Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "cheese"

It was a blissful summer day, bright, warm, cheerful, and most definitely not the time to flee for your life. Other goblins would hide under these conditions, waiting for the right time to escape unnoticed, but not Little Old Dude.

“One of the great ironies of staying hidden is knowing when to let the other side see you,” Little Old Dude explained. He leaned back in the flimsy canoe and pointed his walking stick at the two goblins with him. “It’s always better for an enemy to never know you’re there, but that’s not always possible. In such situations choose what they see and when.”

“So, you’re not going to stop talking long enough to help out with the oars?” Cackler asked.

Little Old Dude didn’t try to hide his annoyance at the question. “How long have you studied under me?”

“Too long,” Blunder grunted as he paddled the canoe.

Canoeing down a wide river was normally a peaceful, even pleasurable experience. Dragonflies darted through the air, flowers bloomed on the overgrown riverbanks, birds sang and puffy clouds drifted high overhead. Truly it was a beautiful day. The goblins were even alone, for there was no other vessel on the river or people of any race within eyesight.

But life for goblins was never peaceful. Most of the time the problem was other goblins causing trouble. In this case there was danger from men, a threat that could kill all three goblins on their rickety vessel. They kept close watch for soldiers or knights while drifting downstream at a leisurely rate.

The canoe was poorly built from scrap lumber, typical of goblin manufacture. Some boards were rotting and others sprouted green shoots. One of the oars was larger than the other, and the smaller one had split down the middle and was held together with string. Unusual for goblins, there was a large clay pot they were using as a live well, and the water stirred inside. There was also a wood tube in the bottom of the canoe. No water came up through it, and the goblins were careful not to step on the tube.

“I’m not helping with the oars for very good reasons,” Little Old Dude said. The gray skinned goblin was balding in the front and compensated by growing a beard and outrageously long eyebrows. He wore only leather pants and carried a trick cane equipped with various blades.

“Do tell,” Cackler said. The little goblin wore a blue trench coat and hat that nearly covered his purple skin. Normally he carried a weapon, but for this mission was unarmed.

Little Old Dude rolled his eyes. “For one, we are trying to be conspicuous without being suspicious. Three goblins traveling on a river is going to draw attention. Three goblins hurrying down a river look like they’re fleeing, probably avoiding reprisal for a crime.”

“Which we are,” Cackler said.

Ignoring him, Little Old Dude continued his lecture. “Authorities are going to be on the lookout for threats, especially in the Land of the Nine Dukes with all their silly wars. Goblins are normally not considered dangerous, and goblins leaving your territory even less so. We stand the best chance at leaving Duke Thornwood’s territory without incident by being relaxed, calm, and slow.”

“What’s the other reason you’re not rowing?” Blunder asked. Blunder was Little Old Dude’s newest student, and weighing in at a hundred pounds was big by goblin standards. Admittedly much of that was fat, and the bulky, tan skinned goblin in raggedy clothes was hard to miss. Most people made the mistake of considering him harmless.

“There are two oars and three goblins,” Little Old Dude replied, “and lately my back’s been giving me trouble.”

The two goblins grumbled but kept rowing. Few goblins aspired to greatness, and those who did went to Little Old Dude. He was a living legend, the goblin who’d stopped Coslot the Conqueror, the goblin who’d fought the Fallen King and his hag. For decades he’d confounded the powerful and wealthy, all the while evading responsibility for his actions. Some humans respected Little Old Dude and far more feared him.

Age had slowed Little Old Dude, but his mind was sharp, and years ago he’d accepting paying students to make ends meet (and to avoid doing as much work as possible). Many infamous goblins had studied under Little Old Dude, learning his secrets in return for cheese and general labor. He wasn’t picky about students, and there were always openings for the aspiring troublemaker.

“The river’s shallow on the left side,” Little Old Dude told his students. They dutifully paddled to the right. “Test the depth.”

Bumbler shoved his paddle straight down. “More than six feet.”

“That should be enough.”

“I’d feel better about this if we had daggers,” Cackler said.

“Soldiers consider armed goblins a threat, so we use concealed weapons or none at all” Little Old Dude told him. The boat rocked and there was a thud from below their feet. Little Old Dude rapped the canoe with his walking stick. “That’ll be enough of that.”

The rocking died away as the canoe rounded a bend in the river. Little Old Dude watched the shoreline for threats. The land of the Nine Dukes had few monsters, but it had psychotically aggressive dukes. They made war on each other at the drop of the hat, and could be counted on to start at least three major armed conflicts per year.

The Nine Dukes had taken a beating from the Fallen King, a sociopath who’d gathered an army of criminals to ravage the land. Most of the dukes had avoided fighting to preserve their armies. It made sense in a deranged sort of way, as if any of them had fought back it would have left them so weak that a neighboring duke could have swept in afterwards and finished them off. So they’d stayed in their castles while the countryside burned.

The damage was still evident a year later. Blackened husks of houses littered the landscape and fields were thick with weeds. Wandering vagabonds were common, some searching for honest work and others looking for loot. A few enterprising monsters were even sniffing around the nearly empty landscape. The Nine Dukes would recover in time, but not soon.

“How worried should we be about Duke Thornwood?” Cackler asked.

“Very,” Bumbler told him. “He’s a mean one. I saw his men torch their own villages to keep other dukes from taking them.”

“Thornwood is good example of what’s wrong with nobility,” Little Old Dude said. “He inherited his job instead of earning it, has no respect for his men or anyone else’s and has no self control. He’s needlessly brutal, vindictive, hateful and bigoted, and those are his good qualities. And he’s addicted to gold.”

“Addicted?” Cackler asked.

“Can’t get enough of the stuff. He wants more land to get more gold, so he can conquer more land and get more gold. It’s a vicious circle.”

“He needs therapy,” Bumbler added.

They floated by several inhabited houses. Farmers tried to reclaim abandoned fields in time to plant, and were thus far too busy to waste time on goblins. Little Old Dude waved to one man who saw them. The man watched them long enough to see that the canoe wasn’t stopping, and then went back to his work.

“How soon until we reach the town?” Cackler asked.

“In about two hours,” Little Old Dude answered. “That’s going to be the real test of our mission, with thousands of humans, some of them armed and paranoid. I’ve positioned my other students in the area if we need help, but if all goes well we’ll sail right through.”

Worried, Cackler asked, “And if it doesn’t?”

“We’ll be hacked to pieces,” Little Old Dude said cheerfully. “It’s a good incentive to do things right the first time, so remember your lines, and let me do the talking if anyone asks questions.”

They journeyed on for the next hour in silence. A copper colored dragonfly settled on Little Old Dude’s walking stick, and he spent ten minutes studying it. They passed more settled land, either reclaimed or rare spots that had survived the Fallen King’s rampage intact. More people saw them and some stared, but none moved to stop them.

“Why did you agree to take this job?” Cackler asked Little Old Dude. “I know we’re getting paid in cheese, but since when do goblins hire themselves out? And why the devil did you make us come?”

“I sort of get why we’re doing this,” Bumbler said. “It’s a fieldtrip, and we get to use what you taught us. I’m just saying there has to be safer ways of getting experience.”

“Safer?” Annoyed, Little Old Dude sat up in the canoe. Careful to not cover the tube in the canoe’s bottom, he demanded, “Since when did either of you want safety? You came to me because you want danger, daring, the big reward, and that does not come by being safe. It comes by taking needlessly stupid risks, just like this!

“And I brought you two because you’re doing terrible in my classes.” He pointed at Cackler and said, “You bombed your last test and fell asleep during my lecture on trapping outhouses.” Pointing at Bumbler, he said, “And you skipped out on the group discussion on weaknesses in elf architecture. Lastly, you both smell, and I mean bad. This is an opportunity to air you out.”

Settling back down in the canoe, he added, “And we’re doing this because I hate Duke Thornwood. Passionately. The man’s a twit like most nobles, but he goes that extra mile to be scummier. He reminds me of Coslot the Conqueror, with the way he hates, the way he uses people and leaves them broken. This isn’t the first time I struck at him. I hit him hard years before you two signed up. Thornwood had planned on kidnapping farmers from neighboring dukes and selling them to slavers.”

Bumbler stopped rowing. “He what?”

Little Old Dude pressed a button on his walking stick, and a blade popped out from the tip. “The slavers were unexpectedly delayed when their crew suffered food poisoning, their ship caught fire and the Guild of Heroes learned of their location.”

Pressing another button, the blade retracted. Little Old Dude looked at his students with grim satisfaction. “That was one of my better days. I’ve done other things to stop Thornwood, but those were minor accomplishments. When the chance came to strike another blow I took it. Now if you two want to get an A then keep paddling, because we’ve got miles to go and risks to take.”

The goblins continued on their journey. Settlements were sporadic in this section of Duke Thornwood’s territory. A few men took offense at goblins traveling through their land and threw rocks at the canoe. Most missed, but one nearly hit Bumbler. He snatched it out of the air to the gasps of angry men. Bumbler looked tempted to throw it back, but he dropped it into the river and paddled on.

“Well played,” Little Old Dude said approvingly. “The next part will be difficult for you, but essential for our plan to succeed.”

“I know,” Bumbler grumbled. “It’s just, I came to you because I was tired of being looked down on! And now I have to invite it?”

“It’s easier to live up to people’s stereotypes than fight them.” Little Old Dude looked in the distance and saw a crude town ahead of them. “Behold the town of Sell Sword, so named because it was founded by mercenaries who got tired of fighting and settled down. Smart men. There are thousands of humans and hundreds of soldiers there, battle tested men that Duke Thornwood uses as his first line of defense in case of invasion. We stand no chance against them in battle.”

Sell Sword was built next to a narrow portion of the river. Travelers by boat had to pass a small stone fort, soldiers in chain armor and armed with spears, and a tower with catapults loaded and ready for battle. There were other boats moored to a short wood dock, and armed men boarded any vessel nearing the town.

“What’s that smell?” Cackler asked Little Old Dude.

“Five thousand humans and no sewers.” Little Old Dude waved to the soldiers searching boats and tapped the tube in the canoe. “Not one word.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” a bored soldier said as the canoe approached. “Goblins on a boat.”

A second soldier pointed his spear at the canoe. “I’m not boarding that. I’ll get fleas, assuming that floating woodpile doesn’t sink if I go on it.”

“Hey!” Little Old Dude shouted. “Hey, human! You got nails?”

The soldiers stared at the goblins. One asked, “What?”

The canoe came up to the dock, just as every other boat did. Little Old Dude stood up and smiled. “Nails! You human have nails? Boat no good. Boat sank twice this month. Three times last month! Me needie nails to make new boat.”

“Go beg somewhere else, goblin filth,” a soldier spat.

Little Old Dude kept smiling as he reached into the live well in the canoe. He pulled up a string of five live trout with a leather thong running through their mouths and gills. Now that they were out of the water, the fish swung their tails in a vain attempt to escape. “No beg, trade! You like fishies? Yummy fishies! Trade fishies for twenty nails. Good deal! You no get better!”

Cackler smiled. “We good goblins. Friendly goblins.”

“Yup, yup,” Bumbler added.

“I didn’t know goblins fished,” a soldier said.

Another soldier shrugged. “Bet they stole them.”

An officer with a plumed helmet studied the goblins. “Let’s see the fish.”

Little Old Dude handed the string of fish to a soldier, who handed it to the officer. “See, see! Good fishies, all as long as my arm. Worth twenty nails.”

For a moment the officer looked concerned. Goblins stole what little they needed from men, so an offer to trade was unusual. Little Old Dude saw goblins sneaking around the edge of the town. These were more of his students, ready to make a racket if their illustrious teacher needed a distraction to escape. It would be safer for both them and Little Old Dude if the students did nothing, since a distraction risked drawing an attack from the men. But the moment passed and the officer relaxed.

“It’s better than the salted pork we keep getting stuck with,” the officer said. He handed it off to one of his men. “Fry them up for lunch.”

With that the officer walked away from the dock with his men. Indigent, Little Old Dude said, “No nails. I give you fishies you give me nails! We had deal!”

“We’re taking the fish as toll for traveling the river,” a soldier said. “Go away, you wrecked creature.”

“You no fair!” Little Old Dude shouted as Cackler and Bumbler rowed away. “Me no trade with you again! This last time goblins come here!”

“We should be so lucky!” the soldier shouted back. His fellows laughed and insulted the goblins as they left. Men in other boats didn’t laugh, but shook their heads in dismay at how foolish the goblins had been to expect a fair deal from Thornwood’s soldiers. The goblins at the edge of town slunk off into the shadows, while Cackler and Bumbler rowed hard until the town was far in the distance and no humans were in sight.

“And that was the stupid goblin routine,” Little Old Dude said proudly. “Make the other side think they’re taking advantage of you, and they won’t look too closely at what else you’ve got. It’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

Bumbler frowned. “It’s humiliating. I’d just like to say I’ve got a pouch full of dried Runny Joe flowers. I could have fed a pinch to the fish, and after dinner those men would have spent tonight and most of tomorrow with explosive diarrhea.”

“I’ve done that myself,” Little Old Dude said. “It’s a fun trick at parties. The soldiers would have definitely remembered us and reported us to the authorities if we’d poisoned them. We don’t want to draw attention in a stealthy mission like this.”

“Can I come out now?” a voice asked from beneath them.

“Not until I say so,” Little Old Dude replied. “Maybe not for a few hours after that.”

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but it’s kind of cramped down here, and the air tube isn’t very large.”

Night fell soon as the canoe reached the edge of Duke Thornwood’s territory. This didn’t mean they were safe. Thornwood had a bad habit of sending raiding parties out at night to loot neighboring farms, and border territory was often home to thieves and bandits. A lantern briefly lit up in the darkness, then went out and lit up again.

“On time and in position. This is why I like working with the Brotherhood of the Righteous,” Little Old Dude said with a smile. The goblins rowed to a bend in the river where tall cottonwood trees grew. They didn’t beach their canoe, in large part because that was impossible.

An older man in white robes emerged from the cluster of trees. He was followed by two men in plate armor armed with axes, and behind them came a hulking ogre. The furry ogre also wore plate armor and was armed with an iron club. The armed men and ogre had circles painted on their chest plates, each circle divided into three equal segments.

“Father Fountain,” Little Old Dude said. “Any problems?”

“By His grace we went unnoticed by the wicked duke and his minions,” the white robed priest said. “I see you were equally blessed.”

“About that,” the voice said from below the canoe.

“Complain, complain, complain,” Cackler said. He and Bumbler picked up the live well and threw it overboard, revealing a small hatch in the bottom of the canoe. They unlatched it and a tall man in workman’s clothes climbed out. The canoe was only the top part of the vessel and had a large section underwater. Once the man came out the crude vessel was unbalanced, and the goblins and their passenger had to jump off before it capsized.

Little Old Dude took his passenger’s hand and pressed it into the priest’s. “Father Fountain, allow me to introduce master stone wright Lumino Foxtrot, formerly employed by Duke Thornwood.”

“Employed?” Lumino shouted. “He had me dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and taken to his new castle, then kept me under guard every minute! I haven’t seen my family in weeks!” The man reached into his pockets and took out handfuls of leather tokens. “You see these? Thornwood said he’d pay me for my work, as if that made up for being kidnapped, and then he gives me tokens. Said I could redeem them for gold once he had the coins, as if that would ever happen! Real work for phony money.”

The ogre stepped forward and placed a hand on Lumino’s shoulder. “Have no fear, good servant of the Most High. Your family has been evacuated to safe lands far from here, and you shall soon join them.”

Father Fountain handed Little Old Dude a wheel of cheese. Goblins were addicted to cheese, and it was one of the few forms of payment they’d accept. “Was their difficulty in rescuing him?”

Little Old Dude shrugged. “Locked doors, guards, attack dogs, nothing we couldn’t handle. We made it look like Lumino stole a horse and rode off in the night. Thornwood will be looking in the wrong direction for days or even weeks, and no one is going to link Lumino’s disappearance with us.”

Turning to the ogre, Little Old Dude said, “Speaking of the canoe, Thornwood’s men are going to catch on if we use the same trick twice. You mind destroy the evidence?”

The ogre swung his club at the canoe and smashed it apart in one blow, reducing it to splinters floating on the water.

“We’re headed back home,” Little Old Dude told the priest. “If you need help with Thornwood again, just say it. I’ve got students behind in their homework who need the extra credit.”

“You have done a great deed, my friends,” Father Fountain told the goblins. “Saving Lumino will set back Duke Thornwood’s efforts to strengthen his hold on the land. With this and the deeds of others righteous souls, we shall prevent him from bringing war and injustice to the peoples of this land. You have my gratitude, and the gratitude of the Brotherhood of the Righteous. Come, my paladins, we must leave before dawn. Farewell.”

“Wait,” the ogre said. He kneeled down in front of Little Old Dude, which didn’t bring them eye to eye, but was a good start, and placed a hand on the goblin’s shoulder. “You have done His work and brought His love to those in need. May His blessings be upon you, for truly you are a loyal servant of the Lord.”

The men and ogre fled into the night, leaving the goblins alone. Little Old Dude started to lead his students away when Cackler asked him, “He thinks you’re holy?”

Little Old Dude shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

As they headed back home, Bumbler stared at the cheese wheel in Little Old Dude’s hands. “We’re getting some of that, right? I saw that guilty look! You’re not eating the whole wheel!”

Boss Jesseck watched the street for signs of ambush or traps, certain that the letter he’d received with teddy bears on it was an invitation to disaster. In any city but Cronsword that would be a sign of paranoia or just being silly, but this slovenly metropolis was run by thieves. You couldn’t trust your own mother in a place like this. Fortunately that wasn’t an issue for Boss Jesseck since he he’d been born when a giant mushroom opened and dropped him out, and thus didn’t have a mother (although he’d heard good things about them).

Minutes dragged on into a full hour with no sign of threat. It was a warm, sunny day, and the cobblestone streets were choked with merchants, laborers, artisans and tradesmen. There was also a smattering of tourists, better known to the residents of Cronsword as victims. But try as he might, Boss Jesseck couldn’t find assassins laying in wait or mercenaries on the hunt. It was actually kind of disappointing to learn that this wasn’t a trap, because that meant he’d have to actually attend this stupid meeting.

“You sure about this, boss?” a lanky goblin asked. Boss Jesseck and fifty of his most trusted goblins crouched in an alley a block from their destination.

“No,” Boss Jesseck admitted. He checked the invitation again and frowned. “But the other gang bosses are going to attend, and that means I have to be here to make sure they don’t plot against us. Stay here, and if you see anything dicey, come in after me.”

Boss Jesseck took a deep breath and left the alley. He was four feet tall, big for a goblin, and had green skin and black hair. His clothes were a mishmash of merchant and sailor attire, including a captain’s hat, blue pants, pinstriped coat and leather shoes. His appearance drew attention from the packed streets, for goblins, even influential ones like him, were seldom seen in the light of day.

This was dangerous. Cronsword was a city divided, each street claimed by a gang who ruled it, taxed it and ran the rackets. The gangs defended their territories jealously from all comes, and it was common for a street to be taken over by rival gangs. Boss Jesseck and his goblins controlled Cheese Street, which provided them a regular ration of cheese. Leaving his haven to come here meant entering a rival gang’s territory and risking capture or assassination.

A well-dressed merchant frowned when Boss Jesseck neared. “Why don’t you goblin filth stayed off the streets?”

That earned him a kick to the shin. The man jumped up and down, yelping the whole time before he recovered and drew a dagger. Boss Jesseck drew out a club from inside his coat and held his ground.

“It’s been awhile since I sent a tall one like you to the healers. Put that toothpick away or you’ll leave on a stretcher.”

“You dare!” The man waved to others in the crowd. “Come on, let’s show this runt that we don’t take guff from his kind!” No one moved to help him. “What’s wrong with you people? Are you going to let a goblin strike a man?”

“Seems to me you started this, and you can finish it on your own,” a shopkeeper replied. “Speaking of which, watch your right side.”

Astonished, the man could only say, “What?”

Wham! Boss Jesseck struck the man’s right foot. The man howled as Boss Jesseck followed up with a blow to the knee and then to the stomach. The well-dressed man fell to the ground in agony, and Boss Jesseck moved on without another word.

“He tends to go for the right foot first,” the shopkeeper told the well-dressed man.

“Let’s get his wallet!” another man shouted, and the crowd descended on the merchant. He cried out in surprise as the men who’d walked beside him moments ago turned on him.

“I want his boots!” yelled a third man.

Boss Jesseck rolled his eyes as he walked off. “Only in Cronsword.”

Boss Jesseck reached his destination, a towering building in the center of Bankers Row. Most streets in Cronsword offered a single trade or business so customers could better find them. Bankers Row was named after the moneylenders who kept Cronsword running with their loans. The buildings here were built to impress with soaring towers, decorative columns and pretty trees, but they were also as heavily defended as castles. The walls were thick, the foundations deep, the windows were narrow and the guards brutish and armed to the teeth.

One guard nodded to Jesseck and opened the door to the largest bank. “You’re expected, sir.”

That caught Boss Jesseck by surprise. “A man calls a goblin sir? That’s a first.”

“Boss Hatchwich’s orders were to show due respect to all the bosses coming for today’s conference,” the guard said. “And after what your goblins did to the Fallen King last year, respect is owed in spades.”

Boss Jesseck entered the bank to find the interior set for the event. The spacious main room included a large rectangular table and chairs, including one that had a short set of wooden stairs. That was a thoughtful gesture given Boss Jesseck was so short he had trouble using large furniture built by humans. The table was set with plates, glasses, decanters of wine and generous helpings of of food.

Two gang leaders were already seated. The first was Boss Crassok. The one-eyed gang boss wore a patch over his ruined eye and favored red clothes. Boss Minter was a slender man decked out in fine silks. This left only seven seats left once Boss Jesseck sat at the table.

“Jesseck,” Crassok said. “I wasn’t sure if you were invited, or if you would come.”

“You’re showing a lot of backbone these days, goblin,” Minter added.

Boss Jesseck grabbed all the cheese off the table and piled it on his plate, including two pieces off Crassok’s plate. “I’m here for the same reason you are, Minter. We drove off the Fallen King, but a lot of gangs went under during that fight. Cronsword’s been unsettled ever since. Some streets are unclaimed by any gang and others change hands every month. That’s not good for business.”

“And then there’s our host,” Crassok said dryly.

The fight against the Fallen King’s men had been brutal. Boss Jesseck ruled every goblin in Cronsword, and had led them in defense of the city. They’d done well, but other gangs had been defeated. The battle could have easily been lost except a mad scientist named Umber Hatchwich had marched his monstrous clockwork man Forewarned into the Fallen King’s forces. Hatchwich had saved the day, and in the aftermath of the fighting had gained so much respect that men had flocked to him. He’d taken prosperous streets for his territory and held them against all comers. Today he was a gang boss equal to any in the city, and maybe greater.

“Gentlemen!” Boss Hatchwich entered the bank flanked by two heavily armed men. Umber Hatchwich had been the deciding factor in defeating the Fallen King’s attack, pretty ironic since the man had intended on conquering the city with his clockwork. These days Hatchwich wore black and yellow clothes of fine silk, his white hair trimmed short, and he had a brass gauntlet on his left hand. There was no telling what it could do, but Boss Jesseck was willing to bet that the gang boss/mad scientist had weapons built into it.

“Hatchwich,” Boss Jesseck mumbled. It was hard to talk with so much cheese in his mouth. “Not sure what you’re planning by calling this meeting. There’s never been one like it in Cronsword, and it’s got people scared. You mind filling us in on what this is about?”

“Of course, but there’s no sense in repeating myself. I’ll gladly explain my intentions once the others arrive. Speaking of which, I believe I see a few of our fellow bosses on their way. Allow me to greet them, and help yourself to…ah. I’ll have the servants bring more cheese.”

“Put it next to the goblin,” Boss Minter said. “He’ll get it all, anyway, and bite the hand of anyone else reaching for it.”

Hatchwich left the bank, leaving his two bodyguards behind. They were dangerous looking men even before Hatchwich had armed them. One had a gauntlet that included a saw blade, while the second had a brass sword with steel teeth. Boss Jesseck stared at them for a moment before he recognized them.

“You two used to work for Boss Usema.”

“Yeah, before we kicked him out for being an idiot,” the one with the sword said. He sounded excited as he explained, “We got lucky when Hatchwich said he’d be our boss. We thought he’d keep all those crazy inventions to himself, but then he went and gave us some!”

“Pretty trusting of him when you could run off with it,” Boss Minter said.

The man with the gauntlet turned it to show a brass cap on the edge. “These things need fuel to work, and only Boss Hatchwich knows how to make it. They’d be useless in a week if stole them.”

“Why would we want to leave?” the man with the sword asked. He sounded confused and a bit hurt by the suggestion. “Boss Hatchwich has been good to us. It’s not just the weapons. He hired a pretty lady to teach us how to write. Look at this!”

Proud as could be, the man took a scrap of paper from his pocket and showed it to the gang bosses. It read, ‘I am Eric.’ in large and not very neat letters. “Teacher says I’m reading at a third grade level. Used to be that nobody on my whole block could read, but now I can, and teacher says I’ll get even better at it!”

“Hatchwich is teaching his men to read?” Boss Crassok asked. He sounded awed. Most people in Cronsword were illiterate, and chances were Crassok couldn’t read, either.

“All of us,” the man said proudly. “Not everybody learns fast, but we’re trying. He said that if we do real good on our lessons then he’ll take us as apprentices. A year ago all I could think about was my next trip to the bars, and now I’m making something of myself.”

Boss Hatchwich returned with the remaining gang bosses. They were a deadly bunch of men and one elf, each one representing hundreds of experienced fighters. They eyed one another warily as they took their seats. There was always a chance they’d turn on a rival, making this meeting dangerous even if Boss Hatchwich was willing to play nice. Illustrating that point, one made the mistake of reaching for the cheese piled on Boss Jesseck’s plate. A low growl from the goblin made him rethink the move.

Never before had all the gang leaders of Cronsword met like this. Together they commanded thousands of armed and battle hardened men. Their personal fortunes were staggering, and their territories were worth millions of guilders. Impressive as the sight would have been, there was an inescapable truth that made them grim.

“Ten bosses sit at this table,” Boss Hatchwich said as he sat down. “The gang bosses numbered twenty before the Fallen King’s invasion. Fourteen gangs fell that day, and while four have been replaced, it is still a sorry state of affairs. There was an uneasy peace when twenty ruled, if only because none dared openly attack the others for fear he’d be attacked in turn.” Pointing his gauntleted hand at the bosses, Hatchwich asked, “Where does that leave us? Fighting each other. Constantly.”

“It’s a temporary situation,” Boss Minter said. “More men come to Cronsword every day. Our ranks are refilling with refugees who fled the Fallen King. Everyone here will be back to full strength by year’s end.”

“To what end?” Boss Hatchwich asked. “I took control of a leaderless gang after the fighting was over, and talking with my men revealed a terrible truth. The conflicts between the gangs have been going on for generations. In that time this city hasn’t grown or improved, while rival cities have. Worse yet, this fighting could destroy us again. We risk being conquered by the next enemy to come to our gates, not because we are weak, but because we are divided.”

“I see where this is headed,” Boss Jesseck said. He fished through his coat until he found a long handled match. Taking it out, he placed the wood tip in the corner of his mouth. “You want one gang ruling this city, but instead of defeating the other gangs, you want us to sign up with you.”

“Close, but no.” Boss Hatchwich handed out maps of the city that showed which gangs ran which streets. “I believe we’re best served by forming a council of equals. Together we can run Cronsword without the threat of violence we’ve lived under for so long. We can also improve the city and extend our reach beyond its borders to include neighboring communities.”

Boss Jesseck chuckled. “I wonder how equal I’ll be in this council of equals compared to the others here, or to you. I got to think a man with brass monsters and clockwork weapons is going to have more of a say than a goblin.”

“Yeah, what happens if we have plans you don’t like?” Boss Minter asked. “Are we supposed to believe that if this new council votes against you that you’re going to take it?”

Boss Hatchwich smiled. “Except you’re not going to do that, because my plan makes you wealthy beyond your imagination, and without the risks you’ve been taking for years. We’re squabbling over scraps when we could be feasting.”

“Speaking of feasting, somebody mind passing the food?” the elf gang boss asked.

“Sure, but don’t expect any cheese,” Boss Minter said.

“It’s what you get for showing up late,” Boss Jesseck snapped. “And I’m not sold on this idea by a long shot.”

“Pass the steaks,” Boss Minter asked.

Boss Jesseck grumbled but passed over a platter of hot beefsteaks. “You talk about us reaching out and taking more territory. I don’t want more than I’ve got, and for good reasons. If we try to conquer territory outside Cronsword then we’ll be fighting whoever rules that land. It’s the same dance, just changing partners, nothing more.”

“He’s got a point,” Boss Crassok. “Where did that roast chicken go?”

“It’s by Minter,” Boss Jesseck said. “If we go on the warpath we risk drawing attention from kings who don’t want us expanding near them. My boys are good, and I’ve got even more of them than I did last year, but I don’t want them fighting another war. It’s risky and the rewards are slim.”

Hatchwich wasn’t giving up. “The closest territory we could expand into was hit hard by the Fallen King’s army before it reached us. The few people still living there could offer little opposition. Once we annex it, it would be child’s play to repair the economy and let the money pour in. Jesseck, pass the bowl of cherries.”

“Your arms are longer than mine! Get it yourself!”

Boss Minter took a sip of wine and frowned. “You’ve got guts, Hatchwich, and you learned quick how to rule a gang. Credit’s due there. But you’re asking a lot from us, and I have a feeling you’re going to ask for more. Taking land means forming an army, and we’d have to contribute men to it. But an army has to have one leader to be effective. Someone, and I think you’re nominating yourself, would have to lead that army. That makes you boss of our men. I don’t like that.”

Boss Jesseck pointed a half eaten slab of cheese at Boss Hatchwich. “Working that land would take men. Where are they coming from? Sure, we’re got refugees coming by the boatload, but we’d need thousands of men to do the job.”

The elf gang boss cleared his throat. “If the goblin can find flaws in your plan, then it’s a bad plan.”

“I’m not picking fights, long ears,” Boss Jesseck growled. “Not asking too much for you to show the same courtesy.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Boss Hatchwich said. “My dear mother once told me that men working together can do anything they put their minds to. We can work out a fair distribution of leadership positions, responsibilities and rewards. Fallow land doesn’t say empty for long. If we don’t take it then someone else will, making them a potential threat on our border.”

Standing up, Boss Hatchwich took off his brass gauntlet and set it on the table. “I see that a sign of good faith is needed. I am willing to—”

“Did anyone see what happened to the meat pie?” Crassok asked.

“Minter had it last I saw,” Boss Jesseck told him. “Heaven above, how can a man that thin eat so much?”

“I’ve got a fast metabolism!” Boss Minter shouted back.

“I was saying,” Boss Hatchwich said in an annoyed tone, “that I am willing to provide you with proof of my good intentions. Taking and holding land would be difficult without proper arms. That is no longer a concern.”

Without further adieu, Boss Hatchwich handed the gauntlet to Boss Crassok. “I have been busy these last few months making clockwork men, but also a fair number of clockwork weapons. Each of you will receive an equal share of these weapons, including ones built to a goblin’s proportions. I believe you’ll find them most impressive.”

“You’re sharing your weapons with us?” Boss Crassok asked in amazement.

“You sharing how to make the fuel to power them?” Boss Jesseck asked skeptically.

“Boss!” Every head turned to see a goblin run into the meeting. Armed guards with Boss Hatchwich’s clockwork weapons were chasing him, but the little goblin ran under the table and came up next to his boss.

“My invitation was for gang bosses and no one else,” Hatchwich said.

“I’ll handle my own boys,” Boss Jesseck told him. He turned to the goblin and asked, “What’s this about?”

The goblin handed him a sheet of paper covered in writing. Whoever had made this had used blue ink, unusual to say the least, and the writing was flowery. “These papers showed up all over the city, and the countryside and even towns miles from here. I can’t read much, but I recognize the words Cronsword and danger, so I brought you a copy.”

Boss Jesseck waved for Boss Hatchwich’s guard with the toothed sword. “You, Eric, make yourself useful and read this out loud.”

The guard preened like a peacock at the chance to show off his new skill. The gang bosses looked on expectantly as Eric began, “No Secrets: Your leaders are keeping the truth from you! The mad scientist Umber Hatchwich has seized control of a gang in the city of Cronsword. He is forging the other gangs into an army with his devilish clockwork monsters.”

“There is nothing wrong with my clockwork, and certainly nothing devilish!” Boss Hatchwick yelled. He reluctantly conceded, “Maybe their good looks.”

Eric continued reading. “The fiend seeks to conquer lands near the fetid, thief infested city of Cronsword. With his horrid clockworks that pretend to be men and foul criminals, he is a danger to all right thinking peoples. Indeed, he will be satisfied with nothing less than world domination!”

“World domination?” Boss Jesseck asked. “You want to take over the world?”

Boss Hatchwich blushed. “Well, I don’t like to boast.”

“How much did you pay to have these ads written up?” Boss Minter asked.

“I didn’t ask anyone to do this.” Boss Hatchwich took the paper from his guard and studied it.

Boss Jesseck rolled his eyes. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? Whoever did this is going to show up after the fact and try to charge you for it.”

“Definitely,” the elf gang boss agreed.

Boss Crassok leaned back in his chair. “Don’t you hate when that happens?”

Boss Hatchwich looked stunned. “No one knew what I was planning to discuss for this meeting except me. How did any learn of my plans? Who would spread warning of my intentions? How far has this news traveled?”

“You’ve got problems, Hatchwich,” Boss Jesseck said.

Two armed guards entered the bank and saluted Boss Hatchwich. “Sir, there’s a problem outside. A man…what we think is a man, is asking to see you.”

That news was odd enough to bring all the gang bosses to the door. They found a crowd outside gathered around a single figure. He, if it was a man, wore glossy black plate armor festooned with spikes and sharp angles. He carried a pair of short swords that ended in wicked barbs. Dark vapors drifted from his mouth.

“Umber Hatchwich, I am Casteel of the Encroaching Darkness,” the strange figure said in an echoing voice. He held up a paper identical to the one Boss Jesseck’s goblin had brought into the meeting. “News of your deeds, both completed and planned, has reached me. You seek to place all of Other Place under your grip.”

Suddenly sounding bashful, the nightmarish figure said, “So, um, I was wondering if you were hiring. I brought a resume.”

Goblins by their very nature are chaotic and unpredictable, striving to be as nonconformist as possible. This means goblins barely have a society at all, with no rules and no expectations. But sometimes goblins need something so badly they’ll do the most bizarre thing imaginable for a goblin. Work.


Goblins of Industry


The Dusk Empire is one of the most civilized and peaceful human nation on Other Place, with a long history of laws, hard work, respect for elders and religious piety. Its people have a good standard of living and their society is stable. They have a hard time dealing with goblins, which they call mischievous spirits. Men and women of the Dusk Empire tolerate goblins pranks and stay out of wilderness areas where goblins live.

There is one unusual trait of the humans in the Dusk Empire and surrounding lands, namely lactose intolerance. By the age of two or three years they lose their ability to digest milk and dairy products. A full 90% of the people have this condition, which generally causes them no problems. It does, however, mean that there is no cheese production in their land.

This is an intolerable situation for goblins. They crave cheese and do almost anything to get a taste. That generally means stealing it, but this tried and true method is useless as there’s not a crumb of cheese in the kingdom.

Getting around this catastrophe vexed goblins for years. They tried importing it, but the nearest dairies were too far away. They tried convincing men to make it to no avail. After much pondering some goblins came to the conclusion that if they wanted cheese, they’d have to make it themselves.

This caused a civil war among goblins, with one faction supporting the idea, another opposing it, and three more factions not sure what the fight was about but not wishing to be left out. After weeks of pillow fights and trap setting the pro cheese faction won, and goblins set to work making cheese.

The first step was to get cows. Cows were generally too large for goblins to deal with, so they searched high and low until they found a dwarf variety of cows that grew no taller than four feet and were unbelievably cute. Goblins imported these adorable animals to the wilds of Dusk Empire and pastured them on hills too steep for farming.

Step two involved housing their cattle. Goblin houses are as a rule filthy, rattletrap, multiple building code violations that by all rights should fall apart, and their barns were no different. When the dwarf cows were able to escape these barns by pushing walls over and running off, goblins were forced to concede that they’d have do something. Builder goblins studied under the great handyman Bob Viola until they finally learned to make barns sturdier than card houses. Admittedly a big part of the problem was how many builder goblins intentionally sabotaged their projects.

Making cheese was the final step, and arguably the hardest. Goblins learned how to do the task fairly quickly, but their total lack of self control meant they ate the cheese after it had aged only a few hours. They got around this by hiring ogres whose job was to keep the goblins away from their own cheese until it had ripened.

And so the strangest thing came to pass as goblins worked hard to raise their tiny cows and make cheese. The practice spread until every major goblin settlement in the Dusk Empire was doing it. This incidentally made life easier for their human neighbors, who noticed a shocking drop in trapped toilets and shaved cats. Goblins were too busy to make trouble. The goblins even donated excess bulls to humans they called their special friends. Such animals were used for food and leather, and were much appreciated by the poor farmers goblins tended to adopt in this way.

That last part caused a problem. A provincial magistrate of the Dusk Empire found himself deeply in debt after a typhoon caused poor harvests and reduced trade. He heard how the ‘mischievous spirits’ kept small cows in remote parts of his province and would give some away. This was the solution he was looking for! He ordered his soldiers to collect the cattle and slaughter them for meat and hides he could sell.

It didn’t go well.

Goblins guarded their herds jealously. For years they’d been too busy working to place many traps, but they hadn’t stopped inventing new designs. With their cows in danger the goblins trapped anything and everything they could, splattering human soldiers with every imaginable offensive substance. Goblins also snuck into enemy camps to steal weapons, armor, and left shoes. The soldiers never even saw a cow, but they did see an army of goblins gather from across the Dusk Empire. As far as the goblins were concerned, if one herd was taken from them, humans would keep doing it until not a single cow was left. The magistrate called back his men when it was clear he’d failed and might be starting a war.

This ended nothing. Late at night the goblins went to the magistrate’s mansion to personally express their displeasure with him. By the time they were done the entire mansion was filled floor to ceiling with cow dung. Satisfied that they’d made their point, the goblins returned to their wilderness homes, their cows safe.

In many kingdoms such an assault against a high ranking government official would result in a war against the goblins, but leaders in the Dusk Empire are civilized. Many condemned the magistrate for trying to steal the animals. They pointed out that none of their laws applied to only humans, so he was taking farm animals from their right owners. This was cattle rustling, plain and simple. Others pointed out that the mischievous spirits had been relatively quiet for years and provoking them made trouble for everyone. The emperor himself weighed in on the controversy by sending the magistrate a terse note saying only, “What were you thinking?”

And so goblins of the Dusk Empire continue raising cattle and making cheese. It’s too soon to tell if this practice will spread. For now there is peace, with goblins gorging on cheese and looking after hundreds of cows, every last one of them called Bessie.

Splat was exhausted and covered in sweat, and he’d never been happier. He’d done it. After so much hard work and frustration he’d finally hit the big times. Important people with good reputations had come to him for help!

Tired as he was, he kept running through the dark streets of Nolod’s vast slums. The plan was working like a charm. He just had to reach his new partners and get them moving. Splat ran through puddles and dung piles, making a total mess of his dark blue clothes and covering the shiny buckles on his clothes with filth. When a mugger stepped in his way Splat went around the fellow and shouted, “No time!”

Oh, this was good. Golden, even! When Ibwibble had hired him, Splat had spent hours gathering his goblin mob. That had involved tracking them down, tying them up and dragging them to his hideout. Well, except Mummy and Molly. They’d been eager to join in the fun. An hour long presentation and generous bribes had ensured his followers would actually follow him. Splat had made sure to only kidnap goblins he’d worked with before. They were slow, stupid, disobedient and smelled funny, but they’d won victories in the past and they’d win today.

Splat reached a warehouse loaded with bags of wool and snuck in through a loose board. Inside he found a mob of goblins waiting for him, their leader impatiently tapping his foot.

“Well?” Bub the goblin asked.

“It worked,” Splat gasped. He nearly fell to the floor as he added, “We tracked them down to their base in the dockmaster’s office. There are three in the attack group and another one they’d left behind to guard their stuff. The windows are too small for us to get in and the door’s locked and barred. We can pick the lock, but that bar’s held in place by a peg inside the office.”

Bub frowned. The short, black clad goblin said, “The dockmaster is an important man. He’ll be in his office not long after dawn, so they’re going to leave soon.”

“I’ve got my best goblins watching them,” Splat replied. “If they leave before we get there, they’ll be followed.”

“That won’t help if they escape by boat. We have to move.”

Bub helped steady Splat and they left with Bub’s gang. Goblins on the rise knew about Bub and his tactical assault squad. They weren’t that many of them, but they had a string of victories longer than Splat’s arrest record. You had to respect a goblin like that. When Ibwibble had needed help, he’d hired Bub and then Splat. This would give them the numbers and combat experience to catch these weirdoes spilling everyone’s secrets.

Admittedly Splat’s group was smaller than Bub’s and lacked the cohesion and training of Bub’s followers. But Splat had Molly, the best human impersonator in the world, so good nobody realized she was a goblin. Molly was smart and followed orders, improvising when necessary. Molly never failed.

“The bad guys’ base might be for more than hiding,” Splat told Bub as he led the goblins through Nolod’s alleys and backstreets. Knowing these streets was another strength he had that Bub lacked. “Ibwibble sent word these guys stole papers from the nymph. The dockmaster’s got lots of papers, too.”

“You think they’re hitting two places in one night?”

“They won’t want to stick around here after the beating Calista gave them.”

A goblin nudged Bub and asked, “Righteous Fists of Vengeance?”

“We’re not changing the group’s name,” Bub said firmly. “Splat, what else did Ibwibble say?”

Splat checked a paper delivered to him half an hour ago by a goblin messenger. “One of them is a magician, but he’s weak. They also have alchemic weapons.”

“Then we’ve got to hit them hard and fast, or they could do a lot of damage. Even weak wizards are dangerous.”

“Knights of the Coming Cataclysm?” the other goblin asked Bub.

“I like it,” Splat said.

“Then you take it,” Bub growled. “How far to the dockmaster’s office?”

“Six blocks,” Splat replied. “Seriously, I can take it?”

“It’s yours.” The goblins’ march halted when a towering man cloaking shadows stepped into their way. Bub came to a stop but didn’t show fear. “You want something?”

“You look like one on a mission,” the shadowy man said. “The last time your kind were so driven was nearly the end of Nolod.”

“And?” Splat asked.

“May I watch? It’s been so long since I had quality entertainment.”

Bub rolled his eyes. “Fine, but no getting involved.”

“Perish the thought,” the shadowy man said, and drifted back into the darkness of an alleyway.

“Is this normal for Nolod?” Bub asked Splat.

“Oh please, it gets way weirder than this. You know, he could have helped us. Wouldn’t have taken long to get him interested.”

Bub shook his head. “He could mess things up easy as not. That’s why I don’t work with people I don’t know. Heck, I’m not sure about you and your gang.”

“Hey, we followed these jerks when they ran from the hotel,” Splat said proudly. “We didn’t miss them when they were trying really hard to be sneaky and dropped caltrops to hurt anyone chasing them. Why, we even swept up the caltrops so nobody else would step on them, which was a very civic minded—”

“Yeah, you’re wonderful, now where are the targets?”

“Over there.” Splat pointed at a rectangular building made of cedar at the edge of the docks. There were dozens of ships moored nearby, but at this time of night nobody was around except a few lookouts on the ships making sure nobody tried to steal from them. The building was solidly built and had bars over the narrow windows. There were dim lights on inside, and they saw indistinct shapes moving by the windows.

“Is it starting?” the shadowy man asked. Splat nearly screamed at the stranger’s sudden appearance.

“Yeah, now back up,” Splat said.

“Delighted to. The others and I will give you room to work.”

“Others?” Bub asked. The little goblin slapped a hand over his face when he saw eight men and monsters sitting on a ship’s prow eating popcorn. “Great, we’ve got a crowd watching us.”

“No fear,” Splat told him. He pointed at goblins sneaking around the docks and said, “My guys are here. That means the bad guys are here, too. We can take them.”

Bub frowned. “The door and frame are oak, and those bars are steel. We’re not breaking in there without drawing too much attention from the city guard. We could wait until they come out on their own, but the longer we wait the better the chance they get reinforcements or someone shows up who’ll ruin things for us.”

Splat nodded. “Ship crews could return, and watchmen come by all the time. Don’t worry, I have a foolproof way to get inside.”

A small goblin wrapped head to toe in bandages came out of an empty barrel and scurried over to Splat. “Everyone’s ready.”

“Good work, Mummy. Tell Molly to turn on the waterworks once we’re around the dockmaster’s office.”

Mummy ran off, and Bub said, “Must have been an awful fight.”

“Nah, he’s been like that for years. Come on.”

Splat and Bub led their followers around the sides of the dockmaster’s office, close enough to reach the door in a hurry when it opened. They saw more goblins in the shadows, some sneaking in to join them while others stayed back as a last ditch effort to catch the enemy if they tried to flee. Now that they were next to the building they could hear voices inside. At first the words were too soft to understand, but the volume rose.

“We have to rescue him,” the first voice said. The voice was male, young and angry.

“You lost one man,” a second voice said. He sounded like an older man. “Go after him and you’ll lose more.”

“We don’t abandon our own,” said the first.

“You don’t know where he is,” the second man countered.

“I’ve got spells to—” the first began.

“We don’t have time,” the second man interrupted. “The authorities know we’re here. They know some of what we did. They’ll be looking for us on every ship and every road by morning. If you stop to look for him, you’ll lose all of us. One man or five. Pick.”

“They took him alive. That means they want him to talk. It gives us time to save him.”

“There is no time,” the second man replied, his voice growing louder and angrier. “You knew the day you started this that you could fall to the kings and noblemen and guild masters. There were going to be losses. Up until tonight we were lucky. He knew that, too. He won’t talk. If they force him to, we’ll be long gone before anything he says could matter. Respect the sacrifice he’s made. The truth matters more than we do. You said so yourself.”

Splat looked to Bub, who shrugged. Whatever this was about was beyond the goblins.

“We don’t have enough people to squander them!” the first man yelled.

“Be quiet or we’re dead,” the second man replied. “He’s gone, Anton, and nothing we can do is going to get him back. We lost a man and completed the mission. It’s a bad win, but it’s a win.”

“It’s not a win,” a third man said.

Anton, the first man, asked, “What?”

“I read the nymph’s letters,” the third man explained. “There’s nothing scandalous here. She wrote boring letters to friends and fellow professors. That’s it. She wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I can find close to a truth is that Lord Bryce made lewd statements about her I’m certain aren’t true and she might sue him for it. That’ll come to light on its own.”

“But, but she’s a nymph,” Anton, said. “Everyone knows what nymphs are like.”

“A pity no one told her that, because she sounds as pure as freshly fallen snow,” the third man replied. “I copied shipping manifests from the dockmaster’s files. There might be something interesting here, but as for the nymph, she’s only got the stars and planets on her mind.”

“We could imply there’s something here,” the older man said. “Tell people the nymph’s been writing letters and let them come to their own conclusions.”

“No!” Anton yelled. The older man tried to speak, but Anton didn’t give him a chance. “We are dedicated to revealing the truth! No secrets, no lies. If we lie to the people, even once, they’ll never trust us again. The money, the risks, the friends and family members who turned their backs on us, all that pain and loss will be for nothing.”

Just then a small girl ran across to the dockmaster’s office. Bub gasped, not sure how a child could be out at such an hour in this dangerous city. The girl waved to Splat, who waved back, and she headed to the building’s door.

“What the…get her out of here,” Bub ordered.

“Relax, that’s Molly,” Splat assured him. “Most people think she’s a girl.”

“She is a girl,” Bub hissed. “You can’t be this stupid.”

Molly knocked on the door. “Mommy, I’m home.”

“Who is that?” Anton asked. His voice betrayed panic.

“Wow, you’re falling for it, too”, Splat told Bub.

“Mommy, please open the door,” Molly said. “I’m sorry I’m late, mommy. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s definitely a girl,” Bub said angrily.

“Send her away,” Anton said. Louder, he called out, “This isn’t your house.”

“Mommy!” Molly wailed. “Please, mommy, I’m cold and scared, and something smells funny! Like old poo!”

“Molly’s acting,” Splat said. “I’ve never met a human impersonator that good, and I’m proud to have her.”

“She’s drawing attention to us,” the older man said. “Get her inside and give her some food. We’ll leave her by a watch house when we go.”

“This is our chance,” Splat told Bub. “Get ready.”

“You and I are going to talk when this is over,” Bub grumbled.

The door opened and the goblins raced into action. Molly smiled sweetly at the black clad men, keeping their attention on her just long enough for them to miss the onrush of goblins until it was too late. Bub jammed a rock into the doorframe, making it impossible to close the door, and goblins ran inside. The first few goblins slipped around the shocked men before Splat grabbed the older man around the waist and pulled his pants down to his ankles. Mummy charged in and pushed the older man, tipping him over.

Bub led his tactical assault squad with military precision, swarming one of the men and pulling him to the ground. Two down, two left. Bad luck, one of them was the wizard. The wizard chanted and waved his hands, forming a shield of ice that hovered in front of him. Goblins threw rocks that bounced off the ice shield. One goblin charged the wizard, only for the shield to shove him backwards. Bub saw the other man pull a terracotta bottle from a pouch on his belt and lifted it to throw.

Thinking fast, Bub grabbed a chair from the dockmaster’s office and hurled it at the guy’s legs. It was a good hit and the man dropped the bottle. It shattered when it hit the floor, releasing a blast of flames at the wizard’s feet.
The wizard turned his shield to defend himself from the fiery blast. It protected him but melted away. Bub charged the wizard and kicked him in the shin. The wizard yelped and jumped up and down before Splat and Mummy tackled him. The last man who’d used the alchemic firebomb tried to shove goblins out of the way to escape, but overwhelming numbers dragged him down.

It was almost a clean sweep when the older man got up and knocked aside three goblins. Bub ran at him as the man tried to pull up his trousers. Bub grabbed the back of his pants and pulled them back down, only for the man to step out of his pants and run off, dressed in black from the waist up and wearing white and red polka dot boxers below the belt. The older man fled into the night, punching and kicking goblins that ran at him from alleys.

“Do we go after him?” a goblin asked Bub.

“These three could get away while we’re chasing him,” Bub said. “Tie them up and get them out of here before anyone shows up.”

“Great work, everyone,” Splat told the goblins he’d corralled into working with him. “Double shares of cheese for everyone!”

“Double?” Molly asked. Splat nodded, and Molly jumped up and down squealing.

Bub scowled and marched up to Molly. “I have to know, exactly who and what are you?”

* * * * *

“You’re sure you’re a girl?” Splat asked Molly.

“Mmm hmm.” Molly walked home with Splat at her side. She was as happy as could be going back to her family with her arms loaded with cheese. Sure, Nolod’s streets were never safe, but it was almost morning, and she wasn’t far from home. Besides, last night’s battle had been loud enough that nearby troublemakers were keeping their heads down. But just to be sure Splat was staying with her. The rest of his gang had wandered off, leaving the two of them alone.

“I mean really sure?”

“Yes.”

“Mind blown. I thought you were joking when you said you were a girl.”

“I wasn’t.” Molly wasn’t at all bothered by Splat’s confusion. The goblin rubbed his forehead and gave Molly a curious glance.

Splat squinted and then shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years. What am I supposed to do? You’re the most capable goblin in my gang and you’re not a goblin!”

Molly looked at Splat and said, “You could get people who aren’t goblins on purpose. I bet oodles of people would want to be your friend. You’re nice and you keep your word.”

Splat nearly passed out from shock. “I’m nice?”

“Sure you are! You gave me all this cheese. My family will have lots to eat because of you.”

Just then the shadowy man drifted overhead, laughing hysterically before he vanished into the night. Anywhere else that would be cause for concern, but in Nolod this was almost commonplace. You weren’t allowed to live in this city if you couldn’t deal with the bizarre on a weekly basis.

Splat gripped the sides of his head with both hands. “Me nice. What’s the world coming to? Molly, I’ve got to hand it to you, you had me fooled. You know, you’re good at this.”

“Thank you!”

“I mean really good. You’re an expert at fooling people. Have you considered going into theater? Or politics? You’re good enough to be Nolod’s first lady prime minister.”

Molly gasped. “Really?”

“You bet. He can trick lots of people lots of the time, but every so often he screws up. But you? You never miss a beat. Honestly, I could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Molly!” The scream caught Splat and Molly by surprise. A woman ran across the street and scooped up the girl. “Oh, precious child! You scared the life half out of me! Where have you been all night?”

“Hi mommy! I was working for Mister Splat,” Molly said proudly. She held up the thick wedge of cheese and added, “Look how much he paid me!”

A man wearing old and worn clothes ran up alongside the woman. He wasn’t the biggest or strongest man Splat had ever seen, but the look of outrage on his face would have given a dragon pause. Splat backed up and said, “And she deserves every crumb. Ha, ha, ah nuts. You’re not going to believe this, but it was all a misunderstanding, and I can guarantee that—”

Splat ran for his life with Molly’s father three steps behind. This wouldn’t be the first time Splat had barely escaped death, but it was hardest he’d ever had to work to earn it.