The Great Troll War
- Автор: Ффорде Джаспер
- Серия: The Last Dragonslayer #4
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Hodder & Stoughton
- ISBN: 9781444799958
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «The Great Troll War». Краткое содержание книги:
The sun’s face was only just clear of the distant horizon when the root-bridges touched the opposite side of the Button Trench, and the Trolls, savouring their moment of triumph, tied bibs around their necks and gave out silly grumpy chortles. They were taking their time, and they wanted us to know it.
‘It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?’ said the Princess.
And it was. A perfect late summer’s day, the distant clouds tinged with orange. It would be warm today, with a light breeze, and puffy white clouds would play across the sky. It was a shame I wouldn’t get to see it. I would take out a few, even many, but their numbers would eventually be too much for me, and I would be overcome. There was no running, no hiding – this was where it ended. The Mighty Shandar could just walk in and take the Quarkbeast – there would be no one left to defend it.
‘This is all my fault,’ said General Worrier, sobbing quietly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No,’ said the Princess, ‘the plan and execution were sound, we just didn’t have enough time. I promote you to field marshal.’
‘I really think you should retreat, ma’am,’ said Tiger.
‘No,’ said the Princess, looking up at me, ‘shoulder to shoulder, side by side. See you on the other …’
She had stopped talking as the Trolls had changed behaviour. Instead of waiting to invade, they were instinctively seeking out an identical partner and reabsorbing into one another, like spilled mercury. They did it without noise or complaint, just stoically accepting their new density ratio as their biology dictated. In less than half a minute their numbers had decreased by about a half.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Field Marshal Worrier.
It was indeed. We didn’t know it at the time, but the planned final gap of the Thin Blue Line that cut off Devon had not been the last one: farther down the line and unknown to the rest of the team was another group of painters, and it was this group that completed the line and precipitated the Trolls’ sudden reduction in numbers. Many of the surviving Trolls turned to go in order to seek partners to conjoin, while others stood there, looking foolish and unsure what to do next.
But their defeat was not yet complete. We knew we couldn’t get rid of them entirely since even the area the size of a sports hall could accommodate at least two – hence the second phase of our plan, when Field Marshal Worrier gave the order that the Troll Gates were to be closed. We knew the gates had been heavily guarded, but with the Troll numbers depleted by their enforced geographic bounding, their numbers might be small enough to be defeated by twelve hundred ‘gate pushers’ picked for their strength, bravery and willingness to be painted head to toe in cerulean blue. The field marshal gave the order, and we waited.
‘I don’t know about you,’ said the Troll Wife, who was one of only perhaps thirty left at the Button Trench bridges, ‘but I fancy a working breakfast.’
And they started once more to walk across the bridge. I drew out Exhorbitus and readied to do battle. But I didn’t need to, for every single Troll stopped, merged with a partner if it had one and, if not, wandered off to find one. It would take another six days for them to merge back into a minimum of fourteen,53 and two weeks for that small group to reach the Troll Wall, their progress assisted by the button barriers being raised and lowered as they walked.
The invasion was over. We had won.
But we didn’t celebrate or jump up and down, we just felt … relieved. Generally speaking, those who celebrate at the end of a conflict are the ones who were not directly involved. For those of us in the front line, for all those who built fences, dug trenches and painted blue lines while at risk of being eaten, all we wanted was to get home and back to normality – and to try and forget that our mother, brother, sister or children ended up in a large cauldron to be eaten with badger sauce, or boiled down into a sticky mass, frozen and then sold on a stick at a Troll carnival.
‘Bravo,’ came a voice accompanied by a slow handclap, ‘that was really very impressive.’
It was the Mighty Shandar, who had been watching while seated on a deckchair. I hadn’t noticed him until now. With five thousand Trolls about to treat you as little more than a live buffet, I think I could be excused that.
I didn’t say anything; I knew what he’d come for.
‘Are you ready to go?’ he asked, looking at me. ‘I have a date with destiny and she doesn’t like being kept waiting.’
‘While I still have air in my lungs, Shandar,’ I said, ‘you will never have the Quarkbeast and I shall never be party to your heinous plans.’
‘Never say never, Jennifer. See there: the little fellow understands what he is, and what he was always meant to do.’
‘Quark,’ said the Quarkbeast as he trotted up. He looked up at me with his large mauve eyes. I felt him very clearly speaking in my head. Through the Mysterious X, I imagine.
‘It’s okay, Jennifer,’ he seemed to say, ‘sometimes death brings about opportunity. Don’t be afraid.’
I turned to Shandar.
‘You like deals. Here’s mine: if I come with you to be your strategic moral compass, will you spare the planet?’
He stared at me for a moment. Shandar was not called ‘The Mighty’ for nothing, and his power, against mine, was vast. There are occasions when you have to be realistic, and get the best deal you can in a bad situation. It was the first time I had put something on the table, the first time I had even conceded that he might have a winning hand. But then I think he knew I would – that the Better Angels that were once his were powerful indeed, the sort that would trade themselves for others. If he’d kept them, he might have been a good man.
‘Are those your terms?’ he asked.
‘They are,’ I said.
‘It’s a big ask,’ he said. ‘I need the power of an entire sun before I can warp spacetime significantly enough to travel the distances I need – but no matter. We’ll drop off at Proxima Centauri54 and harness the power of that star instead. It’ll take us thirty-seven years to get there, but with time eternal, I’m not troubled. We’ve got a lot of books and all the music we could want. I think I packed some jigsaws, too. With the Hollow Men and Women to wait on us, it’ll be fun. So yes, I agree to your terms – with one proviso.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘When you turn eighteen, you marry me. Not a big party. Just you and me and D’Argento and the empty suits. We’ll be a husband-and-wife galactic domination team. I’ll order the killings and the torture, and you can handle the mercy, diplomacy and soft furnishings. You’ll save billions of lives, Jennifer. What do you say?’
‘Is that a deal-breaker?’
‘It is. Marriage to me – or Planet Earth dies. What’s it to be?’
I tensed inwardly, but showed no outward emotion.
‘Deal.’
‘Then that’s all agreed,’ he said with a grin. ‘It’s going to be quite a journey, and one that I don’t think you’ll regret.’
‘I’ll need to say my goodbyes,’ I said, ‘and I’d like to bring my Volkswagen. Where I go, it goes.’