The Great Troll War

‘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?’