9

      THE TROLL BENEATH WESTMINSTER BRIDGE

      kulduggery took Stephanie home, and as she was lying in bed that night, finally drifting off to sleep, a young woman in London was hunkering down and peering into the darkness.

      “Hello?” she said. “Anyone down there?”

      The Thames was dark and rushing beneath her, but no one answered. She glanced at her watch then looked around. It was seven minutes to midnight and Westminster Bridge was empty except for her. Perfect.

      “Hello?” she said again. “I need to talk to you.”

      A voice answered: “There’s no one down here.”

      “I think there is,” she said.

      “No,” came the voice. “No one.”

      “I think there’s a troll down there,” the young woman said. “And I need to talk to him.”

      A face rose up out of the shadows, small and wrinkled, with large ears and a shock of spiky black hair. Huge eyes blinked at her.

      “What do you want?” the troll asked.

      “I want to talk to you,” the young woman answered. “I’m Tanith Low. What’s your name?”

      The troll shook his head. “No no, not telling. Not telling that.”

      “Oh yes,” Tanith said, “trolls only have one name, isn’t that right?”

      “Yes yes, one name. No telling.”

      “But I can guess, isn’t that how it goes? If I guess your name correctly, what happens then?”

      The troll grinned, showing lots of sharp yellow teeth. “You get to live,” he said.

      “And if I get it wrong?”

      The troll giggled. “You get eaten!”

      “That sounds like a fun game,” Tanith said with a smile. “What time do you usually play?”

      “Midnight, stroke of midnight, yes yes yes. When I’m strong.”

      “And you pop out from under there at whoever’s passing, don’t you?”

      “Three chances,” the troll said, nodding. “Three chances is what they get. Guess the name, don’t get eaten; get it wrong, come along.”

      “Do you want to play it with me?”

      The grin faded on the troll’s face. “Not strong yet. Need to wait, yes yes. Stroke of midnight.”

      “We don’t have to wait, do we?” Tanith said with a pout. “I want to play now. I bet I can guess your name.”

      “No, you can’t.”

      “Bet I can.”

      “No, you can’t!” the troll said, giggling again.

      “Come on up out of there, we’ll see.”

      “Yes yes, play the game.”

      Tanith glanced at her watch and stepped back as the troll scampered up. Two minutes to midnight. He was small, up to her waist, with thin arms and legs and a bloated belly. His fingernails were hardened and pointed and he was grinning in anticipation, though keeping his distance.

      She let her coat fall open a little and smiled at him. “You’re a handsome little fellow, aren’t you? Are you the only troll in London?”

      “Only one,” he said proudly. “Now we play! Guess the name, don’t get eaten; get it wrong, come along. Guess guess guess.”

      “Let’s see,” she said, taking a step closer. The troll narrowed its eyes and stepped back, towards the edge of the bridge. She stopped moving. “Is your name Bollohollow?”

      The troll roared with laughter. “No no, not Bollohollow! Two guesses left, only two!”

      “This is harder than I thought,” said Tanith. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

      “Best! Very best!”

      “Not many people have guessed your name, huh?”

      “No one,” the troll cackled. “Guess guess!”

      “Is it… Ferninabop Caprookie?”

      The troll whooped and hollered and danced, and Tanith moved a little closer.

      “Not Ferninabop!” he laughed. “Not Caprookie!”

      “Wow,” Tanith said, looking worried. “I’m not doing too well here, am I?”

      “Gonna get eaten!”

      “You eat a lot of passers-by?”

      “Yes yes, yum yum.”

      “You gobble them all up, don’t you? They scream and cry and run away—”

      “But I catch them!” the troll giggled. “Stroke of midnight, I’m big and strong and fast, gobble them up, gobble them all up! They struggle and wriggle and tickle inside me!”

      “I’d better get my last guess right then, eh?” said Tanith. “Is it… Rumplestilskin?”

      The troll laughed so hard he fell on to his back. “No no!” he managed to say between gales of laughter. “They always say that! Always get it wrong!”

      Tanith took one more step, and dropped her smile. The sword flashed from her coat but the troll saw it just in time and squealed and rolled.

      Tanith cursed and swiped again, but the troll dodged beneath her and she spun and kicked out, sending him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, hissing and spitting at her as she advanced, and then, in the warm London night, the sound of Big Ben. Midnight.

      Tanith lunged but it was too late. The troll skipped back as his shoulders hunched and he snarled and started to grow.

      “Nuts,” Tanith whispered to herself.

      Muscles bulged in his arms and legs, stretching the skin so tight it looked like it might split. She moved forward again but he flipped back through the air, and when he landed he was as tall as she was. His chest broadened and his neck thickened and still he grew, and still he snarled. His bones popped and he finished growing. He was now almost twice her size.

      Facing down a fully-grown troll was not what she had planned. She held the sword down by her leg and circled the creature.

      “You cheated,” the troll said, his voice deep and guttural now.

      “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” she said.

      “Gobble you up. Gobble you all up, yes yes.”

      Tanith shot him a smile. “Come