Modern Magick

Royalty and Ruin: 1

Right, crash course on troll culture.

Ye Olde Historic Record shows that they originated up Scandinavia way (at least, so it's claimed. This is academia. Naturally there are those who strenuously disagree). If that's the case, they wasted no time in spreading across the rest of Europe, and rather beyond. The oldest known troll enclaves in Britain date back to before the Roman conquest.

The brutal truth is, they are a bit cleverer than we are. A truly embarrassing number of magickal developments have been fairly laid to the trolls' credit (for example, anyone who tells you that humans developed the flying chair trick is either misinformed or a liar — and my pretty Sunstone Wand was most certainly a troll masterpiece).

Still, at least we have the Book. Dear Mauf, or Bill as he was previously known; that marvellous construct that absorbs knowledge like a sponge, and then spits it out again in exquisitely refined nineteenth-century English. The creator of said book might have been a shady character, but at least she was human.

Then again, the Troll Court-that-was, Farringale, managed to purloin that one, and already I hear people adding Mauf's invention to the trolls' record of marvels. Maybe this is really how it works. It isn't that they are so much brighter than we are. It's that they have really, really good PR.

Anyway. Trolls are clever, and steeped in magick up to their enormous eyeballs. They're physically superior, more sophisticated than most people think (and by an order of magnitude), and — a point which will ever endear them to my heart — they are spectacularly good at food. Mandridore, the Royal Court of the Trolls since the mid seventeenth century, is the most powerful of the Fae Courts by a wide margin, too.

And they know it. Some would accuse our troll compatriots of possessing just a smidgeon in the way of arrogance. And they would not be wrong. But, well, with so many advantages as they enjoy it's hard to blame them for being self-satisfied. I mean, wouldn't you be?

I may be a cosmopolitan woman of the world, with over a decade of high adventure behind me, but I admit to experiencing some small sensations of trepidation upon departing for my introduction at this particular Court. Meeting royalty hasn't been part of my general duties to date, and these royals...! I'm a mere human. I am not up to this.

'Yes, you are,' said Jay, informing me of two things at once: one, that he's a good sort, ready with the kind of staunch back-up one needs at a time like this. Two, that I had been talking to myself like a ninny.

Good start.

'Of course I am,' I said stoutly, and stood a bit taller. 'And so are you.'

'Naturally.' It was fifty-six minutes past four in the afternoon and we were waiting for the Baron to arrive. Jay had taken up a lounging posture in an oversized armchair which had, apparently, appeared in the great hall at Home just for that purpose. I didn't recall seeing it before. Jay flashed me the firm, confident smile of a man who knows no fear.

'You're petrified, aren't you?' I said.

'I had to sit down. Somebody's replaced my kneecaps with jelly.'

I subjected him to a swift, professional survey. I've learned that Jay tends to overcompensate; the more nervous he is, the more confident he appears. But if you didn't know that about him, nothing about his languid posture would tip you off.

He was wearing a suit. Jay in a suit! Wise man, he had gone for a muted blue colour, with a waistcoat and everything. It set off his dark skin handsomely, and he'd done something intriguing to his black hair.