Chapter 64. Training the Troll
"No, no, shut up!"
Duncan's weary voice echoed in the forest.
Ahead of him, a troll had drool hanging at the corner of its mouth, licking the rough tree trunk with an expression of pure enjoyment.
In barely a dozen seconds, the furrowed bark was slick with moisture, and a revolting stench lingered around it.
But the troll seemed not to hear Duncan calling, and it kept its eyes closed, intent only on rubbing against the tree before it.
The next second, the tormented tree seemed finally unable to bear it, and its branches drooped, turning into iron whips.
Swish—swish—swish—several lashes struck the troll again and again.
They did not break through the troll's thick hide, but they did rouse it from that strange state.
The troll bellowed twice in anger, raised its head and glared, and the branches merely swayed in the wind, showing nothing unusual.
The troll slowly turned, fixed its eyes on the little wizard beneath the tree not far away, and looked aggrieved.
"How many times have I said it?
When you smell that scent, don't lick it with your tongue.
Use your hand or your foot to touch it!"
Duncan lowered his raised wand and spoke in exasperation.
Lately, he often used the times he helped Professor Kettleburn care for magical creatures to come and set up mechanisms.
By now he had arranged more than a dozen large and small mechanisms in the area, at the cost of dozens of Galleons.
But there were too many active creatures in the forest, and he was afraid other animals would trigger them by mistake, so he wanted to use the troll to activate them.
He smeared a special spice on the switches, a scent Mountain Trolls liked most and which other creatures were not apt to notice.
When the troll passed by, it would only need to lift a hand and give a light touch, or stamp once with a foot, to trigger it.
But the troll's stupidity exceeded his imagination, and it could not manage even the simple actions of raising a hand and stamping a foot.
No matter how he corrected it, the moment the troll smelled that scent, it instantly lost itself and knew only to lick with its tongue.
"Should I change the way we activate the mechanisms?"
Duncan thought for a moment, and an image surfaced in his mind.
Professor Quirrell walked in front, a troll followed behind him, constantly sticking out its tongue to lick tree trunks.
No matter how he imagined it, that scene was extremely bizarre, and so long as Professor Quirrell was not a fool, he would notice something wrong.
"Forget it."
Duncan cast the notion out of his mind.
"Lower the concentration and try twice more, and if that still doesn't work, we'll have to change the method."
Duncan sighed helplessly, walked to the troll's side, glanced at the foolish big oaf, and said irritably, "Out of the way."
After a period of feeding, the favourability between this oaf—whose head held only eating and sleeping—and Duncan had soared and was almost maxed out.
The troll lifted its huge paw and scratched its head, not knowing where it had gone wrong again, but it obediently shuffled aside.
Duncan tilted his head back and looked in distaste at the wet patches on the trunk, waved his wand, and stirred up a breeze that cleared them away.
Then he took from his leather pouch a transparent glass bottle containing a pale-blue, transparent liquid.
It was juice squeezed from a plant in Mountain Troll habitat that bloomed sky-blue flowers every spring.
Trolls were deeply fascinated by that plant, and whenever it flowered, they would gather in groups to chew the blossoms.
With magic, Duncan drew a small drop from the bottle, controlled the bead to fly into the air, and drift toward a higher part of the trunk.
The fragrance spread through the air, and the troll's expression at once turned obsessed, its eyes hazy.
If Duncan had not still been standing before it, it would probably already have stretched out its tongue to kiss the tree.
Duncan glanced at the troll's odd state and smeared the plant juice evenly over the surface of the trunk.
Then he waved his wand again, and a clear spring surged from the tip and poured over the places where the juice had been applied.
The strong fragrance in the air immediately thinned, and the troll's expression gradually returned to normal, though its eyes were a little bewildered.
Its little head could not make it out: how was this different from the last few times, and why was that fragrant, enticing smell fading so quickly?
Seeing this, Duncan felt it was about enough, put away his wand, and pointed at the places where the juice had been smeared.
"From now on, as soon as you smell this scent, reach out and give it a touch, or lift your leg and stamp once.
Understood?"
After he spoke, Duncan personally demonstrated by raising his hand and stamping his foot.
The troll did not quite understand Duncan's words, but it made some sense of his movements.
The troll nodded vigorously, and when Duncan moved aside, it strode back to the tree and lifted its hand.
Thump—thump—thump—the troll's palm fell on the trunk as if the strikes cost nothing.
And as though afraid Duncan would be dissatisfied, it put all its strength into every slap.
The tree so thick that two people together could encircle it rattled noisily under the blows, and leaves and dead twigs fell like snowflakes.
The birds that had been perched happily on the high branches to watch the fun were jolted into the air and flurried about in panic.
Once they calmed, they stared at the hateful big lout below, wanting revenge but not quite daring, and could only keep up a constant racket.
Duncan spat twice to get rid of bits that had stuck to his lips and hurriedly raised his hand.
"Stop, stop!"
The troll's palm stopped at once, and it turned its head and grinned at Duncan, as if to say:
"I did pretty well, didn't I?
Shouldn't you give me a little reward?"
"Not bad, not bad, you've improved."
Duncan praised perfunctorily and took out the prepared chunks of meat and tossed them to the troll.
"But don't slap so many times.
Don't use so much force.
Just hit it once."
When the troll had swallowed the meat in one gulp, Duncan went on correcting its movements.
Although the troll's series of palm-strikes would certainly trigger the mechanism, Professor Quirrell would certainly notice something wrong as well.
By then Professor Quirrell might give up stealing the Philosopher's Stone and focus on getting rid of this disloyal troll.
So Duncan still had to instruct it, making its actions as concealed and cautious as possible.
He had to leave Professor Quirrell at a loss, thinking he himself had tripped some mechanism, and not suspect the foolish troll.
Although the troll before him stank and lacked wits, it was very obedient, so Duncan did not want it to repeat its original fate and be killed early.
As time passed, the troll's movements gradually developed in the direction Duncan had in mind.
Though the gap still remained, it was far better than at the start, and he believed a few more practices would about do it.
Duncan nodded in satisfaction, glanced at his pocket watch—the time was getting on—and took out the last two pieces of meat to feed the troll.
"When you've nothing to do, think carefully about the movements I taught you.
I'll be checking next time I come."
Duncan gave the reminder, then restored the place to its original state according to the scene in his memory, and waved as he headed off.
Whether the troll had understood Duncan's words, he did not know.
It gulped down all the meat in a few big bites, grinned foolishly, and waved.
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