Chapter 8. Schmoozeglutton Offers the Challenge
The trolls were restless. None of them felt quite right. They had eaten, but had eaten too little. Or perhaps they had eaten too much. Their bellies, because they hadn’t been full for centuries, or perhaps because of the strange new food, were rumbling and grumbling. All of the trolls were burping and belching. They sat around, dazed from hunger. Or, possibly from overeating.
Brumvack sat on the largest rock in the common area of the cave, surrounded by the rest. Some sat on rocks of their own; others lay on the stone floor of the cave, moaning their boredom and frustration. They were remembering the good old days, the feast days. They were remembering the beer that had once flowed so generously, and now was gone. Amid all this complaining, Brumvack knew, he would be wise to make his leadership known. Though trolls live only to eat, fight, and complain, too much complaining wasn’t a good sign. They would only get more restless. Too, there was the fact that Slimegobbler, and then Oreo and Oleo, hadn’t followed his orders on their earlier outing. He would have to make an example of them.
“Aaarghh,” he snarled, getting the attention of the Rabid Band. Slowly, the trolls turned their dull attention toward him. The ones lying on the floor sat up and faced him, all except Schnottweiper, who as usual couldn’t be bothered with social niceties. Brumvack tossed a rock in his direction. “Aaarghh!” Brumvack repeated. “Schnottweiper!” With an exaggerated sigh, Schnottweiper sat up. He rolled his eyes. This angered Brumvack, but no one else noticed. Brumvack let it go. But he would keep an eye on Schnottweiper. He mentally put him on the same list as Slimegobbler, Oreo, and Oleo. His list was getting longer.
Brumvack had prepared a short speech, which he proceeded to give. “Aarghh (sniff).” He wiped a big hand across his nose. “Many things (cough) have changed since we went into the big uuuurrrrgherer sleep.”
There were burps and grunts of assent from the trolls. They really weren’t feeling well. Now that they weren’t distracting themselves with their complaints, they felt even worse. They were having a hard time focusing their vision. Deep rumblings proceeded from their bellies.
“We need,” Brumvack continued, “to (buurrrup) be careful (belch) about these new troll-creatures.” They were the stuff of nightmares, those small creatures. Skinny, wimpy, unfit for the honorable name of troll. Troll-pretenders, is what they were. “They look (wheeze) dangerous to me. And they’re (here Brumvack’s body shook with the memory of it) ugly. Ugly, ugly, (braaaaaaapapap) UGLY!” The trolls nodded their agreement. They belched and farted. Three or four of them shook involuntarily. Droolmeister took it into his mind to whack himself on the head, repeating “ugly ugly ugly” with each whack.
Schmoozeglutton spoke first “Let’s go get ‘em.”
There was a general hubbub of agreement with this notion. “Whack them with clubs!” said one. “Throw rocks at them!” said another. “Let’s EAT them,” offered a third.
Brumvack waited for a moment before raising his hand. If he stopped their commentary too quickly, they wouldn’t feel heard. If he let them go on too long, however, he’d lose his audience, and hence his authority.
“Aaaarggh I think,” he began again, “that we should (burrup) take it slow. We’ll (wheeze) watch them for a while.” Brumvack hit his fist on his palm for emphasis. “Find out how many rocks they have.” There was another smack of his massive fist into his equally massive hand. “How many clubs.”
Had Brumvack been thinking more carefully, he never would have suggested this. It probably was the best idea, attempting to understand the unknown before storming the beach and eating everything in sight, but it wasn’t the troll way. The troll way was to lash out. Storm first, ask questions later, if there was anyone left to ask. This was obvious to him as soon as he spoke, because the trolls that surrounded him were having one of two responses. Some were looking a little confused, as if the idea of observing rather than attacking wasn’t an idea that could be understood by a troll brain. Those that did understand the idea, however, were indignant. They muttered about troll honor. “Who’s bigger, us or them?” one asked. Obeast said “Let’s see them stand up against this,” gesturing at the rack where his club should have been standing. He had forgotten that it had disappeared sometime during his long sleep. “Well, how about this then?” he said, making a fist.
Brumvack knew that his idea was an unpopular one. Having spoken, however, Brumvack couldn’t back down. There had been enough backing down! An image of the trolls swimming away against his direct orders once again crossed his mind, and he sneered at Slimegobbler. No more backing down! Maybe he’d have to bang a couple of heads to get them to listen, but he was in a mood to bang some heads anyway. “AAAaaaaarggh!” he snorted. “We watch. We can survive on fish for a while longer.” The fish, of course, were not the delectable food they had once been. Mudfish had been a step down, and now the mudfish were silver and fast and nearly tasteless. The trolls reminded Brumvack of this, vociferously.
Things were going quite badly for Brumvack. He clenched his fists. He swore to himself that Slimegobbler, who had begun all this mood of rebellion, would pay. “AAAAAAAAarrrgggh!” he yelled again. “We wait. We need to make (grrrrerrrrerer) new clubs. Rearm (burp) ourselves.” This was another good idea, but also another that the trolls didn’t want to hear. The complaining and posturing grew louder. Slimegobbler said, “If my dad could see us now, talking instead of fighting, he’d roll over in his grave.”
Brumvack was just about to get up and pound Slimegobbler a good one, but just then the whole of the Rabid Band was interrupted with a belch of authority: “BurrrUP. Just One Minute.”
For a moment, no one knew who had spoken. As the trolls looked around the room, however, it quickly became evident that it was Schmoozeglutton. He was sitting up straight and quietly staring at Brumvack. Shortly, all the hubbub stopped. Everyone looked at Schmoozeglutton. Was there going to be a face-off? They looked at Brumvack. Everyone could see he was caught off guard. Brumvack narrowed his eyes and glared at Schmoozeglutton. He sat up taller. He weighed his thoughts for a moment. Then he spoke: “Schmoozeglutton,” said Brumvack, “You are dumber than a rock.”
For a troll, having one’s intelligence compared to that of a rock wasn’t all bad. In Schmoozeglutton’s case, it was in fact true. Schmoozeglutton was proud of his big, dense head, and would tell you so when he got the chance. The trolls could see that Brumvack had chosen to try to defuse the situation.
Schmoozeglutton was in no mood to be humored, however. “Brumvack,” he replied, “You smell like fresh flowers.”
The trolls gasped. No one could believe that he had said such a thing. They half expected Brumvack to stand up and take a whack at Schmoozeglutton, maybe knock his head clean off his body. No one would have been surprised had he done so. But Brumvack was determined to uphold tradition. When a leader was challenged, he was expected to show how tough his skin was. Still, all held their breath for a moment, and only released it when it was clear that Brumvack would remain seated on his rock. Everyone was impressed. Few were the leaders who could abide a swipe about their floral scent.
But Brumvack was ready with a reply. There would be no more coddling of Schmoozeglutton, the trolls could see. The gloves were off. “Schmoozeglutton,” Brumvack said, “your mother had to help your father lift his club.” More gasps from the trolls. Trolls were likely to say any sort of nasty thing to one another, but mothers were usually off-limits.
Schmoozeglutton sat and smoldered over that one. He felt his blood rising within him. It was obvious to everyone that he was going to erupt any minute. Would he give in to his anger and take a swing at Brumvack, or would he remain calm enough to gibe him with another scorcher? The trolls analyzed the possibilities. The general consensus was that Brumvack would probably win a duel of words; he was smart. But Schmoozeglutton, they were sure, would win if the two began fighting. He was clearly the larger of the two. He had probably 100 pounds on Brumvack.
It seemed for a moment as though Schmoozeglutton had decided on another smoking gibe of a comment. Then, slowly, he began raising his massive self from his rock, and it was clear that he was going to make Brumvack pay, perhaps with a kick in the teeth. As it turned out, however, he did neither. Instead, he stood up with as much quiet dignity as he could muster. Even the trolls, who had known Schmoozeglutton all his life, were awed by the sight of him standing to his full height.
“BrumVACK!” Schmoozeglutton intoned. The walls of the cave reverberated with the words; a few loose pebbles fell from cracks in the ceiling. All the trolls watched him with fascination and fear. Schmoozeglutton took a deep breath and continued: “I OFFER THE CALLENGE!”
Shocked expressions erupted on the faces of every troll in the room. Even Brumvack looked surprised. It was the tradition that any troll could find his way into a leadership position of the Rabid Band merely by offering the challenge. The challenge, of course, was a belching contest, but the words “belching contest” didn’t do justice to the challenge. Trolls held belching contests all the time. The challenge, however, was a belching contest to end all belching contests. It was not a pretty sight. It was enough to turn even the cast-iron stomachs of trolls. It was a ghastly business, the challenge, so ghastly that it had passed from regular practice. There hadn’t been a challenge since the days of the dinosaurs. It was a practice so disgusting that only base, unevolved trolls would consider using it. Surely no modern troll would stoop to such vile behavior. Still, it officially remained the law of the Rabid Band, and the law would be upheld. Every troll in the room looked forward to it with morbid anticipation.
The stage for the challenge was the same central cave in which the trolls spent most of their time; only the configuration of the room was different. Ordinarily, there was one central rock that the king of the trolls sat on. It was a throne of sorts, a big round rock loosely surrounded by smaller rocks upon which the others sat. During the challenge, the throne rock was moved to one end of the cave. At the other end of the cave, toward the entrance, was another large rock that was ordinarily unused. These would be the pedestals upon which the combatants would sit. The other rocks were placed in such a way that the trolls could get a good view of the proceedings, and yet be relatively safe from any flying debris. It took the trolls no time at all to arrange the cave in such a fashion. Ordinarily, asking them to work together is to invite quarrel and orneriness. With such a sight ahead of them as the challenge, however, they worked with a clocklike precision. No one needed to tell anyone what to do, and no one sat back to watch the others do the work. They simply went about the business of preparing the festivities. The only time that they began to quibble was when they jostled for a space from which to observe. Even this infighting wasn’t as bad as one might think. Some trolls felt a need to see things up close, no matter the consequences. Others, lacking the stomach for it, were willing to let those trolls have the good seats in favor of seats that would be less likely to be in the splash zone.
Soon, everything was set. Brumvack and Schmoozeglutton sat on the rocks at opposite ends of the cave. They were both very quiet, which all the other trolls could hear because for once they were very quiet as well. The two combatants were carefully controlling their breathing, so that the usual stray burps couldn’t escape their mouths. They would need every last bit of gut-air to win the competition.
Since Schmoozeglutton had offered the challenge, he was the first to go. He sat very still, almost in meditation, collecting air and energy. He held his breath. One minute went by, then another. A third minute passed. The trolls sat in strained anticipation. Suddenly, when no one thought they could stand it any longer, the most disgusting sound any had ever heard escaped from Schmoozeglutton’s lips. It was the opening salvo of the competition, and was a whirlwind of sound and motion: BRRRRRRRROUGHOWWBUCKETETOUUUUUUUUUUUUU GHPDOWWWPDRRRRROUgher.
The trolls made noises of disgust and admiration. Those who had sat too close were beginning to question their eagerness, as rank air gave them a twinge of nausea. Yet they knew that the worst was yet to come.
It was Brumvack’s turn. He didn’t take three minutes to warm up to his burp; he didn’t have to. As soon as the gale had died down and everyone was paying attention, he let fly with a noise that reverberated deep into the earth: PACKETACKETOOWWWWWWPACKETOWWWWWWPAC KETOWWWWWWWWWBRUMMBRUMMMM
PACKETOWWWWWERERER!
A couple of the larger stalactites fell from the ceiling and smashed onto the floor. This was one of the consequences of the challenge: anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves sitting underneath a loose stalactite might be impaled. All the trolls looked up at the ceiling, hoping that if it wasn’t solid, at least it would hold directly above them.
But the falling stalactites had only punctuated the end of the belch; the results of the belch were still before them, in the form of a bluish-green cloud that reached all the way across the room to Schmoozeglutton. Schmoozeglutton swayed on his rock as if he had been hit by mustard gas. Other trolls, closer to the middle of the cloud—what they called “the kill zone”—felt woozy.
The entire gallery was impressed with this effort of Brumvack. It appeared that over the centuries, he had been practicing. Was he now a better belcher than Schmoozeglutton? Would he win the challenge? It appeared that he might.
The challenge wasn’t over yet, however. Schmoozeglutton, not about to be outdone, was gearing up for another go. He made horrible faces. He braced himself against the rock wall behind him so that he wouldn’t go tumbling over backwards with the release of his belch. He sucked in air, swallowing it until he could swallow no more. The trolls shrank onto their rocks as they watched him, afraid of what would happen when he let go.
Finally, he did. The sound reverberating off the walls was deafening. The trolls—even the ones in the very front row—shut their eyes and ducked under their forearms. Barely digested bits of fish and hot dogs splattered around the cave: BROWWWWWWDIGGADIGGAROWWWWROWWWOWW WTOOOKADOWWWWROWWWBOOOKABOOOKADOWW WOWWOWWW (and here there was just a moment of silence, when everyone thought it was finally over, but it wasn’t, quite): OWW!
The trolls groaned in agony. A couple of them threw up their lunch. Schnottblower, Scnottweiper’s younger brother, was on the floor, out cold. Gasbag, the smallest of the trolls, crept out of the room, shocked and dismayed to be living with this bunch. The rest, especially those who hadn’t been hit by the brunt of the chunks that had flown about the cave, counted themselves lucky.
Everyone thought that surely this would be the winning belch, that Brumvack would admit defeat. But he was still sitting on his rock of a throne, preparing himself to answer this latest salvo. The trolls groaned in anticipation. Would this never end? It had seemed like good entertainment for a while, but now it was getting ugly. Schmatzenbladder announced, “I declare a draw!” but everyone ignored him. They knew it wasn’t over until it was over.
Brumvack swallowed air. He trembled upon his rock. He pushed out his big gut to expand it, then contracted it again. He could outbelch Schmoozeglutton, he was sure of it. It was all in the physics of it: put air under pressure, and you can do almost anything. He crossed his eyes. All the trolls tried to make themselves as small as possible, instinctively making themselves as difficult a target as they could. They dreaded what might be brewing in Brumvack’s gut. The king troll made horrible faces as gas pains ripped through his innards, preparing for their outward rush. Finally, he knew he was ready. He could contain that mad outrush of air no longer. Brumvack opened the cavern of his mouth and let loose with it: (burp).
All was silent in the cave. Everyone had been prepared for the worst, but all they had gotten was one tiny, barely audible burp. They held their breath. Was this all that was coming? Those who had closed their eyes were afraid to open them.
For himself, Brumvack had a look of horror on his face. His eyes, from their crossed position, swiveled back to front. What? All that work, and all that had come of it was this bare release of a small burp? The horror of it!
When it was obvious that no more was forthcoming, the trolls finally relaxed. Obeast let loose with a deep laugh, and Slimegobbler joined him. Oreo and Oleo got up and did a little “We just survived the end of the world” dance. Schnottweiper tended to his brother, still out cold on the floor of the cave.
Schmoozeglutton was exhausted from all his work, but he had a smile of pride on his face. He stood, a bit shakily, to face his new subjects.
“I (burrUP) win.” He pointed to the entrance of the cave. “It is a new world out there. I say we go and make it ours. Tonight.”
The trolls who could still stand did so. They paid homage to their new leader with grunts and salutes all around.
Soon, they would be going again to the surface of this world, this time onto the land. They had a new leader, they were again in charge of their own trollish destiny, they were going to face this new world and find a way to triumph over it. They let out a collective war-whoop and prepared for the trip up top. Come nightfall, they would take this new world by storm.
All, that is, except Brumvack. Brumvack sat despondently on his rock for a short while, watching the preparations. All the trolls ignored him, in favor of this madness of Schmoozeglutton’s. They’ll pay, Brumvack thought, for their recklessness. He even thought of saying so, but when he cleared his throat to speak, no one listened. He would have to keep his own counsel from now on.
Brumvack slid off his rock and went into the lower depths of the cave.