9

A Foreign World

Bog had walked farther into human territory than ever before. He could smell the difference already.

The evening breeze carried the stench of gasoline mixed with smoke that burned his nostrils. Putrid pools of water choked out plant life near the railway track. A husk of a car reeked of rust in a forest glen.

Human sounds invaded, too. The distant buzz of machines cutting down trees, speeding along roads, thundering across the sky. The rumble of a train, and the painful whistle blast.

Bog walked until his feet throbbed and then he walked even more, always assaulted by the scents and sounds of humans, especially Hannie.

Small seemed to understand how Bog felt about Hannie, although they never talked about her. Sometimes, Bog trudged behind them to avoid her constant nattering. Or he linked up with them after he’d soothed his ears with the fury of a waterfall or the rush of winds through creaking branches. During the day, he slept apart, shivering alone because he couldn’t bear her scent up close.

After two whole nights, Bog found himself ahead of Hannie and Small, alone in a cluster of slender birches, glaring up at a yellow plastic bag caught high among the branches. The wind had torn the bag into strips. Twigs poked holes through it. Yet somehow, it endured.

Bog growled deep in his throat. How dare the bag lodge in this birch like some sickly flag claiming territory for humans?

He shook the tree, but the bag stuck fast. He tried to climb to pull it down, but the thin branches bent under his weight. He shook a fist at it. The bag fluttered in the breeze. Lit up from behind by the moon’s rays, it gleamed like a false sun.

“It’s a Haliday’s bag,” Hannie announced, suddenly at his elbow.

“What?” Bog jumped. How had she sneaked up on him?

“From the grocery store beside the gas station.” Hannie glanced at Bog and then added, “It’s a place to get food and stuff.”

“Where?” asked Small from behind her, sniffing the air. Their supplies were low after two nights of walking, and Small had cut back on his gigantic portions. “I don’t smell a grocery store.”

“There’s no grocery store, just a bag from one.” Hannie laughed.

Small chuckled, too.

“Let’s just find a place for the day.” Bog turned from the bag and their laughter.

They stopped outside Strongarm just before sunrise. Small slipped away to survey the town from the forest’s edge. Bog found a deep crevice under a rock overhang where they could shelter. He didn’t have time to hunt before sunrise, but he hadn’t hunted successfully since Jeddal had been turned to stone. Small returned with a bag from a garbage bin—another place to get human food—and they sorted through the rubbish. Bog couldn’t believe the meat these humans threw away. Didn’t they think about tomorrow’s breakfast?

Once Hannie fell asleep against the rock, clutching her offensive troll doll, Small began to whisper plans.

“I want you to take the girl back to her father—see what you can trade for her.”

“Me? But I thought—”

“It’s simple—just disguise yourself as a human so you can get into town without a pack of troll hunters noticing. You can pass as a human more easily, Bog.” Small settled his bulk into an earthy hollow near Hannie. “You’re shorter. No fur on your face. And your nose is almost human-sized.”

Bog flinched. “What are you saying?”

“That I’m too big to pass for a human. I’ve tried it before, but they get suspicious.”

“I can’t masquerade as a human.” Bog found a sleeping spot near the overhang’s edge, as far away from Hannie as he could get. “It’s too…” Close to the truth.

“Of course you can. I can’t wait to see you walking their streets without any fool human noticing.” Small chuckled. “After you find the girl’s father, you just make demands in exchange for her safe return. You can ask about the location of the Troll Hunter’s den, or for food…” he suggested, licking his lips, “…or gold, jewels, money. Get as much as you can for her, and then get out. I’ll stay in the shadows, in case of trouble.”

“Can’t we just storm in and crush any humans who—”

“And end up with hundreds of them hunting us? No. This is the best way.”

“I suppose.” Bog glanced at Hannie, who was sleeping peacefully. “I can’t wait to get rid of her.”

“What do you have against her?”

“What do you mean? She’s human.”

“I know, but any human is good for something—”

“Even the Troll Hunter?” Bog growled. “Is he good for something?”

Small’s eyes lingered on Bog’s clenched fists and then searched his face. “The Troll Hunter is a menace.” He nodded slowly. His furry brow wrinkled.

Bog forced his hands to relax, trying not to act like a revenge-filled human. He pretended to stretch and yawn. “We’ll stop the Troll Hunter. Then we’ll go to the Sleeping Giant, find that Nose Stone, and rescue Jeddal.”

The day was too muggy to sleep. By evening, it was still humid.

“The sun is almost down,” Hannie announced. She was shadow-slipping, as if the sun’s rays might harm her.

Small draped a yellow plastic coat over Bog’s shoulders. “This should work.”

The coat trapped Bog’s sweat. “I can’t wear this…thing.” He threw off the coat, disgusted by the scent of the last human who’d worn it.

“It’s called a raincoat. And it’s a great disguise.” Small grinned, plopping a matching hat with a floppy brim onto Bog’s head and then handing him a pair of black rain pants.

Bog pulled the hat off and threw it to the ground. “Tuck in my tail? Play-act being a human? I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.”

Small rescued the hat and coat and then eyed Bog. “You’ve never been in a town before, have you?”

“Of course not. Why would I want to?”

“A lot of humans live there. More than you’d expect. If you walk through a town without wearing clothes, they’ll attack. That’s why we always disguise ourselves until we make the trade.”

“If I wear that plastic thing, they’ll smell me coming.”

“Humans can’t smell so good,” Hannie said, beside Bog now. “And you’ll look cute, even though it’s not raining.” She reached up and patted Bog’s arm.

He yanked away. “Don’t touch me! Never touch me!” He ignored Hannie’s withered look. “Isn’t there another way to trade?” he asked Small.

“This is the best way.” Small offered the clothes once more. “Just take her in and see what you can get for her.”

“I’ll help you get stuff,” Hannie announced, “but I’m not going back to my dad. I heard you talking last night. You want to find the Troll Hunter and then visit the Sleeping Giant, right? I can help you. I know I can.”

“You were supposed to be asleep.” Bog growled.

“I was just pretending. What’s a Nose Stone? Who’s Jeddal?”

“None of your business.” Bog let his voice rise, hoping to scare her. “And you’re not coming. You’re going back to your father and you’re never returning to the forest troll camp again. Do you understand?”

Tears welled up in Hannie’s eyes. “I’d rather stay with you.”

It took a while for Small to calm Bog and Hannie down. He convinced Bog that he needed to tolerate the clothes long enough to work their plan. But Small couldn’t convince Hannie that she had to stay with her father.

“I’m coming with you.” She pouted, her arms folded across her chest.

Finally, Small whispered to Bog, “She’ll probably go easily once she gets home. They always do. Just leave her there. We’ll be gone before she notices.”

They packed the last of the broth and meat as the sun set. Then they set off for Strongarm. Small shadow-slipped through the forest. Bog and Hannie hiked straight down the road that led into town.

In the rain pants, coat, and hat, Bog was stiflingly hot. Sweat trickled down the inside of the plastic and soaked his matted fur. His tail was squished uncomfortably down one leg of the pants, and he wanted to twitch it free.

“Why do humans wear this stuff?” he muttered.

At least his feet hadn’t fit the human shoes, although the pants covered most of his feet.

The trees began to thin. Trimmed grass replaced the forest undergrowth. The road became smooth tar and stone, rather than rough dirt. Too flat. Unnatural. The road held the sun’s warmth, heating the bottom of Bog’s feet. He stepped lightly, although his pants made a swishing noise as he walked. Hannie’s shoes flapped against the road.

Had Martinique Bottom dressed Bog in clothes? A disturbing idea. He studied the surrounding landscape, trying to force a memory of where he’d once lived with his parents. In a cave near Strongarm? Not in a building, he hoped.

The clouds blotted out the stars. Bog couldn’t believe he was walking into Strongarm, dressed as one of them. He wanted to trade Hannie as fast as possible.

Hannie chattered beside him, scampering to keep up. “I’ve been gone for days and days now. Last time, my teacher was the only one who noticed I was gone. She always asks questions about my dad, but I don’t answer in case he gets mad. And every day she wants me to do math, but the numbers get stuck inside my head—”

“Quiet,” Bog said. “We don’t want to be noticed.”

“Okay, I’ll be quiet, Bog. You can count on me.” She shut her mouth, nodding eagerly.

He doubted it would last.

More and more buildings appeared, and signs with strange markings that he couldn’t decipher. Bright lights on tall poles illuminated everything, blinding Bog to the nuances within the shadows. Moths and other insects swarmed the lights, confused by the human-made moons.

Bog felt just as lost. The buildings were everywhere. Short wooden ones and much taller stone ones. He could smell hundreds of humans inside. The reek was almost overwhelming. Small had been right. It was no place for a troll.

His throat tightened. He sniffed behind to make sure they weren’t being followed. Was Small nearby? He couldn’t smell him. Maybe he should turn back.

Then a car appeared ahead of them, its lights blinding. Within moments, another approached from behind. Bog’s hands grew clammy. His knees locked. Was a pack of troll hunters surrounding him? He could imagine what they’d do to him.

The cars sped closer. Hannie’s tiny fingers tugged at his sleeve, pulling him sideways.

“Don’t stand in the middle of the road.” Her voice was shrill. “Do you want to get run over?”

Bog stumbled after her. Both cars slowed beside them, rumbling like thunder. Music throbbed from one—a reminder of the puny man with the noise box. Bog pulled away from Hannie, covering his ears. His head threatened to burst apart.

“Stay off the road,” a man called through the racket, speaking in the awkward human language.

They know, Bog thought. They’re coming for me.

“You think it’s gonna rain, buddy?” came another voice, followed by jeering laughter.

“Leave him alone!” Hannie yelled.

Then the noise began to fade. The cars were pulling away, leaving their stench behind. Bog freed his ears. His breathing was quick. He tried to calm down, telling himself that he was safe, for now.

“What were you doing?” Hannie gaped. “Why did you stop on the road?”

“Too loud,” was all Bog said, turning from her. “Where’s your home?” She saved him from those cars, much like he’d saved Small. Did he owe her a gnark? Impossible.

“Up ahead.” Hannie gave him a puzzled look.

They hurried past darkened buildings. Only a few windows were lit up. Bog skirted the pools of light from the streetlamps, cowering at the slightest noise.

“That’s where I went to school.” Hannie pointed to a brick building, forgetting her promise to be quiet. “My teacher was Mrs. Phelps. She has puffy blonde hair. But I don’t belong there because I’m really a troll. That’s why the kids made fun of me.”

Bog tried to block out her chatter.

“There’s the food store I told you about,” Hannie continued. “I buy white freezies there when I get money. White freezies taste like all the other flavours put together.” She pointed down a road with smaller buildings. “We go this way.”

Bog’s stomach churned his breakfast. The town seemed endless. How could there be enough stone, wood, and metal to make so many buildings and cars? He thought about Hannie rescuing him from those cars, and suddenly he wanted to leave his mark in this vast human town, just to prove he could. He paused beside a street sign on a tall metal post.

“Stop,” Bog ordered Hannie.

He pushed against the post, straining every muscle in his body. The post slowly bent toward the road.

“What are you doing?” Hannie asked. “Why are you breaking that sign?”

Bog pushed until the sign was twisted into the road where it would block a car. Then he smacked the post, saying the words to shape-shimmer it. Both the sign and post became invisible. Bog smiled.

“Where did it go? How’d you do that?” Hannie gaped. “You sure are strong.”

“Which way did you say your home was?” Bog felt ready to face her father.

“This way.” Hannie pointed. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Come on.” Bog set a faster pace. He’d be rid of her soon.

They hurried down streets and between buildings. Bog tried not to imagine swarms of troll hunters suddenly emerging from a darkened building, or more cars coming at him.

“Here’s my house,” Hannie announced.

Bog stared at it, uneasy about entering a human’s den. Hannie dug her troll doll out of her rucksack and clutched it to her chest. The house was smaller than others on the street, with a black roof and white wooden slats covering the outside walls. The windows were dark except for the large rectangular one. A bluish light flickered from it.

“He’s watching tv in the living room.” Hannie’s voice trembled. “Be careful.”

tv? Living room? The way she said be careful made Bog wonder what he was walking into. But he’d come this far, so he marched up the concrete walk, climbed the wooden stairs, crossed the creaky porch, and banged open the door with his shoulder.

The room reeked of sour fruit. A glowing box in the far corner buzzed with human nattering. A table and chairs filled half the room. And one large man was scrunched down in a cushioned chair.

The man was almost as big as Bog. His nose was pitiful—small and flat in his rounded, startled face. He was wearing a white shirt and grey shorts, and his smell nearly knocked Bog flat. This man was the source of the sour-fruit smell. Several bottles on the floor beside his chair stank of it, too.

“What the…?” The man stood, wobbling slightly. The muscles in his arm flexed and rippled as he made a fist. “You sure are one ugly troll.”

Bog panicked—the man knew he was a troll—and then recovered. This man was just a human. Bog could do this.

Hannie peeked around Bog’s leg. “Go get him, Bog,” she whispered.

“You back?” The man sneered at Hannie. “I thought you were gone for good this time.”

Bog just wanted to dump Hannie and leave, but Small was counting on him to trade. In one quick movement, he snatched Hannie up by her rucksack and dangled her out front. “Tell me where to find the Troll Hunter or she gets hurt.”

Hannie yelped and then shook her doll at her father. “You’d better answer him!” she yelled. “He’s meaner than the last one.”

“How should I know where the Troll Hunter is?” The man scowled at Bog. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you. I don’t care how many of you no-souls get killed. Now get outta my house.”

He came at Bog, fists ready.

Bog dropped Hannie.

She thudded to the floor and scuttled out of the way.

Bog’s heart hammered in his chest. Ymir, help me, he thought.