The Great Troll War

‘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.’