This did not sound like any Troll that Thomas had ever heard of. Most of them could scarcely manage more than a grunt.
“So, given that you are a brainless, over-educated, under-schooled fool who has just ruined any chance he had of getting near that imposter, what do you think I should do with you?” she continued.
The man stared at her dumbly, and tried to mouth words, but nothing came out.
“Fortunately for all of us, your dear mother does not know you are here. In fact, she does not even know you have left the house. No one knows you are here—” she looked down at Thomas “—except this cat. And I doubt he will be able to go running to the police, or anyone else. So, really, there is nothing to prevent me from doing exactly as I please with you.” She smiled. It was a smile that made Thomas’s tail brush out again.
That was when she changed into her normal form. Yes, she was, indeed, a Troll . . .
Her head brushed the ceiling; she looked now like a crude doll made of gray clay, and she smelled like a combination of sour earth and rotting flesh. She reached forward and embraced the man. It would have been funny, if his face had not been contorted into a silent scream of anguish.
Then came the horrible part. When he had been human and a magician, Thomas had read about Trolls doing this, but he had never thought he was going to see the absorption process up close. Certainly not this close.
With the victim paralyzed and able to move only his eyes, the Troll pressed him into her chest. Into it. Little by little, he sank into the clay, and in a way it was a relief that his face went in first, because at least Thomas didn’t have to look at his expression anymore.
And this could have been still worse, really; in some accounts, a Troll would dismember and partly eat a victim, rather than merely absorbing him. It was said that they grew to like the taste.
But where was the Troll’s master?
Thomas curled his tail tightly around his feet, and pretended to watch with interest, all the while trying to detect a human, any human, anywhere in this house. Well other than the victim.
Nothing.
No, he thought, aghast. But the conclusion was inescapable.
There was no Elemental Master here. There was only—this thing. A horror, a blasphemy, something that should never have been. An Elemental that had been given form and substance on the Material Plane and gotten loose. A creature that did not belong here, turned loose and left to work its will on humans. Any humans.
He thought he knew now where it had gotten its relatively high intelligence and cunning. It must have begun absorbing humans right away, and with that had come more wit, more ability to think. With that, too, had come enough memory to tell her of the dangers of living among humans. So now there was a Troll that could think, plan, and carry out those plans. A Troll that could keep its identity hidden. A Troll with patience.
That last might have been the worst.
Thomas thought quickly, because in a few more moments, the Troll was going to finish absorbing her prey, and then she was going to turn her attention to him.
He cleared his throat as the last of her victim vanished, with a little dry cough of the sort that sometimes preceded a hairball. Very good, he said gravely. He couldn’t manage approval, but at least he could sound serious. No point in wasting him, but no point in allowing him to continue wasting air either.
The Troll reverted to the form of the dancer. Had there even been a real Nina Tchereslavsky? Probably, but judging by the Troll’s looks, she hadn’t been very old when she fell afoul of the creature.
For a moment, she looked puzzled. Then her lips curved in a cruel smile. “Wasting air. I like that. You seem very calm for someone who has just discovered that what he walked into, he cannot again walk out of.”
But what if I don’t want to walk out? Thomas asked, calmly. What if I intended to meet and speak with you?
The Troll’s mouth gaped. “Speak with me? Why?”
Thomas sniffed. I should think that would be obvious. You are clearly more clever than the theater people. You are obviously stronger. You know who they are, but they still do not know where you are, much less what.
“So you—”
I came intending to negotiate with you, yes. It is prudent.
“But you would be deserting your mistress, her friends—”
I am a cat, Thomas replied, hoping against hope that the creature would not look past his words. Cats are by nature selfish.
Because if the troll had any inkling that he was something more than he seemed. . . .
“A good point,” the troll replied, thoughtfully. “So, you think to join the winning side?”
I know the winning side when I see it, Thomas replied.
Fortunately, walking around Blackpool so much had given Ninette a good sense of the city, so she didn’t walk blindly into trouble-spots. Those were not just places where hooligans and thieves lurked, hoping for some drunken toff that could stagger by, be coshed on the head and robbed. And what would happen to a lone girl would be worse still.
She took cabs where she could, ran where she couldn’t, until her sense of danger/fear/danger brought her to a rather posh neighborhood indeed. No flats here, these were all fine townhouses, all built of identical stone, all with identical front façades. From the street, in fact, it could look like one long building, exactly like the front of a government building, for instance. Only when one looked closely could one see the narrow passages dividing building from building.
Her sense of trouble took her to the third from the corner. After a quick look up and down the street, she slipped around to the back, and tried her hand at the door.
It opened at her touch.
Saying a silent prayer that Ailse had returned home at last, that the Brownie had told her that Ninette had gone after Thomas, that Ailse had in turn gone for the men, Ninette slipped inside.
She waited while her eyes adjusted to the light. This should be a kitchen area—and at this time of night, there should be no one in it.
After a moment, she saw that she was right on both counts. That was a relief.
She fumbled the revolver out of her pocket. She had not dared to take it out in public or in the street; she was fairly certain she would have gotten into immense amounts of trouble if anyone had seen it.
She crept across the floor, revolver in hand, and peered through the doorway, while allowing the emotions to come to her. Thomas was definitely here—upstairs somewhere, and afraid for his life. But there were other things too, things that had the same sense to them that the little homunculus had had—not quite living, in fact, with less actual life in them than a house-sparrow, and nothing in the way of emotions—and one thing that actually did have thoughts, feelings, emotions. Very strong ones too, and all . . .nasty. Just brushing against them made her want to throw up.
Thomas was in the same room with the thing.
I must say, Thomas said, looking up at the thing that was calling itself Nina Tchereslavsky, I have heard about you Earth Elementals, but I never heard of one as powerful or as clever as you.