by Robyn Fraser
“Okay, folks,” interrupted Robin. “This stop looks a little more serious. Rose, under the seat. Dean, hide your sketchbook. And stay calm.”
She called me Dean, thought Deanna, who was really connecting with the new name. It was the same name they’d used for their comic book character…who they’d always thought of as the ‘boy’ version of themselves.
Robin parked in the middle of the road, the Control cars on each side, two officers standing in front to block her way. The other two strode up to either side of the SUV. Both Robin and Marion rolled down their windows.
“What’s your purpose?” asked the one on the driver’s side, a tall woman with mirrored sunglasses and no smile.
“Deployment to the western roadblock, sir,” said Robin with a calm confidence.
“ID?” asked the officer.
Robin handed over the fake ID for both her and Marion. “This is Dean Scarlett,” she said, pointing to Dean/na. “He’s a new recruit. Doesn’t have his ID yet.”
The officer glanced through the window at Dean/na. The way their heart was pounding, they were sure it must be visible through their Concreta Control Corps shirt. There was something much more intimidating about this stop compared to the others.
“I’ll need all of you out of the car,” said the officer. “We’re searching all vehicles that want to pass this point.”
“Of course,” said Robin. She opened the car door as though there was no problem in the world, as though there wasn’t a Magitorian chicken and an illegal sketchbook hidden under the seat. Dean (they’d decided to embrace the name for now, so I think we should too) envied her acting skills.
“And take those bags out with you and place them on the ground,” added the officer, directing her glare to Dean.
Dean opened the rear door and stepped out with the others, placing the two backpacks on the paved road as told. They chanced a glance at Marion, who was on the other side of the SUV. He was looking back at Dean and nodded almost imperceptibly, as though telling them to keep calm. Which was easier said than done—Dean thought they might faint at any second.
The female officer went around to the trunk, while the one on Marion’s side leaned in and checked the glove compartment. Seemingly satisfied, the first officer moved on to the back seat and, to Dean’s dismay, leaned down to check under the seats.
“What is this?” said the Control officer. She stuck a hand under the driver’s seat and pulled out a playing-dead Rose, holding the chicken upside down by one leg. Then, with her free hand, the officer pulled out the sketchpad.
“That’s for dinner,” said Robin. She still sounded calm, but she was rubbing her thumbs across the insides of her fingers like an anxious twitch. “We’re going to cook it later. Long drive.”
The female officer stared through her mirrored sunglasses at Robin for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she glanced down at the closed book. The second officer had come to her side. The other two were still standing twenty feet away, blocking the road.
“Take a look at this, Gisborne,” she said, holding out the sketchbook for him.
Gisborne took the book and began flipping through the pages. Dean’s heart pounded on their ribcage for escape. If what Robin had said about art was true, they were all in big trouble.
From the corner of their eye, Dean saw Robin step closer to the driver’s door. On the other side, Marion did the same. But both the officers were directly in front of Dean, so there was no way they could get closer to the SUV if trying to make an escape was what the V.E.G.A.N.S. had in mind.
“Wow, it’s imagination art,” said Gisborne, a strange, wistful tone in his voice. “It’s really neat.”
“Give that to me, Gisborne!” said the female officer, turning on him. “And snap out of it now!”
Gisborne shook his head free of whatever had momentarily filled it and passed the book to her. “Sorry, Officer Nottingham. That won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” said Nottingham. “Rogers! Kirklees!” She waved at the other two officers, swinging poor Rose while she did so. “Get over here!”
As they rushed over, Nottingham looked briefly at the open book in her hand, then glared at Robin. “This most certainly is imagination art,” she spat. She glanced from Robin to Dean to Marion. “Who did this?”
“Look, I can explain—” began Robin, taking another step toward the driver’s side of the SUV.
“Stop right there!” yelled one of the other officers, pulling what looked exactly like a gun (because it was one) from a holster on his hip.
In the next few moments, several things happened very quickly but felt like slow motion:
From her hanging position, which happened to be level with the meeting point of the officer’s legs, Rose pecked Nottingham hard. The officer cried out and let go of both Rose and the sketchbook.
The closest sand hill erupted. From it trod two humungous, block-shaped creatures. Dean assumed they were Tiramisu Trolls.
All four officers pulled out their guns and aimed them at the trolls.
Robin and Marion jumped into the SUV and yelled at Dean and Rose to get in.
Shots fired, but one of the trolls pounded its foot onto the ground at the same instant and the reverberations caused the pavement to crack and everyone to fall off balance. Dean landed near Rose and the sketchbook and grabbed hold of both.
Dean scanned frantically for their backpack—the one with the art supplies and knife. Just as they saw it—it had bounced a dozen feet away from the SUV—the other troll pounded the ground with its foot, knocking Dean and Rose even farther away from their escape vehicle, but closer to the pack. Dean grabbed it.
Before they could get up and run back to the SUV, Marion and Robin still yelling at them to ‘get in’, a huge, hairy hand came down and wrapped itself completely around Dean’s body. They were lifted into the air, still gripping Rose in one hand and the backpack and sketchbook in the other.
As they were carried away, into the desert, tires screeched. Dean managed to turn their head enough to see that the V.E.G.A.N.S. were making their escape. The four officers were still lying sprawled on the ground, the second troll looming over them. Then Dean was carried over a sand hill and couldn’t see anything more. But they still heard the screams.
Chapter Nineteen
Where Mangoes Get Dean and Rose out of a Jam
“Rose, you okay?”
The troll still had Dean and Rose in its hand, but had stopped several hundred feet away and turned in the direction of the recent chaos, as though waiting for the other troll.
“A little squished, but still alive,” replied Rose. She was wedged between Dean’s body and the creature’s palm. “Does it smell like chocolate chip cookies all of a sudden, or is it just me?”
Dean sniffed. “Yeah, it totally does.”
“Here comes the other one.” Rose nodded her head in the direction of the second troll.
Sure enough, the other gigantic creature was making its way toward them. Though rather petrified of what was to happen, it was the first time Dean had got a really good look at either of the trolls. They found them quite fascinating.
This one was at least twenty feet tall, with fangs hanging down from its closed mouth and sharp claws on its hands and feet. While this was all very intimidating of course, the troll was also wearing a pink tutu around its middle and a bra made from coconut shells. Several glittery beaded necklaces hung around its neck. And the ears reminded Dean of a bunny rabbit’s. Or maybe a donkey’s. Either way, they were long and furry and stood straight up, a small patch of thick, pink hair between them.
The troll looked remarkably like the sketch Dean had been working on before they’d reached the final roadblock, which was eerily odd. Regardless, this fact, along with the ears and accessories, made the troll seem just a little less terrifying and Dean wondered, for the first time since they’d been captured, if maybe they and Rose weren’t destined for death after all.
“Well, tha
t were fun, weren’t it Eugene?” said the approaching troll.
“Eh, Minnie, it were fer sure. What didchya do to ‘em?”
Minnie smiled, displaying a dozen large, pointed fangs. “Jes put the fear of dog into ‘em, that’s all. Oh, and I stepped on those fangled gadgets they was pointing at us. Them ones that makes all the noise. And the contraptions they rides in too.” She pointed to Dean and Rose. “And what are ya thinkin’ a doin’ with these two?”
Eugene held out his arm and frowned at the captives. “Well, I right don’ know, Minnie. I right don’ know.” He shook his huge head, which had similar ears and fangs to Minnie’s. His big eyes were purple, though, where Minnie’s were orange. And his bra was made from melon skins.
“I jes felt a bit sorry for ‘em, you know?” he continued. “Them bigger ‘uns harassin’ these little critters. Jes’ couldn’ stand watchin’ it no more.” He held Dean and Rose out toward Minnie. “Whatcha think we should do with ‘em?”
Minnie stroked her pink, frizzy beard. “Why don’ we shows ‘em to the others? They’d surely get a kick out of ‘em. Maybe somone’ll wanna keep ‘em as pets. They’re right cute.”
“Good idea, Minnie. I wonders if they speak Illusish?” Eugene turned his hand so that Dean and Rose were facing him again. “Do…yous…understan’…me?” he said slowly and loudly, spitting on Dean as he did. The wet, smelly glob landed on their cheek, but with both arms squished in Eugene’s hand they could do nothing but let it slink down their face, under their chin and onto their neck. It was a really, really gross feeling.
“Um, yes, yes we do,” Dean answered.
“Yes, very clearly,” added Rose.
“We’s gonna take yous to meet our mateys,” said Eugene. “They’ll like yous fer sure.”
Dean had no answer for that. As much as they didn’t desire to be someone’s pet, they were just glad that ‘squishing them to death’ wasn’t part of the plan.
The trolls trod northwest through the desert for about twenty minutes, then stopped at a particularly gigantic sand dune—it was at least twice as tall as either of them.
“Here, I’ll gets it,” said Minnie. She stuck a thick, log-sized arm straight into the hill of sand. When she pulled it back out, there was a large blue vertical box, much like an old-time but troll-sized telephone booth, in her hand. “You goes first, Eugene,” she said. “I’lls follow.”
With his free hand, Eugene pulled open the door and stepped in. The compartment was dark and empty, save for a thick cable of rope that ran vertically through the far corner of the box. He pulled up on this and the box jerked and lurched. Dean felt like their stomach had crashed up into their heart, which was now in their neck. The box was free-fall dropping.
But before Dean could scream for their life, the box stopped.
“’Ere we are,” said Eugene as he pushed open the door and stepped out.
Whatever Dean might have expected, had there been time to ponder what an underground living space for trolls might be like, it wouldn’t have been this.
A disco ball was spraying globs of white light throughout the dark room. The ‘boom, boom, boom’ of a deep bass beat underlay some high-pitched vocals, which sounded oddly familiar to Dean—they were almost sure they’d heard the song before, maybe in a shopping mall or something.
Dozens of trolls filled the warehouse-sized space; some were dancing in the middle of the room, others were along the sides chatting. Several were eating what looked to be cakes or brownies or even donuts. In fact, there was a table not far from Dean that was laden with desserts.
“It’s fun, eh?” said Eugene. Even though he was yelling, Dean barely heard him.
“Yeah, great!” Dean yelled back, attempting a smile. They felt a positive response was probably best, given the situation.
Minnie arrived just then, stepping out of the box. Dean hadn’t noticed, but it must have somehow made its way back up top for her.
“Lemme talks to DJ Georgie,” she said to Eugene. “I’ll gits ‘im ta turn off the music fer a few.” She lumbered over to the troll who was standing behind a long table laden with electronic equipment including, Dean was almost certain, a turntable for records.
The music and disco ball stopped and a couple of overhead lights went on, causing everyone, whether on the dance floor or the sidelines, to shield their eyes and turn toward the DJ.
“Hey, hey, hey, me trippy trolls, listen ups,” said the DJ. “Minnie here gots a special treat for us all.” He handed her the microphone.
Minnie waved Eugene over. “We was up by the boundary-line,” she said as Eugene joined her, “where those pooper Sactual Corpsers was hanging out. Well, me and Eugene, we was watchin’ ‘em fer fun and then we sees ‘em harassin’ these cute little critters. Show’em Eugene.”
Eugene held his hand out to show off Dean and Rose. “Oohs and aahs” traveled through the crowd.
“Put ‘em down and see if they dance!” called out a troll on the dance floor.
Eugene looked at Dean. “You’ll be alrigh’ if I puts yous down on this table?” he asked. “Yous won’ run away or nuthin’, right?”
Dean shook their head. “No. We’ll stay right here, promise.” And they would. They just really needed to get out of his hand so they could take a full breath.
Eugene placed Dean on the DJ table, next to a turntable. In turn, Dean placed Rose down beside them. There were more ‘oohs and ahhs’ from the crowd.
“Whatcher gonna do with’em, Eugene?” called out another troll.
Eugene and Minnie glanced at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. It was Minnie who answered. “Thought we mights keep ‘em as pets. I know we gots a dessert shortage right now, but they don’ look like they eat much. An’ they seem perty quiet.”
“Yes, keep ‘em! Keep ‘em!” cried several of the trolls.
“Okay, okay!” said the DJ, taking the microphone from Minnie. “I thinks wees decided. Welcome, little ‘uns, to Tiramisu Trolls Desert Dessert and Disco Den. He scanned the group on the dance floor, “’Now, hows about we let Eugene and Minnie git our new friends sumptin’ ta eat while we works on…stayin’ alive?”
A big cheer ran through the room, and just as suddenly as they’d come on, the overhead lights went off, the disco ball began rotating again and a high-pitched voice began singing to some familiar upbeat music.
“Let’s tak’em home fer now, Minnie,” said Eugene. “It’ll be quieter.”
Eugene’s hand came down. “Hop on,” he said. Both Rose and Dean stepped onto his huge, open palm, happy to not be squished this time.
Minnie led the way through the dance area, with Eugene following. They were stopped at least a dozen times by flashy-beaded and bra-wearing trolls wanting to see the new pets. Dean suffered stoically through much head patting and back rubbing.
Finally they made it to the end of the disco space and through a large door, which opened to a wide hallway with closed doors running along either side.
“’Ere we are,” said Minnie, stopping at a door part way along and opening it. “’Ome sweet ‘ome.”
Eugene stepped in behind Minnie, shut the door and held his hand to the floor so that Dean and Rose could hop off.
They were in a large, cave-like space with what looked to be dirt-packed walls and ceiling. There were three somewhat separated areas: a room with a huge sofa and chairs, a kitchen-like room with table, chairs, cupboards and countertop, and to the right, a small room with a big bed. It was all very tidy.
“Eugene, gits the critters some grub,” said Minnie, taking off her coconut bra and collapsing on the sofa. Dean glanced over, cringed, and quickly averted their eyes.
“’Ave a sit down, iffin you wants,” said Minnie, gesturing to one of the cushioned chairs.
“Thanks,” said Dean. The seat of the chair was almost as high as they were. Luckily, there was a low footstool in front of it. After lifting up Rose, they joined their chicken friend on the makeshift seat.
“I hope’s youse likes choclit cake,” said Eugene, entering the room with two huge pieces on plates. The plates looked small in his hands, but when he handed one to Dean, it more than covered their entire lap.
“If you can just put mine down beside me, that would be great, Eugene,” said Rose, as he held the second plate out to her. She shrugged her stubs, which did look just a touch longer than a few hours ago. And there were a couple of new purple feathers poking out from them. “No wings.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, placing the plate beside her. “Didn’ notice afore.”
“No problem,” said Rose. “And thanks for saving us earlier. I don’t know what would have happened to us otherwise.”
“Weren’t nothin’,” said Eugene, sitting down on the couch beside Minnie, putting an arm around her and adjusting his fuchsia mini-skirt. Dean was thankful that he kept his melon bra on. “There ain’t no love fer Sactual an’ his army ‘round these parts.”
“Kin yous believe they hads the nerve ta’ tell us we couldn’ dance no more?” piped in Minnie. “Them Corpsers won’ be comin’ back ‘ere any time soon, I kin tell ya tha’ much.” She shook her head. “How’s the cake?”
Dean had just taken a bite with the trowel-sized fork they’d been given. “It’s delicious,” they said honestly, through the mouthful of chocolately goodness.
“Made it meself,” said Eugene with a proud smile. “I gots a differen’ dessert fer each meal of the week. You’ll not go hungry long as yer with us.”
As they ate their cake, the trolls watching and smiling, Dean wondered how they and Rose were going to get out of there and make it to Magus Manor before the protective spell broke and Mr. Sactual’s army invaded. The drawing they’d done in the SUV came to mind, and once Dean was finished eating, they opened their sketchbook and found it.
“So, I know this is kind of weird,” they said, “but I drew this before we met.” Dean tore out the page and passed it over to Eugene.
He and Minnie glanced at it. Both sets of hairy eyebrows raised. “My, my, my, that looks jes like Betty,” said Minnie after a moment. “That’s our child.” She pointed to the drawing. “Is this why they was harssin’ yous? ‘Cause yer makin’ art?”
