by David Lewman
DreamWorks Trolls © 2017 DreamWorks Animation LLC. All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, 1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019, and in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto, in conjunction with DreamWorks Animation LLC. Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
rhcbooks.com
Trade Paperback ISBN 9781524717087
Ebook ISBN 9781524717100
v4.1
a
For my parents, who bought me books
and read them to me
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Deep in his highly camouflaged, heavily fortified, Bergen-proof survival bunker, Branch sat in a comfortable old chair made of tree bark and acorn caps. The Troll’s blue hair stood straight up from his head, as it always did, and his big bare feet were propped up on a mushroom footstool.
He was sipping hot spiced tea and thinking.
Maybe it was time for a change to his home. Though he loved his bunker, its purpose had been lost the moment Queen Poppy brought the Trolls and the Bergens together in friendship. The whole point of living underground in a survival bunker was to hide from the Bergens. Now Branch didn’t have to hide anymore. At least, not from Bergens.
He didn’t want to move into one of the colorful, fuzzy pods that hung from the branches of the trees in Troll Village. That just wasn’t his style. No, Branch planned on staying underground. He liked it there. He liked the dim light and the smell of the cool soil. He’d even made friends with a couple of worms who’d passed through a few times. Not close friends, but friends.
Maybe he could make a few changes. Add a skylight to let in a little sunshine now and then. A patio to enjoy on a nice day. And he’d always wanted a hot tub to soak in!
Branch smiled. Yes, he thought, I have to admit that things are looking up around here, now that we don’t have to worry about the Bergens.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Branch was startled out of his pleasant thoughts. Someone was pounding on his front door up on ground level! He got out of his cozy chair and hurried over to his periscope. Peering into the eyepiece, he saw Cooper standing on his stoop. The striped, giraffelike Troll was holding an envelope. “Be right there, Cooper!” Branch shouted into a speaking tube.
Up above, Cooper was startled to hear his friend’s voice. “Where are you, Branch? I hear you, but I don’t see you! Have you found a way to make yourself…INVISIBLE?” Cooper swung his head around, looking in every direction. Twists of blue hair flipped from side to side beneath his green hat.
Branch opened the secret door beneath the mat that lay on top of his bunker. “Yes, Cooper?” he asked. “What is it?”
“What’s what?” Cooper asked, confused. “You mean that thing you just opened? A door! Yay, I love riddles! Ask me another!”
“I mean,” Branch said, getting a little frustrated, “what did you come to see me about?”
“Oh!” Cooper said. “I brought you this! From Queen Poppy!” He handed Branch the envelope.
“From Poppy?” Branch asked, excited. He looked at it. Like all envelopes from Poppy, it was decorated with lots of stickers, felt, and glitter. The front was addressed TO BRANCH—URGENT!
He tore it open, and a little drawing of Poppy popped up. A tiny voice said, “Branch! Come quickly! Hurry!” POOF! A cloud of glitter sprayed Branch’s face.
“Poppy needs me!” Branch cried, brushing glitter off his nose. “Thanks, Cooper! See you later!” He rushed off toward Troll Village with the sparkly message.
“No problem!” Cooper called after him. “Maybe next time you can ask me more riddles!”
When Branch got to Poppy’s pod, he ran inside without knocking. “Poppy!” he gasped, breathing hard. “What is it? What’s the emergency? Are you in danger? Are we ALL in danger?”
Poppy looked up from a scrapbook she was working on and smiled. “Hey, Branch! Thanks for coming over so fast!”
“Well,” Branch said, holding up the card, “your message says ‘Come quickly!’ So I figured it was really important.”
Poppy stood up and brushed scrapbooking materials off her dress. “Oh, it is! I have a terrific idea!”
Branch frowned. He’d run all the way to Poppy’s pod just so she could tell him about her terrific idea?
“Okaaay,” he said slowly. “What’s your idea?”
“A party!” Poppy announced.
“A party?” Branch repeated. “That’s ALWAYS your idea!”
“But not just any party,” she explained. “I think we should throw a great big picnic to celebrate our new friendship with the Bergens. Brilliant, huh?”
“A picnic with the Bergens?” Branch asked. He wasn’t convinced that Poppy’s terrific idea was all that terrific. “Why a picnic?”
“The Bergens are too big to fit inside even our biggest pod, so we should get together with them outdoors. A picnic is perfect!”
Branch guessed that made sense. But he still wasn’t convinced.
“Look,” Poppy said, picking up her scrapbook. “Here’s what I have in mind.” Turning the pages, she showed Branch her plan for the picnic. One page showed the Trolls inviting the Bergens. The Bergens looked thrilled. The next page showed Trolls and Bergens preparing a feast.
On the following page, they worked together to arrange the perfect spot in a clearing. Another page showed Trolls and Bergens arriving with the food. The next-to-last page of the scrapbook pictured Trolls and Bergens spending a sunny day happily eating together. And the last page showed the night of the picnic, with everyone oohing and aahing at big beautiful bursts of glitter that lit up the starry sky.
“Pretty nice, huh?” Poppy said.
“Sure,” Branch agreed. “It looks great—in scrapbook form. In reality, I have no idea how it’ll turn out.”
“In reality,” Poppy predicted confidently, “it’ll be even greater!”
“What are you going to call this picnic of yours?” Branch asked.
Poppy squinched up her face, considering. “Hmm,” she said. “I hadn’t thought about that. Any suggestions?”
“Disaster Day?” Branch suggested. “Catastro-fest? Mess-o-palooza?”
Poppy gently threw a wadded-up ball of felt at Branch. “Why are you being so negative? You’ve been so positive since we became friends with the Bergens!”
“Sorry,” Branch said, picking up the felt ball and tossing it in the air. “Force of habit. I’m just not sure this picnic of yours is going to be easy. No one’s ever invited Trolls and Bergens to the same party before.”
“That’s what makes it so exciting!” Poppy said, throwing her arms open wide. “It’s brand-new! We’ll be breaking ground in picnicking! We’ll be explorers! Discoverers! Pioneers!”
“Don’t explorers and pioneers often end up starving to death? Or getting lost in the snow?” asked Branch.
Poppy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It’s summer!” she exclaimed. “There isn’t going to be any snow. And it’s a picnic, so no one’s going to starve to death.”
Branch plopped down onto one of Poppy’s colorful c
ushions. “Okay, okay. No one’s going to starve. And there won’t be snow. But let me ask you something.”
“Sure, Branch,” Poppy said cheerfully, flopping onto another cushion. “Anything! Ask away!”
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “Why was it so urgent and important that I run over here to learn about your plans?”
Poppy grinned, leaned back, and put her hands behind her head. “Ah,” she said. “Good question. I want you to go up to the castle in Bergen Town and work with King Gristle on the menu.”
Branch stared at her, stunned. Then he jumped up and shouted, “Me? Work with King Gristle on planning a picnic? All he likes to eat are Trolls!”
“Gristle never actually ate a Troll, remember? And the Bergens’ Troll-eating days are over,” Poppy said gently. “You’ve been to the castle, and you’ve met King Gristle, so he already knows you. You’re the perfect one to work with him. This whole picnic is about Trolls and Bergens coming together! Will you do it? For me? Please?”
Branch hesitated. He really wasn’t sure about working with King Gristle on anything, let alone a picnic. But he couldn’t let Poppy down.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said.
Poppy threw her arms around Branch. “Thank you, Branch! You’re the best! And this is going to be the greatest Troll-Bergen picnic ever!”
“Well, it’s also going to be the first Troll-Bergen picnic ever, so there isn’t a whole lot of competition,” Branch said. “I’ll go talk to Gristle, but I’m not making any promises. He may think this is a terrible idea!”
“That’s a TERRIFIC idea!” King Gristle exclaimed in the castle’s throne room, clapping enthusiastically. “I LOVE picnics!”
He jumped off his throne, almost landing on the tail of his pet alligator, Barnabus. The king’s green hair was neatly combed, and he wore blue shorts, a red-and-white-striped shirt, a fur-lined cape, a gold crown, and sandals with socks.
“You do?” Branch said, surprised by the Bergen’s gusto.
“Sure!” King Gristle said, sitting back down on his throne. “I mean, I’ve never actually been to one, but I’ve heard about them, and they sound WONDERFUL!” He leaned over to pet Barnabus, who was hiding under the throne. As he scratched the alligator’s long snout fondly, Barnabus made low growls of contentment deep in his throat. Rrrrnnrrrrrh…
Branch nodded, taking it all in. So I’m going to be planning a picnic with someone who’s never been to one, he thought. “Okay,” he said. “Great! Well, Queen Poppy wants us to work on the menu together.”
Gristle stopped petting Barnabus. He looked up and frowned. “Oh. That might be a problem. You see, I’m not much of a cook. As in, I’ve never cooked anything. Ever. Eating, I’m very good at. But cooking, not so much.”
Branch scrambled up the throne and stood on one of its arms so he could look Gristle in the eye. “That’s okay. You don’t have to do the cooking. You and I will just plan it out. You know, pick the recipes. Make sure we have all the equipment we need. Gather the ingredients. Other Bergens and Trolls will do the actual cooking.”
King Gristle got off his throne again and paced back and forth as Barnabus watched, his head swinging from side to side. “I see,” Gristle said. “That makes sense. But where will we find these recipes?”
“Um, in your kitchen?” Branch suggested.
“I have a kitchen?” Gristle said. “I mean…to the Royal Kitchen!”
He hurried out of the throne room, and Branch ran after him. Meanwhile, Barnabus curled up and went to sleep, dreaming of cool streams and tasty fish.
The Royal Kitchen had seen better days. In fact, it was a terrible mess, with dirty pots and pans stacked from floor to ceiling. The room looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, if not months. It didn’t smell great, either.
“Sorry about the mess,” King Gristle said sheepishly. “Ever since Chef…left…”
Branch nodded. He’d been there the night Chef was thrown out of the castle. The evil, power-mad cook hadn’t been seen since. It was rumored that she now lived somewhere deep in the forest with Creek, a Troll who had been thrown out of the castle along with her, and used his hair to scrub her dishes.
“Who’s in charge of your meals now?” Branch asked.
Gristle shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Mostly we order delivery. Lots of pizza.” Then his face brightened. “Hey, maybe we could have pizza at the picnic!”
Branch wasn’t sure. He thought about the picnics he’d been to, and he didn’t remember pizza ever being served. “Where did Chef keep her recipes?” he asked.
Gristle’s small eyes opened wide, and he raised his hands, perplexed. “I have no idea!”
“Okay,” Branch sighed. “Then we’ll have to look for them.”
The Troll and the Bergen began to search the Royal Kitchen together. It was a big kitchen, with lots of grimy wooden cabinets and shelves. Branch looked low and Gristle looked high.
Branch opened a drawer close to the floor. FLOOMPF! A furry creature jumped out and scrambled across the kitchen! The force of it knocked the Troll to the floor.
While rifling through a cabinet near the ceiling, King Gristle looked down at Branch. “What happened?” he said. “Did you slip? I should’ve warned you—the floor’s really greasy.”
“You’ve got wild animals living in this kitchen,” Branch announced. “Pretty sure that was a striped furmunk. They have big families. Where there’s one, there are sure to be more.”
“Really?” Gristle said, excited. “Cool! I’ve always wanted to see one of those!”
“Find any recipes yet?” Branch asked, picking himself up and opening another drawer cautiously.
King Gristle shook his head. “Not yet. So far all I’ve found are those round things for cooking food in.”
“Pots and pans?” Branch asked.
“I guess,” Gristle said. “If you say so.”
Branch managed to keep from rolling his eyes, but he thought, How am I supposed to plan a picnic with someone who doesn’t know what pots and pans are called?
They searched for a while without talking. The only sounds were the clatters and clanks of pans and utensils. Branch couldn’t find a single recipe. He began to think maybe Chef had taken them all with her.
But then King Gristle called, “I think I found something! Look at this!”
Branch closed a drawer full of battered spoons and forks and hurried across the floor to join the young king.
In a dark corner of the big kitchen, a tall, narrow door stretched to the ceiling. A sign on the door said CHEF’S SECRET RECIPE CLOSET! KEEP OUT OR YOU’LL BE SORRY! I MEAN IT! SIGNED, CHEF. PS: I REALLY MEAN IT!
“That’s great!” Branch said. “She must have kept her recipes in this closet!”
“Yeah,” Gristle said, “but we can’t go in there.”
Branch snorted. “Why not?”
“Because it says right on the sign that we’ll be sorry!” The king pointed at the door. “And she really means it!”
“Look around,” Branch said calmly. “Do you see Chef anywhere?”
Gristle looked. “No,” he admitted. “But she could be hiding! Like that striped furmunk was!”
Branch sighed. “Chef is a lot bigger than a striped furmunk. She isn’t hiding in one of these drawers. She isn’t anywhere near this castle. Or Bergen Town, for that matter.”
“How do you know?” Gristle asked suspiciously.
“Because you banished her!” Branch said. “And when King Gristle banishes Bergens, they stay banished! Right?”
Gristle stood a little taller. “That’s right!”
“So there’s NO WAY Chef is hiding in this kitchen!”
“RIGHT!”
“Now let’s OPEN THIS SECRET RECIPE CLOSET!”
“YEAH!”
Gristle flung open the door. ZWIT! ZWIT! ZWIT! Arrows shot out of the closet, knocking off his crown and pinning it to the wall! The king and Branch hit the deck.
“Of course,” Branch admitted from his spot on the greasy floor, “the closet could be booby-trapped.”
“You think?” Gristle said sarcastically, carefully reaching up to retrieve his crown.
They slowly crawled toward the open door. Inside the small, gloomy closet, they could see the outlines of a cabinet with drawers.
“The recipes must be in that cabinet,” Branch whispered. He didn’t want to set off any more traps.
“Should we open it?” Gristle whispered back nervously.
“We’ve got to,” Branch said determinedly. “But we’d better be careful.”
“Right!” the king agreed. “Um…how?”
Branch dug through drawers and cabinets, searching for utensils with long handles. He dragged them out and piled them up. Then he found a big spool of twine and tied them together, making one long tool that stretched all the way across the kitchen.
“We’ll use this to open the cabinet,” he said. “That way if there’s a booby trap, at least we won’t be standing right in front of it.”
“Brilliant!” Gristle said. “I like your plan!”
“Since you’re bigger, you should do it,” added Branch.
“I don’t like that part,” the young king complained. But he picked up the makeshift tool and carefully guided it toward the cabinet, edging the doors open. Branch had tied a loop on the end of the tool to slip around the drawer handles.
CLINK!
Gristle caught the loop on the handle of the bottom drawer. “Got it!” he cried.
“Good!” Branch said. “Now pull the drawer open…slowly.”
King Gristle eased his big green hands along the tool and pulled, easing the drawer open, until…WHOP!
CHEF POPPED OUT!
“AAAAHHHH!” Gristle screamed. “CHEF! SHE’S BACK!” He dove behind a table, his knees knocking together.
Branch peered at Chef. At first he’d been startled to see the nasty Bergen pop out of the cabinet drawer. But as he examined her (from across the kitchen), he saw that she wasn’t moving. She was just sticking out of the drawer, holding her hands up in a menacing position.