Troll Bridge

'I don't know anything about billy goats,' said Mica. 'She's always going on

about billy goats. I have no knowledge whatsoever about billy goats.' He

winced.

They watched Beryl usher the young trolls down the bank and into the darkness

under the bridge.

'The thing is,' said Cohen, when they were alone, 'I wasn't intending to kill

you.'

The troll's face fell.

'You weren't?'

'Just throw you over the bridge and steal whatever treasure you've got.'

'You were?'

Cohen patted him on the back. 'Besides,' he said, 'I like to see people with...

good memories. That's what the land needs. Good memories.'

The troll stood to attention.

'I try to do my best sir,' it said. 'My lad wants to go off to work in the

city. I've told him, there's bin a troll under this bridge for nigh on five

hundred years...'

'So if you just hand over the treasure,' said Cohen, 'I'll be getting along.'

The troll's face creased in sudden panic.

'Treasure? Haven't got any,' it said.

'Oh, come on,' said Cohen. 'Well set-up bridge like this?'

'Yeah, but no one uses this road any more,' said Mica. 'You're the first one

along in months, and that's a fact. Beryl says I ought to have gone in with her

brother when they built the new road over his bridge, but,' he raised his

voice,' I said, there's been trolls under this bridge...'

'Yeah,' said Cohen.

'The trouble is, the stones keep on falling out,' said the troll. 'And you'd

never believe what those masons charge. Bloody dwarfs. You can't trust 'em.' He

leaned towards Cohen. 'To tell you the truth, I'm having to work three days a

week down at my brother-in-law's lumber mill just to make ends meet.'

'I thought your brother-in-law had a bridge?' said Cohen.

'One of 'em has. But my wife's got brothers like dogs have fleas,' said the

troll. He looked gloomily into the torrent. 'One of 'em's a lumber merchant

down in Sour Water, one of 'em runs the bridge, and the big fat one is a

merchant over on Bitter Pike. Call that a proper job for a troll?'

'One of them's in the bridge business, though,' said Cohen.

'Bridge business? Sitting in a box all day charging people a silver piece to

walk across? Half the time he ain't even there! He just pays some dwarf to take

the money. And he calls himself a troll! You can't tell him from a human till

you're right up close!'

Cohen nodded understandingly.

'D'you know,' said the troll, 'I have to go over and have dinner with them

every week? All three of 'em? And listen to 'em go on about moving with the

times...'

He turned a big, sad face to Cohen.

'What's wrong with being a troll under a bridge?' he said. 'I was brought up to

be a troll under a bridge. I want young Scree to be a troll under a bridge

after I'm gone. What's wrong with that? You've got to have trolls under

bridges. Otherwise, what's it all about? What's it all for?'

They leaned morosely on the parapet, looking down into the white water.

'You know,' said Cohen slowly, 'I can remember when a man could ride all the