Modern Magick, Volume 1 (Paperback)

The troll was not especially large, as trolls go: six feet and a bit, maybe seven at most. He had a run-down look about him, like he hadn’t washed in a while and had no plans to do so anytime soon. He wore a ratty zip-up jumper with the air of a charity-shop purchase about it; had it been only second-hand when he’d bought it, or already third? Its faded navy colour did nothing for his sallow complexion, and the tracksuit bottoms and trainers he wore with it were no better. His bulbous eyes rested a moment upon me, took in my coiffed hair and silk dress, then shifted to my colleague, Jay, who stood nervously unsmiling beside me.

I expected an enquiry of some kind. A greeting, maybe, or even a challenge. But he said nothing; only stared at us with dull, incurious expectation.

I tried to look past him into the Enclave, but he’d opened the stone slab of the door only just wide enough to talk to us. Obstructive. Not a good sign. ‘Morning,’ I said brightly, and it was a bright morning: mid-April and balmy, sun high in the sky and rosily smiling. A perfect day for a drive into the hills. ‘We’re from the Society for Magickal Heritage,’ I told him, using my official voice. ‘We have received word of a pair of unregistered alikats in these parts. Would you know anything about that?’

The troll’s answer was to slam the door on us, setting up a fine, booming echo that reverberated along the grassy hillside.

‘He knows nothing,’ Jay translated.

‘They never do.’ I stepped back from the door, or what had once been the door, and surveyed it speculatively. Now it appeared to be nothing but a slab of bare stone in a rocky cliff face, patches of heathery grass scattered above and before it. We were deep in the Yorkshire Moors, not far from the town of Helmsley (or so Jay informed me). I wondered if the powers back Home knew how far the South Moors Troll Enclave had deteriorated. Considering the state of their Doorkeeper, the signs were unpromising.

‘Ves,’ said Jay, eyeing me. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I am wondering if there is another way in.’

‘There won’t be another legal way in. You know the rules.’

I rolled my eyes. Jay was only a few years younger than me, I judged, so he was no wide-eyed intern. But he was fresh from the Hidden University. The tutors there spend a lot of time drilling the students in The Rules, of which there are many. For example, one does not chatter about magickal stuff to those without the Vision to see it for themselves. And, one does not visit the private spaces of Hidden Communities without their express invitation, which means one is only allowed to use their front door. With one of the residents on the other side of it, politely holding it open.

‘All very true,’ I said. ‘But that’s the official policy. In our line of work, it is sometimes necessary to bend the rules a bit.’

‘Aren’t there complaints?’

I smiled mirthlessly. ‘They try that, once in a while. It rarely ends well. In this instance, I’m pretty sure these fine folk are illegally holding at least two alikats, and if it’s a breeding pair that’s even worse. How are they going to report us for misdemeanours without revealing their own transgressions?’

Jay narrowed his deep brown eyes at me. ‘That does not make it all right to freely break all the Rules.’

‘No? How else would you like to get those kats out of there, then? I make it about half an hour before the first one gets eaten.’

‘I’m sure we can come up with... wait. Eaten?’

I couldn’t help sighing. These fresh graduates, so... naive. ‘Why do you think Trolls are generally discouraged from keeping alis?’

‘Because... because alikats are considered endangered.’

Jay obviously hadn’t thought that one through. ‘Exactly.’

‘Ah.’ Jay stopped arguing and joined me in searching for a way in. We proceeded to spend half an hour or so inspecting the hillside for something conveniently resembling a back door, and came up with nothing. We ended up back in front of that stone portal, which was still firmly closed.

‘Oh well,’ said I. ‘We’ll have to do it the fun way.’

‘The fun way?’

‘I, um. I meant the questionable way.’

Jay folded his arms and stared me down. ‘After you, then.’ I do not know why he insists on wearing leather jackets but I do wish he would not; they suit him far too well.

I rang the bell again. It wasn’t a bell at all, in the usual way of those things, but the expression’s apt enough. I laid my right hand, palm-flat, against the stone and politely requested entrance.

As per the Magickal Accords, the inhabitants of the South Moors Troll Enclave — if they weren’t known to be in Recluse — were pretty much honour bound to answer the door. They were required to co-operate with Jay and I as well, of course, but that hadn’t held much weight with them, so who knew? Jay and I waited in hope, and our patience was rewarded. Eventually. About four long minutes later, a thread of dull topaz light raced around the cliff face, tracing the outline of a door, and that door creaked open.

They had changed their Doorkeeper. Mr. Tracksuit and Trainers was nowhere in evidence; replacing him was a larger, lumpier, and rather more belligerent fellow — no, lady — who wasted no time whatsoever in demonstrating how matters stood between us. She bared her yellow teeth and I waited for the spectacular roar of displeasure, most likely preparatory to tearing off our heads, which would undoubtedly follow.

Trolls have a certain reputation, do they not? Not only among those with the Vision to see them. Even the Magicless tell stories like The Three Billy Goats Gruff, in which trolls are hideous beasts who’ll eat practically anything.

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