Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

Chortley smiled grimly. He’d have to run fast to outpace that horde when it came through the door.

  “Come on McGuff.”

  They took one last look at the barbarian as he braced himself and headed along the tunnel. Thun’s grunts and curses had hardly been lost in the distance when Chortley stopped short. “Hold on, this passage wasn’t here before!” Despite the peril, Chortley’s curiosity got the better of him and he ran along the new tunnel to see where it led.

  “Wait a minute sir.” McGuff had pulled up short and was staring, unbelieving, through an open hatchway and into a room as full of ore as his voice was full of awe.

  “By the gods.”

  “D’you mind?”

  Chortley looked down at the source of the voice. It was the head of an old man cast in bronze with a ring through its mouth. “I hope you’re not going to be as rude as the last lot. The old woman was quite horrible, though the other one was enough to make an old knocker weep with frustration.”

  On a day like this, talking to a talking metal door knocker seemed the most natural thing in the world. “So you met Mother Hemlock and Velicity, then,” he said, “which way did they do?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  Chortley swept out his bloodied sword and brought it level with the knocker’s eyes.

  “Oh,” it said, “they went down that passageway, and, I must say, the swaying of her…”

  “Shut up.”

  Chortley turned to McGuff, who was still gazing with a blank expression at the treasury room. “We haven’t got time for this, sergeant. I’m going to follow the women - you go back to the main tunnel and find the garrison. Barricade the door to the labyrinth, I’ll try to get help.”

  “Where can you get help from? Sir?”

  Chortley shook McGuff’s hand. “At the very least, I’ll bring Hemlock and Velicity to help, but I suspect I’ll find them at the bottom of this particular bucket of shit, so there’s a 50/50 chance I’ll come back with reinforcements or not come back at all. There’s something bigger at play here than just an expedition to get rid of some prisoners, I can feel it. That elf and the things beyond the door were all part of it, as is the treasury and, I reckon, this passageway. Goodbye sergeant.”

  McGuff slapped the side of his head with a salute as sharp as a lemon and watched his commander lope off along the passageway. He wasn’t a sophisticated man, but he knew there was more to Chortley’s decision to follow the witches than strategy and logic. McGuff knew about glands and, indeed, in his younger days, had allowed them a certain amount of leeway. He felt, amongst this nightmare, a tiny pull of envy as he remembered, from far off, how it felt to be compelled by something more than duty, honour and the prospect of a dry bed and a pint at the end of a long day’s march. “Good luck, sir,” he mumbled, before, turning 180 degrees and breaking into a run.

  Chortley had only run a dozen or so yards when he fell over something lying, unseen, across the passage.

  Chapter 25

  Marcello drew in a deep breath and prepared to expostulate.

  “Now, before you get started,” Gramma said, raising a warning finger, “I need to warn you that I ‘ave about as much patience right now as a weasel in a chicken nugget shop.”

  Brianna interrupted. “What she’s trying to say is that, for the sake of your health, you should approach the point directly and not meander about.”

  “So get on with it,” continued Bill, “we haven’t got all night.”

  Marcello exhaled and stood, hands on hips, with an exasperated look on his face. “Oh, I can speak now, can I?”

  “As long as you get to the point, cos I ‘aven’t got much patience,” repeated Gramma.

  Silence fell as Marcello awaited the next interruption. A silence punctuated by the sliding of brass joints along metallic runners as the machine turned its head.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now, what I’m about to tell you will be hard for mere mortal minds to comprehend or, indeed, to believe.”

  Aligvok sniggered. “I don’t doubt it.”

  “BUT. It is true nonetheless, and I would ask you to do me the courtesy of allowing me to speak uninterrupted.”

  “Depends on what you say,” Aligvok responded, his baby blue eyes staring malevolently at his enemy.

  Marcello, ignoring the threat from his flaxen-haired former opponent, gestured at the coffins lining the wall. “You asked who these people were, before they became hosts?”

  “What the ‘ells are you doin’ here?” echoed a harsh call from the doorway.

  A softer, younger, voice said: “Oh, hello Gramma! Fancy meeting you here!”

  “Who are you?” bellowed Marcello as a perfectly formatted and entirely plausible explanation for the bodies in the coffins made its escape out of the back of his mind.

  “At last!” Gramma said.“Our Jessie ‘emlock is ‘ere and our Velicity. I don’t need to do no more faggling. Where ‘ave you come from?” By this time, she had exchanged a sisterly kiss with one witch and a friendly hug with the other.

  “There’s a maze down below what leads to a portal. We has some prisoners to send through it though, I must say, if I’d ‘ave known what trouble they’d caused, I might not ‘ave opposed the lad’s father so firmly.”

  Velicity rounded on the senior witch. “Well really! A fine time to admit to a mistake this is. But I can’t believe you’d have supported the murder of…” she paused for a moment. The word innocent was trying very hard to get itself said, but it was a word that simply couldn’t be applied to the survivors of a goblin army, “... unarmed beings. However inconvenient it turned out to be.”

  “Inconvenient?” Now it was Mother Hemlock’s turn to be outraged. “We’re stuck in the middle of a mountain with no way out except past a valley full of very angry stone trolls. Unless your lover boy finds that the tunnel in the Darkworld ain’t quite as blocked as we imagined and then heaven knows what might be coming through!”

  “Hello, cock!” Gramma said.

  There, in the doorway, stood Chortley Fitzmichael. He was swaying a little and in his bloodied arms he carried an unmoving figure. “We don’t have much time,” he said, “they’re coming through from the Darkworld. They broke the door down.”

  Flames erupted, hit the ceiling and left a faint red glow. “That’s it, I’ve had enough!” Bill strode past the witches and confronted Chortley. “I’m not going to ask what you’re doing here, but what in the hells is that? And will someone please tell me what is going on?”

  Chortley looked up, then gazed around at the laboratory which was, by now, beginning to get a little cramped. “None of that is going to matter unless we can keep them out. Are there any warriors here?” He asked this doubtfully. All he could see were the witches, a middle aged brown man who looked as though his head was about to explode from frustration, a similarly frustrated and rather odd blonde girl he might, in other circumstances49 have found attractive, his half brother and his crazy girlfriend. A hobgoblin cowering at the feet of some wood and metal statue. And two others - one a good looking young man and the other a chisel jawed Amazonian with a moustache, both wearing cotton shifts like the girl.

  To his surprise, it was these two who stepped forward. “In my former existence, I was a warrior in the army of King Apoplectic the Patient and fought against the armies of Varma.”

  Clearly insane.

  “And I steppe maiden. Kill many in metal armour.”

  Chortley glanced in desperation at his half-brother. Bill shrugged and then turned to the volunteers. “Can you help us? My brother is a sadistic shit, or he was, but whatever’s followed him here is likely to be worse and we’re not going to get to the bottom of what’s going on here if we’re not alive to get to the bottom of it.”

  Ambler knelt before Bill. “My name is Ambler and you have my oath. If by living or dying I can aid you, so be it.”

  “Me Negstimeaboi. Where he go, I go. But we need weapons.”

  “There’s an armoury along t
he corridor,” Chortley said with a sigh that indicated he believed they’d all been sniffing the special glue. He gestured at Negstimeaboi and Ambler. “Come on then.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Bill said. Then, as Brianna made a move, he held her back. “No, you, your mother and Gramma need to stay here and make sure these snakes don’t get to do whatever they think they’re here to do. Velicity, will you come?”

  “Oh, right,” sneered Brianna, “she gets to go.”

  Velicity turned to her as she passed. “I suspect it’s because, while there’s no water and few living things for Mother Hemlock and Gramma to control, there’s always plenty of wind.” She paused for a moment. “And, anyway, my heart is given to another,” she whispered.

  “It’s not your heart that bothers me,” Brianna shot back before instantly regretting her words.

  Velicity flashed her a glare and joined the others at the door. Bill, who’d not heard the end of the exchange, went to kiss Brianna but she pulled away. She saw his shoulders drop as he left the room and, without looking back, disappeared into the passageway. She also thought she could just about hear the sounds of battle cries echoing along the corridor.

  “Right,” Gramma said, turning to Marcello, whose face had become a couple of shades paler and considerably less mobile as Chortley had relayed his news. He was also looking at the elf, lying crumpled on the floor.

  Gramma followed his gaze. “Ay, I were going to ask about that. What is it? A lickle goblin?” She paused for a moment. “Hold the bone! Talkin’ about goblins, where’s that lickle bugger Jispa?” The old woman looked around the chamber before throwing up her arms. “Oh well, what does it bloody matter? Seems we’ve got much bigger dishes to dry than that lickle squirt. I reckon e’ll find ‘is people soon enough.”

  “That ain’t no goblin, that’s an elf,” Mother Hemlock said, leaning over the prone form, “at least, I reckon so. Can’t think what else it could be.”

  “Have a care! They are an evil folk,” Marcello said as he remained on the other side of the room looking at the sharp end of Brianna’s sword.

  Mother Hemlock turned to him. “Right, mister. You’ve got precisely two minutes to explain what’s going on because, sure as eggs are poached, you’re at the centre of all this.”

  “How dare you talk to the great wizard Minus in that fashion!”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I said,” Gramma chimed in, “it don’t make no sense. Minus died hundreds of years ago and this lad don’t look much older than you.”

  “Ask about the bodies,” Aligvok said, in a voice as sweet as a decaying corpse. He gestured at the coffins on the wall. “And ask about the machine.”

  Mother Hemlock pointed at him and her face darkened as realisation dawned. The sort of sunrise you might see on the morning of the last day before the end of the world. “You’ve used transpiritation?” she hissed, barely able to speak the words.

  Marcello nodded. “I perfected it. Behold I am the great wizard, three centuries after his apparent defeat by this imbecile.” He spat these last words in Aligvok’s direction. Brianna brought her sword round and waved the furious Violet-Elizabeth clone back.

  “And where, exactly, did you get the bodies?” Mother Hemlock asked, pointing at the nearest open coffin.

  “Criminals,” Marcello snapped, “miscreants and wasters, all unfit for the excellent bodies their minds inhabited.”

  Brianna swung her sword to point at Marcello, its quivering reflecting her sudden fury. “Who are you to judge whether someone is fit for their own body? Who are you to take away their futures?”

  “I am Minus the Great, that’s who! Who else can better judge the value of another’s life than he who rose to greatness and has walked through the centuries guiding emperors? But for me, this land would have descended into chaos long ago, but for me the world would be ruled by ignorance, but for me the Darkworld would never have been discovered, let alone what is beyond!”

  The wizard stopped his tirade to draw breath and then appeared to reflect for a moment. It was almost as if he realised he’d said too much.

  “Beyond?” Mother Hemlock pushed Brianna’s sword away and stood in front of Marcello, her arms folded.

  Marcello looked into her icy blue eyes. He’d never before lost a stare, but he wasn’t even going to challenge this witch. She was a powerful one, no mistake. “Yes. I discovered the Darkworld, as I explained when I shared a cell with this charming young lady,” he said, jerking a thumb at Brianna.

  “My daughter.”

  “Of course she is,” Marcello said, grimly. “I found a way to locate the thin points between the worlds, and thus was the Darkworld discovered and these crossover points marked. It was I who engaged the Stone Trolls to guard the portal hidden beneath this laboratory and it was I who brought the Fitzmichaels to power and gave them the same mission though, it seems, their watch has wavered.”

  Mother Hemlock wagged her finger at him. “I know the legends well enough, and so do many others. But get back to the point - what is this beyond?”

  “And get on with it,” Gramma piped up, “we don’t ‘ave long to faggle all this out.”

  Marcello gave an irritated glance to Gramma, before taking in a deep breath. “You are familiar with the Tworld Theory?”

  “Of course, we’re not idiots,” snorted Mother Hemlock. Gramma, who, in fact, was an idiot, decided not to interrupt. Time was short and, if they survived, she could have it explained to her later.

  “It is, of course, true. But, though our world is, indeed, twinned with another - that other is not the Darkworld, it is the Beyond.” Marcello scanned the room. Good, none of them was expecting that. Now he had them.

  “The Tworld Theory holds that our world and its twin overlap so that, if viewed multidimensionally, it would look like a double image, its outline like a figure of eight. Where the two globes overlap is the Darkworld - a poor, tortured strip of reality that is constantly being stressed by cross-dimensional forces as the two worlds wobble in their orbits.”

  Gramma’s eyes had glazed over and her temper was fraying. Brianna, spotted this. “He means our world has a Simonese Twin50, and the Darkworld is where they’re joined.”

  “Ah,” responded Gramma, nodding sagely. “Well why didn’t he just bloody well say so?”

  Brianna looked from one to the other. “I think he likes the sound of his own voice.”

  “If I may continue,” Marcello snapped. “As I was saying. When I initially explored the world on the other side of the first portal, I named it the Darkworld and believed it to be our twin as it seemed to share similar geography to the land on our side. Unfortunately, it also proved to be deadly to humans. There is a sort of poison to the light that eats away at the flesh if you stay outside too long over there.”

  “How many slaves died before you discovered this?” Mother Hemlock asked.

  Marcello shrugged. “I do not know. Sacrifices had to be made in the name of progress and, in any case, I developed a solution.” With a flourish, he pointed at the machine still pinned to the wall by its brass restrainers. It was watching him closely, but otherwise inert.

  “You didn’t create the machines, we did!” Aligvok muscled his way past Brianna, grabbed Marcello by the collar of his robes and pulled him down to eye level. “WE did it! Without my input, the machines would have been nothing!”

  Marcello pushed him away. “Your input? You were an able assistant, certainly, but I was the violinist and you the dancing puppy dog.”

  “Vile what?” Gramma asked.

  “How dare you! Without my insights, without my eye for detail, those devices would never have worked. And what as my reward? To be murdered and imprisoned! But I had the last laugh, I robbed you of your power.”

  Marcello’s face hardened. “Yes, you took my staff into the Darkworld, and that was a grievous blow. I often wondered why you went there when all that awaited you was death, and now I know. You killed yourself and
spent the next centuries inside the staff.”

  “Yes, I defeated you!”

  “And yet, here we both are.”

  Gramma stamped her foot, and the laboratory shook, emitting the sort of sound that, in an extremely visceral way, reflects the temporary nature of a room carved out of a mountain and suggests that it might, soon enough, find itself at one with the surrounding rock.

  “Now then,” she said, in a voice that was simultaneously very quiet and yet utterly commanding, “I couldn’t give a monkey’s shaven arse about the feud between you two idiots. You need to explain right now what this has got to do with you bein’ here and why you made our Bill and Brianna come all this way to this lavatory!”

  “Laboratory,” Brianna said, too quietly for Gramma to hear.

  “And you still hasn’t explained what this Beyond is!” Mother Hemlock added.

  Brianna stepped back a little, between them, the two witches and two wizards brought together a huge amount of magical potential in a confined space. And at least two of these magic users were rapidly approaching the end of their fuse. Brianna could feel power crackling the air, her clothes were sticking themselves to her body and Aligvok’s curly hair was forming a halo around his angry red face.

  Marcello stood, hands on hips, his beard forming strange patterns in the heavy air. “I will summarise, then. I built these machines to house the spirits of the bodies you see here, and their predecessors. The Darkworld, you see, sits between two worlds and is a part of neither. It is the buffer zone, and the tidal forces that torture it also endow it with vast mineral wealth.”

  “That explains all them jewels we saw downstairs, guarded by that rude little knocker.”

  For a moment, Marcello’s face wore a mask of shock, then he shrugged as if it didn’t, in the long-run matter (assuming there was going to be, in fact, a long run). “Yes, the minerals from the Darkworld finance the Varman empire and ensure peace and order.”

  “Under the Varman boot,” Mother Hemlock spat. “I see it now. You took the spirits of them that wouldn’t be missed, and put them into the machines, using the bodies to extend your miserable life. And you sent the, what do you call them?”