The Great Troll War

Wedding bells

I pushed opened the main door to the hotel, hoping to tell the Princess and everyone else what had happened as soon as I could, but there didn’t seem to be anyone about. The ops room was locked although I could still hear people working inside, and while yesterday the reception area had been busy with clerks moving about with reports and paperwork and suchlike, there was little movement in the hotel at all. It seemed a little eerie – and worrying.

‘Where is everyone?’ I asked the man on the main desk.

‘They’re at the wedding,’ he said, grinning with an annoying level of royalty-based rapture. ‘I would have liked to go but I couldn’t move my shift. How was your day?’

‘It could have gone better. Room 266, please.’

He handed me a message from my pigeonhole. It was from William of Anorak, and he’d come to the conclusion that since he had no factoids about Trolls, someone must have stolen them from his head – and maybe that’s what Shandar had been up to: fogging any memories over how to stop them.

‘Bad news?’ asked the receptionist.

‘Not unexpected,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it a little late in the day for a wedding?’

‘The city runs a twenty-four-hour Harry and Sally marriage service,’ he replied, handing me my key, ‘because when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of that life to start with them as soon as possible. Also, I think the Princess said there was some constitutional urgency in it.’

‘Which princess?’ I asked, although only reluctantly, as royal weddings were, along with tapioca, boy bands and celebrity biographies, things in which I had zero interest. ‘The tall gawky-looking one or Jocaminca?’

‘No, no, the Princess – you know, the uncrowned Queen of all the Kingdoms – your friend – the one with the funny skin rashes.’

I suddenly had a very nasty feeling.

‘Who … is she marrying?’

The receptionist grinned fit to burst.

‘Why, Sir Matt Grifflon, of course. Such a lovely couple. I’ve managed to reserve a dozen commemorative plates; they’re going to become collector’s items one day – do you want to buy one? Actually, I think I’ve over-ordered so can let you have five at the extra-special price of anything you want to give me.’

I hurried across to Penzance’s cathedral, a neo-industrial design built entirely of red brick, oak beams and riveted iron, the material of choice of Cornish architects, who were more used to designing mine workings and engine sheds than ecclesiastical architecture.

The crowds were about twenty deep outside the cathedral, but I pushed my way to the main doors with some difficulty, as it seemed that almost everyone had over-bought commemorative plates and now wanted to sell them on. I confronted a guard who tried to stop me getting in by saying something threatening, and I, in return, said something so frightening back that he shrank in horror and let me past.

The interior of the packed cathedral was filled with the sound of muted snivelling, but I trotted nosily up the nave as fast as I could, the Quarkbeast at my heels. Six more guards tried to confront me but I simply glared at them dangerously and clasped the hilt of Exhorbitus, and they instantly retreated. I may even have gone a little red in the face as my temper, once up, can be frightening to behold. When you’ve been in a berserker frenzy, it pays to put it about: you’d be surprised how many people treat you with caution.

The couple were at the altar. Matt Grifflon in his best armour, buffed to a high sheen, his long hair coiffured to look like a blond wave about to break on the seashore. The Princess, greatly smaller than he, was by his side, dressed in a wedding gown and veil, with the best tiara anyone could find atop her head as a makeshift crown. Worse, she had her hand in his.

‘I have an objection!’ I yelled, as the nuptials, it seemed, had not yet been completed. Both Sir Matt and the Princess turned.

‘What utter nonsense is this?’ I asked, striding up. ‘A coerced marriage is unrecognisable in law.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Sir Matt, rolling his eyes, ‘it’s little grumpy-chops again. Are you jealous it’s not you I’m marrying?’

‘Me? What? No.’

‘Jenny,’ said the Princess, ‘I know this is a shock to you, but Sir Matt explained everything and we are now very much in love. You and I are very competent, but we do not have the ruggedly male leadership qualities necessary to see this through. We need a strong man like Sir Matt to guide us in these difficult and subversive times.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

She stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

‘My mind is made up. Sir Matt is the person best suited to lead the nation to a negotiated settlement with the Troll and Mighty Shandar. I also ask that you respect our views in this matter and not stand in the way of our happiness.’

And she smiled at me and biffed Sir Matt affectionately on the nose – which I have to say was so nauseating I actually felt the bile rising in my throat.

‘But, but wait,’ I managed to stammer, ‘what about Subsection 12, Paragraph 9, Rule 9G of the Rulebook of Rules about Ruling for Rulers: “Males to become king if they marry heirs to the throne”?’

‘What of it?’ said the Princess. ‘I think this is definitely man’s work, and I will be a good, submissive wife and leave all decisions up to hubby – except choice of schools for the royal children, and those perilously difficult decisions over soft furnishings, curtains and banquet guest lists.’

I looked at Sir Matt, who was smiling at me.

‘It’s one of my faults,’ he said. ‘I just have far too many star qualities. Now, if you will excuse us?’

I didn’t know quite what to do and suddenly felt very stupid. The curate in the oversized bishop’s hat said: ‘May I proceed?’ to the couple, and they turned their backs on me. There was the sound of tutting from the twenty-six princesses who were all maids of honour in the front row, their faces an odd mix of jealousy and happiness, but mostly jealousy.

‘Pssst!’ came a voice from behind a column in the north aisle. It was Tiger, and I hurried across. He was standing with Once Magnificent Boo, and neither of them looked very happy.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ I whispered when I reached them. ‘Has the Princess gone completely insane? I mean – marrying Grifflon? The man’s a dangerous idiot.’

‘Totally lost her mind, if you ask me,’ said Tiger. ‘None of us can understand it – and the Princess won’t even see us to discuss it. More importantly, we got your snail. Is that true about Feldspar?’

‘I’m afraid so, and Shandar is a Quarkbeast away from almost unlimited power. Can we talk somewhere else? If I have to listen to any more of this garbage I think I might actually throw up.’

Sir Matt Grifflon and the Princess were exchanging vows, and when I say ‘exchanging’ it sounded like it was all going Grifflon’s way – lots of ‘obeying husband’ stuff and little or nothing in the other direction.

We made our exit from the cathedral, past the increasingly desperate commemorative plate salespeople, then went and sat in a small café opposite the John Nettles statue. We ordered three hot chocolates and a cinnamon bun each, and any ‘bent or unwanted’ cutlery for the Quarkbeast to chew on. I told them about Feldspar and the crew of the Bellerophon, and we held hands around the table and lowered our heads in respect of the loss. I then outlined briefly what had happened, about my meeting with Shandar, the Subterrain and the magma chamber.

‘But aside from two full Dibble Jars,’ I said, ‘there’s not much else I gained – except that we got the Quorum power wrong: it’s closer to 263 TeraShandars – so long as all the Quarkbeasts are conjoined simultaneously.’

Boo gave a low whistle and raised her eyebrows.

‘That’s a seriously large amount of juice.’

There was a pause as our drinks arrived.

‘Did Grifflon even do the task she set him?’ I asked.

‘Not at all,’ said Tiger. ‘Soon after you left Sir Matt requested an audience with her. Next thing we know, he’s completely won her over.’

‘A beguiling?’ I asked, but Boo shook her head.

‘There’s not enough power around to change a mouse’s mind from Cheddar to Brie, let alone the mind of someone as headstrong as the Princess. It all strikes me as completely out of character.’

I told them both I would speak to the Princess alone just in case there was a bigger plan to all this, and they told me that Sir Matt had taken over the running of the Human Resistance Movement, and would be acceding to all Shandar’s demands – including the surrender of the Quarkbeast, which was to be deemed ‘Royal Property’ as soon as the nuptials were complete and he was King.

As if to confirm this, all the church bells in the city rang out to celebrate the marriage of Sir Matt and the Princess – or, as we should now style them: His Supreme Royal Majesty King Mathew of all the Kingdoms, and his wife, Her Royal Highness Queen Shazine.

The bell on the door tinkled as Monty Vanguard walked in. He looked relieved to see us – but concerned, too.

‘Another hot chocolate, please, Bessie,’ said Tiger, ‘and better make that another round of buns.’

‘I’ve just heard from the newly established Royal Attorney General’s44 office,’ said Monty as he sat down. ‘Anyone considered disloyal to the King will be subject to arrest and imprisonment.’

‘How do they define “disloyal”?’ I asked.

‘However they want,’ said Monty. ‘Full Price and Lady Mawgon told the Attorney General that their loyalty was to Court Mystician Jennifer Strange.’

‘I’m guessing that was the wrong answer,’ said Tiger.

‘Correct,’ replied Monty. ‘They’re both now in jail.’

There had been other changes, too. All the clerks and analysts working to find a solution to the Troll menace had been assigned to other duties and Colin’s job as ‘Minister for Good Ideas & Kingdom Unification’ had been given to someone ‘less scaly’. The fencers, marksmen and worriers had all been stripped of any power and relevance, and the only people united against the New Order and currently at liberty were Boo, Tiger, Monty, myself and Colin – and the ‘at liberty’ part might change any second, as Sir Matt – I couldn’t bring myself to refer to him as ‘King’ – had commanded we attend a meeting in an hour.

‘Where is Colin, by the way?’ I asked.

‘In mourning. He said he needed to fly out of sight of land and tread air for an hour or two to gather his thoughts and contemplate life as the only remaining Dragon.’

We fell silent for a moment.

‘Monty,’ said Boo, ‘we made a mistake. The Quarkbeast mass conjoinment will liberate far more juice than we thought.’

‘How … much more?’

‘263 TeraShandars.’

Boo had to repeat it.

‘That’s … that’s more wizidrical energy than the world has seen since magic even began,’ said Monty in a low voice.

‘By a large margin,’ said Boo.

‘He wanted to achieve immortality when we spoke,’ I said. ‘D’you actually think he could?’

Monty thought about it carefully.

‘He’d have to dump ARAMAIC and RUNIX spell languages and restart work on SIMSALLABIM.’

‘I’ve never heard of that,’ said Tiger.

‘It’s a radically different spell-code,’ said Monty, ‘that’s been worked on sporadically down the centuries. It’s essentially a self-learning artificially intelligent spell language where you tell it what you want to achieve, and it runs itself backwards to a workable spell.’

‘That makes anything possible,’ said Tiger.

‘That’s exactly what it means,’ said Boo. ‘With SIMSALLABIM up and running, all Shandar has to do is want something – and it shall become so.’

We talked on and I mentioned D’Argento’s revelation that Shandar had undertaken a ‘self-soulectomy’. This interested Boo and Monty, as a soul can’t be destroyed outside of a host, and the freshly removed Better Angels of his Nature had to have been sealed in a porcelain jar and then hidden.

‘How would we find them?’ asked Tiger.

‘Zambini was the finest proponent of finding lost things,’ said Monty. ‘In laboratory conditions he once located a lost sock seventy-six miles away buried under six inches of concrete. Mind you,’ he said, ‘that was twenty years ago when there was more crackle about.’

‘Even if we found his Better Angels,’ I said, ‘what could we do with them?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Boo. ‘As you might imagine, soulectomies are quite rare – I’ll have to look into it.’

We lapsed into silence after that, still unsure of Shandar’s ultimate plan. They, like me, didn’t really go for Shandar’s ‘Everything Project’. It was too noble. There must be something else. While we munched unhappily on the buns, half-expecting Sir Matt’s guards to arrest us, my mind turned to other matters. Namely: how wrong I had been about the Princess. I felt not only annoyed, confused that she hadn’t consulted me – but also hurt. We’d shared stuff, dangerous stuff, stuff that bonds warriors in battle – and you don’t bin all that for a massive twit with a lantern jaw and a deep voice – with or without the impressive singing career.

I gave Monty and Boo the Dibble Jars full of crackle, and while I took another sip from my hot chocolate they said they’d see what could be done with them. Things had looked really bad this morning when I left, but right now, with an idiot in charge, a tyrant about to become all-powerful, and Feldspar gone, things looked a great deal worse.