Goat Pie (9 page)

That's why he'd hit on the idea of the tree. Ulrik had been begging them for a tree and Mr Troll had found the perfect one. It was a giant Norway Spruce, green and bushy and smelling like the forest at the foot of Troll Mountain. It had taken him two hours to dig it up. There had been a bit of a tug of war with the park keeper, which Mr Troll had enjoyed, though he won too easily.

He dragged the tree down the drive and came to a halt. The only thing he hadn't worked out was how to get it through the front door.

‘Arggh! Gnhhhhh!' he grunted, heaving with all his strength.

‘What the bogles are you doing?' asked Mrs Troll, coming into the hall.

‘I brought a tree,' said Mr Troll, wiping the sweat from his brow.

‘I can see that. Why are you bashing the door down with it?'

‘Ulrik wanted a tree for Trollmas. You stand them in the window.'

Mrs Troll climbed over the dirty roots of the fir tree and inspected the green bushy part. One end was jammed in the doorway while the other was still out on the street.

‘Eggy! It's huge!' she said.

‘I know!' grinned Mr Troll. ‘I didn't want a tiddler.'

‘Well, you'll never get it in here – you'll have to put it in the back garden!'

Ulrik was feeding Rosemary in the bathroom when he saw the shadow of a giant tree swaying outside the window. He left Rosemary's bowl on the floor, dashed downstairs and out into the garden.

‘Wow! It's uggnormous!' he exclaimed.

Mr Troll was packing earth around the tree's roots. It was leaning drunkenly to one side but he thought this could be sorted out later.

‘You wanted a tree,' he said. ‘This is like the ones we grow back home, Ulrik.'

‘Can I hang things on it?'

Mr Troll waved a hand airily. ‘You can do what you like. It's yours.'

Ulrik set to work. He didn't have any fairy lights or coloured balls, so he decorated his Trollmas tree with whatever he could find. He hung his socks on the branches, adding a vest and a pair of his mum's extra-large knickers for good measure. Christmas trees were meant to be bright and colourful and this one certainly was. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice Warren Priddle staring at him over the fence.

‘What is
that
?' pointed Warren.

‘Oh, hello, Warren. Dad got me a tree!' said Ulrik proudly.

Warren gazed up at the gigantic fir tree which rose almost as high as the house.

‘It hasn't got any lights,' he pointed out. ‘Or a fairy on the top.'

‘No, but I used all my socks,' said Ulrik. ‘I hung them up like you said.'

‘It's stockings not socks,' said Warren scornfully. ‘And you're meant to hang them on your bed. Don't you know anything about Christmas?'

‘Not really,' admitted Ulrik cheerfully. ‘I think Trollmas is different.'

Warren was looking round the garden. ‘What have you done with that goat?' he asked.

‘Rosemary?'

‘Yes. My dad says you've eaten her.'

‘No, she's in the bathroom,' said Ulrik. ‘It's a secret. We don't want my grumpa …' He broke off. A startled cry had come from the house.

‘What was that?' asked Warren. Ulrik looked up at his bedroom window. A worrying thought crossed his mind. Five minutes ago he had been feeding Rosemary in the bathroom, but he'd been distracted by the sight of the tree at the window. In his excitement, had he remembered to close the door behind him? Surely he had.

Grumpa's face appeared at his bedroom window.

‘Help! There's a wild goat in here!'

Maybe he hadn't.

‘Hadn't you better go and help him?' asked Warren, gazing up at the window.

‘He'll be all right,' replied Ulrik. ‘Grumpa's used to catching goats. He isn't frighted of anything.'

‘Oh no?' said Warren. ‘He looks pretty scared to me.'

It was true that the fearless goat-hunter was
behaving quite oddly. Grumpa was standing on the windowsill and had pulled the curtains round him for protection. Ulrik could hear Rosemary's excited bleating—she probably thought he had biscuits in his pockets. He caught a glimpse of her head at the window.

‘Wait there, Grumpa!' he called.

But Grumpa had decided that ‘waiting there' with a savage goat trying to bite his feet was out of the question. He opened the window and gingerly stepped out on to the ledge, edging towards the drainpipe.

‘Look out!' said Warren. ‘He's going to jump!'

They both watched spellbound as Grumpa inched his way along the ledge. Halfway along his foot slipped and he was left clinging to the drainpipe with his feet dangling in mid-air. Rosemary poked her head out of the window and bleated.

‘Get away!' cried Grumpa, kicking out in alarm. Ulrik doubted this was a good idea. Most drainpipes are not built to take the weight of a fully grown troll and this one was no exception. With a cracking, groaning sound the pipe started to come away from the wall.

‘Watch out, Grumpa!' warned Ulrik.

Grumpa had felt the drainpipe moving and caught hold of the only thing that was to hand – which happened to be a giant Norway Spruce. For a few seconds he clung to the top, like a life-size Christmas fairy. Then, as if in slow motion, the tree began to topple sideways.

‘ARGGHHHH!' cried Grumpa.

It was lucky there was something to break his fall on the other side of the fence. It was not so lucky that the something was the Priddles' new greenhouse. There was a mighty crash – followed
by several smaller crashes as the remainder of the roof fell in and the sides collapsed like a folding deckchair.

Ulrik and Warren ran over to the fence to see what had happened.

‘Blunking bogles!' said Ulrik.

The tree had flattened a section of the Priddles' fence but that was the least of the damage. Grumpa was sitting in the remains of a greenhouse, surrounded by socks, shattered glass and broken flower-pots. Part of the Christmas tree had snapped off and he was still clinging to it uselessly. On his head sat Mrs Troll's extra-large knickers.

Ulrik of course got the blame. His mum and dad blamed him for leaving the bathroom door open. Grumpa complained he should have been warned there was a goat on the loose. The Priddles came out into the garden to join in with all the pointing, roaring and shouting. In the middle of it all Mrs Priddle picked up a broken flower-pot and burst into tears. ‘It's meant to be Christmas!' she sobbed. ‘Christmas!'

This put an end to the shouting and everyone looked at their feet awkwardly. Mr Priddle took
his wife inside to make her a strong cup of tea while the Trolls returned to their house, feeling sorry about Mrs Priddle and her ruined Christmas.

In all the commotion they had forgotten about Rosemary. They found her in the kitchen, hoovering up spilled Coco Pops from the floor.

‘This can't go on,' said Mrs Troll, sitting down heavily. ‘She's driving me up the road.'

‘Me too!' agreed Mr Troll. ‘And we'll have to pay for the Piddles' greenshouse.'

‘That wasn't her fault!' Ulrik pointed out.

Grumpa limped in and sat down. ‘Don't bother about me,' he said bitterly. ‘I could have broken my neck but don't worry about that!'

‘She didn't mean any harm, Grumpa,' said Ulrik. ‘You must have frighted her!'

‘Humph!' said Grumpa.

‘Ulrik,' said Mr Troll, ‘take Rosemary outside!'

‘But Dad –' protested Ulrik.

‘Outside!' ordered Mr Troll.

Ulrik did as he was told. He sat on the fallen fir tree, trying to listen to what his parents were saying in the kitchen. He caught the words ‘pie' and ‘blunking goat' several times.

Rosemary seemed to know something was wrong and tried to cheer him up by licking his ear. He stroked her head. ‘It's not your fault, is it?' he said. ‘You were just hungry.'

The goat regarded him with trusting brown eyes.

Tomorrow was Trollmas Eve, when his mum would start baking the pie for the big day. Rosemary's time was running out. Ulrik glanced back at the house and made up his mind.

Ten minutes later, Mr Troll came outside to look for him.

‘Ulrik!' he said. ‘Ulrik, where are you?' He looked around.

The back gate was open.

On biddlesden high Street people were doing their last-minute Christmas shopping. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and pushed past, carrying bags and looking tired and impatient.

Ulrik kept bumping into people. Although he had Rosemary on a lead she seemed to be leading him rather than the other way round. He stopped outside the window of a bakery to gaze hungrily at the mince pies and jolly snowmen biscuits. In his pocket he had one sticky chocolate
biscuit left but he was saving that for supper.

Rosemary pressed her nose up against the window and tried to lick an iced bun through the glass.

‘Sorry, I can't buy you anything,' said Ulrik. ‘I haven't got any peas
⁴
.'

The pair of them seemed to be attracting some strange looks from passers-by. Ulrik wondered if it was obvious he was running away from home.

Past the shopping centre, they came to a set of steps leading down into a dark passageway. Ulrik had slept in the subway once with his mum and dad. His dad said its sweet, stinksome smell reminded him of their cave back home. Ulrik led Rosemary down. He could hear the rumble of cars passing overhead and the
trip trop
of people's feet as they hurried by.

Rosemary bleated and nuzzled in his pockets, searching for something else to eat.

‘All right, you greedy goat,' said Ulrik.

He broke the chocolate biscuit in two. One half
he ate hungrily while he let Rosemary lick the remaining crumbs from his other hand. In a few seconds it was all gone. Ulrik wondered when it would start getting dark. It seemed like hours since they'd left home.

‘What are we going to do now?' he asked. ‘I can't take you back or you'll end up in a pie. Maybe we should try and get you home. Would you like that? You could play with all the other goatses.' Rosemary blinked at him and licked his face to see if any crumbs were stuck to it.