The whole theatre went silent as the tall, thin troll stepped on to the stage and struck a dramatic pose in the spotlight. She was like no troll Neville had ever seen before.
Where the Bulches were round and squashy, this troll-lady was long and spiky. She wore a tight black dress made from bin liners that went all the way down to the floor and rustled as she walked. Her hair was a tower of Venus fly- traps piled high on her head, and ivy grew from her shoulders, hanging down on either side of her neck like the trollish version of a feather boa.
‘Who’s that?’ Neville asked quietly. Something about the troll-woman made him feel very nervous.
‘Who d’ya think, foozle fart?’ said Rubella, planting her fists on her boulder-sized hips. ‘That’s Gruntilda’s mooma. She’s blunkin’ famous.’
Neville spotted Gruntilda shuffling about in the shadows behind her mooma.
‘WELCOME!’ the woman announced to the crowd. She gestured with her arms as if she wanted to hug the entire theatre and tossed her ivy from side to side. ‘I’M ABOMINATIA BUNT AND I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU ALL.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Rubella grumbled under her breath.
A few nervous murmurs came from the crowd, while some others waved or nodded. One overeager young troll even threw a bunch of swamp-flowers at her. Abominatia looked down at the bouquet as if she’d just discovered an unexpected foozle dropping in her path. ‘How lummy.’ She grimaced and kicked them aside. ‘Shall we get started?’
She clapped her hands, and four important-looking trolls stepped out on to the stage. Neville recognized one of them. It was Glottel Potch the town mayor.
‘Those are the judges,’ whispered Rubella.
A short, pot-bellied troll, wearing a sewn-together catsuit, sweatband and legwarmers, dashed on to the stage from the wings.
‘RIGHTY-HO, UNDERLINGS,’ he shouted to the crowd, flailing his arms dramatically. He was holding a clipboard. ‘MY NAME IS MUCUS, CHOREOGRAPHER AND ASSISTANT TO MRS –’
‘MISS!’ Abominatia screeched. She looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach.
‘Sorry,’ said Mucus. ‘MISS! ASSISTANT TO MISS BUNT. WHEN I CALL YOUR NAMIES, YOU HAVE TO COME UP THROUGH THE CURTAIN HERE AND SHOW US WHAT TALENT-TOOTERS YOU ALL ARE … OK?’
The crowd remained silent and just stared at the chubby little troll.
‘OK, then …’ he said with a fixed smile on his face. ‘First up, we have …’