“The heck with this,” said Gustav. “Let’s go.” He strolled out, between the bars, into the village square, and Frederic scurried after him. They’d taken only a few steps away from the cage when the big troll who had captured them the night before ran over.
“Where going? Round-Head Man and Ouching Man are prisoners,” the troll said. “Back in cage.”
“Why should we?” Gustav said, with a steely-eyed squint.
“What my friend is asking,” Frederic offered, “is why we can’t just talk this out.”
“You’re not going to be able to negotiate with trolls, Señor Sweet-Talk,” Gustav said to him. “They’re not very bright.”
“Back in cage now!” the troll ordered.
“No!” Gustav yelled back in its face. “Now get out of our way, troll, or you’ll meet the business end of my blade.”
“Look, Mr. Troll,” Frederic said. “Why exactly do you want to keep us here?”
“Ouching Man sat on Troll,” the monster said, crossing its arms.
“And I am terribly sorry about that,” Frederic said. “It was an accident. It was very dark, and I couldn’t see you there. Surely you can forgive an honest mistake like that. I mean, it’s not like sitting on someone is against the law.”
“Is for trolls,” the troll said bluntly.
“Sitting on a troll is actually illegal under troll law?” Gustav asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s the punishment for it?” Frederic asked.
“Troll not sure,” the creature said, scratching its chin. “Trolls very careful not to sit on other trolls. No one done it before.”
“Well, then why don’t we just say that one night in jail was enough and we’ll be on our way?” Frederic suggested.
“No. It very important for trolls to follow rules of troll law,” the creature said thoughtfully. “Now back in cage, while Troll find out punishment for sit on troll.”
“You’re stupider than you look, troll,” Gustav barked, “if you think we’re going to wait around patiently until you decide to eat us.”
The troll threw its arms up in frustration. “Why humans never remember trolls is herbivore!” it cried. The monster lowered its shaggy, one-horned head and howled angrily into the princes’ faces. “Trolls is vegetarian! Last time Troll looked, Round-Head Man made of meat! Oh, Troll is so tired of closed-minded humans!”
Gustav and Frederic were too taken aback to respond. They simply stood there as the monster’s heavily scallion-scented breath dampened their faces.
“Argh, Troll get so frustrated!” the creature continued. “Round-Head Man is just like Angry Man that think Troll eat Shovel Lady’s children! Troll just wanted some beets!”
Gustav’s eyes widened. “Criminy,” he muttered, turning to Frederic. “I think this is the same troll I fought at that beet farm the day I met you.”
“What?” Frederic and the troll both said together.
“This is really the same troll from the beet farm?” Frederic asked.
“I’m pretty sure,” Gustav replied.
“Troll fight Angry Man at beet farm,” the troll said. “Not Round-Head Man.”
“Um, Mr. Troll,” Frederic tried. “I think Round-Head Man is Angry Man.”
“But Angry Man have long hair like dead grass.”
“He did,” Frederic explained. “But his long, dead hair went bye-bye. And now he has a round head.”
The troll examined Gustav’s face carefully. “Uh-oh,” it exclaimed. “Troll think Ouching Man right. Troll not recognize Angry Man with no grassy head. Humans all look alike to Troll.”
“Oh, and now who’s being closed-minded?” Gustav shouted with smug satisfaction.
“So Troll captured Angry Man, huh?” the troll retorted. “This change things. Troll hate Angry Man. Maybe Troll turn carnivore for just one day.”
“Now, wait,” Frederic said quickly. “Just because he beat you in a battle doesn’t mean you need to take revenge. We can always—”
The troll let out one of its retching laughs. “Ha-ha! Angry Man not beat Troll. Troll beat Angry Man.”
“No, no,” Gustav said, trying to save face in front of Frederic. “I definitely beat you.”
“Angry Man not beat Troll. Shovel Lady beat Troll.”
Gustav twirled his finger next to his head. Loony, he mouthed.
“You know, it doesn’t matter who beat who,” Frederic said. “Mr. Troll, you have to understand that my friend here was only fighting with you because you were stealing crops from that family.”
“Trolls have to steal food. How else trolls supposed to eat?” The troll’s gritty voice began to quiver slightly. “Like Troll say, trolls vegetarian. But trolls live in forest. Forest dirt not good for making veggies grow. Trolls starve unless trolls take veggies from humans.”
“So all you need is some workable farmland,” Frederic said, getting the picture. “Mr. Troll, why don’t you and your people move out of the forest?”
“Every time trolls try leave forest, humans fight trolls and send trolls back. Greedy humans want land for humans only.”
“Well, that’s just wrong,” Frederic said earnestly. He understood the trolls’ dilemma. The people of Sturmhagen thought of them as monsters—which technically they were, but that’s beside the point—so any attempt by the trolls to move out of the forest and onto decent farmland was viewed as an attack. This was Frederic’s chance to broker a peace treaty.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got someone right here who can help,” he continued. “Mr. Troll, do you know who Angry Man really is?”
“Angry Man is Angry Man,” the troll replied. “Says mean things ’bout trolls and stops Troll from getting food.”
Gustav frowned. He eyed Frederic cautiously.
“No,” Frederic said. “This man is the prince of Sturmhagen. His family rules this kingdom. He can arrange to have some farmland set aside for the trolls.”
Gustav tugged at Frederic’s elbow. “I don’t have the authority to—” Frederic gave Gustav a swift kick.
“Angry Man can really do that?” the troll asked, with a tinge of hopefulness in its voice.
“Yes, he can,” Frederic said definitively. “And he will.”
The troll raised its arms in the air and called to its fellow monsters, “Trolls, come here! Angry Man is Prince Angry Man! Angry Man give trolls land to grow trolls’ own vegetables!”
About seventy trolls, nearly the entire village, came bounding over. They looked like rolling waves of collard greens, and Frederic thought momentarily that the idea of these creatures eating vegetables seemed almost cannibalistic.
The troll villagers cheered and howled. Random shouts of “Yay, Angry Man!” and “Yay, veggies!” rose from the crowd.
“Glad to hear you’re all so excited about it,” Frederic said. “His real name, by the way, is Prince Gustav of Sturmhagen. And I am Frederic.”
“Troll will call you Angry Man and Ouching Man,” the lead troll stated matter-of-factly. “It is troll way: Trolls name humans after first thing troll notices about humans.”
“Fair enough,” Frederic said. “But we’d love to know your name, Mr. Troll.”
The troll furrowed its shaggy brow. “Ouching Man and Angry Man already know Troll’s name. Call Troll by Troll’s name whole time now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” Frederic said.
“Troll’s name is Troll,” the troll said, flashing a toothy smile. “All trolls’ name is Troll.” He pointed to a number of other trolls in the crowd. “That’s Troll. And that’s Troll. And that’s Troll.... All Troll.”
“Every troll is just named Troll?” Gustav asked in disbelief. “It must be impossible to keep track of who’s who.”
“Yeah,” Troll said with a sigh. “It not easy.”
“So, Troll…,” Frederic began.
“Say ‘Mr. Troll,’” Troll interjected. “Troll like sound of it.”
“Very well… Mr. Troll,” Fr
ederic continued. “What are your plans for us now? Are you going to keep us locked in your prison? Or will you let Prince Angry Man go back to his castle and work out a sweet land deal for you and your people?”
“Angry Man can go!” Mr. Troll loudly declared, and a cheer rose up from the troll villagers. Mr. Troll then turned to Frederic with a somber look on his face. “But Ouching Man must stay. Ouching Man break troll law. Ouching Man needs be punished.”
“But look, Mr. Troll,” Frederic pleaded. “Gustav needs me to go with him. If I have to sit in this cage for ages, you won’t be able to get your land.”
“Ooh! Ooh! Troll found it!” came a cry from the back of the crowd. A squat three-horned troll moved to the front. It held a pile of large floppy leaves that were pinned together by one sharp stick. “Troll found troll law book!”
Frederic and Gustav exchanged worried glances. Frederic braced himself for the news that he would be expected to spend a hundred years in a troll prison, or worse.
The squat troll shuffled through the leaves of its “book,” sending several fluttering free, until it found the page it wanted. The creature pointed to a bunch of squiggles that we have to assume were words, and read, “Punishment for human sit on troll is … troll sit on human.”
“Great!” Gustav said. He looked at Frederic. “Well, get on the ground and get it over with.”
“Ouching Man heard Angry Man,” big Mr. Troll said. “Lie down.”
Frederic took a deep breath and lay down in the dirt. He hadn’t quite finished positioning himself when Mr. Troll plopped down on him. Frederic let out a big oof! and Mr. Troll stood back up.
“Okay,” Mr. Troll said. “Ouching Man can go now.”
“That wasn’t so bad,” Frederic said, dusting himself off. “Once you’ve been squashed by a giant, a troll doesn’t even seem nearly as heavy.”
With the entertainment over, the trolls dispersed, shuffling back off to do whatever it is that trolls do—steal vegetables, growl at humans, pile two rocks on top of each other and call it a gazebo … stuff like that.
“Wait, trolls!” Frederic hollered, waving his hands over his head. The creatures paid him no attention, so he bumped his hip against the cage. The entire structure crashed to the ground in a heap. This had the desired effect, as most of the trolls turned back to look at Frederic and Gustav standing among the scattered sticks.
“Hey, Ouching Man break cage! That going to take minutes to rebuild,” Mr. Troll complained. He considered the task for a second and then waved his big, furry hand dismissively. “Eh. Troll fix later. Don’t need cage anyway unless Ouching Man sit on troll again.”
“Never mind the cage, I have something very important to tell you,” Frederic said, addressing all the villagers. “This will affect all you trolls. Yes, even you, Troll. And you, too, Troll.”
One troll in the crowd leaned over to its neighbor and said approvingly, “Personal touch is nice.”
“Now as I said,” Frederic continued, “my friend Gustav here is a ruler of Sturmhagen, and he can help you trolls get some farmland of your own. He will do that because he likes trolls. He knows that trolls are good … people.” Many of the trolls nodded in appreciation. Frederic glanced over at Gustav to make sure he wasn’t going to interrupt, but Gustav quietly stood by with his arms crossed, curious to see what Frederic was up to.
“However, not every human is as nice as us,” Frederic said. “Some don’t like trolls. There’s a group of humans in the forest not too far from here right now who hate trolls.” Angry grumbles arose from the crowd.
“And those nasty, anti-troll humans are planning to take over the kingdom of Sturmhagen. If the Bandit King and his men do this, Angry Man won’t be able to help you trolls.”
“Trolls will not let this happen,” Mr. Troll declared unequivocally. “Trolls will stop Bandit Man!”
“He’s really more of a Bandit Boy,” Gustav said.
“Boy, man—it no matter to trolls,” Mr. Troll said. “Angry Man is trolls’ friend now. If Bandit Boy want to do bad things to Angry Man, trolls will do bad things to Bandit Boy.” A chorus of troll roars sounded from all around them.
“Where are bad humans?” Mr. Troll asked. His already unattractive face twisted itself into a frightening mask of fur, teeth, and angry glowing eyes. It sent a shiver through Frederic, and even Gustav flinched a little at the sight.
“They’ve set up camp in a big field to the west of here,” Frederic told them.
“Come, trolls!” Mr. Troll bellowed. “Trolls attack!”
With one hand, Mr. Troll hoisted Frederic up onto his shoulders. A gangly, hunchbacked troll grabbed Gustav and did the same. As they rode atop their trolls, Gustav glanced at Frederic.
“This could get very ugly, you know,” he said.
Frederic nodded.
“It’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” Gustav said gleefully.
And with that, the ground began to rumble as the entire troll village started marching westward.
24
PRINCE CHARMING HATES CHILDREN
Hey, kid,” Liam taunted.
He and Duncan were each tied to a tree trunk on the edge of the bandit camp. They’d spent the whole night there. And throughout that long, sleepless night (well, sleepless for Liam, at least—Duncan, exhausted by self-doubt, had been out for hours), Liam had come up with a plan for dealing with the Bandit King. From what he could gather, Rauber had one major weakness: He was sensitive about his age. As soon as Liam saw the Bandit King walking by that morning, he started in. “Little boy, I’m talking to you.”
Rauber and his small entourage stopped. The Bandit King poked Horace, who was right by his side (Neville, having let the other princes slip away, had been demoted to the role of spitball target, and was busy dangling upside-down from a flagpole).
“Did you hear that, Horace?” Rauber smirked. “The prince called you little.” All the bandits laughed.
“That’s really funny, kiddo,” Liam said. “But you know I’m talking to you, right, squirt?”
“You want me to punch ’im?” Horace asked Rauber.
The Bandit King shook his head. “You know, I’d taken you for the smart one,” he said to Liam. “But maybe your snoozing buddy over there is the real brains of your outfit.”
Duncan, who’d been snoring softly, stirred and opened his eyes a crack. “Hmm, what’s that?” he muttered. “Time for flute lessons?”
“Or maybe not,” Rauber snickered.
“No, Duncan, we’re in the bandit camp, remember?” Liam said.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Duncan said glumly. “I tried something dumb and ruined everything. My luck is gone. I remember now. So, Liam, you were saying…”
“I was just trying to get the attention of the runny-nosed baby over there who likes to play bad guy,” Liam sneered at Rauber.
“What’s with all the insults?” the Bandit King snapped. “What are you playing at?”
“He’s tryin’ to make you angry, sir,” Horace advised. “You sure you don’t want me to punch ’im? I got a pretty big arm span—I can probably sock both of these princes in the face at the same time.”
“Might as well go ahead,” Duncan moped. “I’m sure any swing you take at me will land good and hard, since I’ve got no luck left.”
“No, Deeb, I’m not trying to make you angry,” Liam said. “I’m calling it like I see it. The same way your big man Horace does.”
Horace raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, Prince, I’ll bite. But only because I’m curious to see where this is all going,” Rauber said. “What are you saying about Horace?”
“Oh, just that he understands you’re nothing more than a weaselly little brat,” Liam said. “You should hear the way he talks about you to the other bandits—saying how ridiculous it is that they’re working for a child…” Several of the bandits gasped.
“… laughing at all those grown men who are frightened of a little boy,” Liam went on,
“joking about how easily he could crush you if he ever wanted to…”
Horace broke into a panicky sweat. “It’s not true, sir. He’s making it all up.”
Rauber gave Horace a hard kick in the ankle. “You know, I thought I heard the puppy-dog-tails song outside my tent last night,” Rauber screeched. “I figured I must have imagined it, because no one would be idiotic enough to sing that song at my camp. You traitorous buffoon!” He kicked Horace twice more, the big man wincing with each blow. The Bandit King’s strikes didn’t hurt Horace, but the big man knew full well what it meant to be on the wrong end of one of Deeb Rauber’s tantrums.
“That wasn’t me,” Horace cried. “It was Neville!”
“Yeah, right! Neville faints if I flick a booger in his direction. He doesn’t have the guts for treason,” Rauber retorted. “You’re the one who thinks he’s better than me—meaner than me. I’ll show you who’s mean. I’ll hang you up by your back hair!”
Duncan was perking up. He was inspired watching the way Liam was manipulating Rauber. He’s a master, Duncan realized. He’s a planner, a doer, a man of action. Liam doesn’t rely on luck. Liam creates his own luck.
Fig. 40 DEEB RAUBER
“Hey, kid,” Liam shouted, eager to pile on. “I’ve got an idea. Instead of beating up on your henchman yourself, why don’t you make him fight me? I’m sure a bullying brat like you would get a kick out of seeing the two of us pummel each other.”
“Oh, hey, that’s a fantastic idea!” Rauber declared, dripping with over-the-top sarcasm. “I’ll untie you and put a weapon in your hand—nothing could go wrong with that idea! It’s not like you’ve ever escaped from me before by suggesting a duel!” He ran over to the tied-up Liam and glared up at him. “I AM NOT STUPID!”
“What was that?” Liam said casually. “You’re so short. I can’t hear you all the way down there.”
Furious, Rauber marched off to the crowd, grabbed a random bandit by the sleeve, and dragged him back to Liam’s tree. Rauber shoved the bandit down onto his hands and knees and stepped up onto the henchman’s back so he could get nose-to-nose with the prince.