’ said Monty, ‘but with only a single night to prepare, there’s only a slim chance of victory.’

‘I’ll alert the necessary parties,’ said Tiger, going to find a phone, ‘and warn Lady Mawgon to stand by to receive orders – and also to alert Mabel that everyone will be pulling an all-nighter, and to get the sandwich and coffee-makers on stand by.’

‘I’m still not sure I fully understand what’s going on,’ said Molly, munching on a cucumber sandwich.

Humans v. Trolls

The Princess and I were ready and waiting as the sky lightened into a rich pre-dawn the following morning. Mist had formed in small pockets around the Button Trench, and the Trolls, up at first light, had shaken the sleepiness from their heads and were now waiting, motionless, and hungry.

General Worrier was with us, worrying as usual. His fret-based command system, whereby all possibilities of failure had been erased by the very real and unacceptable spectre of failure itself, was probably the most efficient command and control system that I had ever seen. He and his team had done all that was humanly possible. A failure now would not be theirs, but the result of an unsound overall plan or poor communication of orders.

Aside from the general, the Princess and myself, there was also Tiger, who wouldn’t leave my side, a small contingent of royal guards to protect the monarch if things turned sticky, and a semaphore communications officer. It was their job to signal to another communications officer waiting at a phone box a hundred yards down the street, who would relay commands to the control centre back at the hotel, and from there to the resistance cells up and down the country.

In truth, the Princess shouldn’t have been there, but had refused all entreaties to be taken to a safe place because ‘she would never command others to face dangers that she was not willing to face herself’.

In due course it would cement not only her popularity, but the moral leadership required to rule a newly United Kingdom. She leaned closer to me and touched my hand.

‘Is this going to work?’ she asked.

‘We’ll know in half an hour,’ I said, ‘or at least you will – I’m on the First Eat List.’

We stared at the massed army of the Trolls facing us. If things went well, we at least had a sporting chance – and with a bit of luck, without a sword needing to be drawn, or a shot fired.

Actually, not a bit of luck – a lot of luck.