on the floor. Now, Father Christmas was a lot larger and heavier than an elf, so he squashed Mother Sparkle, but it was better, and softer, than being squashed by the rock. He got to his feet and went to the control desk and looked at the buttons and pressed the red one that said, in really little letters, ‘VERY Serious Emergency!!!’
The bell above his head at the top of the tower started swinging at hyperspeed.
DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONG DINGDONGDINGDONGDING . . .
And it was then that Father Christmas noticed the Barometer of Hope had smashed on the floor. The last green wisp of magical light rose towards him and disappeared into the air right in front of his face.
The Flying Story Pixie
Shaking earth. Troll heads smashing up from below. Rocks and stones flying overhead. Buildings collapsing. Christmas puddings flying out of the Figgy Pudding café. Chocolate coins scattered on the ground. Elves carrying their children and running. The Sleigh Belles carrying their instruments on their heads, to avoid the raining rocks.
‘Elves!’ boomed Father Christmas. ‘Run to Reindeer Field! Everyone! Head to Reindeer Field!’
Father Topo was hugging Noosh and Little Mim, beside Father Christmas.
‘Oh no,’ said Humdrum, as the ground started to wobble beneath their feet again.
Noosh covered her son’s eyes. Then the bulk of the Toy Workshop collapsed into the ground.
Father Christmas saw something rising out of the wreckage. One, then two, no, actually three trolls. These weren’t big übertrolls. They were untertrolls, only three times the size of Father Christmas and nine times the size of an average elf. Well, technically there were four of them, because one of them had two heads. Another had only one eye. The third looked quite normal, for a troll, except for the one large yellow tooth sticking out from the side of her mouth. But each had warty rough skin and rotten teeth and dirty rags made from goatskin for clothes.
The one-eyed troll held a rock high in the air and let out a deep thunderous roar. He was looking at the one remaining building in Elfhelm that wasn’t yet destroyed. The five-storey office of the Daily Snow. He was about to throw the rock.
‘Listen, trolls, we mean you no harm,’ Father Christmas said.
The two-headed troll grabbed the one-eyed troll’s arm.
‘No, Thud,’ the two-headed troll said. Thud shrugged and put his arm down.
‘Thank you,’ said Father Christmas. ‘We just want a peaceful Christmas. We have no interest in the Troll Valley. Please . . .’
It was just at that point that Father Christmas heard something fluttering above. He looked up to see a creature a similar shape as the Truth Pixie, but this creature had wings and was much smaller. Four wings in total. Two sets of two. They were light, the wings, and you could see through them. They shone like glass, and the sun gleamed off them.
‘A Flying Story Pixie!’ said Noosh, who knew her pixies almost as well as she knew her trolls.
This pixie was circling around and giggling as she looked at all the mess the trolls had created. She flew down close to Thud’s head. Father Christmas saw this, and thought it was strange. Then the pixie disappeared, fast through the sky, heading into the trees on the snowy slopes of the pixie territory.
‘Be no Christmas this year!’ said Thud blankly. ‘No Christmas!’
‘What is your problem with Christmas?’ wondered Father Christmas, perhaps a little unwisely, as Thud was still holding the rock. ‘I thought trolls liked Christmas.’
Thud said nothing. Instead, he looked in the distance, somewhere towards all the elves in Reindeer Field. Then he made a massive grunting sound as he threw the rock high, high, high in the air. Everyone stared at the rock as it kept on going.
‘Oh no,’ said Father Topo, into Father Christmas’s ear.
But Father Christmas could see where the rock was headed. Not to the elves, not to the reindeer, not to the Daily Snow, but towards the field where his sleigh was parked. The rock landed with a smash that could be heard a mile away.
Thud and the other trolls stamped their feet in a crazy fashion, as if doing a kind of wild troll dance.
‘It’s a signal,’ Noosh said. She’d read about stomp signals in The Complete Trollpedia while training to be a journalist.
Below the earth there was another loud troll roar.
‘Stand back, everyone,’ Noosh warned, knowing what the sound was.
Then – pow! – a giant fist burst up through the ground. The grey fist alone was the size of one huge untertroll.
Humdrum was now crouched in a ball on the ground doing his breathing exercises while Little Mim said, ‘It’s all right, Daddy.’
‘Urgula, the Supreme Troll Leader,’ whispered Noosh. The fist disappeared back down into the ground, leaving nothing but a hole. Then the three above-ground trolls jumped, one after the other, down the hole. And the ground shook when they landed in the cave somewhere below.
Father Christmas looked around at all the worried elves and the destroyed buildings and the collapsed Toy Workshop and waited for a few moments. Everything was still. The trolls had left them alone.
‘They’ve gone,’ he said.
And he heard Little Mim’s faint mumble as she looked at the state of Elfhelm. ‘Everything’s gone.’
Father Christmas watched as a bouncy ball dropped out of the wreckage and rolled towards his feet.
Not quite everything.
A Knock at the Door
Amelia tried to shut the door but Mr Creeper was too quick.
His face was really close. She saw him better than ever. His eyes had dark heavy bags below them. His damaged nose was as bent as a knee. His cheeks were so sucked in he looked as if he was entirely made of skin and bone. ‘Never close the door on a gentleman. I am here to help you.’
Captain Soot was beside Amelia’s ankles. He flicked his tail in a kind of warning.
‘I don’t like you,’ the cat hissed. ‘I know who you are and I don’t like you one little bit. And I’m glad I ruined your rug.’
‘I am sorry about your mother,’ Mr Creeper said, not looking sorry or sad at all.
‘How did you know?’ Amelia said, looking down at his trousers. They were different to the ones Captain Soot had ripped earlier.
‘Word travels to me.’
‘Well, thank you, sir. Merry Christmas, sir.’
‘So you aren’t going to say sorry? For sticking your chimney brush in my face? For refusing my custom? For being a violent little brute?’
Amelia went to shut the door again but Mr Creeper grabbed her