“Hullo.” Peanut butter slime dripped from ARRRGH!!!’s fangs. “Boy. Human.”

“They talk,” I mumbled. “Tub, they talk.”

“Don’t go crazy on me, Jim,” Tub said.

“Of course we talk,” Blinky said. His English accent was impeccable. “We are hardly cattle. We are, by the best estimates of troll intelligentsia, the most advanced of all existing species.” His haughty tone collapsed into a remorseful sigh. “We can also be the rudest. Do accept my apology. We regret that we do not have a second translator for your noble man-at-arms.”

“They’re apologizing, Tub,” I said. “Because you can’t understand them.”

“Tell them apology accepted. No! Tell them I’m sorry about trying to shoot them. Tell them that first. That’s important.”

“They can understand you just fine, Tub.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Then, louder, to them: “Sorry! I mean it! Please don’t kill me!”

“Kill? You?” Blinky looked baffled. “Such savagery is not the providence of the elite! Heed this: if you are to irk me, boy, irk cautiously. You are fortunate that my patience is renowned—I can out-wait anyone, anywhere, anytime. Why, my waiting contest with Prothnurd the Persistent is legend. Three years I sat opposite old Prothnurd, happy as you’d like, and I would’ve sat for three more had the old boy not died. So I wish you well in your irking. My hirsute colleague, though—patience is not her strong suit.”

“Her?” I looked doubtfully up at ARRRGH!!!.

“Her?” Tub parroted. “It’s a her? I mean, she’s a her?”

“But of course,” Blinky said. “Most of the great troll warriors are female. To be a warrior worthy of song, brute strength alone will not suffice. Not nearly! You must possess cunning as well as compassion, and neither quality is the male’s forte. Traditionally, we males are more proficient at whipping up imposing smells and choreographing the ceremonial disembowelment waltzes. Besides, isn’t the color of her coat a dead giveaway? It’s ink black.”

“Ink black,” I said, nodding.

“Exactly,” Blinky said. “How you could mistake that for the coal black of males is entirely beyond my understanding.”

Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. It was spattered with peanut butter. He gripped the mask in his hands as if dying to put it back on. He was, at least, human, and I turned to him in desperation.

“Uncle Jack,” I said. “Where have you been?”

“With us,” Blinky said. “For forty-five years, your uncle has been our equal, deserving of the respect and praise so often tossed at our collective feet. There are kneeling rituals I can suggest to you if you’d like. Beautiful, sightly rituals! Ah, if only we had the time. For now, forgive your uncle’s taciturnity. If you’ll permit me an opinion, I believe he might be overwhelmed at being in the house of his older brother. Your father’s scent is everywhere here, you understand.”