Would you like to hear a bedtime story, Robert? I could tell you about the brownie hero Luenda, or about how brownies started fixing bridges. Or maybe a story about trolls?
Oh, Robert, if you insist. I’ll tell you about a time when I was younger and the Billingsworth Forest was a much less peaceful place than it is today.
Once upon a time, on a very special day – well, everybody says it was a very special day, but in truth it was a day just like any other – a brownie was sleeping peacefully in a riverbank under the Billingsworth Bridge, next to a hodgepodge pile of tools. He was a very young brownie, and had just moved into the area under the bridge a few days ago. It had taken quite a bit of damage over the ages, but he’d managed to fix it up.
At that moment, footsteps stomped nosily over the cobblestone bridge. The brownie immediately woke up. He was cross and a bit grumpy – which of the fae folk isn’t grumpy after being woken up from a nice nap? – and immediately climbed up the riverbank to see what the noise was. All he saw was the backside of a very large creature.
Now, most of the animal folk leave proper tribute whenever crossing a bridge to a river big enough for a brownie to fit inside. It isn’t much, just small tokens of appreciation to the brownie for maintaining the bridge. Some berries, a small basket, cloth, you get the idea. We don’t repair bridges out of any sense of glory, but because we like helping others, and the animals respect that. However, a few brownies get used to having a lot of tribute, and consider the tribute as a toll for crossing the bridge.
Our young brownie was one of these brownies who took gifts and tribute for granted. The brownie looked around for tribute, but it wasn’t there. He checked both ends of the bridge. Nothing. Not even a pile of dirt. Being new to the area, he decided that perhaps the creature hadn’t known that there was a brownie cleaning and repairing the bridge. He decided that perhaps a sign would help inform travelers of the new toll. The brownie dug through his pile of belongings and soon found a plank of wood and a paintbrush. He painted these words on his sign: toll required to cross bridge. Then, he decided that it was about time for breakfast. The brownie left the bridge to gather some things to eat.
Now, between you and me, I’m not exactly sure what the brownie thought would happen when he put a toll on crossing the bridge but didn’t stay to enforce it. He’s certainly much wiser now. However, let’s keep in mind that back then he was young and naïve.
While walking through the forest, the brownie spotted a red fox eating berries off of a tall bush. It was a close friend of his, and although he didn’t approve of some of her eating habits, she made very good company. He called out, “Hello, Gwenda.”
The fox said, “Hello, Simon. Has the troll also evicted you from the area?”
The brownie said, “What troll? I didn’t know there was one living here.” He was somewhat afraid of trolls. They were hundreds of times bigger and stronger than he was, and had a nasty temper. It didn’t help that his mother had told him many stories in which brownies were bullied by trolls, until they magically escaped.
Gwenda sat up straight and said, “There has always been a troll living in Billingsworth Forest. Why, last night he actually threw me into the trees. It made all of the birds nervous, poor things.” She licked her lips wistfully.
“Are you hurt?” The brownie asked.
Gwenda replied, “No, but I have made an effort not to get on the troll’s bad side. I imagine that others have been injured far worse than I have been.”
The brownie picked a berry and ate it, thinking about the troll. He didn’t want to move out of the area again, but at the same time he didn’t want to encounter the troll. He thanked Gwenda for the information and began walking back to the Billingsworth Bridge.
When the brownie reached his bridge, he stopped walking. The troll was standing on his bridge! And worse, it had defiled his sign! When the brownie peered fearfully at it, he read: Property of King Troll. Toll: 12 gold pieces.
This troll was taking things too far. The brownie’s face reddened, and whether it was out of courage or stupidity, he shouted, “That’s my bridge, troll. You don’t have the right to put a toll on it.”
The troll slowly turned to face the brownie. The ground shook with its footsteps, and the brownie’s face turned white. Suddenly, confronting the troll didn’t sound like such a good idea anymore.
The troll laughed heartily.  “Oh, imagine that! ‘It’s my bridge, you don’t have the right to put a toll on it,’” he mocked, “Well yes I do. This is my bridge now, and I expect full payment if you want to use it.” The troll picked the brownie up with one hand and hurled him over the treetops.
When the brownie woke up, it was mid-afternoon. Every part of his body was bruised and battered. He tried to sit up, and in doing so, noticed that he was in a bed of some sort. All around him were birds, mice, lizards, and –
“Gwenda,” the brownie asked weakly, “what happened? Where am I?”
The fox smiled toothily at him. “The troll threw you into the treetops. Luckily, we found you before he could do anything else. You’re in the Council for the Removal of King Troll. Normally, I wouldn’t socialize with, ah, lesser creatures, but they were better suited to help you than I was.”
A rabbit said, “I am Darry, leader of the Council. We’re sorry to see that you, too, have been harmed by the King Troll.”
“My bridge! What is the troll doing to it?” the brownie asked frantically. Although he had only been there for a few days, he felt a strong connection to it.
“Our scouts have reported that the toll is so high that no one can cross the river. The troll is enforcing the toll strictly, and patrols upon the bridge daily,” said Darry.
The brownie’s face fell. Although he was separated from his bridge, he was still a proper bridge brownie, and felt as if it was his fault that the troll had seized control over it. But what could he do about it? He was just one brownie against a large, mean troll who delighted in tormenting others.
Darry said, “Why don’t you rest for a bit, Simon? I’m sure that we can find a way to help you.” He glared at Gwenda. “And tell your fox to go away, too.”
“You’re going to help me?” the brownie asked. “You’re really going to help?”
“Of course, Simon. The Council will do everything that we can do to help,” said Darry.
Now, here is where my story differs from what is commonly told. Most brownies say that, armed with friendship and courage, our young brownie immediately hopped out of bed and punished the troll for daring to ever harm anybody. Then, he travelled around the world and helped defeat trolls everywhere. The truth, however, is much different.
The brownie had stayed with the Council for a month, and the troll still had complete control over the bridge. Although the Council had promised to help, there wasn’t actually much that they could accomplish. Everything had to be planned, drawn out, and voted on. The brownie knew that it was for the best, and that it stopped animals from being needlessly hurt, but it felt too slow.
Part of the problem was that no one actually had any idea of how to deal with the troll. I could tell you all of the ideas that were voiced, but that would be far too boring for you to hear. Instead, I’ll tell you just a few of them. One plan involved tickling the troll until he agreed to anything that the Council demanded. Another involved bringing another troll into the area and hoping that they would fight each other. A third plan was to try forcing him through peer pressure alone. Needless to say, none of them were put into practice.
Finally, one day the council received a report from Gwenda saying that the bridge, which hadn’t been designed to hold the troll’s weight, had broken through in one place. The troll had almost fallen into the river.
The brownie was distressed by the news. He should be there to fix the bridge, not sitting in a useless Council meeting! He was about to leave when Gwenda mused, “King Troll seemed quite afraid to patrol the bridge after that. I wonder if he has aquaphobia.”
“I might have a plan,” said the brownie.
The other Council members nodded and listened to what he said. It wasn’t a well-thought out plan, or even the merest wisp of one, but at least it was something to start with. It was time to make the troll regret tormenting the animal folk of Billingsworth.
The next day, the brownie stood on one end of the bridge. The troll’s shack was on the other end, and the brownie could hear the troll snoring loudly. He yawned. The brownie had been awake for the entire night adjusting the bridge, and now he needed to be awake and alert. He almost wished that Gwenda or Darry was in his place.
The brownie shouted, “Troll, I’ve come to reclaim my bridge. It’s mine and mine only.”
The troll poked its head out of its shack, looking extremely grumpy. He said, “Go away, pest. How many times do I need to prove ownership of the bridge?” He looked at the other side of the river. The entire Council was standing there, in all of its might and glory.
Of course, the council’s might and glory was no match to the sight of an enraged troll. King troll’s face became red, his face screwed up in anger – but then his face suddenly stopped displaying any emotion at all.
“So,” the troll said, its voice smooth as oil, “you wish to take the bridge back?”
Darry said, “You have no right to own the Billingsworth Bridge.”
“Then you will have to fight me for it!” The troll roared. King Troll tilted his body forwards and ran down the bridge like a battering ram, only to suddenly drop into the river below with a loud splash. Water sloshed out of the river, drenching all of the Council members. When the water drained away, part of the bridge was hanging downwards. It was clear that it had been booby-trapped to drop the troll in the river.
“Yes! It worked.” shouted the brownie.
The troll flailed its arms and wailed for help, but the Council looked on impassively. Finally, Darry said, “We might be able to get you out of the river.”
“Yes. Please! I’ll do anything if you get me out of – aieeeeeee! – I’m drowning in here,” screamed the troll.
“Of course,” said Darry, “As long as you forfeit the bridge.”
The troll said, “I’ll do whatever you want. Just get me out! I’m drowning!”
Darry said, “So you agree to also stop tossing other animals into the treetops and smashing up homes just for the fun of it?”
The troll said, “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll do anything you say! I’ll even try to reform!”
Darry said, “Get him out.”
The brownie rushed forwards and tossed one end of a rope to the troll. He unspooled the other end to the rest of the Council, and together they pulled the troll out.
From that moment on, the Billingsworth Bridge and the forest that surrounded it was a peaceful place. Oh, occasionally the troll would forget his promise and stomp on a few homes, but the Council made sure to keep a watchful eye on him. And the brownie? He still lives under the Billingsworth Bridge today, and occasionally Gwenda and Darry drop by for visits.
Yes Robert? You want to know how the brownie discovered the troll’s weakness for water? He’d heard Gwenda saying that perhaps the troll had aquaphobia, and he’d heard stories from his mother about a troll’s fear of water. But that’s a story for another day.