Trolls World Tour

by David Lewman

  Cooper gasped. “They are all different,” he said. “And this one looks a little bit like me.” He leaned in for a closer look. A green leaf fluttered down and landed on the head of the Troll in the drawing. He gasped again. “We even have the same hat!”

  That settled it. Cooper hurried home to his pod and dug out his traveling clothes, including a purple cape. He hung his regular hat on a peg labeled EVERYTHING’S GOOD and took the hat from a peg labeled DESTINY HAT. He packed a satchel, careful to include his favorite harmonica. Then he made his way to the edge of Trolls Village and looked back at it sadly.

  “Goodbye,” he said. “I hope I see you again, friends. But even though it’s scary, I have to go out there and see if there are other Trolls like me.”

  Cooper took a step and almost tumbled down a hill.

  “Ahhhh!” He peered over the edge at the wilderness below. “Oh, man, this is gonna be hard!”

  * * *

  Queen Barb and her Rockers emerged from the ocean, leaving the undersea world of the Techno Trolls behind. They flew over a bizarre landscape, riding on top of their fishlike creatures, playing and singing a hard-rock song. Barb threw in a squealing guitar solo to bring the song to a close.

  “Music has kept us apart—it’s time for the rock revolution to start! No spats, no tiffs, no fighting, and everyone’s the same!” she roared.

  Soon Queen Barb and her fellow Rocker Trolls reached their royal tour bus and went inside. Barb was holding the Techno Trolls’ blue string in her fist.

  “Yeah!” Barb said triumphantly. “I got the techno string—who knew world domination could be so much fun?”

  The Rocker Trolls on the tour bus cheered. Two of them brought a guitar case over to Barb, opening it to reveal a wild-looking guitar with a skull on it. Barb added the techno string to the guitar, putting it next to the rock string. The techno string changed from glowing blue to red, matching the rock string. She grinned, admiring the guitar.

  “Only four more strings to go until we unite the world.” Then something occurred to her. She raised her head and looked around the tour bus. “Wait—where’s Dad?” she asked, turning to the drummer, Riff.

  WHOOSH. A flushing sound came from the tour bus’s small restroom. The door opened, and an old Rocker Troll in a wheelchair with spikes jutting from the wheels slowly rolled out and parked. It was Barb’s father, King Thrash, and he seemed a bit confused, as though his years of listening to loud rock music had scrambled his brains. His black-and-gray hair stood straight up, and his eyes were wide open in a perpetually surprised expression. He smiled vaguely.

  “There you are, Dad!” Barb cried, hurrying to his side. “Look! I got the techno string!” She held up the guitar with the new glowing string.

  King Thrash spoke, but the words he said were impossible to understand.

  “Don’t you remember the plan?” Barb asked, somehow figuring out that he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  The old king mumbled some words—or sounds that may have been words.

  “Great idea, man!” Barb said, seeming to understand him. She turned to the other rockers on the bus. “Hey! Line up! We’re going to go over the plan again!”

  Four Rocker Trolls lined up. As Barb walked past the first one, she said, “Okay. We’re on a world tour…” The Troll turned around, showing the back of his jacket, which featured a picture of Barb on tour.

  “…and on each stop,” Barb continued, “we get a new string!” The second Troll turned around. The back of his jacket showed a map of the six Trolls lands.

  “When I have all six strings…,” Barb said. The third Troll turned around. The back of her jacket showed Barb onstage at a huge concert venue, holding all six strings in her hand.

  “…and play the ultimate power chord…,” she said. The fourth Troll turned around. The back of his jacket showed Barb whaling on her guitar, now equipped with all six strings.

  “…I will unite the Trolls under one music. Our music!” she crowed. Everyone on the bus cheered!

  King Thrash watched the whole scene with great interest, growing more and more excited. He raised an arm, his fist clenched.

  “Here it comes…,” Barb said, watching with delight.

  Grunting and groaning, King Thrash tried to lift two fingers into the rocker salute. “Ungh! Erngh!”

  He couldn’t do it.

  “Riff, just help him, man,” Barb said.

  “Yes, Your Rockness,” Riff said. He hurried over to the king and helped him open his index finger and pinky finger to make the rocker sign. “Ah, there it is.”

  “Rock ’n’ roll!” the old king rasped.

  Everyone cheered!

  As the balloon soared past puffy clouds and over colorful, flower-covered hills, Poppy leaned on the edge of the big basket and smiled. What a beautiful world they lived in!

  But Branch wasn’t admiring the scenery. He pulled a thick owner’s manual out of the balloon’s glove compartment. “All right. In a short four hundred fifty-six pages, we’re gonna know how to fly this thing.” He cracked open the massive manual, but Poppy slipped it out of his hands and casually tossed it over the side of the balloon. “HEY!” Branch cried.

  “Oh, Branch,” Poppy giggled. “We don’t need a giant, comprehensive manual. How hard can it be?” Humming to herself, she chose a button on the complicated control panel at random and pressed it. ZWOOOOM! The balloon whizzed through the sky at super speed, blasting through clouds and looping like a roller coaster.

  “All right, Poppy,” Sheila B. said. “Easy on the buttons.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  ZZZZZZZ. A loud snore.

  “What was that?” Branch asked, looking around. Poppy hadn’t snored. The balloon hadn’t snored. And Branch knew he hadn’t snored.

  Following the sound, Poppy leaned down and lifted a tarp. Underneath were Biggie and Mr. Dinkles, asleep. Biggie’s face, hands, and body were stained with something pink and sticky. Mr. Dinkles lay across his stomach. “Biggie?” Poppy said.

  The big blue Troll woke with a start. He looked up and saw Poppy and Branch staring at him, wondering what he was doing in the balloon. A guilty expression crept over his face. “Oh, hello,” he said innocently. “I couldn’t help myself. You know how I am around cotton candy.”

  Poppy had brought lots of cotton candy and other sweets to give to Queen Barb as a present. Biggie stood up with Mr. Dinkles stuck to his stomach. He had trouble peeling his pet worm off, but he did it—and then Mr. Dinkles was stuck to his hand.

  “Oh, dear,” Biggie said. “Now look what’s happened. Mr. Dinkles got all gummed up.”

  He shook his hand harder and harder, trying to get the worm off. Finally, Mr. Dinkles flew off Biggie’s hand…and over the side of the balloon’s basket!

  “Mew!” Mr. Dinkles cried.

  “Oh, Mr. Dinkles!” Biggie yelped. “Mr. Dinkles!” He ran to the edge of the basket and peered over. Mr. Dinkles was stuck to the side of the basket. “Oh, there you are.” Biggie was relieved. He scooped up his beloved pet. “Right, then, we’ll just be on our way.”

  Looking down, Biggie realized they were far above the ground. “AYYYY!” he screamed. “Poppy, where are you balloon-flying us to?”

  “We’re on a mission to help Barb unite the Trolls,” she explained. “And I’m so glad you’re coming with us!”

  “I did what in the who, now?” Biggie asked, confused.

  Poppy danced over to her supplies. “I hope you didn’t eat all the cotton candy, because Barb is gonna love it.” She started to lift a lid from basket, but Branch quickly slammed it closed.

  Poppy realized she’d never seen that particular basket before. “Ahem,” she said. “Branchifer, what is this?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, nothing, Popifer,” Branch said, looking a little emb
arrassed. “That’s just my…man stuff.”

  “I love man stuff!” Poppy cried, lifting the lid. The basket was full of rocks and sharpened sticks. “Weapons?” She was disappointed. “For shame! Violence never solves problems, Branch!”

  “I’m not saying we have to use them,” Branch argued. “I’m just saying it’s better to be prepared in case we need them.”

  “We won’t need them, unless these pointy sticks help you listen,” Poppy said. “Or these rocks help you put yourself in someone else’s shoes.” She picked up a shiny set of brass knuckles and frowned, puzzled. “Is this some kind of jewelry? It’s actually kind of cool-looking.” Slipping her fingers into the polished brass knuckles, she admired the way they caught the sunlight. She sang a high note to go with their gleam. “Ooohhh!”

  Branch reached for the brass knuckles. “Give me those! We don’t even know what’s out there!”

  Before Branch could stop her, Poppy dumped the basket of weapons over the side of the balloon. “Wait!” Branch cried. “No! I whittled those for hours!”

  “Branch, the only weapons we need are this guy”—she made a fist and touched her bicep—“and this guy!” She made another fist, showing her other bicep while also making a fierce face. Then she grinned and opened her arms wide. “For hugs!”

  Biggie was looking over the edge of the basket at the ground below. “Poppy,” he said in a worried voice, “you may want to see this.”

  Poppy and Branch looked over the side of the basket and saw the smoldering ruins of another Trolls village.

  “This is going to take a lot of hugs,” Branch grimly muttered to himself.

  The buildings in the village had the shapes and curves of musical instruments—instruments that had been blasted and broken. The balloon came in for a landing, and Poppy, Branch, and Biggie climbed out of the basket to explore the site of devastation.

  As they carefully picked their way through the village’s smashed remains, Poppy wondered just what she had gotten them into.

  “Whoa,” Branch said. “Something gnarly happened here.”

  “Hello?” said a high-pitched voice, sounding scared.

  They looked around but didn’t see anyone.

  “Who said that?” Branch asked. “Identify yourself!”

  “Are you nice or are you mean?” the voice asked.

  “We’re nice,” Poppy assured the unseen speaker. “We’re really nice.”

  “But not too nice,” Branch added. “So don’t even try it!” He didn’t trust anyone he couldn’t see. Or lots of creatures he could see.

  “Okay,” the little voice said hesitantly. A frightened little musical instrument, kind of like a piccolo, emerged from the shadows. Her name was Pennywhistle. She was gold-colored, with finger holes and long eyelashes.

  “What is this place?” Poppy asked gently, not wanting to scare the little instrument away.

  “It used to be called Symphonyville, where the Classical Trolls lived,” Pennywhistle explained. “That was in the Before.”

  “What happened here?” Poppy asked.

  “Well,” Pennywhistle said, “Symphonyville was the most wonderful place you ever did see. It was a place where all of the Classical Trolls could live in perfect harmony.” As she looked at the remnants of her village, Pennywhistle recalled what it used to be like.

  “Wherever the conductor led, we followed,” she said, picturing the small Classical Troll with curls of white hair piled high on his head who kept their musical string hidden inside his baton. “His name was Trollzart, and he loved telling us, ‘Play! Play! Beautiful!’ ”

  Pennywhistle smiled, thinking of the wonderful music they’d all made together. But her smile turned to a frown. “Then Queen Barb showed up with her Rock army. ‘What’s up, Trollzart dude?’ she said. ‘I’m here for your string!’ ”

  “Queen Barb?” Poppy asked.

  Pennywhistle nodded. “Conductor Trollzart told her we would not go quietly, and started to conduct us in a symphonic attack. But Queen Barb blasted us with a rock guitar chord! The conductor fell to the ground and dropped his baton. Queen Barb picked it up, snapped it in half, and pulled out our string.”

  Poppy and Branch looked stunned. For a moment, Pennywhistle just shook her head, overcome by the sad memories. Then she took a deep breath and said, “She took our string, our music. She took everyone. We lost everything.”

  “Barb doesn’t want to unite us,” Poppy said, realizing the truth. “She wants to destroy us.”

  Branch steeled himself. “We need to make sure our own string is safe.”

  “Our string is safe,” Poppy said, pulling the glowing pink string out of her hair. It made a beautiful sound.

  Branch couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing.

  “What?” he shouted. “Poppy, are you crazy? Carrying the Pop Trolls’ string around in your hair?”

  She looked a little embarrassed. “I thought it was a good idea at the time,” she admitted. “I can’t believe another queen would use her power for evil.”

  “Okay, change of plans,” Branch said, heading back toward the balloon. “We need to get home as fast as we can and get in the bunker.”

  Poppy stopped him. “Uh, no. Change of plans. We have to stop Barb from destroying all music.”

  Branch stared at her in disbelief. “Can you just look at reality this one time?”

  “Branch, I am!” Poppy insisted. “If I don’t stop Barb, who will?”

  Branch shook his head. He didn’t have a good answer for Poppy’s question, but he wasn’t at all happy about the idea of the three of them taking on Queen Barb’s army of Rocker Trolls. Looking around, he could see what the Rocker Trolls had done to Symphonyville with their blasts of deafening rock. He worried about the damage Barb and her army might have planned for Trolls Village. He didn’t want to go any farther. He wanted to make sure he and his friends were safe.

  “Poppy,” Biggie said, speaking up for the first time since they’d arrived at the scene of destruction, “you said this could be handled with hugs! How are we going to hug our way out of this one?” He was very upset by what they were seeing.

  Poppy touched his arm. “It’s okay, Biggie,” she reassured him.

  “Really?” Biggie said, scared. “It’s okay to be terrified?” He shook his head. “When am I going to learn to stay away from the cotton candy?”

  “As your queen, I promise I will protect you, no matter what.” She could see that Biggie still wasn’t convinced. She got an idea. “I pinky promise,” she said in a deadly serious voice, holding up her pinky.

  Biggie gasped. “Poppy, you know you can’t go back on a pinky promise!”

  “Never did, never will,” Poppy said firmly.

  Biggie looked at Mr. Dinkles, who nodded. The big Troll offered his bent pinky to Poppy, and they hooked their pinky fingers together. BOOOOOM! A shock wave spread out from the sheer power of the pinky promise. The ground shook, and a column of bright light shone into the sky.

  * * *

  In a forest, Cooper crossed a wide clearing, still wearing his traveling cape and hat. He felt a WHOOSH as the mighty tremor from Poppy and Biggie’s pinky promise swept through the woods. He looked up in the sky and saw the column of light in the distance.

  “A pinky promise!” he exclaimed to himself. “Dang!”

  He walked on, determined to find other Trolls like himself somewhere.

  * * *

  Back in the ruins of Symphonyville, the wind died down. The pinky promise was complete. “Let it be so,” Poppy said formally.

  “And so it is,” Biggie responded, following the ritual of the pinky promise.

  “This just got real,” Pennywhistle said in a voice filled with awe.

  Poppy turned to Branch. “You’re right. I can’t do this alone.”

 
Branch was touched. Not only was Poppy admitting he was right, she was also saying she couldn’t stop Barb without him.

  Then she whipped out a felt map of the Trolls Kingdom that she’d made herself, based on the ancient scroll her father had shown them, and unrolled it. It showed all six Trolls lands—the woodsy village of the Pop Trolls, the undersea kingdom of the Techno Trolls, the now ruined Symphonyville, the desert realm of the Country Western Trolls, the mysterious dwelling of the Funk Trolls, and the forbidding volcano island of the Rocker Trolls.

  Poppy placed red, blue, and green candies on three of the lands. “We need the others—the Country Western, Techno, and Funk Trolls.” She used a candy cane to push all the candies together into one pile while chewing a piece of gum herself. “Then we’ll face Barb as a united alliance. We need to remind her that she’s one of us.”

  She blew a big bubble and popped it with determination. POP!

  “YEE!” Biggie yelped, still on edge.

  Poppy turned to Pennywhistle. “We have to get to the Country Western Trolls in Lonesome Flats before Barb does. Will you come with us?”

  “Oh, no,” Pennywhistle said, shaking her head. “Someone has to rebuild Symphonyville. Pennywhistle is the woodwind for the job.”

  Poppy nodded, understanding the desire to fix one’s broken home. She put a tiny hard hat on the determined little instrument. “Good luck, little Pennywhistle.”

  “Goodbye, Poppy,” she said bravely. Grunting, she pushed a small rock onto another rock. It tumbled off.

  Pennywhistle sighed.

  Barb’s delivery bat flapped into the Rocker Trolls’ tour bus wearing the bow and glitter from Poppy. When Barb saw it, she said, “What is that thing?”

  She looked closer at the colorful creature.