Greetings all. I hope those of you that celebrate Thanksgiving had a lovely one. If you don't, I hope you had a lovely Thursday. Enjoy the latest chapter

Chapter 6

Things Just got Worse – But Maybe Better? Mostly Worse

"Young Atlas. Young Atlas. Jim!"

Jim's head jerked up. "Sorry. Uh…what were we doing?"

Strickler's mouth was severe but his eyes were sympathetic. "The Odyssey. Penelope's attempt to delay the suitors-"

"Right, undoing the weaving she did every day. And Telemachus meeting his dad." Jim smacked his face bracingly. "Was everyone just a jerk back then? She told them to leave, right?"

"History has marked periods of ugly behavior." Strickler shut the book. "I think this time would be better spent on sleep. You won't retain any information in this state."

"No time for sleep. I've gotta rehearse my lines after this, and clean off the rude gestures the brownies drew on the troll home walls. And then algebra." Jim reached for the book but Strickler slid it away. "C'mon Strickler, my test is in…uh. How many days?"

"Four. And the play is in three." Jim tried to keep the terror off his face. "Jim, you need to rest today so you can study and rehearse tomorrow. I assure you, New Trollmarket will survive a few days with us to look after it." Strickler put a hand on his shoulder. "This curriculum is too stringent. I'm going to see about spreading it out a tad more, maybe an extra semester to ease the strain."

"No! I'm already so far behind Tobes and Claire it isn't even funny." Jim tried for the book again, falling on the table they were sitting at when his reach wasn't long enough, staring at it blankly. "I'm gonna tell my mom on you."

"I think she'd be on my side." Strickler picked up his books and sighed. "Jim, there's no shame in lightening the class load a little."

"This is a normal high school curriculum," Jim protested. "I can handle normal classes!"

"Not if you've got so much else going on! Normal high school students don't spend part of their time fighting stalklings and looking for supply lines for a secret civilization." Strickler erased the board behind him, changeling stone flashing in his ring. "Jim, I respect your desire to finish high school. It's very admirable. So don't sabotage yourself by holding yourself to an impossible standard."

Jim rested his head in his hands. "I just…I want an actual diploma. You know? There's nothing wrong with a GED, but…I always kind of assumed I'd be able to graduate before being the Trollhunter derailed everything." Heat crept up the back of his neck. "Claire's so smart she graduated early. I know I'm nowhere near her level, but I just…I feel kind of stupid when the math Tobes is doing looks like gibberish. And he's talking about stuff in classics and mythology that doesn't make any sense."

Strickler was quiet. He set his books back down. "…I see." He leaned against his desk. "Did you know, Young Atlas, that I did not learn to read until I was nearly a hundred years old?" Jim sat up. His erudite, intelligent teacher, unable to read for so long? Strickler nodded. "The Gumm-Gumms used us as assassins and spies among many enemy forces, namely human ones. I was first sent out in what would later become England. At the time, it was very common for serfs and paupers to be unable to read. It wasn't until my third time out to spy on enemies that I was sent to household to gather secrets for a lord's forces that stood against Gunmar's forces. Keep in mind, Gunmar ravaged the world for quite some time, building his forces. Morganna kept her involvement in the matter very, very quiet. For a long time we changelings did not know where we came from. Most of us believed we were simply ill-formed spawn for our early lives."

Jim, for the first time in days, found himself too interested to doze off. Strickler fiddled with a pen. "In this household I was introduced to books. I was clever enough for the lord to take an interest in me and have me taught the basics of reading and writing. And I appreciated that…enough to let very little information slide back to the Gumm-Gumms." Strickler seemed lost in a memory before he continued, "I had a much slower start than nearly every literate being in the world, but I think I've quite managed to catch up, don't you?"

"Yeah. Definitely." Jim glanced down at his desk. "I wasn't trying to say anything about learning stuff late."

"I know you weren't. I just wanted to impress on you that your intelligence is not something that stops growing after high school, whether you receive an honors diploma or scrape a certificate." Strickler smiled. "We'll see what we can do about the workload. Perhaps we can adjust the summer assignments a bit, get back on track-"

A scream made Jim jump out of his chair, amulet flashing as he donned Daylight. Strickler flashed and switched to troll form, drawing daggers. NotEnrique pelted by, pausing long enough to bellow, "Every troll for hisself!" Jim and Strickler exchanged looks and hurried into the tunnels.

Strickler just managed to grab Jim and haul him back – a wave of furious brownies poured past, a tidal wave of dark cackles. "What in the world happened to them?" Strickler said, watching them pass from the safety of the classroom. Jim shook his head helplessly. Were they really brownies? Sure the little creatures got mischievous, but these creatures caterwauled and hooted, nearly running people over.

Toby staggered by, looking bedraggled. He had glasses drawn on his face and an impressive marker beard. His hair was a wreck and two furry creatures were on his back, tying knots in his bangs. They were like the brownies only black, with wide, sharp, wicked little grins. "So there's a problem. One of the trolls accidentally knocked out a little fella and the others went nuts." The sounds of crashing and shattering echoed down the tunnel. "And they're breaking everything."

Jim shot out into the tunnel, aghast at the sight. The brownies were chewing on the light crystals, hitting them with pebbles, drawing pictures on the walls in permanent marker. "Put that down! I said put it down!" Blinky called, voice echoing. Blinky's alcove wasn't far – he dashed to it to find Blinky engaged in tug-of-war with ten brownies, pulling on one end of a book and they on the other. "Master Jim! What happened? They've turned into boggarts!"

"They're what now!?" Jim grabbed Blinky and pulled with him, managing to free the book from the brownie paws. The creatures fumed and turned to knocking books off the shelves, making a general mess. Blinky flipped it open, skimming hurriedly.

"I was about to report my findings. 'If pushed to extremes, brownies will take on a very negative form, that of the boggart. They are insatiable, angry, and mean spirited, and will not be reasoned with until their anger is quelled.'" Jim scooped up three of the brownies and apologetically dumped them into one of Blinky's storage crates. The others sprinted out, intent on their rampage. "I hoped this was incorrect – I thought if goblins attacking didn't make them boggarts, nothing would."

"One of the trolls knocked one out by accident. I think it was a straw broke the camel's back situation." Jim put a tome over the crate, leaving a crack to make sure the brownies got plenty of air.

Blinky cocked his head. "What good is a camel whose back can be broken by a straw-?"

"Figure of speech." Jim waited for Toby to make it to the room, his friend trying to untangle the knots in his hair. "What are we going to do? I don't want to hurt them!"

Strickler stood in the tunnel, watching the creatures rage and stamp. "We need a container for them, but perhaps Dreamcatcher might allow you to hold them so we can get them into it."

Jim's racing heart slowed a little – it was a sensible thought. One he ought to have thought of. "Right. Okay." He removed the amulet and summoned Moonlight instead, gasping at the sensation of his horns growing. Blinky flinched.

At the approach of a troll, the brownies hissed and charged. Jim drew the bright claws through the threads between his horns and dove toward them, sliding left just before the front runners hit. As if reading his mind the threads spread out, whirling around the group in a large net. They yelped as the threads wound gently but firmly around them, pinning them to the ground. Jim sighed with relief – no one was hurt. They were spitting mad, literally, but unharmed.

Blinky raced back to his alcove and returned dragging a large wooden chest. "I've been sorting more items lately. I do hate to do this, but we can't just let them run rampant!" With difficulty they loaded the wriggling mass into the chest, shutting the lid as the threads vanished. Jim winced at the angry shrieks.

"I'm sorry! But you have to calm down! Your friend is okay! Right Tobes?" He shifted back to human form out of habit.

Bad idea. Very bad idea. The world went black and he fell against the side of the chest. When he came to he was in the infirmary. He stared up at the ceiling. "What happened?"

"You blacked out." His mother's voice was gentle. She came into view, mouth quirked to the side. "You pushed yourself too far going troll and then turning right back. It takes a toll on you." He sat up slowly, realizing that Strickler, Blinky, Toby, and Claire were all gathered around the cot. Aaarrrgghh was a few steps back, peering over their heads. "We were worried."

Jim scratched his head sheepishly. "Sorry. Uh…are the brownies okay?"

"Safe, yes. But they're still angry. We're using a baby gate to keep them in a room until we can sort this out." Blinky placed a book beside him and Jim used the amulet to translate the trollish to english. "And I don't believe anyone but the trolls that offended them can set things right."

Jim read aloud, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "'If a brownie takes the form of a boggart, or a 'hobgoblin' as humans know them, they will wreak havoc and make general nuisances of themselves. Unlike brownies, they have independent use of magic and can use it to create flashes, sour milk, and make no shortage of unpleasant odors. The party that did injury to the collective must make an apology offering, upon which the boggarts will either accept the gift and remain or refuse it and leave.'" Jim shut his eyes. "Great. So about a hundred boggarts might get unleashed on the world."

"Wait, go back. 'Unlike brownies, they have independent use of magic.'" Mom stood close to the cot, and Jim was embarrassed to find it felt nice for her to stroke his shoulder soothingly. "What's that mean? I know brownies have magic, but they can't use it on their own?"

"I noted that as well, Barbara. Unfortunately this book focuses on malevolent creatures, and doesn't bother going into the brownie aspect. It makes reference to another book…one I know I used to have before my study was destroyed." Blinky rubbed his patch. "I'll see to the trolls that upset them. Perhaps we can ease their anger."

"Thanks Blink." Jim's phone rang and he checked the caller ID. "Merlin." He took the call tentatively. "Hi Merlin. How are you?"

"I could be better. I think I've run into some unsavory folks." Jim screamed mentally. "I'm in St. Petersburg, Russia. Lovely architecture, I must say. But a young lady approached me asking for assistance, and some gentlemen are very cross with me. She's talking about robbery or something – my translation spell is a little shaky, I'm not familiar with the language. I think they're hitting her up for protection money or something. She keeps saying 'Bratva' or something."

Jim slowly leaned against his mother, not even caring that everyone was watching. "You seriously ran into the Bratva. That's the Russian mafia. They're organized crime." Toby's brows shot up. "Merlin, they're dangerous. You and she need to get away from them."

"Ah, I thought so. But you see, they seem to have cornered us in an alley. I just wanted to update you – is it acceptable in this instance to harm people?"

Jim stared at nothing. "…You know what, yeah. Self defense. I'd say try not to kill anyone. And keep the magic quiet."

"Perfect. I have a memory spell I can try out anyway. How are – oh, you know what, they have knives now. I'll call you back later." Merlin's unbothered tone went quiet as the call ended and Jim dropped his phone on the cot.

"Honey? You okay?" Mom's shoulder was warm and her smell comforting. Jim closed his eyes.

"I'm just tired. And I have no idea what to do about everything."

Toby coughed. "I had an idea about the brownies, actually. We need someone that can communicate with them, right? Maybe Mordred could talk to them." Jim opened his eyes again. "He understands animals, and Wingman says they sound a lot like squirrels. Maybe he could find out about their magic, and why the heck they're spitting on everything. There has got to be a reason."

"I'm putting a hold on any further assignments. I'll adjust the curriculum as I am able. You are to focus on the review packet I provide for the quarter exam, no new material." Strickler folded his arms across his chest, eyes steely. "I'll brook no argument."

"And we don't have practice tonight, a lot of quarterly exams are happening on the college campus. It'll be tomorrow. You'll remember things a lot better if you rest." Claire blinked those big brown eyes at him.

Jim meant to say he couldn't rest while they all worked so hard. He meant to sit up, shake himself off, and get back into his tasks. But he didn't do those things, because he fell asleep leaning on his mother.

Barbara hadn't stopped tracing gentle patterns over her son's shoulders. Aaarrrgghh looked intrigued. "He fall asleep. Mother magic?"

"It might as well be. He used to fall asleep like this all the time when he was little. Shoulder rub always knocked him out." Everyone sighed with relief. "So we're going to handle everything for twenty-four hours, right? He's going to need more than a power nap to recover from the run he's been on." Barbara allowed Blinky to approach and take Jim, moving him to a quieter cot on the corner where the light was gentler. She draped a blanket over him as he was set down.

"Agreed. Tobias, call Mordred please. See if he can come help. And be certain to mention that Merlin is out if he seems nervous." Blinky turned to Claire. "You, young lady, should limit your activity in New Trollmarket. You've a play to prepare for. I want you back home by six this evening to rest." She saluted him. He looked at Walter. "Will you watch the brownies to assure their safety after Tobias and Mordred speak to them? Until the blood goblins are captured, we need a warrior to stand by." Barbara liked it when he nodded and gave her and Jim a concerned look. Blinky spotted it. "If Barbara would grace us with her presence for the evening, I will see if Nomura would assist with tending to those with stonescale. I will find someone to watch the boggarts while some sort of apology is prepared." Blinky heaved a sigh. "Master Jim has worked himself too hard. We must intervene before this happens again."

"If he weren't so stubborn," Claire said quietly. Barbara gave her a sympathetic smile.

"We'll make sure he gets some rest. I'll pull out all the stop if needed, including Disappointed Mom Eyes."

Blinky made a confused face. "What does that mean?"

Barbara cleared her throat. "Pretend you just told me something like…I don't know, you skipped school."

"Very well, though I hardly-" Blinky started. Barbara gave him a look of equal parts surprise and hurt, as if he'd slapped her. His voice trailed off and he blinked. "…Potent. Very potent. Reminds me of my own mother."

"Mother magic," Aaarrrgghh said insistently.

Hopefully she wouldn't need to use those. Barbara bent over and gave Jim a kiss on the forehead. "Let's get to work."

Tagga listened to all of what they said, comfortable in the cat carrier with a blanket and food and water. It taught him a few things, tucked in the back of the room where he wouldn't be hassled by anyone entering.

First – brownies did indeed have magic. He didn't know how they used it, but Fama was right about that much.

Second – the Trollhunter was overworked. He was visible from the car carrier's position, on his side, curled under the blanket. It seemed very strange that such a young creature would have so much to worry about.

Third – he was very well loved. Not just by the humans either. There was a frankly shocking amount of affection between the humans and trolls, and it made him a little sad. Goblins were usually disliked by most creatures, though the Gumm-Gumms had been quick to use and abuse them for their purposes. But in this imperfect, messy, noisy place, he had seen changelings, trolls, humans, gnomes, and goblins trying to work together, in all of their discomfort and crankiness. And they were trying to bring brownies into that fold.

Maybe this would be a good place to live for his goblins. Tagga put his head down, fretting. His goblins were probably in danger. They were young, they had never been used by the Gumm-Gumms. He had defected years and years ago when the rest of his hive were killed. For the first time he'd been able to think his own thoughts. Tagga swore that day that he would use the hive mind to protect goblins, not control them.

But age and peace had made him weak. And now Fama had them. He peered at the Trollhunter through the bars. The boy had captured him when it would have been easy to kill him. Would he and his friends be persuaded to show kindness to Tagga's goblins if they could be freed?

Tagga hoped so. In the meantime he let the boy sleep, thinking of his hive and hoping they were still safe.

Mordred was nervous and excited when he took the gyre on his own. Well, not really on his own – Draig came with him, as did Nutmeg and her kid, Nibbles. She had separation anxiety. It wasn't too hard to drive, and the speed was exhilarating. He wasn't sure why James couldn't handle it.

When he arrived in New Trollmarket, Mordred climbed out of the gyre, hauling a cardboard box about the size of an aquarium. He helped Nibbles down, Nutmeg and Draig making it on their own. "Come on Nutmeg. Let's go see everyone, hm?" His phone buzzed and he took it out. James had already texted him, making sure he'd arrived okay.

As he replied, Toby came down the stairs looking a little worse for the wear. "Hey Mordred. Thanks for coming. Any trouble getting here?"

"Nope. James is sorry he couldn't come, but a bunch of hellheetis have been breeding out in Arcadia. He's helping the Creepslayerz." Mordred looked around hopefully. "Where's Jim? I've got a birthday present for him. Well, it's not technically for him, but it might help out with the brownie homes."

"Jim is out of commission. Dr. Lake's got him in the infirmary sleeping. He'll probably be up later." Mordred fought to keep the disappointment off his face. Toby was really nice too. And, he reasoned, Jim had tons of work to do all the time. "I'm sure he'll love it though. So…ready to meet our guests?"

Nibbles bleated and Draig barked. If Toby thought it weird that he'd brought the goats, he didn't show it. "Sure. I hope I can understand them." He followed Toby into the tunnels, vaguely remembering some of them. He had seen trolls before, so it wasn't so surprising when they passed, but Nutmeg butted against his side nervously. "Don't worry Nutmeg, it's okay." Draig carried Nibbles on his furry back, wagging his tail.

It seemed to take a while, but at last they reached the place that Toby called the Hero's Forge. Mordred privately thought it looked like a really big, nice hole, but he would never want to say that out loud. "We're almost done carving out a section for homes for them, but right now this is the most spacious place we have available." Toby held out an arm. "Mordred, the brownies. Brownies, Mordred."

Mordred felt hundred of little eyes peer out from blankets and stones to examine him. As the creatures came into view he smiled. "Aw. They're cute! Hello there!" He shifted his voice a little, thinking of small animals and their chirrups and chatter. "Can you understand me?"

All of their ears pricked. One bounded forward and sat at his feet, staring up at him. "Hello! Your words are clear! We are the brownies. I will serve as speaker."

Mordred knelt so the little creature didn't have to crane its neck. It had a flutey chitter for a voice. "Hi. I can understand you too. My friend asked me to come so we could figure out some things. Are you all okay?"

The brownie's whiskers bristled. "I should say not! There are blood goblins trying to eat us, the trolls are loud and stompy and rude, and everyone gets angry when we share our magic! The round boy is nice and is trying, but so many of the trolls are very discourteous!" It rubbed its face with its tiny paws. "They act like we are dirty and mean, but we are trying to be generous guests!"

Mordred nodded slowly. "Are you talking about the spit? You've been spitting on lots of things."

"Of course! That's how we work our magic!" The brownie shook its head. "You'd think they didn't know how brownie magic works or something!"

"Oh, but they don't. I think that's the problem." Mordred resisted the urge to pat the creature's head when its ears flared out in surprise. "You are some of the only brownies in the world. None of the trolls or humans have met with brownies in an incredibly long time, if ever! What is the spit supposed to do?"

The speaker ran back to the group of brownies and Mordred waited. Exclamations of understanding rose up and he hoped that was a good thing. He glanced at Toby, who made a fist and put a thumb up. Mordred wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean – encouragement he thought – but he smiled and turned back to the brownies when the speaker returned. "What a misunderstanding!" it said. "No wonder everyone is in such a mood! We brownies spit because it's how we store our magic, but we can't activate it whenever we want. We have to wait until the full moon and work together." The brownie gestured to the crystal lining the walls. "We couldn't understand them very well, so we assume they didn't want us to use magic. But they just thought we were making a mess. Come the full moon, all our helpful magic will happen and they'll see all the good deeds we were trying to do!"

Mordred beamed. "I see! Because brownie magic is white magic, and the full moon draws the Astral Plane closer to us."

"And makes it easier to use! Yes! I wish they'd brought you sooner young one." The brownie patted his hand. "We will gather around the heartstone and focus together. It will take all night to bring the magic to fruition. And it won't be as strong…not with our fellows being boggarts."

Mordred relayed the information to Toby, whose face lifted with relief. "I knew there was a reason behind all this! This is great news. Wait until I tell…" he faded. "Isn't tonight the full moon?"

Frowning, Mordred translated the response. The brownies stirred and chattered, and in a great herd they loped toward the tunnel opening. Toby and Mordred moved aside, watching them stream through. Toby shrugged and they followed the mass. "What's the magic supposed to do?" Toby asked, waiting for Mordred to translate.

"Many things!" The brownies didn't say anything else. Mordred slowed his pace a little so Toby could keep up – the young man was shorter than he. They didn't stop until they reached the heartstone chamber. This was the only room in New Trollmarket that he could truly tolerate, other than the kitchen in the pub. It had a warm glow, a light, that radiated out of the heartstone and eased the darkness all around him. It was a far cry from the glory of the sun, but Mordred tried not to be picky.

The brownies gathered around the heartstone, clearing their throats and linking paws. Draig sniffed the air and sat down, watching intently. Mordred set the box containing the gift down, picking up Nibbles instead. "So…I guess Strickler will stand guard for them," Toby said. "Hopefully those blood goblins won't make a move tonight."

Mordred didn't get a chance to reply – the brownies tilted their heads back and began to sing. It was an unfamiliar tune, more of an endless hum than a true melody. They trilled in waves, first one section and then another, allowing the others to breathe while the majority carried. It was a sweet sound, unending and rolling like the sea. Nutmeg pricked her ears and Draig cocked his head. "So this is going to go on all night?" Toby asked. Mordred nodded. "Well, I won't pretend I'm not curious." Toby settled in and pulled a candy bar out of his pocket. "Want part of a Nougat Nummy? They're vegetarian friendly."

The goblins missed Tagga. They were aware of this in the back of their heads, but the intense weight of Fama's mind ruling theirs made thinking hard, harder than wading through setting cement. Tagga's hive mind had always been there, but it had been gentle. Guiding, dissuading from danger or conflict. Fama's was hungry, fierce, and consuming.

One particularly brave goblin shook himself and approached. Fama sat on a box in the dark, quiet room, gnawing on a bone from a recent kill. The room smelled of cloth and paint, and they'd spent a few hours exploring before making their nest in the darkest corner of the ceiling. "Leader?" he asked.

Fama glanced at him, still gnawing, tongue seeking the marrow. Taking this as permission to continue, the goblin continued, "This place have humans. Trollhunter scent here. Why we stay? Brownies are protected too well in market. What we do now?"

Fama took his time answering. "As long as brownies in market, no way to get them. Trollhunter and others will protect. Many goblins can't take on Trollhunter in market. But many goblins might be able to take on Trollhunter outside of market. He takes human form when around other humans. He will be weaker."

The goblin's stomach flipped. Take on that terrifying creature, the mixed-up monster? "Why attack him?"

"Because goblins will be respected if we can handle the Trollhunter. And we have a chance if he isn't expecting us. The humans come into this room for false faces and clothes – they put on shows and use the things in here for it." Fama finished with the bone and the goblin realized he'd gnawed it down to a sharp point. "He will try to keep battle quiet. We have advantage in tiny, dark, quiet place."

"…Goblins can't kill Trollhunter. He took Tagga away. Too strong. Why we not leave, try to get Tagga back?" This was the wrong answer – Fama bristled and climbed down from the crate. The other backed away hastily, fear making him pant.

"We get Trollhunter, panic in market. Brownies will be easy pickings. All goblins should have brownie magic…make us strong." Fama lifted one hand and the faintest, darkest coils of magic burned at his fingertips. "Ever eaten human, little one? It is almost as good as brownie. Fear makes them tender."

The goblin froze – Fama's mind willed him to. The hive leader reached out and touched the helpless goblin's face, fingers sizzling where he touched the green skin. It burned and the goblin felt the horrified gazes of his fellows, trembling behind their crates and boxes. Fama pulled his fingers away. "No room for weak goblins. Only strong ones. Remember that."

The burned goblin dove for the nearest box, one marked, "Beauty and the Beast villager costumes," and hid inside, nursing the injury. If he dared to think it – and he didn't, knowing Fama's control was incorrigible – maybe the mixed-monster was preferable to a blood goblin.

He hoped Tagga was all right. But even if he was, the hive mind wouldn't let them go. Such was the lot of goblins.

NotEnrique paced in front of the baby gate, ignoring the jeers from within. The boggarts had not, of course, been locked in the chest longer than necessary. After the Trollhunter passed out, Strickler and Blinky had taken him to the infirmary and returned to deal with the rogue brownies. It was little more than a pen – a spare alcove, half-finished – blocked with a tall baby gate that had been purchased for Milagro.

The boggarts shook the bars like inmates, baring their teeth at him. NotEntrique scowled. "Look, they'll let you out soon as they can help you get back to your normal selves. Take it from me, you lot have been treated pretty well all things considered!" He scratched dolefully at his back. It was starting to show signs of clearing, but it still itched. "At least you blokes don't have to worry about this."

One of the boggarts cocked his head and muttered to the others, a cackle rising from the group. "What's so funny?" NotEnrique snapped. "We're trying to help out around here and you lot make trouble." Something warm and wet hit his arm and he jumped back, expecting it to be spit again.

But no. The little boggart had climbed the bars enough to urinate on NotEnrique. It pointed and laughed wickedly. NotEnrique stared at the puddle of pee and lost it. He snarled and rammed the gate, jostling it enough that the boggart tumbled, yelping as it landed. "You rotten little tosser!"

Then the gate fell over, knocked loose by his motion. NotEnrique froze, the boggarts gathering to look at the fallen gate as if they couldn't believe their luck. "Oh. Fudge knuckle."

End of Chapter 6