Wesley hit the ground with a thud. He bounced to his feet, the robe still tangled above his head. For a moment he just ran in circles screaming at the top of his voice, then he turned too sharply and smacked straight into the side of his hut.
“Oof!” he yelped. He wrestled his clothing back into place, saw a troll smiling at him, then tried to run away again. Paradise caught him by the back of the robe and spun him around to face her.
“Wesley,” she snapped. “Calm down.”
“Troll!” Wesley cried, pointing frantically in case Paradise had somehow missed the hairy monster standing beside her. “The t-troll’s here.”
“I know,” Paradise said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to help him.”
“Help him? Are you mad?”
Paradise shrugged. “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”
Wesley’s mouth dropped open. His eyes went wide as he gawped at the troll, then back to Paradise. “Ben?”
“Ben,” she confirmed.
“What about me?” asked Ben, trotting up to join them.
“They said you’re a maniac,” Scumbo explained.
“No we didn’t,” spluttered Wesley.
“Well, not in so many words, maybe,” admitted Scumbo. “But that was the general idea. They don’t reckon you should be helping me. They’s a couple of troll haters.”
“I don’t hate trolls,” Wesley said. “I’m terrified of them.”
Scumbo smiled knowingly. “Aha! You’s only scared because you don’t understand us.”
“And because you might eat me!”
“Mostly eat you,” Scumbo corrected. “Not all the way. An’ I’m not going to eat no one.” He winked in Wesley’s direction. “Not right now, anyway.”
“Someone’s kidnapping trolls,” Ben explained. “We’re going to help find them.”
“I’m not coming!” Wesley said, a little more high-pitched than he’d intended. He cleared his throat. “I mean, you know … fun as it sounds. I’ll just stay here and, um, keep an eye on things. Just you go on without me.”
Ben nodded. “Good idea.”
This took Wesley by surprise. “Is it?”
“Yeah,” said Ben. “You can help defend the village. Without the trolls to guard the bridges there’s no saying what might be on its way here even now. More goats, maybe.”
“Or goblins,” said Scumbo. “Nasty little bleeders, goblins.”
“G-goblins?”
“Don’t forget the ogres. You do know how to fight an ogre, don’t you?” Paradise said. “Don’t let it rip your legs off. That’s step one.”
Wesley’s face had turned a grim shade of grey. He peered into the gloom surrounding the village and his whole body spasmed with fear.
“On s-second thoughts,” he said, “you might need my assistance. With magic and information and whatnot.”
Ben stroked his chin. “I dunno…”
“Please let me come!” Wesley squeaked. “Don’t leave me here with the ogres.”
“And goblins,” Scumbo reminded him.
Wesley whimpered. “Or them.”
“Well … OK,” said Ben. “You’ve twisted my arm. You can come.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Wesley. He glanced nervously at every shadow, as if something might lunge out at any moment. “I suggest we leave right away.”
“Good idea.” Ben turned to Paradise. “Right then, do your stuff.”
Paradise frowned. “What?”
“Your findy thing. Find us a troll.”
Paradise extended an arm and pointed in Scumbo’s direction. “Found one.”
Ben folded his arms. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking,” replied Paradise. “My power doesn’t work like that. You can’t just say ‘find a troll’ and then expect me to find one.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a troll there!” said Paradise, pointing to Scumbo again. “If I try to find a troll, I’m just going to keep finding him. I need something connected to one of the missing ones. Something specific.”
She turned to Scumbo. “Do you have a picture of one of the lost trolls?”
“No.”
“Do you have anything belonging to them?”
“No.”
“Do you have, I don’t know, a lock of their back hair or something?”
“Yes!” said Scumbo.
“That’s great!” said Paradise. “And completely revolting.”
“Actually wait … I don’t,” said the troll. “Misunderstood the question. Sorry.”
Paradise tutted. “Then I can’t find them.”
Ben frowned. “I don’t get it. You didn’t have anything of mine. How did you find me?”
“Unlucky, I guess,” Paradise said with a smirk. “With you I was looking for someone who could help. Had some big brave hero type been standing next to me, I’d have found him. There wasn’t, so I found you.”
Ben’s frown deepened. “I don’t get it.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Paradise sighed. “If I look for a hero, I’ll find the closest hero – in that case, you. If I look for a troll, I’ll find the closest troll – in this case, him.”
She jabbed a thumb in Scumbo’s direction.
“If you want me to find a particular troll, then you have to give me something to work with, otherwise I’m going to keep coming back to the stinkbeast here.”
Wesley let out a yelp. “Wait! That’s it!”
He reached a hand up inside one of his baggy sleeves and fished out a large leather-bound book.
He hurriedly flipped through the pages. “Lunt Bingwood wrote something…”
“What’s a Lunt Bingwood?” asked Scumbo.
“He’s the greatest adventurer who ever lived,” replied Ben. He had only heard about Lunt Bingwood recently, but already the tales of the adventurer-turned-author had made a big impression. It was a shame he had mysteriously disappeared shortly after writing his book. Ben would have loved to have met him and swapped adventure stories.
“He wrote this monster guide book,” said Wesley, holding up the hefty tome. “Who’s Who, What’s What, and Why They Do Such Horrible Things to One Another.” Wesley flicked on a few more pages then stopped. “Aha, here it is! According to Lunt Bingwood, all trolls have their own unique scent.”
“You’re not wrong there,” agreed Scumbo.
Wesley closed the book and shoved it back up his sleeve. “Paradise could use those unique odours to find the missing trolls!”
Ben stifled a laugh. “Like a dog you mean?”
“Oi, watch it,” Paradise warned, shooting him one of her scary looks. She shrugged. “I suppose it might work.”
“Then all we have to do is find a sample of their scent,” Wesley said.
“And where are we going to find that?” asked Paradise.
Scumbo realised they were all staring at him. “What you looking at me for? How’m I supposed to know?”
Paradise rolled her eyes and sighed. “Because you’re a troll.”
“Oh,” said Scumbo. “Yeah. Fair point.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know where to go,” announced Ben. He took a torch from a nearby wall and held it out to light the way. “Paradise, find us a bridge!”
The four figures trudged along through the dark, tripping and stumbling on the uneven ground. The moon had long since ducked behind the summit of Mount Nochance, the most imposing mountain in all the four kingdoms.
The mountain was so named because “no chance” was usually the first thing anyone said if someone suggested climbing it. Even the most hardened of explorers would take one look at its craggy slopes and cloud-covered peak, then immediately develop a nosebleed and remember they really had to be somewhere else.
Over the centuries a few brave souls had summoned the courage to begin the long climb to the top, but none – as of yet – had ever come back down again. At least, not without making a messy splat at the bottom.
Wesley walked at Ben’s side, so close that their shoulders were practically touching. He was startled by every sound beyond the circle of light cast by the flame of the torch, and Ben could feel him jump with every noise they heard.
Whooo!
“An owl,” said Ben.
Chirp-chirp-chirp!
“Crickets,” Ben said, before Wesley could even ask.
RAAAAAAR!
“What was that one?” Wesley yelped.
“No idea,” Ben admitted.
“Sorry,” said Paradise. “That was me. Couldn’t resist.”
Wesley gasped. “That’s just cruel!”
“How much further is it?” asked Ben. He’d been right up for an adventure, but as adventures went this one had been really boring so far.
“We’ve only been walking for ten minutes,” Paradise said. “And that’s the third time you’ve asked that.”
“Is that all?” Ben groaned. He trudged on a few more paces. “How much further is it?”
Paradise shook her head. “Not far. We’re nearly at Bibkin’s Trickle.”
“What’s Bibkin’s Trickle?” asked Ben.
“Oh no. It’s a monster, isn’t it,” whimpered Wesley. “It’s a horrible big monster that will—”
“It’s a stream,” Paradise said. “With a bridge over it.”
Wesley let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, that Bibkin’s Trickle,” he said, then he stopped abruptly.
“What’s up?” asked Ben.
“Sssh!”
Paradise sighed. “What’ve you heard now? A man-eating badger? A killer squirrel?”
“Don’t. Move. A muscle,” Wesley whispered, and there was something in his voice that made the others stand up straight and pay attention.
Ben brought the torch closer to Wesley’s face. The wizard looked in a state of mild panic most of the time, but now his expression was like a mask of pure fear. His eyes darted across the ground ahead of them. Despite the cool night air, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and dripped from the end of his nose.
“What is it?” asked Ben. “What’s wrong?”
“G-give me the torch,” Wesley whispered. He took it from Ben and bent low, slowly sweeping the flickering glow across the road ahead. Down near the ground at the very edge of the light’s circle, two bulging red eyes reflected back at them.
Ribbit.
“It’s a frog,” said Paradise flatly.
“You nearly gave me a flamin’ heart attack!” gasped Scumbo.
“N-not a frog,” Wesley whimpered. “It’s a t-toad.”
“Are you getting toads mixed up with something else?” Paradise wondered. “Like bears or tigers or something? I mean, they’re not exactly terrifying.”
While Paradise had been talking, Wesley had carefully lifted a small stone from the ground. With a flick of his wrist he tossed it towards the toad. It bounced off its head with a faint plink.
A second later, the toad exploded. It went off like a bomb blast, spraying fire and guts in all directions at once. A chunk of slimy leg splattered across Paradise’s face, and the force of the bang knocked all four of them backwards off their feet.
Once the smoke had cleared Paradise looked shakily across at the others. “That whole not terrifying thing. Is it too late to take that back?”
