Harry Turtledove - Every Inch a King

He might have been six inches tall.

“Come on!” he roared in a voice ridiculously deep for anything his size. “Come on, you big thing! I’ll bite your toes off!”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I wasn’t sure he could bite a toe off. He had a big mouth for anything his size, but that big? Still, when you’re on a tightrope, you don’t want anything biting your toes, even if not off. That could make your day less enjoyable than you’d like.

I thought about imitating the billy goats in the story and asking him to wait till something bigger and tastier came along. But I wasn’t convinced Max is tastier than I am. I’m still not, as a matter of fact. And, even more to the point, I wasn’t convinced he could knock the troll off the rope-I should say, the bridge-even if he went across it wearing boots.

The burdens of a kingdom still lay on my shoulders, even though the kingdom was gone. It hardly seemed fair.

I took a step toward the troll. He gnashed those unpleasant-looking teeth. “Why don’t you be reasonable?” I said-reasonably. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have a bridge where you could annoy people.”

“And so? I’ve got one now!” The troll rushed toward me. Running along a rope didn’t bother him at all.

I had the rest of the rope, though. I snapped it as if cracking a whip. It caught the troll right in his trollish chops. He let out a squawk-this time one of surprise and dismay, not one of bad-tempered rage. And he went flying, nasty little arms flailing uselessly, out and down into the gully. I hoped a ferret would eat him. Just what he deserved, though he’d probably give the beast heartburn.

Of course, I fell off the tightrope, too. You don’t make a violent motion like that on a rope without paying for it. But I’d known I would. I caught the rope as I went down, and pulled myself back up onto it. Then I gathered up the second strand again and finished taking it back across the gully.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Max said when I got back to the side where he waited.

“So glad you were amused,” I said. A lot of things are more entertaining to watch than to do. I would put being attacked by a miniature troll while you’re walking a tightrope fairly high on the list. “Now that we’ve got a length of rope for you to hold on to while you cross, do you think you can make it over the gully?”

“I think I’d better,” Max said, which showed good sense. “And I think you’d better carry the money.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised. “You didn’t run off with it while I was going across. I won’t, either.”

“I should say not. Where would you run to?” Max said. “Ah, do you suppose that thing you larruped is likely to come back?”

“I hope not,” I said sincerely. “If you want to leave your boots on while you’re crossing, maybe you can squash it flat if it does, or at least kick it off again.” I didn’t believe it, but you shouldn’t discourage somebody who may have to try something hard.

And Max nodded in something that looked like approval. Who would have believed it? “Good idea,” he said. “How did you come up with it?” He climbed the tree. He is, to put it mildly, inelegant at such pursuits. If there were monkeys in Shqiperi, they would have killed themselves laughing. Maybe there are no monkeys in Shqiperi because they spent too much time watching clumsy tree-climbers and laughed themselves to death. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.

Max was every bit as ungraceful-maybe even disgraceful-edging out across my makeshift bridge. Did he hang on tight to the top strand? Oh, you might say so. Yes, you just might. Did he get from this side of the gully to that one? Yes, he did, and how can you ask for more?

I suspect the nonexistent monkey would have laughed at me, too. You cannot haul two sacks of silver up into a tree and look good while you’re doing it. I started across the rope again. I’d got most of the way across when…

“Grr! Who’s that walking on my bridge? Grrr!”

He’d learned his lines well; I will say that for him. But nobody’d blocked his moves for him. I was almost to the far side of the gully, and there he stood, back in the middle of the rope bridge. I said, “Please don’t eat me, Master Troll.”

“Why not?” he roared-a damn good roar for his size, I must say.

Because you’d explode if you tried. But no, I didn’t tell him that. Since I’d been thinking of it earlier, I gave him the time-honored answer instead: “Because the fellow who’s coming after me is much larger and juicier and tastier, that’s why.”

“Juicy,” the troll said, and then, “All right. You can cross. I’ll wait for him.”

Cross I did. As far as I know, the troll is waiting yet. Oh, it’s possible some Shqipetar has tried to cross by the rope bridge. If he did, a grouchy little troll would have annoyed him. But more likely the miserable green nuisance is still standing there. Many good-byes to him.

Max had had the sense to get down from the tree on the far side of the gully before I crossed over to it. When I’d descended, too, he asked, “Well, what now?”

“Now on to the coast,” I said, “and let’s hope we don’t run into any more trolls. That little pest may have some big friends.”

I don’t think I’ll put Eliphalet and Zibeon out of business any time soon, but that was one of the best prophesies I ended up wishing I’d never made.

I didn’t have to worry about building my own bridge over this gully. A wooden span that looked as old as time already crossed it. The bridge seemed solid enough, though. It certainly had no trouble bearing the weight of the troll who appeared in the middle of it as soon as Max and I started across.

“Grrr!” he roared. “Who’s that walking on my bridge? Grrr!” Yes, the same old tired line. It sounded much more impressive coming from him than it had from the other one, because he was at least as tall as Max and about four times as wide.

“You and your big mouth,” Max said to me.

Since I was thinking the same thing, I couldn’t even snarl at him. Oh, maybe-probably, even-the troll would have appeared if I hadn’t predicted it. That didn’t make me feel any better. A six-inch troll was ugly and annoying. A six-foot-eight troll was even uglier and much too likely to be lethal. This fellow had warts the size of his little cousin. I might have resigned myself to those. But he also had fangs and talons about the size of his little cousin. By all appearances, he intended to use them, too.

“Do you suppose he’s as smart as the little one was?” Max asked out of the side of his mouth.

I eyed the troll. “I don’t think he’ll put the Seventeen Sages out of business any time soon, or even Ibrahim the Wise.”

Max snorted. “Ah, good old Joe,” he murmured, remembering the tubby Torinan who’d worked for Dooger and Cark. “I wonder if his demon’s devoured him yet.” And then he did something that convinced me he was no threat to the Seventeen Sages, either: he drew his sword and advanced on the troll.

I drew my sword, too, and went after him. I didn’t want him to die out there on the bridge by himself, but I didn’t really think both of us together could take out that mass of muscles and claws and teeth.

“Grrr!” The troll got louder and angrier as we got closer. Any moment now, he was going to charge. That might be…unpleasant.

“You’re not so tough,” Max said, and I wondered if he’d come unhinged. Well, no-I didn’t wonder, not even a little bit. I was convinced.

Even the troll seemed surprised. “Who says?” he bellowed. “I’ll show you!” By then, we were close enough to be sure he’d never made the acquaintance of a fangbrush-or if he had, he desperately needed a new brand of fangpaste.