by Jane Yolen
“Be quiet, Arri,” warned Selvi.
Jakob nodded at her with a kind of conspiratorial look. “But as your mothers know, there are more, even better notes still to come.”
Selvi nodded. “Better. Better,” she murmured in a kind of chant. “Better, better.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” Botvi cried, her meaty hands on her breast. “If only Oddi is being here. He be loving notes. I be missing my little Oddi.”
“Better notes,” Trigvi interrupted. “We be wanting better notes.” Her voice was one big demand.
Moira didn’t know what Jakob was planning—or even if he was planning anything—but she thought he needed some help. “If I could learn those notes,” she said, “why a troll could learn them, too.” She said it softly and with a smile.
Jakob grinned at her, then at Buri and Arri.
The troll wives all chorused, “A troll can. Of course, of course.”
“Let me play you some tunes in that new note,” Jakob suggested. He did a quick run on the guitar and Moira approved. It was clean and crisp and perfectly in tune. Then he did a jazz syncopation in E, his fingers flying over the strings. One by one, the trolls wives’ eyes glazed over, and they toppled like redwoods. The troll boys teetered, but didn’t fall.
What now? Moira mouthed at Jakob.
He held one finger up—a wait-and-see gesture.
First Trigvi, then Botvi, and finally Selvi woke up.
“That be wonderful, Little Doom,” Selvi said.
“Let’s go into the house where we can sit down,” Jakob told them. “And I will show Buri and Arri how to play the next special note. Because it’s not a standing-up note, but a sitting-down note.” Turning, he winked slyly at Moira.
“Ah!” Now she got it: He was planning to herd them all into one house and entrance them with the music, giving her time to sneak into the other houses and wake the girls and …
Botvi picked up Jakob like a baby, and carried him in her arms toward the houses. Meanwhile, Trigvi grabbed Moira by her right arm like a rag doll, dangling her awkwardly, and banging her against her right leg, a leg as big around as a tree trunk. The two boy trolls took turns carrying the guitar, as if it were a great trophy. Selvi being the oldest and first wife led the way to her own house. Clearly if any music was going to be made, it would be there.
This close to Trigvi, Moira was almost sick from the stink of troll. The odor was a heavy musk. Like an ox, Moira thought. She’d smelled one of those in the London zoo the summer her orchestra toured through Europe. Like wild oxen, the wives smelled meaty, sweaty, dangerous, unpredictable. And they’re green, which is really weird. She tried to hold her breath. Finally, they entered the house, where Trigvi dropped Moira onto the floor. Luckily, she landed on her feet.
She recognized the room, of course, with its wall full of hideous skulls, horns and antlers sticking out of them from improbable places. The dark cauldron, big as a hot tub, swung on its iron arm. She didn’t dare look at the wooden box where she knew Susie, Caitlinn, Maddie, and Dylinn lay in their enchanted sleep.
Botvi set Jakob on the sofa, and the troll boys lowered the guitar into his lap with great ceremony.
“The next note,” they begged together.
“Please,” added Buri, surely not a word often used by trolls.
“Wait—we must be having food and drink,” Selvi said. “For this special time.”
Trigvi and Botvi agreed, and they hustled into the larder where they banged about. Moira was really afraid of what they’d bring out to eat.
“Arri,” Selvi called, “go be cutting down your stepbrother. He can be singing ‘Tom Drool’ with us. And be hearing Little Doom’s second note. He will be liking that.”
“I will, Mama!” Arri cried, running swiftly out of the room and into the hallway that led to the bedroom.
Jakob and Moira looked at one another. Stepbrother? There were more trolls?
Moira started to panic. Would this throw a monkey wrench into their plan? As if we have a plan, she thought. What if the stepbrother was a bigger troll? Or has a head full of horns like the skulls on the wall? And why had he been tied up? Was he dangerous, even to trolls? Moira’s head buzzed with questions, though she didn’t actually want to know the answers to any of them. Except a last question: Will the music work on him the way it does on the wives? Suddenly she was more afraid than she’d been before.
Just then she heard a thud and a thump and a loud, “Arri, you little bugger, that hurt!” from the bedroom. And the sound of Arri giggling.
Well, at least the stepbrother could talk. Is that good news, she wondered, or bad? She glanced over at Jakob and was astonished to see that his head had rocked back and his mouth dropped open. His eyes had gotten as big as marbles and he was staring past her.
“Are you all right?” she asked. But then she heard a noise from the hallway and turned to see what he was staring at.
A tall, slender boy with high cheekbones and a dimple in his chin was standing there, raking his hands through his dark fall of hair. He was handsome and, as far as she could tell, entirely human. Arri was by his side looking down at him adoringly, the way a child looks at its puppy or cat.
“Galen…” Jakob whispered, choking back a sob.
“Why, hello, little brother,” Galen said matter-of-factly.
“I thought you were dinner.”
Galen laughed. “Oh, I’m much too pretty for dinner,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Mama Selvi?” He dimpled at her.
“And he sings,” Selvi said. She looked ready to faint again.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Moira was suddenly disgusted with the whole Griffson family. Her right arm hurt, she needed a shower, her friends were in boxes, time was growing short, and the boys were being … well, boys!
Only then did Galen notice her. He smiled with enormous charm.
Moira glared back at him. She was not impressed.
21
Jakob
“Galen!” Jakob said again. “How did you…?”
“Like Mama Selvi says,” Galen said. “I sing.”
“But…”
“Upside down in the larder, to keep my spirits up.”
“It probably improved the timbre,” Jakob said.
“Maybe we should talk about this later.” Galen’s usually smooth voice had a ragged edge, as if it had torn on a nail.
It was only then that Jakob noticed the haggard look in Galen’s eyes and realized how hard his brother must be working to keep up his charming nonchalance.
“Note, note, note,” Buri and Arri chanted.
Jakob glanced up at them. “Your mothers said food first. Then note.” He plinked a few chords on the guitar—just a teaser. “Think you could help them out? Might speed things up.”
“Oh, what an idea!” Buri cried.
“We be going at once!” Arri added, and they scampered into the larder.
If, Jakob thought, that lead-footed run could be called a scamper. As soon as they were out of the room, he leapt to his feet, guitar in hand. “Quickly, now!” he whispered. “The girls!”
“What?” Galen said, staring blankly at Moira as she pushed past him and leapt into a large wooden box standing open near the central table.
“Pretty boy,” she called to him. “Get over here!”
Standing, Jakob tested his leg. It seemed to be holding up as long as he didn’t put too much weight on it. He limped over to the larder door, hoping to block the troll’s view of the living room. But it became quickly obvious that blocking wasn’t going to work. The trolls were head and shoulders taller than he was. Several heads and shoulders. He was going to have to use misdirection. Looking inside the larder, he saw that Trigvi and Botvi were pulling haunches of meat off huge hooks and presenting them to Selvi, who poked and prodded and sniffed at each before shaking her head no. The troll boys were playing with knives. “Can I play a little something while you prepare supper, ladies?”
“Oh, yes!” came the immediate
answer. “Play!”
Jakob started fingerpicking a random chord progression, occasionally glancing into the living room where Moira had climbed into the box. After only two measures on his guitar, Moira’s head popped back up. Then her shoulders and arms appeared as she grunted and heaved an unconscious girl over the edge of the box and into Galen’s unsuspecting arms.
“What?” he said, bending under the sudden burden.
“You’re not getting any smarter, are you, pretty boy?” she said acidly.
Galen eased the sleeping princess to the floor. “No need to … oof.” Another girl dropped into his arms.
Jakob hissed at them to be quieter, then glanced back into the larder. The troll women were now flailing away at unidentifiable haunches of meat with cleavers and knives, while Buri and Arri scampered around their legs in a rough game of tag. Evidently food trumped music, for none of them were fainting.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Jakob sang, loud enough for Moira to hear. “For dinner might be soon.”
“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” the troll boys sang back, thinking the message was for them. They were a half step apart and both flat.
Botvi, Selvi, and Trigvi kept on chopping.
Shooting Jakob an exasperated look, Moira picked up a third girl from the box before disappearing again. The fourth girl followed soon thereafter, and then Moira heaved herself out as well. Jakob looked to his right at the girls stacked like so much cordwood on the floor, then looked to his left at the big front door.
The closed front door.
“What now?” Jakob sang. “Hurry.”
“Hurry, Buri,” Arri sang back.
Buri giggled.
Now the troll boys’ game of tag began to take on a frantic pace, and Selvi looked down at them, frowning.
Meanwhile in the living room, Moira followed Jakob’s gaze to the closed door and frowned. Poking Galen, she said, “Make yourself useful, tall guy. Open that door.”
Galen gave her the smile that Jakob had once heard Erik call, “teeny-bopper’s bane.”
“My pleasure, young lady,” he said and took off across the room. Moira rolled her eyes. Jakob swung his head around in time to see his brother take a running leap at the door.
And come up a foot short of the latch.
“I can do it,” Galen said immediately and backed up.
“Well, do it quickly,” Moira replied.
Jakob began singing louder to cover their noise. The louder he sang, the faster Arri and Buri ran around the table. Now Selvi had her hands on her hips. But Trigvi and Botvi had stopped chopping food and were listening to the singing, closing their eyes, and swaying, as if ready to faint.
Galen took another run at the front door, and got closer this time, but it was obvious to Jakob that his brother wasn’t going to be able to reach the latch. Then Galen tried one last time, coming down noisy and hard after barely brushing the latch with his fingertips.
“What be that?” Selvi called looking over at Jakob.
For a moment Jakob couldn’t think of an answer.
“What be that?” Selvi asked again, wiping her hands on her apron and starting toward him.
“Nothing, Mama Selvi,” Galen called from the living room floor. “Just me being clumsy.”
Jakob swore that the big troll wife actually tittered. She fluttered her eyelids, practically making a gale. “Oh, Galen,” she called back, “you be graceful as a deer, not clumsy.” She turned back to the chopping block.
Galen pushed himself painfully to his feet. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Moira looked to Jakob. He thought frantically. We need someone to open the door. He looked around the room. But only the trolls are big enough. For a moment he stopped singing and Botvi and Trigvi opened their eyes. He began to tremble. Quick, Quick, he told himself, Think, Jakob. Think of a reason why would we need to go outside. Frantically he looked around. Ah—I don’t see a bathroom.
“Um … Mama Selvi?” Jakob called into the larder. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“The what room?” she replied.
Do they not go? he thought. Then, No, they just don’t know what a bathroom is. “I need to … um…” He made a gesture with his thumb and first finger.
“Ah, Arri! Be bringing our musician the basin.”
“Yes, Mother,” came the reply and Arri rushed out of the larder, almost knocking Jakob over in the process. Sparing one confused glance at the princesses stacked up on the floor, the young troll charged into the bedroom, returning moments later with a huge, foul-smelling basin. He plopped it down in front of Jakob and waited expectantly.
“I … um…” Jakob stuttered.
“He can’t go over the top of that, Arri,” Galen said. “See how small he is?”
Thank you, big brother. “Yeah, I’m too small. I’m the little brother. I’ll have to go outside.”
Arri shrugged. Then glancing once more at the enchanted Dairy Princesses, he walked to the front door and pushed it open.
Everyone just stared at each other for a moment.
Jakob said, “Okay … I guess I’ll…”
“Arri,” Moira interrupted. “Shouldn’t you go back and help your mother and aunts?”
The troll boy blinked. “Oh, yes! We be having so much fun cooking. You will love what we be making. A very special meal, indeed!”
“Yeah, Arri,” Jakob said. “That sounds great. Now, hurry, so we can eat and then I can teach you those new notes!”
Arri nodded, beamed, and dashed back into the larder, singing, “New note, new note.”
“Everyone grab a girl,” said Moira. “Pretty boy, you get two.” She looked grimly at Jakob. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
Jakob should have been elated: they were steps away from freedom. But instead he was thinking about Erik running into the woods with Aenmarr right behind him. And the seven other Dairy Princesses? What could be done about them?
Then he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind, and hooked one of the Dairy Princesses under her arms. His guitar still in one hand, he dragged her backward toward the door, his leg screaming in pain. He prayed fervently that it would hold his weight, that Erik was still alive, that none of the troll wives would look out the larder door and see them all leaving. They didn’t seem quite as stupid as the young trolls.
He needn’t have worried about the last bit; a quick glance into the larder showed the troll women completely engrossed in their task of molding raw meat into the shape of a large fox.
And besides, he never reached the door.
Something heavy hit him in the back and tumbled him over. He dropped the girl with a thud, and rolled, trying to protect his guitar from smashing to bits. His neck and back flared in agony as he pushed himself upright to see what had knocked him over.
It was Erik. He was obviously hurt, with blood and dirt caking his face. The bruise under his eye was now deep purple with streaks of yellow. But he was alive!
“Erik!” Jakob cried. “How did you get away?”
Erik cranked open his eyes and looked at Jakob blearily. “I didn’t,” he croaked, before slumping to the floor.
Jakob looked up. And up. And up. Aenmarr filled the doorway, a short tree trunk in one hand, the stub of an arrow still sticking out of his right shoulder.
“Why be all my wives in the larder,” Aenmarr rumbled, “when all the meat be in the main hall?” Then roaring with laughter, he stepped inside the house, slamming the great door shut behind him.
5 · Doom, Gloom, and After
The goose flies past the setting sun,
Plums roasting in her breast,
Sleeping Beauty lays her head down,
A hundred years to rest.
And fee-fi-fo the giant fums,
And to my dark Prince Charming comes
A-ride, ride, riding.
Into my night of darkness
My own Prince Charming comes.
The witch is popped into the oven,
Rising in
to cake,
The swan queen glides her downy form,
To the enchanted lake.
And rum-pum-pum the drummer drums,
As into darkness my prince comes
A-ride, ride, riding.
Into my night of darkness
My own Prince Charming comes.
It’s half past twelve and once again
The shoe of glass is gone,
And magic is as magic was,
And vanished with the dawn.
For Pooh has hummed his final hum,
The giant finished off his fums,
They’ve drawn their final breath,
For into darkness my prince comes
A-ride, ride, riding.
For into darkness my prince comes,
On his bony horse called Death.
—Words and music by Jakob and Erik Griffson, featuring Moira Darr on lead vocals, from Troll Bridge
Radio WMSP: 10:00 A.M.
“So, Jim, here it is Friday morning, or as our ancestors used to say, ‘Frigga’s Day.’”
“Your ancestors, Katie. My ancestors are English. We say ‘TGIF.’”
“[Laughs.] But to be real serious now, Jim, do you have any news for us on the Vanderby story about the missing Dairy Princesses. And The Griffson Brothers?”
“Why yes, Katie, there’s another strange occurrence to report. A huge fire—or at least a lot of smoke—spiraled up above the forest on the other side of the little stone bridge where the teenagers were known to have disappeared. The local fire department—all volunteers, dontcha know—tramped through those woods looking for the source of the fire, hoping it might be from a campfire started by the kids. But they found nothing. Not a fire, not an ember, nothing.”
“Curiouser and curiouser, Jim, as Harry Potter would say.”
“I think that’s Alice in Wonderland, Katie.”
“You may be right, Jim. I don’t read fantasy books. Just give me the facts, ma’am. That’s Dragnet, by the way. What did the fire chief have to say?”
“He said…”
“It’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, Jim.”