Ben raced outside to find Wesley dangling upside down from the roof of his hut, the rope tangled around his foot. His robe had fallen over his head, revealing a pair of bright red underpants with silver moons and stars sewn on.
A dark figure around Ben’s height, but much broader across the shoulders, stood by the hut, peering up at the boy wizard. Wesley flailed around helplessly, flapping and squirming at the end of the rope.
“Help!” he cried, his voice muffled by the robe. “Don’t let it eat me!”
Paradise dusted herself down and joined Ben outside his house. “First a goat and then a troll,” she said. “What’s next? A Shark-Headed Bear-Thing?”
“Nah, already taken care of them,” Ben said. He turned to her and grinned. “Oh, and by the way … saved your life,” he said, then he drew his wooden sword and hurried in the direction of the troll.
As they approached, the troll spun to face them. Its whole body was covered in bristly black hair, and its yellow eyes narrowed as it spotted them. “Here,” it said. “I know you. You were the ones what ruined my bridge, weren’t you?”
Ben glanced at Paradise. He was no expert on trolls, but this one did look awfully familiar. “Um … might have been,” he admitted.
“It was,” growled the troll, lumbering closer. He jabbed a clawed thumb in Wesley’s direction. “It was you two an’ him what done it. That was my bridge an’ you snapped it clean in half!”
“Well, yes, but—”
The troll cracked its knuckles. “Then you legged it without playing Fart or Death.”
“Because it’s a ridiculous game,” Paradise pointed out.
“It is not, it’s brilliant!” the troll argued.
“You see,” explained Ben, “these monsters had kidnapped the mayor and—”
The troll held up a finger to silence him, then opened its arms wide. Ben’s hand tightened on his sword, but then he realised the creature was not moving to attack.
“Give us a hug,” it said.
Ben blinked in surprise. “Um … what?”
“Put it here. Don’t be shy,” urged the troll, beckoning Ben closer. “Get in for the real thing.”
“I’m not sure…” began Ben, shifting uneasily. “I mean…”
“Oh just hug him!” wailed Wesley. “Before he gobbles us up.”
The troll stepped closer and pulled Ben in before he could resist. He squeezed, and Ben’s nostrils were filled with a smell like rotten eggs.
“There you go,” said the troll. “That’s the way.”
With a final squeeze he released Ben and stepped back. Paradise looked from one to the other and back again.
“So what was that about?” she asked.
“You three,” the troll said, “saved my life.”
“We did?” asked Paradise. “How?”
The troll glanced nervously into the darkness on either side. “Can we go inside first?” he asked. “It’s not safe for me out here.”
“Well you’re not coming to my house. You’ll stink the place up and leave hair everywhere,” said Paradise.
“And it was destroyed by a goat,” Ben reminded her.
Paradise groaned. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“We’ll go to mine,” said Ben. “But if my uncle asks questions, leave the talking to me.”
He looked over to Wesley, who was still hanging upside down from the hut roof, his inside-out robe still draped over his head. “You coming, Wes?”
“What, with the troll?” he spluttered. “N-no, I think I’ll just stay here.”
“You sure? It looks a bit … uncomfortable.”
“What, this? No, it’s great! I’m loving it,” Wesley insisted. “I might start dangling upside down by one leg more often. It’s surprisingly comfortable. You go, don’t mind me!”
“I’ll come back and cut you down in a minute,” Ben promised.
“No rush!” said Wesley. “In your own time. Just you go.”
Silence followed.
“Don’t you worry about me at all!”
“Oh,” said Wesley. “You’ve already gone, haven’t you?”
And they had.
The troll gave a low whistle. “Nice goat,” he said, as Ben led him and Paradise into the house. “Had it long?”
“Just a few minutes,” said Ben. “Bit worried what might happen when it wakes up.”
“Won’t wake up for hours yet,” said the troll.
“How do you know?” asked Paradise.
“Trust me. One thing what I know about is goats. I’m an expert on ’em. After all, I am a tro—”
“Uncle Tavish!” said Ben, cutting the troll short just as the blacksmith’s head popped up from behind the Automated Plate and Cup Washing Device. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is… Um…”
“Scumbo,” said the troll.
“Scumbo?” said Ben. “Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with ‘Scumbo’?” asked the troll, sounding slightly offended. “Issa good old-fashioned tro—”
“Trophy!” cried Ben. He forced a laugh. “A good old-fashioned trophy name, is what he was about to say. The, er, the kind of name that would look great on trophies.”
“That’s terrible,” whispered Paradise.
“Shut up,” muttered Ben. “I’m doing my best.”
Tavish looked long and hard at Scumbo, then he looked at Ben. “Benjamin,” he said. “Is that a troll?”
“Yes,” said Scumbo.
“No!” said Ben. “Haha. Oh Scumbo … you kidder. No, of course it’s not a troll. I know you’d never let me bring a troll into the house.” He shot Scumbo a meaningful look.
“He just has … an unfortunate medical condition,” said Paradise.
“That makes him all hairy,” said Ben.
“And troll-like,” added Paradise.
“It’s a tragedy, really,” Ben added. He lowered his voice. “Probably best not to talk about it.”
Uncle Tavish nodded slowly.
“Right,” he said. “It’s just that I heard someone shouting ‘troll’ a minute ago, and now you’re here with someone who looks quite a lot like a troll. No offence, Scumbo.”
“None taken.”
“Have you ever actually seen a troll, Uncle Tavish?” Ben asked.
“Well … no. At least, not in a long time,” the blacksmith admitted.
“Brilliant! I mean… Oh, right. Well, they look nothing like him,” Ben said. “They’re really big and scary.”
“Not all stunted and smelling like feet,” Paradise added.
“Here, who you calling stunted?” Scumbo demanded. He raised an arm and took a big sniff of his own armpit. “And I don’t smell like… Actually no, you’re right, I smell like feet.”
“And look at the state of his teeth!” added Paradise. She prised open Scumbo’s lips and showed off a copper-coloured graveyard of tooth stumps. “Trolls have much better dental hygiene than that.”
“Exactly! You know what they say about trolls’ teeth,” said Ben. He started to back away up the staircase, and gestured for the other two to follow suit.
“No,” frowned Tavish. “I don’t.”
“Don’t you? Well there’s something for you to find out, then,” said Ben, flashing his most innocent smile. “Wesley will know. Go ask him.”
“But if he says anything about trolls,” added Paradise, “he’s a filthy liar.”
With that, she followed Ben up the spiral staircase, dragging Scumbo along behind her. The troll gave Tavish a friendly wave. “Kids, eh?” he said, then he vanished through the hole leading to Ben’s bedroom and the hatch closed over with a slam.
