Jasper Fforde - The Great Troll War

The doors to the ballroom opened at 2.20 and at 2.30 almost everyone was in place. At 2.34 Feldspar, the second Dragon, arrived, and although seemingly quite frightening, with scales and fangs and the occasional breath of fire – especially when excited – both the Dragons were so utterly non-Dragon and friendly that no one had much fear of them.

‘Sorry,’ he said apologetically, ‘I was conducting an aerial survey of the neighbouring Kingdoms. Have I missed anything?’

‘We were waiting for you,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ he muttered, then tried to get to his seat, but not without some difficulty. Both Dragons were about the size of a largish Shetland pony by now, barely one twentieth of their adult size, and very clumsy – they were happier in the air, to be honest, or curled up on a sofa binge-watching TV series. I had told them about Bergerac in an unguarded moment, and they now loved the series so much they watched it again and again.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry.’

Feldspar had trodden on the chief marksman’s foot, and someone was sent to find a bag of frozen peas and some paracetamol. And so, after much apologising, everyone was seated. And at exactly 2.52 p.m., the Sorcerer’s Conclave began.

I took the sword Exhorbitus from my back-scabbard and laid it on the table in front of me, I guess to demonstrate the gravity of the meeting. Most enchanted swords had tastelessly overdecorated hilts and highly engraved blades, but Exhorbitus was more simple: perfectly proportioned and with a burnished dull finish and a ruby in the pommel, it was the weapon of a true warrior, to whom flashy presentation means nothing.

‘My name is Jennifer Strange,’ I said, ‘and as Court Mystician to the Kingdom of Snodd and director of the House of Enchantment of Kazam, I think I am best placed to chair this Conclave, although I will hear arguments on why this should not be the case.’

‘Shouldn’t the Ruler of Cornwall be in charge?’ asked Princess Jocaminca, who was clearly still a little chippy over losing her authority. ‘Agreed, it’s one twentieth the size it was, but while it remains unconquered land, the rightful ruler must still have authority.’

‘It’s a good point,’ I said. ‘Tiger, weren’t you looking into this?’

Tiger stood up.

‘All of Cornwall was bought by the Queen of Midlandia as a “second Kingdom” for her to enjoy ruling at the weekends. The Cornish Grand Vizier, charged to look after the Kingdom during the week, was also treating it more like a weekend thing, as was her deputy, the Attorney General, the Chief Judge and even the Minister for Pasties. They just governed as a kind of hobby. In fact, I can’t find a single government job that wasn’t done by someone who lives elsewhere.’

This was, sadly, all too true. After several centuries of weekend rule the indigenous Cornish now worked in a menial capacity beneath their weekending overlords. House prices were so high that the Cornish had to live in abandoned cars in fields until they were priced out of them, too, when ‘living in an abandoned car in a field for the weekend’ became the must-have holiday for Londoners with more money than sense.

‘Is this true?’ asked the Princess.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Tiger.

‘My first decree as Ruler of all the Kingdoms,’ she said, ‘will be to seize all land and property in Cornwall owned by anyone who doesn’t live here, and have it redistributed to the Cornish. Make a note, Tiger.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘that’s Cornwall sorted. Now: any other objections to me leading this Conclave?’

There were none, so I carried on:

‘Before our discussions begin I would like to observe a minute’s silence for those who did not survive the invasion and gave their lives in the struggle for freedom.’

We bowed our heads in the silence, and once the minute was up, I continued:

‘As you all know the Trolls invaded two weeks ago led by Emperor Urdgg the Needlessly Violent. The invasion was well planned in that their strategy was very, very simple: advance through the UnUnited Kingdoms, killing and eating 17 17 Chillingly, not always in this order. anyone who tried to resist.’

It was a good strategy. The news spread quickly and the advancing Trolls found that their propensity for extreme violence and an imaginative flair for human-based recipes was enough to have humans falling over themselves to surrender, and the kings and queens, emperors, dictators, viziers and politburos all eagerly traded their and their family’s lives for the keys to their nation. There was a murmuring at this and I looked around the room. This was meant to be a Sorcerer’s Conclave but there were precious few wizards present. There had been talk of assistance from mainland Europe – they were quite enthusiastic to begin with, but then suddenly remembered they had ‘a long-standing engagement of a pressing nature’ and might have to ‘sit this one out’.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘before we even begin to discuss tactics, we need to know how we stand as a potential army of resistance. Monty? Tell us what you’ve discovered.’

Monty Vanguard stood up. His once jet-black hair was now snowy white, yet combed in a manner that conveyed the appearance of a bank manager, a look reinforced by the circular horn-rimmed glasses, sensible suit, tidily knotted tie and ever-ready briefcase.

‘As you might have heard,’ he said, ‘a powerful HENRY is currently active, nullifying all spells and rendering sorcerers powerless.’

‘The more we try and damage it, the more powerful it becomes,’ said Once Magnificent Boo, who was sitting on the other side of the Princess. ‘We’ll need to take it out by physical force.’

‘Where is it based?’ I asked.

‘On Dartmoor,’ said Monty. ‘Colin took some aerial pictures. The HENRY is on the site of the TV mast, just near the prison, and surrounded by a forested enchantment – cut a bramble and two instantly grow in its place. If we want to destroy it we’ll need to figure out some sort of countermeasure.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘what else?’

Monty consulted his clipboard.

‘Wizard Moobin was busy with the Trench and button telepathy call, so he had Lady Mawgon and Full Price send out the requests for “Terrible Warriors” on the Low Telepathic Waveband to head to Cornwall along with marksmen and women, and anyone expert in fencing. All told, we have an army of just under two thousand.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, taking a deep breath. When we failed to negotiate a deal with the Trolls then force would be inevitable.

Fight – or be eaten.

‘Why didn’t Full Price and Mawgon put out a call for artillery and heavy armoured vehicles?’ asked Once Magnificent Boo.

‘Cannons and tanks require heavy transportation and we didn’t have the time,’ said Lady Mawgon. ‘Rifles are of questionable use as bullets simply make Trolls annoyed – but swords and rapiers are much feared, mostly because the scars can upset their intricate tattoos, of which they are hugely proud.’

‘Warriors are resourceful fighters,’ said Monty. ‘They’ll have a plan up their sleeves.’

‘I agree,’ I said. Since the UnUnited Kingdoms were so often at war, warrior was often a second profession on a part-time basis – when dentistry or carpet-fitting wasn’t bringing in enough cash. ‘Where are their representatives?’

Monty pointed towards where a woman and two men were seated between Tiger and the Mysterious X, who was cosily sealed inside his Kilner jar, his particles sparkling like glow-worms. The representatives gave me a cheery wave while I consulted the register of Conclave attendees, which also listed the number of people they represented.