The Great Troll War

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll find her in the rose garden. Tiger, you’re with me – see if we can bowl a googly and knock the Troll for six.’

Tiger, who feared Mother Zenobia more than potential death at the hands of a Troll, needed no second bidding and went off with Sister Asumpta while I headed into the rose garden, a small nuns-only sanctuary on the sunny side of the house. As I walked through the orphanage the smell of gruel, cheap sausages, bleach and freshly clipped ear came back in a rush. I’d spent twelve years of my life here, and although never luxurious, the time had been on the whole happy and not without comedy, as the nuns generally had a good sense of humour. I passed through the main hall where during lessons we had learned skills relevant to our expected station in life as part of the UnUnited Kingdoms Orphan-Based Economy. We learned about retail, hospitality, mining, heavy manufacturing and fast-food operations. I’d been a diligent student. Even today I’d easily be able to flip burgers, drive a heavy goods vehicle or even sand-cast an eighteen-ton ship’s anchor. I thought it was luck that had sent me off to Kazam, but now it looked more like a plan.

‘Ah!’ said Mother Zenobia as I walked into the rose garden. ‘Jennifer Strange. How are you, my girl?’

‘I am well, Mother.’

She invited me to sit.

‘I thought it was you. You are wearing two socks on your left foot, the change in your pocket is three shillings and ninepence plus a brass button, three washers and a glass bead – either green or blue.’

‘Blue,’ I said. ‘That was quite remarkable.’

‘Pah!’ said Zenobia, but it was remarkable. Zenobia was over one hundred and twenty-six years old, and had been blind for so long that the skin had grown across her empty eye sockets. Her powers of hearing had developed into something indistinguishable from a super-power.

‘The Trolls have come,’ she said.

‘Shandar helped them,’ I told her, ‘to divert the Kingdoms from upsetting his own plans.’

‘Sneaky of him. You are part of the resistance down in Penzance, I hear?’

I told her that we had achieved very little, but suspected that Shandar had spelled a memory fog to occlude the knowledge of how to beat the Troll.

‘I know little of Trolls,’ said Zenobia. ‘Tell me everything.’

So I explained about Shandar, how he wanted me to accompany him on his journey to the stars, his plan for galactic domination, the harvesting of the Quarkbeasts and even the power of the sun to further his ambitions – and how he was telling me it was all about the pursuit of knowledge, nothing more. As I spoke she nodded her head wisely, and when I had finished she went quiet for almost a minute. But when she spoke, it wasn’t about Shandar.

‘You did not come all this way to tell me that. You found the photograph in the VW’s glovebox, didn’t you?’

Mother Zenobia was always astute.

‘I did.’

‘It was only a matter of time. You were not abandoned, you were not orphaned. We could have told you more, but we did not. We lied to you. But it was necessary. Are you angry?’

I thought for a moment.

‘Yes,’ I replied, truthfully enough.

Mother Zenobia took a deep breath.

‘Twenty years ago Zambini came to me with evidence that Shandar was planning something of unprecedented evil. I agreed with his findings and we discussed countermeasures. Zambini and I could be the only ones who knew of our plan – even a whiff of our scheme against Shandar would have seen us both killed – and you, too.’

‘Zambini was vanished,’ I said. ‘You think Shandar suspected something?’

She gave me a small and almost imperceptible smile.

‘It’s equally likely Zambini self-vanished so he couldn’t reveal anything. He had … weaknesses that could be exploited. Me, I’m of sterner stuff. Luckily, your trajectory was already determined – when you saved the Dragons it would have been obvious to Shandar what you were, and just how difficult it would be for him to destroy you.’

‘So who am I?’ I asked.

Mother Zenobia took my hand in hers.

‘To defeat the Mighty Shandar we needed to use something that he could never destroy, something that all tyrants come to fear and which eventually defeats them.’

‘You know that superheroes aren’t real, right?’

‘I’m talking about their weaknesses. Whether it is incompetence, greed, stupidity, arrogance or, in Shandar’s case, common decency.’

She let these words soak in for a moment.

‘Shandar can’t kill you, Jennifer, because, in part, you are him.’

I rubbed my temples, and stared at the ground, where I could see a small grasshopper rubbing its hind legs together. I closed my eyes and said in a quiet voice:

‘I’m the Better Angels of his Nature, aren’t I?’

‘They are only a part of you,’ said Zenobia. ‘Zambini knew that Shandar dare not destroy a part of himself, so after four years of searching he found the Jar – and placed them in you.’