Sam

  "You are John."

  "Yes."

  "And I am Gug."

  "That's right."

  "And we are now best friends?"

  "Well, I don't know about 'best' friends. People usually know each other for a while before they start breaking out words like that."

  Gug stuck his pink tongue out between his teeth, thinking. "But you are my only friend," he said, "so that means you are also my best friend."

  "I… suppose that's true."

  "By definition you are also my worst friend, but that would be a very rude thing to say."

  "That's true, Gug. You're a very polite troll, aren't you?"

  Gug grinned, tongue still caught between his teeth. "Heh."

  She imagined that the slave trader wouldn't be very pleased about her shaking the troll's hand, but he could suit himself for having his back turned. And for being a money-grubbing, slave-owning bastard, but that was another thing.

  When she tried to pull her hand back, however, Gug moved quick as a snake, readjusting his grip so that he enveloped her whole hand in his giant, green fist. He held onto her tight, so tight that Sam was gritting her teeth with the pain of it as he yanked her arm up and down in an exaggerated handshake, entirely oblivious to her discomfort.

  "You can let go of my hand now, Gug," Sam worked out with all the calm she could muster, free hand white-knuckling one of the metal cage bars for support.

  "But—"

  "Gug, you're being too rough. You have to be gentle with friends."

  His grip instantly sprang open, and Sam staggered back a step with the sudden release, working her aching hand. "Thank you, Gug," she said. She didn't want to think about what the outcome would have been for someone who didn't have her Toughness.

  "Oh, no!" Gug wailed, eyes gone round as saucers but still dwarfed by his jutting block of a forehead. "I am a bad troll! I am very very very bad!"

  "You're not a bad troll," Sam insisted, and stopped fussing with her hand so the troll wouldn't think she was hurt. "That was the first time you've ever shaken hands with someone, wasn't it?"

  "Yes!"

  "Well, even a genius can't be good at everything right from the start. You'll get better."

  Gug's eyes slowly returned to their tiny, slitted neutral, then his brows crept down so that they were almost swallowed entirely beneath the wrinkly folds of his face. "I see. Then I will practice." He closed his hand on air and carefully bobbed it up and down in a ghost imitation of a handshake, chewing on his outthrust tongue in his concentration. "I will become a master of shaking hands so that I can say hello to many people and get lots of friends."

  "That sounds like a great idea!" Sam said with an encouraging smile. "Do you like people, Gug?"

  "I do!" the troll explained, his booming voice echoing out over the still-quiet market street.

  "Humans, that is."

  "Yes. A wise man once told me: 'Don't judge others, or it will give you indigestion'."

  "Uh-huh." Where did he get that one from? "Are there other trolls like you?"

  Gug's tongue darted back into his mouth, and he gave a tight shrug. "Dunno."

  "Are you sure you don't know?"

  "Trolls are scary. They yell a lot, and they don't like literature." He said the last word in an exaggeratedly enunciated fashion, as though very proud of knowing the word.

  "I understand. I'll imagine there aren't many trolls with crystals on their arms, like you have."

  Gug nodded solemnly. "Yes. A wise man once told me: 'You are a very special boy, John'.

  "That's my name."

  "Yes." Gug stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Most curious."

  "Were you born that way? With the crystals, and the mark?"

  "Dunno."

  "Right. But you can do things? You can…" Sam motioned vaguely at the air, looking for the right word. "...use abilities, that type of thing?"

  "Yes."

  "Like what?"

  "I do genius type of things."

  "Aside from that."

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  "I do writer type of things."

  "Aside from that."

  Gug considered a moment. "I whoosh sometimes."

  "You 'whoosh'?"

  Gug arched a fuzzy black caterpillar eyebrow at her, as though she were stupid for not understanding. "Yes. I whoosh, and then my brother comes out."

  "You have a brother?"

  "Yes. He helps me when things get scary. I just need to say the magic word, and then he shows up right away. But he won't come out while I'm wearing this stupid necklace. He must think it is ugly." He tugged at his collar, then sighed and let his hand fall limp into his lap. "It is very badly designed. What kind of necklace gets stuck after you put it on?"

  Sam adjusted her hat, struggling to comprehend most of what the troll had told her. "How did you end up in a cage?" she asked.

  "I walked in."

  "Riiight. Do you like living in a cage?"

  "No. I hate it very very very much. I am always hungry and itchy and no one appreciates my literary genius. Sometimes people throw things at me, but Andros says they are only allowed to throw things if they pay, otherwise I'm supposed to roar until they go away."

  "Do you always do what Andros says?"

  "Yes. A wise man once told me: 'Be a good boy, or you'll explode'.

  "That's a bit dramatic. Are you sure you're not paraphrasing?"

  "I pair all my phrases." The troll started playing with his toes, touching each one in turn, lips moving silently as he counted them to himself.

  "Say, Gug," Sam said with her most encouraging smile, once more approaching the bars, "I've enjoyed talking with you a lot, but I'm afraid me and my friend have some urgent business out of town, so I won't be able to come back and visit you later."

  Gug paused on the middle toe of his left foot, finger hovering over the stubby green digit. "Oh. That's very sad."

  "I have an idea, though. If I could get you out of that cage, would you be interested in coming with me?"

  Gug's eyes lit up with sparkling hope, his mouth going into an O. "A wise man once told me: 'Never look a gift fish in the trout'!"

  Sam frowned. "Does… Does that mean yes?"

  "Yes! A quintillion times yes!"

  "He's not for sale!" the slave trader barked without missing a beat, hobbling out of his tent in a rush and leaning heavily on his cane. "Get your grubby hands away from my freak, friend, or we're going to have problems!"

  "I've got money to pay for him," Sam said with a shrug.

  "It doesn't matter how much you offer—he's one-of-a-kind, and just happens to be a tremendous source of passive income! Now get away from my freak!"

  "I already paid to see him, though. You said I could look for as long as I want."

  "I changed my mind!" The slave trader repeatedly jabbed his cane at the ground. "Don't think you can bully me just because you're a Laborer, sir. If I say the word, enforcers will beat some manners into you."

  "Does that mean I'm not getting out of the cage?" Gug asked with a hangdog look, slowly turning his great big head to regard the slave trader.

  "Of course you're not! It's for your safety, remember? We spoke about it. I'm the one protecting you from all those nasty people who will carve you into pieces the moment you take a step out of there."

  "Do I have to keep wearing the necklace, too?"

  "Yes! Fucking of course, yes!" The slave trader glared at Sam. "Now look at what you've done. You've gone and given him ideas. This is the last fucking thing I needed today."

  Gug threw his head back in despair. "The sadness! I am a poor worm left to shrivel after the rain, robbed of the fertile manure of creativity!"

  "Oh god, not the poetry," Andros breathed, clutching his head. With a rage-filled growl, he stuck his cane through the bars and jabbed the troll repeatedly in the ribs. "You stupid animal! What have I told you about reciting fucking poetry?"

  "The despair!" Gug wailed, paying the human no mind at all. "I am a beautiful pie left in the window to get stale and cold, without a soul to enjoy the supple flavors of my artistry!"

  "I said—!"

  "Brother! Help me!"

  "Shut up!"

  "Brainstorm! Brainstorm! Brainstorm! Brainstorm!"

  "Be quiet!"

  Gug clapped his massive hands over his ears—little eyes squeezed shut, face contorted in panic. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" he screamed—a singular, atonal noise so loud it could probably be heard over half the city.

  "Fine!" Andros cried, tossing aside his cane and pointing a finger at Sam. "Three thousand! I'll sell him to you for three thousand glories!"

  [Two minutes of haggling and a lot of screaming later, 600 G changes hands.]

  * * *

  Sam received a bill of sale, a key to the Enchanted slave collar, and a stream of vitriol from the slave trader before he was called off to explain the situation to the armed market enforcers who had shown up to investigate the disturbance.

  With the heavy padlock on Gug's cage unlocked and discarded, Sam swung the door open for him to step out. The troll climbed to his feet warily, having to stoop to avoid hitting his head, and wrung his hands as he remained frozen inside the cell.

  "Come on, big guy," Sam said, smiling as she waved him over. "Come on out. You're all right."

  "Andros says I will die if I go outside."

  "Andros doesn't always tell the truth. You'll be all right."

  "Promise?"

  Sam nodded. "Promise."

  Slowly, hesitantly, Gug ducked under the cage, but wavered at the last. Sam caught him by his little finger and gently pulled on him. He came out all the way, stepping out of the black ribcage that had been his prison and into the pale morning. He unfurled to his full height, and Sam had to tilt her head way back to look up at his face, framed against the bleak sky.

  He had to be at least eight feet tall, swollen muscles straining against his ragged gown. Jesus.

  "I am not dead yet," Gug observed, his little eyes flitting about the street with great caution. "That is… fortuitous."

  "How's it feel to be out of the cage?"

  "Scary. And a little exciting. No, very exciting."

  Sam felt a little sheepish standing next to the literal green giant when Mongrel came out of the building he had gone into with a young pimple-faced lad in tow. The old man looked at her, then the troll, then back again.

  "I had a feeling it would end like this," he said, not even sounding disappointed. Mostly just tired. "You expecting this thing to come with us, then?"

  "What… What is that?" the collared slave behind him—a Level 2 Explorer—asked in the shrill, cracking voice of someone barely old enough to be on the Frontier.

  "This is your new friend Gug," Sam said. "I'm, uh, John. What's your name?"

  "I'm…" The young man trailed off, paling as he stared up at the troll. "I…"

  "I'm calling him Oatmeal," Mongrel said as he strode right past them, "on account of his biting wit and roguish good looks."

  "A-Actually sir, it's Wes—"

  "Come on, you feckless shits! Best move this freak show out of town before folk start lining up for tickets."