By the time Neville and Rubella reached the theatre in the centre of town, there was already a long line of hopeful young trolls shuffling nervously outside. Each and every one was dressed in an elaborate gown or suit made from all sorts of sewn-together rags and tatters.
‘Guh!’ Rubella huffed. She was out of breath from all the hurrying and sweating like a bullock on a bonfire. ‘This is your fault, Nev!’ She swished her flamenco skirt at Neville, almost knocking him off his feet.
‘We’ll have to wait,’ Neville said, as the thought of Rubella yanking his ears off crossed his mind again. ‘Anyway … the longer we spend in line, the longer you have to warm up and be really good.’
Rubella raised her hand to swat Neville aside – then thought about what he’d just said and lowered it again.
‘Fine,’ she humphed, then started practising scales along with all the other eager performers. The noise was awful; not a single troll in the line could sing in tune. It was like listening to a thousand nails being scratched down a chalkboard. Maybe Rubella might have a better chance than Neville had first thought?
Slowly, step by step, the line moved along, and Neville and Rubella eventually passed through the big double doors of the town theatre. Neville hadn’t been inside this building since his first-ever trip to the Underneath and he’d forgotten how big it was.
The high walls were made from row upon row of tin cans that shone dully in the gloom and, high above, a chandelier made from hundreds of twisted knives and forks gleamed impressively. Neville felt a tingle of excitement creep down the back of his neck. He loved going to the theatre … even if this one was a stinking troll-theatre.
‘Rubella,’ Neville whispered. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Shut up,’ hissed Rubella. ‘A princess needs to find her inner grumptiousness.’
Neville had to hold back a groan. The only way Rubella could find a grumptious inner princess was if she ate one.
Ahead of them, the line of trolls went down the side of a steep bank of wonky, muddled chairs and tatty sofas that descended towards a big stage.
‘LOOK!’ Rubella gasped, pointing to the troll at the front of the queue. Neville recognized him instantly. It was Thicket with a thorn briar growing out of his back and a bolt through his left nostril. ‘You better have trained me proper, Nev.’
Neville gulped and distracted himself by looking at the stage. It was enormous and lit from either side by two massive glass jars filled with giant buzzing insects. They were like huge wasps, but their stripes glowed like purple fire and cast eerie pools of light on the stage as they jostled about.
‘Rubella,’ Neville whispered again, ‘what are those things?’
Rubella stopped in the middle of a particularly high note and grimaced at Neville.
‘WHAT?’
‘Those big waspy things,’ said Neville. ‘What are they?’
‘Scrawnets!’ she snapped. ‘Everyone’s seen a scrawnet before. NOW STOP RUININ’ MY CONCENTRATION! If I don’t get the part of the grumptious stepsister, it’s your fault … AND YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL DO!’
Neville clamped his mouth shut and took a step away from his singing troll-sister. This was bad … really bad.