Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "goblins"

Grump the goblin was always in a foul mood, but was now in the foulest mood of his life, having spent the last week kicking squirrels, smashing pixies and dumping trash on passing mimes. His generally poor disposition was known for miles, but matters had recently come to a new low. This prompted mayors of neighboring communities to post bounties on the little goblin. Three bounty hunters had made the mistake of accepting the offer. Two of them returned empty-handed and with liquid manure dripping from their clothes. The third had been found gibbering in the woods by a wandering priest and was currently convalescing in a nearby monastery.

For now the reign of terror was on hold as Grump fumed in a forest glen. The red skinned goblin scowled and sat on the ground, rocking back and forth. His cheap leather clothes were stained and his shoes were long gone, sacrificed to convince a bounty hunter that he’d been hiding in an outhouse. His greasy gray hair stuck out in all directions. Grump cupped his hands together, cradling the only thing that had ever mattered to him.

“And another thing, I don’t like your attitude!” he yelled at a tree. “The silent treatment got old a while ago. And don’t go thinking you’re better than me! You are, but I don’t want you thinking it.”

The tree, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer. Grump was willing to put up with that until he found someone who would respond to his abuse. That was proving to be a difficult task. It was getting so that people ran at the sight of him. He couldn’t even get an angry mob to attack him after what he did to the last one. He’d made camp here because there was a crossroads not far from the glen. In theory that meant people/victims would come to him, but no one had showed up for days. It annoyed him that he didn’t have anyone to bother.

Wind blew the tree’s leaves. Grump pointed at it and said, “It is not me fault! You’d be mad, too!” The goblin got up and marched up to the tree. He kicked it, stubbing his toes in the process and jumping up and down. “You did that on purpose!”

Grump would have done something truly regrettable that likely would have hurt him worse than the tree, but he heard horses coming. Horses were useful sources of manure to throw or trap teapots with. He rubbed his foot with one hand, holding the other close to his chest. Maybe he could convince the horses to make a donation.

The visitors were a man and woman riding two horses. The man was so young he probably still had trouble with acne, a blond haired punk dressed in fancy black linen. On closer inspection the outfit was beginning to fray near the cuffs. The lady’s dress was nice but also looking worn. The horses were study animals, but clearly tired from overuse.

Wind rustled the tree’s branches again, and Grump snorted. “No, they had money. Rich folks turned beggars. I wonder what happened that they’re broke and on the run. Not sure whether to laugh or cry.”

That was when he heard a gurgling noise from the woman. She had a bundle clenched to her chest. A baby! That was too much! He didn’t know what sort of trouble they were in, but you don’t bring babies into dark forests. Indignant, he marched out to confront them on their lack of parenting skills.

The man stopped his horse when he reached the fork in the road. “This doesn’t appear on the map I bought. Three paths, but which one to take?”

“Is there no one living here we could get directions from?” the woman asked.

“I see no houses, Isa, nor fresh tracks on the road. I think this trail’s not been used in weeks or even longer.”

Grump emerged from the dense underbrush along the trail and headed for the man. “Right, pal, let’s see your fatherhood license.”

The man stared at Grump. “My what?”

“Your paperwork.” Grump tapped his foot on the ground and frowned. “Someone should have made you pass a test before getting a kid. Question one on that test was ‘do you bring babies into God forsaken wildernesses’, and the answer was no. So I’m revoking your license and impounding your brain until we can get it working again.”

“Tristan, what’s going on?” Isa asked.

“I have no idea. Goblin, there’s no test for fathering a child.”

Grump rubbed his free hand over his face. “Let me get this straight. You’re lost, you not only don’t have your paperwork but you never even took the test, and is that scabbard empty? It is! You’ve got a baby to protect and you’re unarmed! That does it, let me take a look at those fontal lobes of yours.”

“My sword broke!” Tristan yelled back. “I don’t even have the hilt anymore after I sold the gems on it to buy food and lodging at the last city.”

The man dismounted and walked over to Grump. “You are right that I need to get my wife and daughter to safety, a task easier done if I knew the roads and trails here. If you want to help, tell me which one of these leads to Oceanview Kingdom?”

“You can’t even tell which kingdom you’re in?” Grump ran up and scuffed up the man’s boots with his feet. “Did I do any damage? I can’t tell with the sorry state your shoes are in.”

“Stop that!” Tristan went for his sword, his hand stopping halfway to the missing weapon. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Goblin, my journey has been long and hard, and my responsibilities are great with both wife and daughter to care for. I can’t offer payment for your aid, but if you know the answer to my question it would help us greatly.”

“Do I look like a tour guide? Do I look like I care?” Grump marched up to the woman and said, “Lady, dump this loser and take the kid anywhere but here.”

“That is most unkind,” she replied. The baby in her arms smiled and made a gurgling, laughing noise.

“Oh sure, you say that now, but just you wait,” Grump told the baby. “In three years you’ll be swearing like a one eyed, nine fingered carpenter with gout.”

“I—” Tristan began.

“No!” Grump yelled. He poked the man in the chest with his free hand. “I do not have to take this from some down on his luck pretty boy. You have problems? We all have problems, and yours are not my fault! So pack up that sob story of yours and find someone to dump it on other than me! And I’m going to kick you in the shin for getting a baby involved in this.”

“Ow! Cut that out!” Tristan bent down and rubbed his shin where Grump had kicked him.

That should have been enough to send them both back the way they came, but to Grump’s surprise, Isa dismounted her horse. She had some difficulty getting down. Grump figured the woman wasn’t used to riding. She rested the baby against her shoulder and approached Grump slowly. “You’re very upset. What’s the matter?”

Grump’s lip quivered. “None of your business!”

She came closer. “I’d like to help. I think you’re someone who needs help. That’s not a bad thing. Everyone needs help from time to time.”

Grump looked down at his closed hand clutched against his chest. He only did so for a fraction of a second, but Isa saw it.

“What do you have there?”

“Isa, don’t get close to that brute!”

Grump’s eyes teared up. He held his composure for three seconds before he burst out crying and dropped to his knees. Isa put an arm around Grump and kneeled down alongside him. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! My best friend died!” Grump opened his hand to show the shriveled up brown lump he’d held for the last week.

Tristan stood up and came over. “What is that?”

“My friend, Zippy,” Grump explained. “I found him crawling around eating leaves. He was so cool! He had six pairs of legs, and there were big red eyes on his butt. I’d never met someone with eyes on their butt before. We spent weeks together. I’d talk and he’d shovel food down his throat every waking moment. It was bliss, the only time I’ve ever been happy!”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Grump said, “Nothing went right before I met Zippy. I was burned out of three houses. The Pirate Lords torched my first one and everyone else’s in Castle City to send a message to the king in those parts. Then the Fallen King burned down my home in First Light, because he was burning down everything, and hey, why not torch my house, too? And Char the dragon got hiccups and incinerated my third home! All right, he apologized, so that sort of makes it better, but I still lost a house and my entire collection of royal fingernail clippings.”

The goblin looked at Isa through eyes blurred by tears. “I thought everything would be better here with a friend and new home. But one morning Zippy got sick. I tried to make him feel better. Nothing worked. His legs came off and he stopped moving. Now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone to talk to except that tree, and he’s a mean drunk.”

“What?” Tristan asked. “Dearest, I don’t think we can help.”

“I can,” Isa told her husband. “Goblin, your friend is going to be okay.”

“He’s got no legs!”

“Not yet, but he will. I’ve seen the animal you’re talking about. Your friend, uh, Zippy, is a dragonfire butterfly. You met him when he was still a caterpillar. I saw them often when I was a girl.”

Grump stared at her. “There are more like him?”

“Thousands upon thousands,” she promised. “Your friend is growing up in his chrysalis. In a few weeks he’ll be done and fly off. Be patient and you’ll see him again. Show me where you met him.”

Grump took her hand and led her and Tristan to a forest glade a mile away. Isa spotted a vine twined around a tree and pointed at it. “You found him here, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“That’s blood vine, named for the red sap that flows from its wounds.” Isa ran her hands over the vine until she stopped and smiled. “There you are. Your friend wasn’t an only child. Look.”

Grump marveled at the sight. There were four more caterpillars just like Zippy! Each one was chowing down on leaves, red sap running down their chins. He ran ahead and found more vines with more caterpillars on them. “Zippy has a family!”

A butterfly swooped by, and Isa reached out and let it land on her hand. Grump studied the red and purple butterfly, as gorgeous an animal as any he’d seen, a living work of art.

Isa watched the butterfly leave before taking the hard brown chrysalis from Grump. She took a stray thread from her dress and tied the chrysalis to the nearest blood vine. “There we go. Zippy can wait here until he’s ready to come out. Until then you can talk to his brothers and sisters.”

Grump stared at the caterpillars in wonder. He sat down, mesmerized by the tiny insects gorging on leaves. “There are so many of them. They’re beautiful.”

Tristan edged forward and took his wife’s hands. He kneeled down next to Grump and asked, “Can you tell me which of those roads we met you by leads to Oceanview Kingdom?”

“Huh? None of them do. The first goes to a mine that closed down years ago when they ran out of copper. You got all sorts of critters living in it now. The second goes to a village abandoned when they found barrow wights nesting nearby. The last road circles around in the forest for thirty miles and ends in the woods without ever going anywhere.”

“But my map shows a road leading to Oceanview.”

Grump pointed back the way they’d come. “That’s an hour’s walk up the road. It goes east first and then south after a while, and will take you to Oceanview in a week, faster with your horses.”

Tristan rubbed his bruised shin. “Thank you. We should be going. Isa, how did you know about those butterflies?”

She smiled and cuddled their daughter. “They’re all over the woods in our homeland. Surely you saw them yourself when you were growing up?”

Looking down, Tristan said, “Father rarely let me leave his house except on business. Such beauty was mere walking distance from my door, and for years I never saw it.”

Before they left, Grump turned to Isa and asked, “Will the same thing happen to me?” Her confused look showed she didn’t understand the question, so he pointed at the caterpillars and asked, “Will I get to be beautiful one day, like Zippy?”

Isa smiled and pressed two fingers against Grump’s chest. “Silly goblin, in here you already are beautiful.”

Too stunned to even open his mouth, Grump stared at Isa as she left with Tristan and their daughter. They were long gone when he finally recovered enough to say, “That woman is stark raving mad.” Smiling, he added, “I like her.”

Returning his attention to the caterpillars, he said, “You need names. You’ll be Zippy #2, and you can be Zippy #3…”
* * * * *

Grump laid on back watching Zippy and his kin fly overhead. He could tell they were happy, and that made him happy. He was content again, a strange feeling, but a welcome one. He’d found more blood vines in the forest. They didn’t have caterpillars on them, but now he knew where to look in the future.

An older man stomped down the dirt road and drew Grump’s attention. His clothes looked a lot like the ones that idiot Tristan had worn when they’d met a week ago, and there was some resemblance in the face, too. But where Tristan had shown concern for his loved ones, this stranger scowled and snarled under his breath. That might be because his right arm was in a sling.

“Wretch!” the man bellowed when he saw Grump. Grump got up and frowned. He was having a good day and had no intention of letting this moron ruin it. “A man and woman came this way. Three men swore to the fact. Where are they? Which way did they go? Speak, or I’ll beat the truth out of you!”

There had been an ever so slight chance that Grump wouldn’t act like, well, Grump. He’d been doing better since meeting Zippy’s family. But the thought of letting that evil old man within a mile of a baby (who already had enough problems with one parent mad and the other unlicensed) closed that door in a hurry.

“Yeah, they were here.” Grump waved a hand at the nearby crossroads. “They took one of those three trails. I don’t know which one.”

Grump smiled at the snarling man. “I guess you’ll have to check them all.”

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.”

It was a dark and windy night, and goblins laughed and danced around a fire of burning modern art. Normally goblins don’t help people, but earlier that day they’d seen a town’s mayor try to convince his people to buy these monstrosities for an obscene price. In a move rare among goblins, they’d stolen the paintings and took them a safe distance from the unfortunate humans before destroying them.

“There goes the last one,” a shaggy goblin said as he fed a painting into the flames. It showed what was a cat, or possibly an iceberg, floating over a landscape of pink something or others. Goblins were stupid and a bit crazy, so they weren’t driven mad by this nonsense, but others weren’t so lucky. They’d seen three men lose bladder control just from looking at this painting, and an entire crowd ran in terror when the artist tried to explain his work.

“Missed one,” a short goblin said as he handed over another painting.

The shaggy goblin frowned. “Wait, that’s a painting? Of what?”

“I don’t know!” the short goblin shot back. He studied the misshapen images and frowned. “I think the red thing and the yellow thing are having a fight with the blue thing, and the blue thing is having stomach trouble. Look, just forget what it’s supposed to be and torch it before Stotle sees it.”

“Before I see what?”

The other goblins winced. They’d done their part to save humanity, but before beginning the trip they’d left behind one of their members. Poor old Stotle wasn’t ready for such horrors. The pale skinned goblin with wide eyes wore a molding rug for robes, normal enough for a goblin, but his mind was hopelessly twisted after reading a book on philosophy. There was no telling what those paintings could have done to such a fragile mind, and they had no intention of finding out.

“Nothing, Stotle,” the shaggy goblin said. He tossed the painting into the fire and watched the blurry images turn to ash.

Stotle stood at the door of their ramshackle house at the edge of the Jeweled Forest. He’d been asleep, but light from the fire had woken him. He peered through the darkness and saw the inexcusably foul artwork being destroyed. “Is that Jubal’s masterpiece, Society’s Folly in the fire?”

The shaggy goblin scratched his head. “That might have been the name on it.”

“Did you burn the rest of his work?” Stotle asked. The goblins hemmed and hawed as Stotle approached and studied the crackling fire where some paintings were only partially destroyed. “Yes, it looks like you got all of them. There’s Bartender’s Delight, that’s Horsehead Bookends of Doom, and I do believe that one was I Can’t Believe I’m Being Paid for This, the painting that got him thrown out of art school and nearly lynched.”

Turning back to his friends, Stotle said, “But since they’re destroyed, is Jubal really an artists? You can’t be an artist if you have no art, assuming that was art and not an assault on the senses.”

Panicking, the shaggy goblin shouted, “Stop him, he’s getting philosophical!”

The goblins grabbed Stotle and eased him to the ground. The short goblin grabbed a stick off the ground and jammed it into Stotle’s mouth. “Bite down. It’ll keep you from talking.”

Stotle did as instructed, but even with a stick in his mouth he kept trying to analyze the lack of Jubal’s career, talent and possibly lack of the man’s mind. He could go on like this for hours. The only cure the goblins had found was gagging Stotle until he’d gotten it out of his system.

“I don’t get it,” the shaggy goblin confessed. “We can bounce back from almost anything. Bruises, bumps, cuts, scraps, frostbite, fire, none of that hurts us for long. He should have healed from whatever that book did to him.”

Stotle chewed through the stick in his mouth and ate it. “As I was saying…”

“Hello?” The goblins turned to see two humans approaching them. That was odd, as few humans traveled when it was dark. These humans were youngish, a man and a woman dressed in worn clothes and coming out of the forest. The man stepped in front of the woman and asked, “Forgive the intrusion, but may we warm ourselves by your fire?”

Shocked, the short goblin blurted out, “You’re asking goblins for permission?”

“It’s your fire, so we must ask and leave if denied,” the man replied.

“That has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight,” the short goblin said. He glanced at the fire and the rapidly disappearing paintings. “Not the stupidest thing I’ve seen, though.”

Stotle got up and dusted himself off. “The fire is free for any to share, as is our home.”

“You are kind, although I doubt your, ah, house, could fit us and you,” the man said. He led the woman closer and they sat by the fire.

Stotle nudged the house. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

The house began assembling another room from dead branches, loose rocks and even dirt. It did so quietly enough that the young couple didn’t notice it growing larger in the darkness.

“This is a first,” the shaggy goblin said. “I’ve never seen tall folks come near us without swearing and throwing things, and they’re even asking for help.”

“A year ago I don’t think I would have come, but harsh times and true friends have helped me see that goodness isn’t the property of any one race,” the man said. “My name is Tristan Fireheart, and this is my wife Isa and our daughter, Mira.”

The baby gurgled in her mother’s arms and waved her arms. The goblins swiftly gathered around Isa and her daughter, their faces showing awe. If they were expecting a show they were sorely disappointed, because young Mira yawned and promptly went to sleep.

“She’s no fun,” the shaggy goblin said. “Not here a minute and she went to bed.”

“It’s been a troubling time for us,” Isa said. “She needs her sleep.”

“Aw that’s no fair,” the short goblin complained. “You can’t get tired out being carried around. She should have plenty of vim when all she does is eat and piddle.”

“Now be fair, piddling can be hard work,” the shaggy goblin countered. “Why I remember the first time I tried coffee. Woo boy, I was on the toilet for a long time!”

Tristan blushed and Isa stifled a laugh at the goblins’ conversation. Tristan cleared his throat and said, “My wife speaks the truth. We sold our horses this week to cover our expenses and truly abominable road taxes.”

“What drives you so hard that you travel at night and with so little?” Stotle asked.

“We seek a new start in life,” Tristan explained. “We fled my father’s rule and look to settle in Ocean view Kingdom, which I’m told is not far from here.”

“A few days travel will find you at your destination,” Stotle replied.

“Our maps don’t show this area in detail,” Tristan said. “You’ve already been kind enough to let us rest here. Could you be persuaded to show us the way to Oceanview?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Stotle told him. “I don’t exist.”

Tristan stared at him. “What?”

The shaggy goblin shook his head. “It’s not his fault. The poor fool went and read a philosophy book. It drove him totally bonkers.”

“It’s true, I don’t exist,” Stotle protested. “My life has been so absurdly silly that it can’t possibly be real. I’ve escaped death many times, seen things no one should see, and somehow come out of it not only alive but with both my sanity and credit rating intact. There’s no way that could happen. Therefore, I can safely conclude that I don’t exist.”

Tristan and Isa stared at Stotle. The short goblin sighed and patted Tristan on the back. “Get used to it, because he does that four times an hour, more if he’s bored. We can show you the right trails to take to get you where you’re going and stay away from road tolls, but you’ll have to put up with a few days of that nonsense.”

“Why do you want goblin help?” Stotle asked. “We have a well deserved reputation for untrustworthiness going back thousands of years. Logically you should seek aid from anyone else before turning to us.”

“A goblin gave us accurate directions a month ago,” Isa said. “I think he did it to help our daughter more than us, but regardless of his reasoning, it was kind.”

“Goblins has been no worse to us than our own people,” Tristan continued. There was pain in his voice as he stared into the fire. “My father has tried to kill us, and I fear he hunts us even now. Other men have taken advantage of our suffering, charging us unfair prices for food, lodging and transit through their lands. I took a hundred gold imperials at the beginning of this journey and spent them all.”

“Tragic,” Stotle replied. He looked back at the house, now double its original size. “The morning may bring new insights, and if nothing else bring you closer to your goal. I hope it will prove equal to your dreams. Let us put out the fire and retire for the night.”

“If you wouldn’t mind leaving us the fire, we’ll stay here while you…wait.” Tristan stared at the enlarged house. “That building has grown! What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Stotle said. “You were just looking at it from the wrong side to see how big it is. Allow me to open the door, and let’s see, yes! There’s a crib inside, a bit simple, but large enough for your daughter. How thoughtful.”

“But I was looking at it from this side,” Tristan protested. He stared at the house and frowned. “Did something just move above the door?”

“Stop smiling,” Stotle whispered to the house. Louder, he said, “It’s dark and you’re tired. A night’s sleep will make everything better.”

There was a harsh noise from the forest, a gnashing, growling sound. The goblins backed closer together while Tristan and Isa stood up.

“What was that?” the shaggy goblin asked.

Stotle searched the dark forest, trying to find the source of the strange sound. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I have,” Tristan said. “Earlier this night, Isa and I heard it in the forest. It was farther away then. I approached your fire to avoid whatever that is, for it sounds dangerous.”

“Leave the fire burning and get in the house,” Stotle ordered. He rarely showed such determination and authority. The goblins obeyed, but they made sure Tristan and Isa went ahead of them.

There was a rustling noise in the forest, the only warning they had of the attack. The shaggy goblin was knocked over and two more goblins were driven to their knees. Something tried to grab Tristan, but he ducked and punched his attacker. A second attacker grabbed Stotle as it got between them and the open door, and in the light of the fire they saw what they faced.

Isa screamed. Goblins cried out in panic. The two vampires roared in delight at so much terrified prey. White skinned and wrinkled, the vampires wore tattered rags and had long, sharp fingernails. Their ears were long and wide, like a bat’s ears, and their red eyes matched the color of their gaping, toothy maws.

The roars stopped as the vampires got a good look at their victims. “Oh for the love of all that’s foul, it’s a bunch of goblins!”

The second vampire holding Stotle by the throat threw him aside. “Filthy vermin! Your blood’s a stew of toxins. We’d get sick even sipping from your veins, you gutter worms.”

“Being undesirable works in our favor for a change,” the shaggy goblin said.

“I smelled man blood!” bellowed the first vampire. Its eyes narrowed as it saw Tristan and Isa silhouetted by the fire. “Ah, there is a meal here.”

“Leave now and we won’t have a fight,” the short goblin said.

The vampires laughed. “You would threaten us? We are lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh, the ultimate predators! We take what we want, when we want! If you feel like dying, we can oblige you without feeding on your tainted blood, goblin filth.”

Stotle grabbed a burning log off the fire by an unlit end and swung it at the first vampire. He hit it on the foot, and the vampire bent down as he screamed. Stotle swung again and hit the vampire between the legs. As the vampire doubled over, the goblin struck him over the head. The second vampire charged into battle, but Stotle tripped him and set his clothes on fire.

“You see?” Stotle said. “This proves I don’t exist. There’s no way I should have gotten away with that.”

“Inside!” Tristan yelled. The humans and goblins ran into the rattletrap building while the vampires recovered. They’d taken blows that would leave a man moaning in agony, but their wounds healed in seconds. In moments they ran at the door so fast they might as well have been flying, but they were a split second too late. Bang! Tristan slammed the door shut and slid a bar over it.

“Vermin!” the first vampire yelled. “You think this hovel can hold us out?”

“Frankly, yes,” Stotle replied. He peered out a window too narrow for the vampires to reach through. “Vampires can’t enter a building without the owner’s permission.”

The vampires fumed as Tristan added, “None here are fool enough to grant you entry.”

The shaggy goblin grabbed a stick of firewood and broke it to form two pieces with sharp ends. “I’m not dumb enough, but I might be angry enough.”

“That same proscription against uninvited entry prevents you from forcing your way in regardless of how strong you are,” Stotle continued. “The situation is a stalemate. You have no choice but to leave.”

“Rodents don’t dictate terms to lions!” a vampire yelled.

The second vampire put a hand on the first’s shoulder. “Wait. Hear us, prey. Our dread lord Vacast, Lord of Vampires, sent us forth with a task. He seeks the Dawn Lantern, a great treasure not seen for many years. We have searched high and low, in places none but our kind can tread and live.”

“No luck, then?” the shaggy goblin asked.

“Would we be here wasting our time with you sub humans filth if we had succeeded?” the first one yelled. “Do you really expect goblins to know anything? They’re too dumb to know the color of the sky!”

The second vampire rolled its eyes. “Anger management classes just didn’t work with you. My point is, many seek this wonder and have failed. But men and elves can only go where their kind can survive. Goblins live where others can’t. You may have heard of our prize, maybe seen it. We can’t return to our master empty handed. Tell us where it is and we’ll leave you alive. Speak truthfully, for we can hear lies.”

“With those ears I bet you can hear winning lottery numbers on the other side of the planet,” the short goblin quipped.

“I doubt either of them know what color the sky is when they can’t stand the light of day,” Stotle added.

The vampires growled and bared their sharp, glistening fangs. “Speak or die.”

The shaggy goblin held up his hands to get the other’s attention. “Okay, everyone empty out your pockets and see if you got this doohickey.”

“That’s not what I meant!” the second vampire yelled as the occupants of the house duly turned out their pockets. This produced a mound of lint (which Stotle ate), a set of skeleton keys, a pewter spoon and a yak horn, but no Dawn Lantern.

“Has anyone heard of this whatchamacallit?” the short goblin asked.

All eyes turned to Stotle, who shrugged. “I know a ridiculous number of things, but nothing regarding magic lanterns.”

“I do,” Tristan answered. The vampires’ jaws dropped at the news. “It’s one of the fifty most powerful magic items on Other Place, a lantern made of obsidian and lapis, with a diamond at its core.”

The vampires pressed up against the bared door. “Where is it?”

Tristan shrugged. “As you said, it’s been lost for years, so long that all have forgotten who made it or what it can do. The last man to hold it died so long ago his name is forgotten. I only know of the Dawn Lantern from reading books on ancient history.”

“That’s useless!” the first vampire spat.

“What did you expect?” Tristan replied. “If I knew where to find it, I would had recovered it and been a man both rich and feared.”

Scowling, the second vampire pressed him, “Were there hints in your books? Did the authors give clues where it had been last seen?”

Tristan looked worried when he answered. “They listed a dozen kingdoms where he might have lived or passed through, and a hundred cities he visited.”

“If the Dawn Lantern was in any of those places, someone would have been found long ago,” Stotle pointed out.

“Then your books are useless, as are you,” the second vampire said.

Stotle stared them down. “Your prize is not here, and the door will not open before dawn. Leave and seek your lantern elsewhere.”

“We still hunger,” the first vampire growled. It smiled at them, a toothy grin, before saying, “We can’t force the door open, but I’m sure you’ll open it once we set your hovel on fire.”

“That is ethically and morally inexcusable,” Stotle said. “You’ve had our aid so far as we could give it, in spite of the fact that you attacked us. No system of beliefs supports your behavior. You do not have to do this. Regardless of your hunger, you are thinking beings capable of making choices.”

The vampires grinned at him. “Then we choose to see you die.”

Stotle frowned. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man and embrace the vampires.”

The house shuddered as it folded forward over the vampires. Rocks, dirt and logs peeled away as Tristan and Isa screamed. The vampires screamed as well, for the front wall formed into two powerful arms that wrapped around them. In seconds the house was gone and the Model Zero Constructor stood, a golem made of bricks, lumber and iron standing ten feet tall and holding the vampires tightly. They tried to squirm free of its grip, and failed utterly.

“My God,” Isa said.

“Model Zero Constructor, form a house without doors or windows over the vampires,” Stotle ordered.

Timbers that made up the golem separated and scooped up the logs and rocks it had just discarded. The vampires struck the golem and tried to break free, but it was far too strong for them to hurt. It transformed the debris into a small building just big enough to contain the struggling vampires, imprisoning them both.

* * * * *

The goblins spent the night with Tristan, Isa and Mira around the fire. Morning came and the goblins tried to entertain Mira when she woke up. The baby was a good sport about their crude antics, even swatting them with her teddy bear. Tristan foraged for food, and turned up wild greens and a pair of trout. Noon came soon enough, and the goblins gathered around Model Zero.

“Our unwelcome guests made a poor choice last night,” Stotle began. “We must make a choice of our own.”

Tristan frowned. “Indeed. I doubt you intend to leave your golem here to hold them forever.”

“He is our friend, and goes where we go,” Stotle said. “We can’t hold the vampires until nightfall, for releasing them would put us in harm’s way again.”

A muffled voice called out from inside the stout building. “Set us free this night and we swear to leave you in peace.”

“Even if they keep that vow, letting them go means they would go on to feed on others,” Tristan pointed out.

“And we would be responsible for any harm they do,” Stotle added.

“Gold!” a vampire yelled. “We can bring you gold!”

“I’m not that desperate,” Tristan said.

Stotle shrugged. “I don’t want it in the first place. We cannot leave them here, nor can we take them with us and turn them over to the authorities. There is too great a chance they could free themselves if Model Zero tried walking such a great distance while holding them.”

Tristan was silent for a while as he studied the house. “A vampire lives in the city where I was born. He is a piteous thing, forever lamenting his lost humanity, feeding only on blood the butchers bring him, trying so desperately to still be a part of the world he once knew. I spoke with him and sensed a kinship, a person of kindness struggling daily against the curse he lives under.”

“Whereas these two embrace their new form and consider themselves superior to all,” Stotle commented. “It’s possible they might learn from this experience and become better for it, but taking such a risk means others could be put in great danger.”

“I fear we don’t have much of a choice,” Tristan said to Stotle.

“None at all.” Stotle looked up at the sun in the clear blue sky. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man.”

Model Zero reassembled his component parts to become a towering golem again. As the roof of the house peeled off, the two lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh and ultimate predators screamed in terror.

Ballup’s Hole was a terrible name for a community for any number of reasons. It was, sadly, an accurate description. The seaside town was built along a river that flooded often and had recently begun to silt up. Homeowners were busy shoveling mud out of their homes and dumping it on the streets. Humidity was so high that moisture dripped off every structure and tree. A dense fog was rolling in and blotted out what little daylight remained. And the town smelled like manure, salt water and rotting fish.

Brody the goblin stared at the revolting town. “This looks shockingly like a goblin settlement.”

“It has seen better days,” Julius Craton admitted. Julius was the most famous member of the Guild of Heroes, and also their longest serving. Word was that gamblers were taking bets on how much longer the poor man would last. Tall, handsome, well armed with a magic short sword called Sworn Doom, and wearing chain armor and a steel breastplate, he was a sight to intimidate or inspire. “There’s too much moisture. Wood structures decay, are rebuilt, and decay again.”

“How long ago were these better days?” Brody asked. The short goblin had blue skin and darker blue hair. His features were boyish, so much so that some people refused to believe he was a goblin. He had two blue antenna-like growths growing from his forehead and four longer ones sprouting from his back. They served no purpose he’d been able to figure out. Brody wore blue swimming shorts and carried paddles to strap to his feet and hands when swimming, but nothing else. He’d learned the hard way that an armed goblin was a threat to too many people.

“Fifteen years ago.” Julius walked down a rotting wood staircase set into the hillside as he descended to the town. “My first assignment with the guild was in this kingdom. Brigands were raiding settlements in the middle of winter to steal their food, and Ballup’s Hole was the next target. The town was physically better then, but I wouldn’t call those good times.”

“You think we can hire a ship here?”

“It’s the closest town with a harbor. Whether or not the fishermen are willing to take paying passengers is questionable. I’m hoping my history with these people might open doors for us.”

They met a man going up the stairs, and Julius stepped aside to let him pass. This meant stepping in sodding mud with weedy grasses growing out of it. The man tipped his cap, but instead of moving on he stopped and stared. “My word. It’s Julius Craton! Saints and angels, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Julius smiled. “My friend and I are passing through, and—”

“Hey!” The man waved his arms and shouted to men and women in the streets below. “Hey! Julius Craton is back!”

A cheer went up among the citizens of the slovenly town. Humans ran up to greet him and thankfully overlooked Brody. They laughed and smiled, shook his hand, patted him on the back and offered him food and drink. It took the fast growing crowd ten minutes to calm down enough for him to speak.

“It’s a pleasure to have such a warm welcome. I’m glad to see your town is prosperous,” he said without apparent irony. Julius put a hand on Brody’s shoulder and said, “My friend and I are on our way to Oceanview Kingdom. I was hoping that one of your fishermen would be willing to provide us transportation there in return for fair pay.”

“Surely you can stay a few days,” a man asked.

A woman glared balefully at Brody. “Why is he with a goblin?”

“I’m afraid the people of Oceanview need my help as you once did,” he told the crowd. “As much as I would like to spend time with you, I can’t without leaving others in dangers. I hope you’ll forgive my poor manners in refusing your generous offer.”

A man in muddy leather clothes pointed at the approaching fog. “Much as we’d love to help, no boats are leaving harbor until the fog clears. Sir, our town still exists because of you and your brother warriors in the guild. Allow us to open our doors to you at least until the weather improves.”

Julius frowned at being delayed. “I suppose a day lost won’t affect my mission. Is the Wind’s Whim Inn still in business?”

A portly man in the crowd laughed and waved for him to come further. “We’re open and happy to have you!”

Brody and Julius were escorted through the sloppy settlement. Up close it was even more depressing, with garbage thrown out windows onto the street, rats scampering in the alleys and loose dogs yapping at children. Brody saw signs of goblins, including graffiti like ‘Goblin Builders! Watch it rot while we build it!’ He also spotted a few goblins slinking through the shadows.

They were brought to a two story tall building with mushrooms sprouting out of the walls. The portly man opened the doors to show the interior a bit better off, with dry floors, sturdy tables and chairs, and a staircase leading to a second floor. That floor was more like a large balcony overlooking the first floor, and had a bar and five tables with plenty of stools. Some enterprising goblin had scratched, ‘An apple a day only keeps the doctor away if your aim is good.’ on a wall. There were large windows facing the ocean that showed the approaching fog. Brody saw three patrons, but fifteen men and women from the crowd joined them inside. To their credit, only five of them looked like they would like to kill the goblin.

“Please, take a seat at the bar and I’ll get you a drink,” the portly man said. He climbed the stairs ahead of Julius and said, “You probably don’t remember me after so many years. I’m Iggy Wilvet. Back when the brigands attacked, you handed me a spear and we held the main barricade with the menfolk. Someone go fetch the sheriff. He’ll want to meet you, what with you saving his father’s life back then.”

Most of the crowd peeled off. Some begged forgiveness for doing so and swore they had work they couldn’t avoid. Others promised to return and bring friends with them. A middle-aged woman vowed to bring her son, who she’d named after Julius. This left them with a smaller crowd of admirers determined to stay.

“I’m glad to see you well,” Julius told him. “Has it been peaceful?”

“No real trouble,” Iggy told him. He got behind the bar and poured Julius a drink. “There’s the occasional thief, and we had a strange beast come up from the sea and attack the fish market. Lost a lot of the catch before we drove it off. Goblins cause trouble now and again. Your, ah goblin, he’s tame?”

Julius respected Brody for reasons the goblin never understood, and as always came to his defense. “I know Brody and saw him risk his life for the good of others. He has my respect and he deserves yours.”

“A tame goblin, that’s a first,” a boorish woman said. Julius frowned at her, and the woman had the decency to look ashamed.

Brody was used to that kind of talk. Goblins were the lowest of the low, and it was partially earned given their reputation for setting traps and causing chaos. Everyone he met (except Julius) assumed Brody was seconds away from doing something stupid. From time to time he was tempted to live up to their expectations, but there was something about Julius that changed you. The more time a person spent around him, the more you wanted to be like him, to make him like you. Brody had never acted much like a goblin, and after months with Julius he was considered civilized by those who met him.

A younger woman smiled and ran her fingers through Brody’s hair. “I think he’s cute. If all goblins were this nice they’d be welcome more places.”

“If we were welcome more places we’d be nicer,” Brody replied. He walked up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Aren’t most bars on the ground floor?”

“Most bars don’t have to worry about flooding,” Iggy countered. “I keep the casks up here or they’d mold. Tarnation, the town wasn’t this wet in my daddy’s day.”

Iggy handed Julius a leather cup of ale. “If you vouch for the goblin then he’s welcome. Say, I’d heard you haven’t married yet.”

The drink stopped before it reached Julius’ lips. “No, I haven’t. My job leaves no time for family.”

Iggy waved for a serving boy. “Don’t just stand there, get him a plate. It’s a pity, sir, truly a pity. A man shouldn’t be alone. My oldest, Helga, she’s marrying age, you know.” Julius nearly choked on his drink, which Iggy didn’t notice. Instead he continued his sales pitch, saying, “She’s learned good manners and is handy with a needle and thread, and you couldn’t ask for a better cook.”

One of the men punched Iggy in the arm. “Can you stop trying to palm off your daughter to every passerby?”

“What? She’d be a good match for him.”

Julius regained his breath and set down the cup. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me that you’d have me as a son-in-law. I’m sorry to say that wouldn’t be a good move. Life in the guild is dangerous and I’d hate to leave her a widow. You should know that some of my enemies have threated to kill the people I love. Your daughter would be in danger as my wife.”

Brody stifled a laugh and asked Julius, “Is that the fourth or fifth proposal this year?”

“Eighth,” Julius said under his breath. “You weren’t around for the more private ones.”

It was a certainty that Julius received offers of marriage, some of them rather indecent, at every town or city he visited. His reputation for valor, honesty and success in battle drew a steady stream of admirers. Many left when they learned he was nearly broke (saving kingdoms not being a well paying job when those kingdoms were broke), but some women weren’t deterred by his relative poverty.

Julius honestly didn’t know how to react to such offers. Brody had seen time and again that Julius was calm and decisive on the battlefield, almost supernaturally so. Put him in a social situation, however, and he floundered. He couldn’t relate to people outside of a conflict, and at parties would inevitably retreat to a quiet corner until the confusion was over.

“What sort of problems is Oceanview having that they’d need you?” a young man asked. “I’d heard they were happy as could be over there.”

“Their king is organizing a raid against pirates,” Julius lied. “He believes they’re survivors of the old Pirate Lords trying to make a comeback after their masters were defeated.”

The townspeople flinched at the news. One managed to say, “Mercy, I thought that scourge was long gone.”

Hunting pirates was the cover story for Julius’ trip to Oceanview. Their king was really interested in wiping out a criminal gang hundreds strong that had taken root in his capital, Sunset City, and he hoped to make the attack a surprise. Heroes like Julius Craton, Hammerhand Loudlungs the ogre and the nameless elf were heading for Oceanview from different locations, and together with the king’s men would rout the gang. It promised to be difficult, bloody and not that profitable given Oceanview was deep in debt. Nonetheless, the Guild of Heroes had promised help because they knew such problems grew if left unchecked.

Iggy slapped Julius on the back. “Ah, what’s a man like you got to worry about some pirates, eh? I heard how you showed that loser the Fallen King what for, and after that a snake cult.”

“It was a secret society, not a cult,” Julius corrected him. A serving boy brought Julius a plate of broiled fish and toasted bread. “Thank you. You can’t underestimate your enemies. I’ve seen too many surprises to take a foe for granted.”

“I’m glad you’re here if there’s pirates about,” Iggy told him. “Mercy, it seems every time you turn your back there’s another problem. Monsters, bandits, wars, pirates, lawyer infestations, it never ends. You ever hear of the philosopher Loopy Joe?”

Julius dug into his meal and passed the fish bones to Brody, who gobbled them up. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.”

“He doesn’t live far from here.” Iggy whistled. “Poor man used to be a university professor with all kinds of awards. His king had Joe fired for criticizing him and then confiscated his house. Joe went to live in the wilderness outside Kenton, and ended up smack dab in the path of the Eternal Army. He lost another house to those immortal loonies. Now he’s holed up in a cave by the seaside. We offered to let him live with us, but Joe said he’s safer where he’s at.”

The younger woman next to Brody looked sad. “The poor man did everything right and lost it all again and again. It makes you wonder how safe any of us really are.”

A man to Julius’ right tugged on his arm. “Hey, there’s this elf who comes by all the time trying to get us to buy tree seeds. He calls them living houses, and says they’ll grow fast and have hollowed out rooms we could live in. It sounded like bull plop to us, but after replacing my roof three times in ten years, I’m wondering if there’s something to it. Have you heard about these trees?”

Julius looked up from his meal. “It’s funny you should mention that. I’ve heard the same story in four other towns, but never seen these house trees. I assume it’s some sort of magic…”

Bop! Brody got hit in the head with an acorn. He looked around and saw a goblin climbing into the inn from a window. The other goblin had long black hair, green skin, a short tail and wore rags. No one else had seen him, and the new goblin waved for Brody to join him. Brody slipped away while Julius was talking to the humans and went to see the newcomer.

“Hi there.” Brody tossed him the acorn. Hitting someone in the head to get their attention was considered acceptable among goblins, provided you threw light objects.

“You have to go. There are crazy men about.”

Brody pointed at Julius. “He’s a bit off in the head, but he’s okay once you get to know him.”

“Not him. Crazy men are coming in with the fog. They’ve got weapons and are heading for the inn. Follow me and I’ll get you to safety.”

The other goblin tried to take Brody by the arm, but he took off like a shot and ran over to Julius. He tugged on the hero’s leg and said, “We’ve got armed men coming this way.”

“Fool goblin, you heard me call for the sheriff,” Iggy scoffed.

Julius stood up and pushed his plate away. “Why would he come armed to meet me, and with backup?”

The crowd’s jubilant mood died, and they turned toward the inn’s entrance. Men wearing dark cloaks and black clothes knocked the door open and poured into the first floor. They were armed, some with swords and the rest with a mix of axes, spears, and one man had a bow. They spread out and one of them pointed a sword at Julius.

“It’s Julius Craton all right,” the stranger snarled. “Kill him.”

Black clad men charged up the stairs with two spearmen in front. Townspeople screamed and tried to flee. Their panic doubled once they realized the only exit was blocked. The goblin with the tail climbed out a window and shouted, “Come on, let’s go!”

“I’m very sorry about the mess I’m going to make,” Julius told Iggy. He ran to the staircase, and on the way he grabbed a table by the leg. He was still running when he threw it at the spearmen. The table hit a man in the chest and bowled him over, then knocked over two more men behind him.

The enemy archer notched an arrow and fired. Julius lifted another table and the arrow struck it. The enemies on the stairs recovered and pushed on while Julius blocked a second arrow. He lifted the table over his head and hurled it onto the men below, striking the archer and knocking him to the floor.

Two spearmen reached the second floor and went after Julius. Brody grabbed a bar stool and went after the one on the right. He slid the stool on its side and placed it in front of the man. The spearman was so focused on Julius that he didn’t notice the obstacle until his foot came down between the seat and crossbars. Brody then shoved the stool as hard as he could, toppling the spearman.

The second spearman lunged at Julius. Julius stepped aside and grabbed the spear with his right hand and the spearman’s arm with his left. Instead of pushing him back, Julius pulled the man forward, sending him into and then through a window. The spearman screamed as he fell to the muddy ground below.

Brody saw the spearman he’d trip scowl and climb to his hands and knees. He got no farther as Julius ran over and kicked him with enough force to lift the man in the air and spin him onto his back. The man was already howling in pain when Julius swung his fists like hammers and struck at the base of the man’s ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Wounded and gasping for breath, he was a threat to no one.

Three more men reached the second floor while Julius and Brody dealt with the first two. Two men attacked Julius from the front while the third tried to get behind him. Like the spearmen, they ignored Brody, and they paid for it. The little goblin grabbed a tankard of ale off a still standing table and threw it in the face of a swordsman. Julius grabbed the temporarily blinded man and shoved him into a second one, toppling both.

Brody saw the third man veer off to attack him, and the little goblin scooted under a table. Thunk! The man’s sword lopped off a table leg and the table tipped over. He raised his sword for another swing when Julius grabbed him from behind, spun him around and shoved him off the second floor.

Below them, the archer looked up in time to see the swordsman falling onto him, and had just enough time to scream, “Not again!”

The rest of the gang was trying to get up the stairs to join the fight when Brody saw Iggy roll a twenty-gallon barrel across the floor. The barrel sloshed as he pushed it to the stairs, and rolled down them with a series of bangs as it hit each step. The foes on the stairs ran back down or dove off to avoid the awkward weapon. The barrel went on rolling and actually went out he front door. Bizarre as the scene was, it bought Julius and Brody precious seconds.

The remaining swordsmen facing Julius scrambled to their feet and found the hero charging them. He was on top of them before they could attack, so close they couldn’t use their swords effectively. He drove his fist into one man’s gut and doubled him over, leaving Brody to clobber the man over the head with a stool. The second man backed up, careful to stay away from the stairs and edge of the second floor. His caution spared him only for a moment.

Julius pulled the sword off his belt, taking it scabbard and all. The last of the three swordsmen tried an overhead swing, which Julius blocked. This left him open as the swordsman drew a dagger from his belt and tried to stab Julius in the gut. The blade hit his chest plate and skidded off it. Julius stepped forward and jammed the butt of his sword into the man’s gut. The swordsman gasped and was pushed back, where Brody waited with the stool he’d grabbed. He struck the man in the back of the knees, knocking him over backwards. Julius kicked him off the second floor to the growing pile of men below.

“They really need railings in this place,” Brody said.

Iggy ran up to them with a pitcher full of ale. “We used to have them. Termites, they’re devils on six legs.”

The rest of the gang forced their way up the stairs. Brody couldn’t figure out why they were so determined. So far they’d lost six men with nothing to show for it. It should have been enough to make them flee. Regardless of their losses, four axmen joined the battle, followed by their leader with a sword.

“The town sheriff is on his way,” Julius said as they advanced. “Townspeople will rally to him and overwhelm you. You can only find death here. I give my word that if you surrender you’ll face justice but not execution.”

“Your word means nothing!” the enemy leader yelled. “Your ways are slavery, your honor a lie and your name is poison! Your death is freedom to the people! Kill him!”

The axmen formed a line and charged. Iggy splashed ale in their faces, but they’d expected this and all but one turned away in time. The enemies chopped apart or knocked over furniture in their way. Julius kept his sword sheathed but held it tight. He gripped the handle hard and prepared to draw his blade.

That was when the inn’s patrons ran screaming into the enemy’s rear, armed with bottles, stools, kitchen knives and their fists. Seeing Julius face these foes and win had replaced their fear with courage and then rage. The axmen cried out in shock as eighteen men and women swarmed over them, grappling them, striking them, even biting them. Numbers and surprise was enough to bring the four men to their knees and then the floor.

An older man put an axman in a headlock and punched him in the face. “We stood strong once, and we’ll do it a thousand times more!”

“You fools, we’re doing this for you!” the axman screamed. That earned him another punch to the face.

Alone and facing a man better armed, better armored and battle hardened, the enemy leader should have run for his life. Instead he ran screaming into the fight and went straight for Julius. He slashed at Julius’ exposed face, and Julius barely raised his sword in time to block the swings. The man kept screaming, droplets of spit spraying from his mouth, sweat pouring off him as he attacked.

Brody jumped onto the pile of outraged citizens and defeated axmen. He ran across the struggling men and women before jumping onto the enemy leader’s back and wrapped both arms around his face. The man swung wildly with his sword while he grabbed Brody with his free hand and pulled. Brody grunted under the strain but held on. Julius batted aside the enemy leader’s sword and punched him hard. The blow staggered the leader and was followed by four more punches. The leader screamed in outrage and pain before two more hits brought him to his knees. One last punch to the gut dropped him alongside his men.

The fight was over less than five minutes after it started. There was no cheering the victory or toasting, just exhausted men and women glad to be alive. Their enemies were so battered that few could stand and none could offer battle.

Julius helped Brody up. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll heal.” Brody pointed at the man at Julius’ feet. “This seemed personal. Do you know him?”

Julius took the man by the shoulders and set him against a wall. He took off his hood to reveal a young man barely old enough to shave. “No. He hasn’t got scars or tattoos. Iggy, have you seen him before?”

Iggy left his patrons holding the last four men prisoners and headed over. He stopped in front of the leader and frowned. “Not in my whole life.”

Battered and broken, the youth spat at Julius. “You killed my father!”

Julius stared at the youth. “I’ve fought for fifteen years. I imaging that I’ve killed quite a few men’s fathers.”

“You don’t even remember him!” the youth screamed. “I was a child when my father joined the rebellion against the king. I was four when I heard you’d killed him and all the others. Our movement died, our hope died, our chance for a future died at your hands! You called us brigands when we were trying to save these people!”

“Save us?” Iggy spat. “You robbed others and would have done the same to us, leaving whole families to starve. Help like that we don’t need!”

“We needed food for the revolution! We could have overthrown the king and recast the kingdom. Taxes would be lower, punishments lighter.”

Brody picked through the belongings of the defeated men. There was some nifty loot here. “And the few who survived would have appreciated it.”

One of the axmen stared in horror at Julius. “We trained for month. You, you beat us and didn’t even draw your sword.”

Julius unsheathed his short sword and held it up. The magic blade glowed like a lantern, lighting up the entire inn. He swung it at an enemy’s sword on the floor and hacked through it as if it were made of balsa wood. “I wanted to question you after the fight. Sworn Doom tends to leave enemies in pieces.”

“It’s one of my strong points,” the sword said. People gasped and Julius sheathed his blade.

Armed men raced into the inn, led by a black and gold clad man with a shield and saber. Iggy pointed to the man in black and gold and said, “Sheriff, the inn was attacked. These vermin were after Mr. Craton.”

The sheriff nodded to Julius. “You’re a blessing wherever you go, sir. We’ll put these dogs in chains and turn them over to the king’s men the first chance we get.”

Men with the sheriff took change of the defeated revolutionaries and dragged them away. Their leader had to be carried out after the injuries he’d taken. He stared balefully at Julius, screaming, “My men and I are lost, but hundreds more stand ready to strike. You can’t resist the future!”

Brody watched the men until they were gone and then glanced at Julius. “You think he’s bluffing?”

“No. Those men were determined and already inside the town. Their weapons were in good condition and worth over a hundred guilders. This has the hallmarks of an organized and well-financed movement. We’re going to have to deal with this before we move onto Oceanview.”

Iggy neared Julius. “Sir, ah, what you said to the fool boy about his father…”

Julius looked down. “Villains have family the same as the good. I’ve tried to fight for honorable causes, but there’s no denying that I’ve left wives widowed and children orphaned. Iggy, I appreciated your help and that of the others here, but you should have left me to handle this. I’m the only one here with armor! You could have been killed.”

The older man in the crowd spat. “I fought beside you once, and I’ll be a goblin’s uncle before I let you stand alone. No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Brody told him.

Iggy pointed his empty pitcher at Brody. “If he can help then so should we, and it looks like you’re going to need us again sooner rather than later.”

Sore and tired, Brody sat down in a corner. Hundreds of armed men? Mercy! Things were about to get crazy in Ballop’s Hollow. He saw the green goblin climbed back into the inn and give him a pitying look.

“I tried to get you out in time,” the other goblin said. “Why wouldn’t you come?”

It was a good question, one which Brody had trouble answering. In the end he pointed at Julius, who was already speaking with the townspeople about how many weapons they had and which towns were close enough to turn to for help. Julius had been in fights as bad or worse than this since he was fifteen. Chances were good he’d die in battle long before he got white hair.

“Julius saves people,” Brody finally said, and went to help his friend. “Someone’s got to save him.”

“Huzza!”

Blowback the goblin threw himself to the dirt floor of his house when the front door was smashed in. He scrambled back as the human (it had to be a human) knelt down and forced his way in, knocking over furniture Blowback had built or liberated over the years. Cheap, flimsy chairs broke. His favorite and only table lost three legs, and the fourth one looked iffy. Blowback’s collection of wigs went next, kicked into the fireplace where they burst into flames. Note to self: keep oiled wigs away from open fire.

Terrified and wigless, Blowback ran for the back door. He’d nearly reached it when the human swung his sword and got it stuck in the nearest wall. It was lodged in good, and Blowback watched the human try to pull it out. One try, two tries, nothing, and on the third attempt the sword came out so suddenly that the man lost his balance and banged his head on the ceiling. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head with both hands.

Still standing by the back door, Blowback watched the invader groaning on his floor. “That looked painful.”

The human whimpered and tried to get up, then crumpled back to the floor. With the threat to his life temporarily over, Blowback studied his invader. He was a human, all right, male, youngish, dressed in leather armor and a heavy winter cloak. The man had lost his broad brimmed hat when he hit his head, showing messy brown hair with a generous helping of dandruff. His weapon was a short sword, well suited for tight quarters and showing a fair number of nicks.

Blowback had never seen the man before today. Was he a brigand? There were some on the roads these days, and winter was making them desperate. Had someone hired a cut-rate goblin hunter? That seemed more likely since brigands usually worked in groups.

Keeping well back in case of trouble, Blowback said, “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“What?” the man asked. He sounded irritable, as people who’ve rammed their heads into solid objects often do.

“My name is Blowback,” the goblin told his guest/assailant. Blowback was short, bald, and had wrinkly pale blue skin. This would be abnormal for most races, but goblin skin colors covered the rainbow, and several colors that had no place on it. His clothes were raggedy leather garments discarded long ago by a boy who’d outgrown them. Blowback was unarmed but had a few daggers and short clubs within easy reach. Even with weapons nearby, he far preferred running from conflicts rather than fighting. The small and weak know how such battles usually end. “Who are you?”

The man struggled to his knees. “Ofenos. Oh, that hurts.”

“Nice to meet you, Ofenos. It would be nicer if you hadn’t busted up my house. Is this about that chicken, because I apologized yesterday.”

Ofenos rubbed his bruised head. “Chicken? You stole a chicken?”

“Stole is such an ugly word,” Blowback said casually. “The chicken was a poor guest, so I returned it. The farmer was so grateful to get it back that it’s currently boiling in a soup. Farmers and livestock have a curious relationship.”

“Right, no chicken,” Ofenos muttered. He regained his earlier bravado and pointed his sword at Blowback. “Dinner is off, so let’s move on to dessert. Hand over your treasure or die here and now.”

“Treasure?” Blowback looked around his home. It was a single room twenty feet across and four feet high, dug into the side of a hill. The floor was packed dirt, while the walls and ceiling were reinforced with scrap lumber. His stone fireplace was small and barely warmed the house in such cold weather. He liked his house, but among other races it would be considered abject poverty.

“Gold, coins, gems, furs!”

“I think you hit your head a tad harder than is normally considered healthy. I’m a goblin, a race known for setting traps, causing mischief and otherwise being pests. Money and goblins seldom cross paths and never for long.”

“Don’t give me that!” Ofenos’ tone was a warning, and he edged closer to the goblin. “Goblins steal. You steal chickens.”

“I was offering it asylum. You’d think it would be grateful after what happened to the other chickens, but I turned it over to the authorities after what it did to my bed. Can we get back to this treasure misconception?”

Ofenos recovered his hat and put it on. “Look, cretin, I’m in a foul mood, I have an empty belly and emptier coin pouch. Mock me, lie to me or try to trick me, and so help me blood will flow this night. I’m giving you more chances than I should given what your foul kind has done.”

Reason wasn’t working, so Blowback fell back on the ancient goblin tradition of being obnoxious. “Excuse me, but there’s a door, table and three chairs in pieces, which kind of suggests who the troublemaker is here! Did you knock, because I didn’t hear a knock before you came in like a drunken ram! How’s your head?”

“Getting better. I don’t think there’s any bleeding. It’s a known fact that monsters living at the edge of civilized lands raid towns. You’re close enough to the town of Ethos that you could spit on it, so I know you’ve been looting their homes.”

Blowback grabbed a broken chair leg and jabbed it at the fireplace. His wigs had landed in it during the initial attack, and were replaced by ashes. “Yeah, I’ve been there, and you just torched my ‘loot’, Chucko! I had three very nice wigs to keep my head warm. It’s mighty cold outside, and thanks to you I’ve got nothing to put on my head.”

Ofenos folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t give me that load of bull plop! Am I supposed to believe you’d steal wigs and pass up gold and gems?”

Blowback rolled his eyes. “Have you been in Ethos? Not walked through it, I mean been in people’s houses. Last summer’s harvest was confiscated to feed the army. All of it! Men are so hungry they’re foraging in the wilderness for small game. They’re eating ground squirrels, which are admittedly pretty tasty, but they’re still rodents! Men with gold don’t eat rodents!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” Blowback tossed aside the chair leg and marched out of his house.

“Where are you going?” Ofenos demanded.

“Outside! You think there’s money in my house? Good luck finding it.”

Blowback went out the door and came onto the side of the hill. It was dusk and cold and snowing a bit, little flakes that never add up to much. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep warm while Ofenos ransacked his house for treasure that wasn’t there. It was humiliating.

It also left him looking at the town of Ethos. Cooking fires burned at every house as men and women ate whatever scraps of food they could collect. A few men were still returning from distant fields and streams with snared birds, small mammals, the occasional fish and a few freshwater clams. Hunger had made them desperate, and for the first time in living memory they were competing with goblins for food.

Two more goblins hurried over. A red hued goblin with orange hair asked, “What happened? We heard a crash.”

Blowback pointed at his ruined door. “There’s a human in there trying to rob me. He thinks I have money.”

The red goblin scratched his head. “So…he’s an idiot.”

The second goblin was so covered in mismatched clothes that he had no exposed skin. He coughed up a hairball and asked, “Where’d he get a fool idea like that?”

“We rob humans, don’t you know,” Blowback said sarcastically. “It’s common knowledge, which makes me think ignorance is a virtue.”

“I’m surprised he found you,” the red goblin said. “Your front door was well camouflaged.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t leave a trail of breadcrumbs,” Blowback retorted. A broken chair came sailing out the front door to land in the thin dusting of snow. He watched it tumble down the hill and into the side of a peasant’s house. “I liked that chair. It was my favorite.”

Looking merry, the red goblin offered, “It wouldn’t be much work to bring the ceiling down on him.”

“And bury the few things I own he hasn’t smashed?” Blowback asked. “Have either of you got a wig to spare? I lost mine.”

The second goblin coughed up some yarn and shook his head. “Sorry. Is he going to attack everyone’s house? It’s bad enough you losing everything without the rest of us doing it.”

Blowback shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure why he’s doing it. I’ve never seen the guy before tonight. Maybe he’s just that poor and is wandering around looking for scraps. Lots of people are doing that. No joke, I saw a woman going through the mayor’s garbage before I got there. She didn’t leave me much.”

“It doesn’t bode well, and there’s another month until spring,” the red goblin said. “What if we smoked him out? Okay, your expression tells me the answer is no, but we could at least run in there and steal his pants. Come on, you got to teach him a lesson or he’ll do it again.”

Blowback’s attention returned to the town. Most of the houses were small and made of thatch. Most, but not all. The mayor’s residence was a large stone building, and ground squirrels were never part of his menu. Goblins were as a rule troublesome, ever ready to cause chaos, and after a night like this Blowback was ready to spread the misfortune to someone who deserved it.

Ofenos crawled out of Blowback’s house. The man was dirty and looked angry and confused. “I don’t get it. The adventurers’ guild told me there was money to be had in the countryside. Bounties, monsters, treasures to discover, but there’s nothing here.”

“You’re an adventurer?” Blowback asked.

“And an experienced one!” the man yelled back. Distant men heard him and hurried off. They’d caught some food and weren’t keen on being robbed. Getting louder and attracting even more attention, Ofenos added, “I’ve guarded caravans, protected important people, hunted devil rats—”

“And after all that you thought goblins had money,” Blowback interrupted. He saw Ofenos look at the two new goblins. Eager to forestall another mugging, he said, “They don’t have money, either.”

“Where would we have gotten this bonanza?” the red goblin asked. He pointed at the town and added, “Seriously, you have to know it wasn’t from there.”

“I don’t know, robbing travelers, digging up graves, eating adventurers,” Ofenos replied.

Blowback covered his face with one hand. “He thinks we eat people. Where are you getting this from? And I want names, not this ‘everybody knows’ nonsense! Some clod is telling gullible halfwits like you that we eat people, God only knows why when there are plenty of leather scraps at the tanners in town, and idiots are buying it! We have to put a stop to this before we invite people for dinner and they think they’re on the menu!”

Ofenos hesitated before asking, “You eat leather?”

“Among other things, none of which are people,” Blowback told him.

The second goblin coughed up a button. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to get that up all day.”

Ofenos looked miserable. He lifted his arms and let them drop to his sides. “This is impossible. It’s five days walk to the next town. What do I do if there’s no work there?”

“I’d be more worried about no food there,” the red goblin said.

“I’ve got debts!” Ofenos yelled. “Talfith Bank is going to send collection agents after me soon. Costing an arm and a leg isn’t a figure of speech with them.”

Feeling just a smidgen of sympathy, Blowback said, “Which explains why you need money so bad. The way I see it, you need cash and I need you out of my life. Fortunately I see a solution to both our problems.”

Ofenos’ jaw dropped. “You do? Where?”

“Come on. You guys come, too.”

Blowback led Ofenos and the two goblins into town. Goblins and strangers with swords would normally attract attention from the authorities. Tonight, however, they had the streets to themselves. It was dark and cold, and every door in town was locked and barred by frightened residents. The men and women had eked out just enough food to keep them alive for another day, and they weren’t going to risk losing it to thieves or monsters.

They reached the mayor’s house, a stone building two stories high and large enough for fifty people. This was a curious state given only eight humans lived there. Smoke rose from the chimney and carried the scent of roasting pork. The windows were closed but not shuttered, and light streamed out onto the snowy streets.

“This is the home of Mayor Cathem,” Blowback explained. “He’s the king’s representative in these parts and responsible for maintaining order and collecting taxes.”

“And he’ll hire me?” Ofenos asked.

Blowback frowned. Ofenos wasn’t connecting the dots and would need a hand. “No. Those taxes I mentioned were collected at knifepoint earlier this month and stored in a steel lockbox, about a foot long, half as wide and three inches deep. Royal tax collectors don’t come to town until spring, which gives the mayor plenty of time to skim off a percentage for himself like he does every year. You want gold? There it is.”

Ofenos took a step back. “Wait a minute! I’m an adventurer, not a thief!”

“I’m not seeing much of a difference after you tried to rob me earlier,” Blowback replied.

“It’s simple,” Ofenos said. “Rob a goblin, a monster, a criminal or some jabbering foreigner and no one cares. Some folks will even thank you. Rob a mayor and you’re a thief. The world comes down on your head, with knights and bounty hunters and adventurers and soldiers. They won’t ask for the money back. They’ll kill you and take it off your body!”

Blowback rolled his eyes. “Amateurs. The authorities can only hunt you if they know who you are. You’re new in town or I would have seen you before tonight. If you cover up your face nobody can identify you, and if you run fast you can reach the nearest city with tens of thousands of people before anyone comes after you. Nobody’s going to find you, or even know who to look for.”

Pointing a sword at the house, Ofenos asked, “That man is going to have soldiers to uphold the law. I can take two to one odds and win, but I can’t fight an entire town’s worth of soldiers.”

“They’re busy,” Blowback said. “I paid the mayor a visit last night and trapped the toilet.”

The red goblin smiled and pointed at Blowback. “That was you?”

“Marvelous work!” the other goblin said, and shook Blowback’s hand.

“The point is, on the way out I made some passing references to living in Fenti Bog,” Blowback continued. “This morning the mayor sent his soldiers to said bog to find and kill me. They’re miles away and no doubt cold, wet and angry. So, no soldiers.”

Ofenos looked at the mayor’s house. “No soldiers.”

“No soldiers and one lockbox full of cash,” Blowback said. He went to the nearest window and waved for Ofenos to join him. “Look over there. Those are brass candlestick holders. Do you know how much those go for? No seriously, how much?”

“A couple silver pieces,” Ofenos told him. “You get more for silver candlestick holders, and way more for gold ones.”

“The point is those shiny beauties are the same as money. And I see silverware on the table, and the mayor has a gold ring. This house is like a giant treasure chest filled with goodies. I bet you could pay off your entire debt to Talfith Bank with what’s here. All you have to do is bust in there, like you did at my place, not ram your head into a wall or ceiling, grab the loot and run for it.”

Ofenos backed up. “I don’t know.”

“What else can you do?” Blowback asked. “You can walk for days with no food to the next town and hope they have work, or someone you can legally rob. You can wander around here looking for monsters with cash or treasure, except there aren’t any. The last monster in the area was a griffin with no money, no gems or artwork, just a bad disposition. The townspeople ate him. Or you can go to your bank and ask them to be reasonable, or at least merciful.”

That suggestion made Ofenos and all three goblins burst out laughing. When they finished wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, Blowback said, “I’ll grant you the last choice was a joke, but you’re out of options. Look at it this way; you’re only doing it once. Tell your friends you beat up a monster and found all that nice stuff. They’ll believe you, because they’re so mind bogglingly stupid that they think goblins eat people. Nobody will know except us, and who believes goblins? And later on, when legitimate work for adventurers come up, you can keep your mouth shut about this and take the job.”

“I, uh,” Ofenos stammered. He stared at the house, drooling at the scent of cooking food. He took a scarf from a pocket, wrapped it over his mouth, and headed for the door.

Then he knocked.

Blowback’s jaw dropped. The red goblin shook his head. The last goblin put a hand over his face. But to their collective amazement, the door opened.

“Huzza!” Ofenos ran in with his sword drawn. Men and women screamed. The goblins didn’t follow him in, instead waiting outside to watch the chaos in relative safety.

The red goblin looked at Blowback. “You talked an adventurer who wanted to kill you into becoming a bandit and robbing the mayor. That, sir, was some mighty fine work.”

“I am feeling a bit of pride right now,” Blowback admitted. He saw a chair fly through a window, sending glass shards and broken furniture across the street. “It’s actually kind of nice watching him happen to someone else.”

The other goblin picked up a broken chair leg and chewed on it. “He’s got a real talent for needless violence. He’s also as bright as a coal pile. I think that boy’s got a bright future ahead of him in politics.”

“Hey, wait a minute, there’s making fun of a guy and there’s being offensive,” Blowback said. Another window shattered, and they heard pottery breaking inside the house. “He’s sure taking his time.”

“He’s being thorough,” the red goblin replied. “I mean, if you’re going to do it, do it right.”

Moments later, Ofenos ran out of the mayor’s house with no one in pursuit. He had a bag filled with loot over his right shoulder, the lockbox under his left arm and a pork roast under the other. Breathless, he ran off into the night, never to be seen again.

* * * * *

The next morning was a time of confusion. Soldiers returned from Fenti Bog dirty, tired, dispirited and hungry. They were immediately sent out again, except they had no idea where they were going. Mayor Cathem’s steward called together the entire population of the town. These men and women frankly had better things to do in such harsh times, and it showed on their faces. Goblins gathered at the edge of the crowd to see what was going on, including Blowback.

Blowback still had to repair his house and replace destroyed furniture, no easy task for a small goblin. It could take weeks or longer, using time better spent trapping outhouses or painting caricatures of famous people on the sides of cows. Still, meetings like this could be entertaining provided he kept out of sight, so he waited for the show to start.

The steward rang a bell to get the people’s attention and then began to speak. “Good people of Ethos, last night the honorable Mayor Cathem was brutally attacked in his own home. The intruder did assault him, his servants and his cat. The intruder also stole goods valued at—”

Mayor Cathem, a short, man with long white hair and fresh bandages, tugged on his steward’s coat sleeve and whispered to him. The steward frowned and asked, “How will they know what to bring you if I don’t tell them what was stolen? Okay, okay, you’re the boss. The intruder stole goods of value from your mayor, goods that must be recovered in their entirety. Any citizen or visitor who captures the intruder or returns the goods will be rewarded with—”

Another whispered conversation followed. The steward spoke loud enough that the crowd could hear him, making for a one sided and embarrassing conversation. “Sir, you have to offer a reward in these situations. Because they’re risking their lives for you! No, I do understand, it’s just with a little work you can…fine. What if you offered a deferred reward, like reducing their taxes next year? It’s not insane! I just think…”

The steward looked like he was about to snap, and with the soldiers gone again no one was present to protect the mayor if that happened. But with a superhuman level of restraint, the steward held back his rage. “You will receive the mayor’s thanks for returning his stolen property. Thanks cannot be inferred to mean money, livestock, food, tools, kitchenware, land, reduced taxation or anything else you might actually want. That is all.”

Blowback noticed a total lack of enthusiasm among the crowd as they dispersed. They had another long day of foraging for food ahead of them, and with no incentive they had zero interest in hunting down an armed robber. The mayor and his steward shared harsh words before leaving. But as they walked away, Blowback saw the mayor’s hairline go up an inch until he pulled it back down.

“That’s not his real hair,” Blowback whispered. He grinned and rubbed his hands together. He’d lost a lot last night, including his three wigs, and it looked like the dear mayor would be helping the goblin rebuild.

Goblins seldom have a place in civilized society, mostly because few being appreciate having their toilets trapped. Still, there has always been a tendency to blame others for your own failings, and goblins have long been a convenient scapegoat for the crimes of their neighbors. But on rare occasions goblins find themselves tolerated if not welcomed.

Goblin Masks

Humans had already settled the kingdom of Long Land centuries ago when a fleet of refugees sailed to their shores. These newcomers were fleeing war and oppression in a neighboring land. Their ships were so damaged and their supplies so low that they had no choice but to stay where they washed ashore.

King Jasper of Long Land welcomed the newcomers and did his best to settle them among his own people. Strategically it was a wise move, as Long Land had a small population and needed more citizens to work the land and defend its borders. Wise it may have been, but it wasn’t popular with either side. The original population didn’t want to compete with the newcomers for jobs, land and rare government posts. Newcomers felt they were being given the worst land to settle and denied positions of honor and prestige, effectively relegated to being second class citizens.

While both groups were humans, there were differences in their appearance. The newcomers were from a different ethnic group than the original residents, with darker skin and curly hair. Few dwarfs or elves would even notice, but in Long Land it became an instant way to tell if one was an original settler or a newcomer. The two sides sparred for the next three generations, threatening to tear Long Land apart.

The matter came to a head with King Jasper the IV (the royal family not being known for selecting original names). He was having one problem after another with his citizens, with the courts being the worst. If an original settler did not get his way in court he claimed the king didn’t care about his own people. If a newcomer didn’t get a case settled in his favor, he said the king was discriminating against him. And yes, calling yourself a newcomer is an odd choice after living in the same place for three generations, but people are like that.

Jasper the IV had finally had enough. He issued a proclamation that anyone attending a court function, be they judge, jury, bailiff, plaintiff or defendant had to wear a full costume with mask. This way no one could tell who belonged to which group, thus eliminating the possibility of prejudice. The proclamation satisfied no one. Newcomers felt they were being asked to hide who they were and original settlers viewed this as their king caving in to pressure. The people obeyed because they had no choice, but they protested the move at every opportunity.

Then goblins got involved.

Three months after the proclamation, every goblin in Long Land started wearing elaborate masks. The masks were made of leather, wood or other cheap material, but decorated beautifully. The designs were breathtaking in their intricacies, the colors vibrant, the styles dashing. Long Land had over a thousand goblins, and each wore a unique mask, some even carrying backups should their mask be lost or damaged. Many goblins didn’t stop there, making or stealing clothes that matched their masks in quality and style. They still acted like goblins, but they were at least more presentable.

One man grabbed a goblin and asked it about the mask. Quite confused by the question, the goblin answered, “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

The goblins had observed men and women wearing masks when going to court and other government functions. These masks were often bland pieces of wood painted white. It seemed to the goblins like the men were playing some kind of game. Goblins assumed these were costumes, and poor ones at that, and they set out to upstage the humans. They spent weeks making surprisingly sophisticated masks to play along with the game the humans had invented.

The people of Long Land were confused regardless of which ethnic group they belonged to. They were grudgingly getting used to this whole mask idea, even if they thought their king was mad, but the goblins’ masks were…interesting. One might even call them attractive. A few men went so far as to steal masks off goblins to use for themselves, a move that inspired jealous neighbors to ask for more attractive masks.

Rich men commissioned artists to craft them masks that expressed their wealth, using gold, silver, jewels and exotic woods. Men of more modest means copied them with simpler materials but equal beauty. It soon became a contest as to who could buy or make the most beautiful masks. Men even wore them when they didn’t need to, thus showing off their wealth and taste to all rather than just those in court. In the next few years wearing masks became so common that it did what King Jasper the IV wanted but never dreamed possible. Men couldn’t tell who descended from an original settler and who came from immigrant stock, only how much money and taste they had.

Three more generations passed, and today the people of Long Land wear masks and costumes whenever leaving their homes. These outfits display the wealth and power of the owner, and they have become as distinctive as fingerprints. Neighboring kingdoms think the people of Long Land are stark raving mad, but they are also considered hardworking and peaceful, so they put up with it. Jasper the VII (yep, still reusing the same name) is happy his people aren’t fighting, and he owns the biggest collection of masks on Other Place.

For their part, the goblins are reasonably happy with the situation. Goblins are slightly less troublesome than in other lands, as they think they’re playing a very long game with the humans. Men tolerate them so long as their behavior isn’t totally outrageous. Goblins still make masks with designs equal to their human neighbors, but sometimes come up with truly amazing masks. They keep these with them in case they’re caught by the authorities and must hand over a mask to buy their way out of trouble.

Humans in Long Land tolerate their goblins for another reason. Goblins occasionally trade away masks to get things they want, and sometimes even give them away. At times goblins will decide they like a person for reasons no one understands, including the goblins! Such people are generally poor but always of good character. When this happens, goblins sneak into their homes and leave behind gorgeous masks for their “special friend”. And if a man is willing to risk his reputation, he can hunt down a goblin and commission a mask. If the goblin agrees you never know what you’ll get, but it will be unique.

There has been one last consequence of goblins wearing masks. Under the law any person who comes to court must wear a mask and costume. As goblins wear masks and fancier clothes, this makes them eligible to go to court and present a case to a judge. This happens only rarely, usually when a goblin is involving himself in the affairs of his “special friend”. To the courts’ horror such an act is legal. This has made for some memorable cases. To this day judges shudder in terror at the precedent, and no one has forgotten the case of Goblin v Everybody named Sidney.

Guzzle the goblin waited none too patiently for his unwanted guest to arrive. He hadn’t asked for the man to come, nor particularly wanted him to come, but like it or not he was coming. Normally Guzzle would set a trap for the man, but the goblin had been paid in cheese to behave, and there was the possibility of more cheese in the future. Guzzle could overlook nearly anything when cheese was involved.

Many people didn’t think Guzzle was a goblin, although they weren’t sure what he might be. Given that Guzzle had lavender colored skin, wore nearly stylish green clothes, had graying hair and was balding caused much of the confusion, but there was more too it than that. Guzzle practiced a trade other than mayhem (which he wasn’t adverse to), and that was rare among goblins.

The morning sun was fully up and it was getting warm. Guzzle liked warm sunny days like this. His pets were at their best under these conditions. The young forest teemed with flowers, and not far beyond that lay cropland planted with buckwheat. His pets would grow fat under such abundant food.

Guzzle peered down the muddy trail and saw his guest coming. The goblin’s mind raced at the possibilities of which traps he could set and where to place them. This wasn’t a good attitude given how many men came seeking Guzzle’s business. Every time he had a visitor, he was sorely tempted to torment them with traps, insults and inane jokes at their expense.

Customer service was not Guzzle’s strong point.

“Blessings be upon you,” the stranger said as he approached. The man was middle aged with thinning brown hair, and he wore a simple brown robe. He also had a leather backpack, which hopefully contained cheese.

“Enough pleasantries,” Guzzle replied. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you, and the king hates us both. So what’s this about?”

Such a greeting often provoked insults, shouts and whining, and occasionally made visitors leave. This time was an exception. The man didn’t loose his temper, instead smiling at Guzzle. “I have no ill will toward you or any other. My name is Brother Mayfield. I am a fellow apiculturist.”

Guzzle stared at him. “Did you just say something dirty about my mother? Because I haven’t got one.”

“No insult was given. Apiculture is the raising of bees. I raise honey bees, and I am told you do as well.”

Surprised, Guzzle asked, “You’re a beekeeper, too? Huh, small world. Wait a minute, if you’re a bee guy then why are you here? The messenger who told me you were coming said this was about bees, and if you’ve got your own then you shouldn’t need anything from me.”

“I need your help because I raise bees. Mr. Guzzle, I serve the Brotherhood of the Righteous in Sunset City. I manage thirty hives of bees outside the city to provide both honey and beeswax for church needs. The brotherhood has a cathedral in Sunset City, and it is celebrating its bicentennial. Such a celebration requires a great many beeswax candles, more than my hives can provide. I had heard from others that you also raise bees. I hope I can offer you a fair deal in barter for any wax you might be able to spare.”

Guzzle scratched his head. He wasn’t used to being called mister. It felt wrong. “I think I understood a few words of that. You want wax and you can trade for it?”

“That is correct.”

This meeting wasn’t nearly as vulgar as Guzzle was hoping for. Eager to get it back on track, he asked, “What have you got to trade? Dirty limericks, marked cards, incriminating evidence on public officials?”

“I though tangible goods would be a better trade,” Brother Mayfield said as he set down his backpack.

“You’re underestimating the value of dirty limericks.” Guzzle watched Brother Mayfield unload his backpack. “You got cheese in there? The messenger boy paid me off in cheese to not dump cow dung on him or you.”

“I do indeed have cheese.” Brother Mayfield unwrapped a small wedge of cheese covered in paper and handed it to Guzzle, who gobbled it up in one bite. “I also have two ceramic jugs, a square yard of cheesecloth, a pair of scissors, a knife—”

“Forget the rest of that stuff!” Guzzle snatched the knife and held it up to the light. “I want this one. It’s the perfect tool…for revenge!”

That statement gave Brother Mayfield pause. “Who do you want revenge against?”

“I’ve got an enemies list,” Guzzle said proudly. He dug a grubby sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket and held it up. The moment should have been dramatic, but was ruined when Guzzle frowned and asked, “Who are these people? Does this look like my handwriting to you?”

Brother Mayfield briefly studied the paper and read off the first few names. “That guy. That other guy. The guy with the thing.”

“This is insulting!” Guzzled yelled as he snatched back the paper. “I don’t want to get the wrong guys after I went to all this work. Do you know how long it takes to get a beehive up and running?

Brother Mayfield returned the rest of his belongings to his backpack. He hesitated before asking, “You have a troubled relationship with others?”

Guzzle tucked the knife into his belt. “What’s it to you?”

Brother Mayfield looked even more sincere than normal when he spoke. “The Brotherhood of the Righteous is always ready to resolve disputes between neighbors. We’d be only too happy to help if we can solve this problem for you. What person has hurt you so much that you hold such anger?”

“It’s not about me.” Guzzle looked down, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I had a friend who got pushed around a lot. It wasn’t fair, and the guy who did it hurt a lot of other people. Goblins can ignore most of the bad things that happen, but there’s got to be a reckoning for his guy, and I aim to give it. There have been plenty more since him who deserve what they get, except I can’t remember their names. But that first guy, I won’t ever forget him.”

“If he has done wrong, we can aid you,” Brother Mayfield offered.

Guzzle looked at Brother Mayfield. He didn’t doubt the monk’s word, but he shook his head all the same. “This is personal. Come on, let’s get you your beeswax.”

Guzzle led Brother Mayfield up the path to his home. The trail was lined with flowers, and Guzzle’s bees were thick in the air. They buzzed around him as they sought nourishment from weeds and wildflowers that grew in a thick carpet between the trees.

“I came out here to be alone with my bees,” Guzzle told Brother Mayfield as they walked. “There’s good eating for them with all these flowers, and nobody around who could rob me. I had trouble with wild boars for a while, but I fenced them out. Then one year after I moved in, these people come asking for honey. I mean, dozens of them! It was like there was a glowing sign pointing to my house. I was going to let the bees keep all their honey, but men wouldn’t stop bothering me for the stuff. I finally agreed just to get them to leave and traded the honey for things I need, like your knife.”

“I’ve found men, elves and dwarfs ever eager to purchase honey,” Brother Mayfield replied. “I produce hundreds of pounds per year, and it’s never enough. I hope to obtain more hives and one day meet the demand.”

The goblin laughed. “Good luck with that! Anyway, they came so often I couldn’t get anything done. I even cut down trees to block the path, but the bums cleared the road inside of a day. One of these days I’m going to have to get a dog to chase them off.”

Bees became more numerous as they walked until their buzzing was as loud as a busy city street. They finally reached Guzzle’s house, a crude wood structure next to a fenced in field. Inside the field were dozens of beehives set on tall wood tables. The hives were simple affairs, just straw rope coiled to form wide hollow cones. This was enough for the bees, and they were content.

“This is a very healthy population,” Brother Mayfield said approvingly. “How do you support so many?”

“I let them feed on one batch of flowers, and when they’re done I move the hives at night to another patch. I’ve got fenced in places like this all over the woods, each one by good feeding sites.”

Guzzle climbed the fence and dug through a pile of debris next to one of the hives. “Let’s see, straw rope, mouse traps, smoker, leather gloves. Where’s the wax?”

Brother Mayfield raised a hand and let a bee land on his palm. “I admire bees. They have so many qualities man should copy. Hard working, cooperative, loyal.”

“Pugnacious,” Guzzle added. “Kill one bee and every one in a hundred feet will come after you, and they don’t give up easy.”

“I tend to group that under loyal,” Brother Mayfield replied.

Guzzle pushed aside a large roll of burlap and picked up a block of yellowed wax weighing twenty pounds. “So there you are. Here’s all the beeswax I’ve got. If you’d wanted honey you’d be out of luck, but not many people trade for wax.”

“That is perfect,” Brother Mayfield told him. He took the block of wax and turned it over in his hands. “I can melt it and filter out the impurities to get pure wax, and produce the candles the brotherhood needs. Mr. Guzzle, I am grateful for your help and will tell all who will listen of your good deed.”

“Yeah, can we skip that last part? I’ve got enough yahoos pestering me without them thinking I’m nice. Let me walk you back to the main road. I’ve got traps to reset now that we’re done, and signs redirecting visitors to a dung heap.”

“That’s not very nice,” Brother Mayfield told him.

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

The goblin and monk walked down the trail and had only gone a short distance before they stopped. There were five men ahead of them sticking to the shadows provided by trees. Brother Mayfield said, “I fear you have more guests, whether you have goods to sell them or not.”

Guzzle squinted at the men. “They’re not here for honey. Two of them have swords.”

“Hello, Mayfield.” The men swaggered out of the shadows and onto the trail. They wore street clothes no different than you’d find in any city, but all five wore broad shoulder straps with red hands printed on them. Two men had short swords, easily concealable and good for stabbing, while the rest carried daggers and hand axes. “Been a long time, aint it?”

Brother Mayfield turned white as a sheet and backed away. “No.”

“What’s the matter, no friendly greeting?” the man jeered. “No smile and salute? You remember the sign of the Red Hand, don’t you? Twenty years shouldn’t be long enough for you to forget, traitor.”

Guzzle drew his brand new knife. “Who are these clowns?”

“We’re the Red Hand,” the man said. He was roughly the same age as Brother Mayfield but had plenty of scars. Sometime in the past his nose had been broken and not healed right, and his dark hair was shaved so close it was hard to tell the color. The man pointed his sword at Brother Mayfield and said, “All six of us are with the Red Hand. There’s only one way you get to leave, and that’s not by walking away.”

“How did you find me, Staback?” Brother Mayfield asked.

The men came nearer and spread out across the trail. “It wasn’t easy, traitor. We looked for you everywhere after you left. Ships, bars, slums, no trace of you, and here it turns out you found God and went to a monastery. I’d have never guessed it in a million years. But somebody found out, and he left these fliers all over town.”

Staback held up a sheet of paper covered in writing. “I wonder why he used blue ink. You know what it says, traitor? No secrets: Your leaders are keeping the truth from you! The Brotherhood of the Righteous has accepted known criminals into their ranks. Robbers, smugglers and forgers have taken religious vows as if they were law-abiding citizens. They’ve got some names here, traitor, with yours at the top.”

“I had to go, Staback,” Brother Mayfield said. “I couldn’t live with the violence, the hate, the suffering. We were making life miserable for thousand of people and for ourselves. How many of our friends did we bury? How many were left crippled?”

“You don’t get to use the word friends around me!” Staback screamed. “You were my right hand man! I counted on you! When I needed you, when the Red Hands were ready to take over Nolod’s port district and finish off the other gangs, what happens but you ran off. Worse than that, you got a quarter of my men to leave with you. The Red Hands could have controlled the port and gotten rich looting warehouses and ships, selling the goods on the black market, and instead we were pushed off to a stinking corner of Nolod. Friends? You have no friends.”

“Every corner of Nolod stinks,” Guzzle said. “I’ve been there. Not good for bees.”

Brother Mayfield regained his composure fast. “We were monsters on two legs, Staback. Nolod knew constant suffering because of us. I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t listen. I saved as many of our brothers as possible, and I would have saved you if I could.”

Staback threw the sheet of paper to the ground. “I didn’t come for a sermon, traitor. I came for your head. You love your God so much, then I’m happy to introduce you to him right now.”

One of Staback’s men threw an ax at Brother Mayfield. Guzzle shouted a warning, but to his amazement, Brother Mayfield slapped the ax out of the air with the palm of his hand and sent it spinning into the forest. A swordsman charged the monk and tried to skewer him. Brother Mayfield used the block of wax as a shield. The sword sunk so deep into it that the blade stuck, and Brother Mayfield twisted the block and wrenched the sword out of the man’s hands. Another man tried to strike the monk with an ax.

Guzzle was used to being overlooked. It came with the territory when you were a goblin. These men were so focused on their target that they forgot all about him. Guzzle ran straight for the man with the ax and kicked him in the shin. It wasn’t a crippling blow, but enough to make the man howl in pain and stagger off.

Staback went after Brother Mayfield. The monk dodged one swing and then a second, losing only a piece of his robe to the furious swings. “I see you ain’t forgotten what I taught you, traitor!”

Brother Mayfield slipped off his backpack and swung it into Staback’s face. The blow knocked him down and left him at the monk’s feet. Another gang member threw an ax at Brother Mayfield. This time he blocked it with his backpack. The ax shattered the ceramic jars in the backpack, but it got stuck in the leather. Brother Mayfield pulled out the ax and looked down at Staback. Man and goblin alike were shocked when he tossed the weapon to the ground.

“I won’t take a life, not even to save my own,” Brother Mayfield said.

Staback got to his feet again. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought, and you’re going to be a dead fool.”

Guzzle grabbed Brother Mayfield’s hand and pulled. “Back to my place! Hurry!”

The two ran. The gang members didn’t follow right away, instead recovering their weapons before chasing their prey. Guzzle huffed and puffed from the exertion, but he and the monk reached Guzzle’s house. The goblin climbed over the fence and urged Brother Mayfield to follow.

“You ain’t getting away that easy, traitor!” Staback shouted. “You’re not getting away at all!”

“I’m sorry,” Brother Mayfield told Guzzle as armed men surrounded them.

“I’m not,” the goblin replied.

“No more running away,” Staback said and he raised his sword.

Guzzle sneered and grabbed a beehive. “We didn’t run away. I came here with malicious intentions, you pathetic little man. Let me tell you something no one’s ever understood about me. I don’t raise bees for honey or wax.”

Grinning like a maniac, Guzzle said, “I raise bees to have bees.”

With that Guzzle threw the hive at Staback and struck the man in the chest, killing a few bees in the hive and enraging the rest. Thousands of angry bees swarmed over the gang members. Worse was to come. The other hives emptied out as over a hundred thousand bees poured forth. As Guzzle had said, killing one bee brings more bees to avenge the loss, and they came eager for battle.

“Get down!” Guzzle yelled. He and Brother Mayfield dropped to the ground, and Guzzle covered them both with the sheet of burlap he kept by his hives. They heard angry buzzing and equally angry yells from Staback and his men. Those angry yells turned to panic and then terror. The yells receded into the distance as members of the Red Hands fled for their lives.

Guzzle and Brother Mayfield stayed safe under the burlap for nearly an hour, only daring to venture forth once they were sure the bees had calmed down. They found weapons abandoned around the fence and house. Staback and the rest of the Red Hand he’d brought were long gone. Brother Mayfield looked shaken. Guzzle was exuberant, awed that his bees had proven themselves such a potent weapon for the next time he needed them.

Smiling, Guzzle turned to Brother Mayfield and said, “That went well. What should we do next?”

Magistrate Cassium snarled as his carriage hit another bump. He hated long rides through the country. No one properly maintained the roads in these boondock parts of Skitherin Kingdom. Add that to the risk of travel, where bandits and monsters preyed on those daring to use seldom traveled roads, and this was turning into a miserable trip. Another bump forced Cassium against the carriage door. “You witless clod, are you aiming for every hole in the road?”

“Sorry, sir,” the driver called back. “There are too many to miss.”

“Try harder!” Cassium grumbled and tried to get comfortable. The carriage was on loan from the Ministry of Obedience, and they’d spared every possible expense. No cushions on the seat, no lock on the doors, why, they’d even issued him two old gelded horses to pull it. It was infuriating, and he’d seen the effort the ministry went to satisfy higher-ranking magistrates.

Cassium had been with the ministry for five years, laboring constantly to enforce order among the halfwits and criminals who seemed to make up three quarters of Skitherin’s population. Still young and healthy despite several attempts on his life, Cassium had attracted the attention of his betters. Those well connected slobs placed as much of their work as possible onto his shoulders. It had surprised them when he’d submitted the request for this assignment. Horrors, they’d have to do their own work until he got back! But the dark haired Cassium had persisted until they gave in, likely just to avoid having to listen to him make sense again.

It was wrong how he was treated. He was smart, more intelligent than his so-called superiors, yet he’d remained in the same post for five years. No promotions, no citations, no awards, not even a new crimson and gold uniform. This one was fraying at the cuffs. Cassium had the highest conviction rate in the ministry, in no small part because he was one of the few magistrates to actually hold court. He didn’t take bribes, a rarity, and he’d led four punitive expeditions. He deserved respect and received none.

Bang! The carriage hit another pothole, this one big enough that the wheels on the right side went entirely into the air. For a second Cassium feared the carriage would tip over, but it landed with another jarring bang. “Stop!”

“Sir, I—”

“Stop!” The carriage came to a halt amid a forest of thin trees. Cassium exited the carriage and waited while his driver climbed down. He waved for his private servant to come down as well. The two men wore the black and tan of lesser servants in the ministry. Cassium took a short weighted rod from inside his flowing robes and struck the driver across the face. He pointed at his servant and ordered, “Drive, and if that happens again you forfeit this month’s pay.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant said. Both men climbed back onto the carriage while Cassium returned inside it.

This wretched trip did have a few things in its favor. The first was good weather. Rains could have turned the dirt road into impassable mud and left him stranded for days or even weeks. The second advantage was it gave Cassium time to read. He’d bought new books about magic and needed time to study them. Actual spell books were illegal for anyone but state sanctioned wizards, but he was smart. Books like the leather bound tome currently in his hands had hints, snippets of information he could glean out. He had two more books like this one with him and ten more at home, and if he studied hard enough he was sure he could grasp the basics of magic.

That still might not be enough to earn a promotion, but if Cassium’s suspicions were correct, this journey could be just what he needed to guarantee one.

Hours dragged by. Cassium had been traveling like this for three days, going through towns, then fields and finally these wastes. The soil was thin and infertile, supporting only pine trees that were harvested once every fifty years. The last harvest had been ten years ago, so the trees were small and the view unimpressive.

His books proved equally unimpressive. Most repeated what he’d read elsewhere. Other parts were outright lies. The authors kept alluding to a connection between goblins and circles. Balderdash! He’d overseen the destruction of two goblin settlements, each more garbage dump than village. There had been no circles in their hovels or graffiti. Burning those vile bases of indecency was an honor diminished by the goblins fleeing ahead of his guards, and the fact that the horrid places had smelled like dung heaps. One of these days he’d have to take a goblin alive and see if there was anything to this circle business.

“It’s a disgrace,” he muttered as he read. “Harpies, mimics, even goblins are born with magic. Men have to earn it.”

That was the most infuriating fact he’d learned from his books. Gutter trash races like harpies and goblins had natural magic. Harpies used magic to fly and had their potent screams. Goblins were so stupid and insane that they could warp space, assuming there were enough of them together. But men, no, men had to struggle and strive and fight to get what those unworthy curs had from birth!

“We’re almost there, sir,” his servant called out.

Cassium closed his books on magic and put them in a backpack, careful to hide them among his pile of legal books and documents. It was unlikely anyone would dare to inspect a magistrate’s possessions, but he took no chances someone might steal them. He looked out the window and frowned at the sight. The dirt road ended at a cluster of brick buildings. Most were small, single family dwellings, but there was a storehouse and the reason for his coming, a surprisingly small building that was entrance to The Pit.

The carriage came to a halt and Cassium got out. He found guards on duty, older men who’d served Skitherim for decades. To his amazement he also saw women and children by the houses. Even more appalling, two goblins scampered around the edge of the crude settlement. The men here had once been soldiers, and should be able to keep their homes clean of such vermin.

“The Pit, the last home for the kingdom’s worst offenders. You wouldn’t think so many people were here just by looking at it,” his servant said. The driver kept quiet, mindful of the blow he’d taken earlier.

“People?” Cassium asked derisively. “There are no people here. Eight hundred convicts are stored in The Pit, never to see the light of day.”

“My idiot father wasted twenty years working here when they were still quarrying limestone,” the servant said. “He said the quarry went down a hundred feet before they capped it and turned it into a prison. I’ve heard men would rather die than be sent to The Pit.”

“What convicts want is of no importance,” Cassium declared. Armed guards marched over to meet him and take charge of his carriage.

Cassium’s servant bit his lip at the sight of the men approaching and whispered, “Tread carefully, sir. If you’re right then we have no friends here and are far from help.”

“The law bends for no one!” Cassium snapped. His servant looked down and the armed men hesitated at the magistrate’s harsh tone. Cassium took out the weighted rod again and shoved it under his servant’s chin, forcing the man’s head up until he had to look Cassium in the eyes. More softly he said, “I have endured much getting here, and I will not risk the reward I am owed because you lack a backbone. I will get what I deserve.”

“A dung heap and a shovel?” a high-pitched voice asked in the distance. Cassium spun around to see the goblin that had shouted the question. “A smack upside the head? Come on, let me know if I’m getting close.”

Cassium would have gladly chased the pest down, but he had bigger fish to fry. The fool in charge of this foul hole in the ground came soon after his men, his hand outstretched.

“Magistrate Cassium, welcome to The Pit,” the older man said. “I am—”

“Warden Vastile Jast, formerly a company commander, yes, I know who you are,” Cassium interrupted. He despised time wasting formalities and made no effort to shake the warden’s hand. “You and your men were judged too old for battle and transferred to this post. It was thought you could handle the responsibilities of managing The Pit, an assumption I have reason to doubt.”

Warden Jast took the insults in stride. He was in his fifties, still strong but showing his age with gray hair and wrinkles around his eyes. The man wore chain armor as if he expected battle, and was armed with a sword and mace. Jast also wore a single badge of honor, a leather neckband with a glittering crimson triangle, the point aimed down. That crystalline triangle was proof of valor in battle and rarely given. Cassium was surprised the warden hadn’t pawned it for drinking money.

“Allow me to offer you and your servants the pleasures of my home, limited as they are,” Jast continued. He waved to one of the larger houses and asked, “If I may escort you?”

Cassium pointed his weighted rod at the nearby children. “Warden Jast, this is a military post. Explain why civilians are present.”

“My men and I took an oath of loyalty when we were conscripted. We did not take an oath of chastity. Many of us married and had children after we were taken off active duty.”

Strictly speaking the warden was correct. His men had the right to take wives, and so long as family members stayed out of The Pit there was no breach of the law. But it was walking a fine line, and Cassium had seen too many men skirt the law until they openly broke it. This was a mark against the warden.

“Lead the way,” Cassium said.

Jast took him to a larger building made of limestone blocks. It wasn’t an odd choice of material given that this had once been a quarry. Inside, the building was a plain office with the associated paperwork, furniture and wasted space. The warden offered Cassium a chair and then sat behind a desk. Cassium’s servants stood alongside two of the warden’s guards.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of proper amenities for someone of your rank,” Jast said. “Our funding is limited and leaves little room for luxuries. Normally that isn’t a problem. This is the first time a magistrate ever visited The Pit.”

“Before today there was no reason to,” Cassium retorted. He took papers from his backpack and laid them out across the desk. “Warden Jast, forty-three days ago I ordered a prisoner in your custody sent to my court. Instead I was told he had died. A second order for a different prisoner ten days later received an identical reply.”

“That is correct.”

Cassium brought out more papers. “Two criminals in your custody died, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Men die, magistrate. They die in battle, from sickness, from old age and sometimes for no reason at all.”

Pointing at the papers, Cassium said, “I found twelve requests for prisoner transfers from The Pit in the three years since you were assigned here. All of them were told that the prisoner had died. Every time the same answer, warden! I find that highly suspicious.”

Cassium expected Jast to lie or beg. To his shock, the man had no reaction, just a bland acceptance of the situation. “Magistrate, I’m sure you send a great many men to prison, but I doubt you’ve spent much time in one. The Pit is the largest prison in Skitherin Kingdom. We are at full capacity with eight hundred prisoners, and we receive fifty more a month. Those new inmates take the place of those who die.”

“You lose fifty a month?” Cassium demanded. “How?”

“Most are in poor shape when they arrive,” Jast replied. “They’ve been beaten until they confessed, chained for weeks or months in other jails, and generally had the life squeezed out of them. When they come here it’s as defeated men with no hope or reason to live. Men in that situation die, and faster than you’d think possible.”

Furious, Cassium jabbed a finger at the papers. “You are responsible for those men, warden. You are paid a stipend to provide them with food and clothing.”

“Ah yes, that.” Jast took three small copper coins from his desk and held them up. “I’m sent three plebs per week per prisoner. Do you know how little food that buys? Or clothing? Obtaining medicine for the sick is totally out of the question.”

Cassium hesitated. “Why do you need medicine?”

“Because one of your fellow magistrates sent me a prisoner infected with red eyes plague.”

“That’s not a fatal disease!”

“It is when it strikes men who are poorly fed and were savagely beaten during their arrest and interrogations.” Jast spoke as if this were common knowledge. Betraying neither fear or anger, he explained, “Once he arrived, the illness swept through the prison. We lost two hundred men that month and another hundred the following month. It was just enough to ease overcrowding.”

“You idiot!” Cassium stood up and pounded on the desk. “I needed those men to build a case against an entire village guilty of treason!”

“I read the files on the men you asked for. They owned land a nobleman wanted, that’s all. I daresay the treasonous village owns more land that nobleman has his eye on. Those prisoners were guilty of being too weak to defend themselves, nothing more.”

Outraged, Cassium yelled, “They were guilty because I said they were guilty! I won’t have a worn out foot soldier question my rulings!”

Jast fixed his eyes on Cassium, his expression and tone of voice showing only minor irritation. “I served this kingdom for decades, long enough to know that the best and brightest get nothing. Those prisoners, me, you, we’re not from noble families. It doesn’t matter what we do. The metal around my neck is called Blood for the Throne. I earned it killing a chimera singlehanded. I should have been made a castle garrison commander. I should have been made a general. Instead, after decades of loyal service and bravery, of facing death time and again, my reward is to spend the rest of my life watching men weaken and die while being powerless to save them.”

Standing up, Jast said, “And you, sir, are no different. The name Cassium carries great weight among the prisoners. Grown men weep at the sound of your name. One in every ten men here owes their presence to your rulings. Yet for all that, you are Magistrate Cassium, not Chief Magistrate Cassium, not Lord Justice Cassium. You have gotten as far as your low birth will allow, and you shall go no higher.”

The warden’s words broke through the thick layer of arrogance around the magistrate’s heart. Unfortunately the only thing beneath that arrogance was a deep vein of self-pity.

“I could have been a wizard,” Cassium said. “I’m smart. I have money to afford lessons. I could have served with distinction in the army or the court. Instead that privilege goes to sycophantic bumblers from minor noble families.”

“The army needs more wizards,” Jast replied. “I lost count how many times we requested a wizard’s assistance and were told none could be spared. Magistrate, one thing I’ve learned from my time here is that we are all prisoners. Some of us just have larger cells.”

Cassium scowled. He didn’t like being reminded of how far he could have risen, and any suggestion that he was equal to this dolt was insulting. That was a second mark against the warden.

There was another reason why he was angry. Cassium had expected to find a grand conspiracy at The Pit. Either the warden was refusing to produce prisoners for reasons unknown or he no longer had those prisoners. Cassium had suspected the warden was selling them to slavers. But if the men had simply died then the magistrate had come all this way and antagonized his superiors to authorize the journey for nothing. The damage to his reputation would be staggering if he returned home empty handed!

Desperate, Cassium said. “I want to see the bodies.”

Jast shrugged. “Dead prisoners are cremated so their graves don’t become rallying points for discontented elements in the kingdom. It’s official policy. The best I can do is show you ash heaps that haven’t blown away yet.”

Cassium grew suspicious. No living prisoners, no graves when they died, it was too tidy. “Then show me prisoners who are still alive. You have eight hundred of them.”

“Sir, I—”

“I had red eyes plague ten years ago and am thus immune to it, so if you still have sick inmates they can’t infect me. I want to see your inmates today, and if I am not satisfied with what I find, then one of your subordinates will take your place.”

Jast looked unbothered by the threat. “I don’t bring prisoners up except for transferring them to another jail or to a courthouse. Taking them out of their cells gives them an opportunity to escape, and desperate men take any chance they can get. If you want to speak with the prisoners then you’ll have to come with me down below and see them in their cells.”

“So be it.”

Cassium followed the warden, with his servant, driver and the two guards following them. They left the warden’s office and headed for the entrance to The Pit. It wasn’t much to look at, a small stone building without windows and a thick oak bar across the door. Guards stood at those doors and opened them when the warden ordered. A blast of fetid air shot out when the doors opened, a mix of rot, dung and countless unwashed bodies. The two guards following Jast took lanterns and lit them before going inside ahead of the others.

“Uh, sir,” Cassium’s servant began. Both his servant and driver looked nervous as they stared into the yawning entrance to the worst prison in the kingdom. “It’s just, the odor, sir. Peasants smell bad enough when they’re allowed a monthly bath. Surely the driver can handle your needs without my presence.”

The driver backed up. “Wait a minute! I was assigned the job of getting you here. You’re his servant, not me.”

Both men were engaged in Skitherin’s favorite sport of passing the buck, when Cassium lost his temper and ended the matter. “I’m going in and you’re both going with me.”

Inside was a spiral staircase just wide enough for one man to walk on at a time. It went down, deep into the earth where men had once removed countless tons of stone for building projects across the kingdom. The walls were dirty and the air stank. Echoing voices called out from far below, but they were too faint to understand.

Cassium looked down the staircase. “How many guards are below?”

“There are eight floors, with five armed guards at the entrance to each floor,” Jast explained. “New prisoners are the ones most likely to try escaping, so they’re sent to the bottom level. They’re also the ones best able to answer your questions.”

Cassium checked the notes in his backpack and pulled out a single page. “Here, prisoner Alec Roarmass, convicted of conspiring against the throne. He was sent to you fifteen days ago.”

“Yes, the smuggler,” Jast said in a resigned tone. “How does smuggling winter clothes into the kingdom qualify as conspiring against the throne?”

“He was selling to known radicals,” Cassium said hotly. “Is he still alive, or is this another of your convenient casualties?”

“He lives and he complains constantly,” Jast answered. “I’ll take you to him.”

With that Jast led them into The Pit. Jast had been right when he suggested that Cassium had rarely been in a prison. The magistrate found the experience unnerving. Loud random sounds, the stench, the humidity in the air, it was hideous. Fluids dripped down the brickwork, and squirming things wiggled across the floor. There was no light except from the guards’ lanterns. Cell doors were made of stone and sealed tight, with only a small window letting in air. When Cassium looked into one of the cells, he could only see the dim outline of a wretch huddled in a corner. By the look of him he’d be another of the warden’s failures before long.

“Mercy,” a voice called out. “Mercy, please.”

“Ignore him,” Jast said.

Cassium rolled his eyes. “I plan to. You stated the loss rate of prisoners earlier. What is their average lifespan once they arrive?”

“It depends on their age and condition. Most live three to nine months. A few last much longer, many much shorter. I’ve seen healthy men live only a few weeks while ones I was sure would die lasted a year. A man’s willpower matters more here than physical strength.”

They reached another staircase going deeper. Confused, Cassium asked, “Why is there such a distance between stairs, and why do they only go down one floor?”

“It’s a security feature,” Jast replied. “If there is a breakout, prisoners can’t go straight up to the surface. They have to travel across every floor to reach the next set of stairs, where they’ll find more guards and more locked doors. No one escaped The Pit before I was posted here. No one has since my arrival. No one ever will.”

They’d just begun descending the second flight of stairs when Cassium saw something run across the floor. It was too small to be a man, and when it giggled he knew what he was dealing with.

“There’s a goblin down here! Jast, you let a goblin sneak into the jail!”

Jast showed the same bland disinterest to this news as he did all else. “What do you expect? Goblins are everywhere. One hid in the carts bringing food to the inmates and escaped into the prison.”

“And you didn’t kill him?” Cassium sputtered.

“If he wants to live here, I’m willing to let him.” The warden actually smiled when he said, “He’s been down here nine months, healthy as could be, eating God only knows what. Goblins are real survivors. Floods, fires, avalanches, hurricanes, tornadoes, droughts, wars, none of it seems to bother them. It makes me wonder if the day will come where goblins are all that’s left in the world.”

That asinine comment was the third and final mark against the warden. Regardless of what he found, Cassium decided that the moment he got home he would recommend Jast be removed from his post and executed on the grounds that the man was too deranged to carry out his work. The guards had served with him too long to accept a new leader and would have to go as well. Fortunately, there were plenty of poor men desperate enough to take the job.

“You may be willing to put up with that monster’s presence, but I won’t.” Cassium drew a dagger from his backpack and went after the goblin. The little thing wore rancid leather clothes and had bone spikes running down his back. The goblin giggled and gibbered as he ran from Cassium.

“Do you want to see the prisoner or not?” Jast asked. Neither he nor his guards made any move to join the chase.

Cassium ignored him and went after the goblin. “I will not leave this wretch alive in what is supposed to be a jail for the kingdom’s most dangerous criminals! It shocks me that you tolerate such a breach of the law!”

It took a few seconds, but Cassium caught up with the goblin. He threw his dagger at the monster’s back, confident that he’d hit and kill the pest.

The dagger should have pieced the verminous goblin, but instead the already foul air became even darker and mustier before the weapon vanished. The goblin laughed and escaped. A second later the dagger reappeared and struck the wall.

“You tried to hit the floor and missed, high pockets!” the goblin laughed as it fled into the darkness. “I bet your aim in the bathroom is no better!”

“That’s why I wasn’t chasing him,” Jast said as he walked over. He picked up the dagger and handed it to Cassium. “I’ve campaigned for decades and seen things you haven’t. Goblins can warp space. It’s not something they do often, and they usually can’t control it, but when their lives are in danger they can make the strangest things happen…like making a dagger disappear.”

“Magic from birth, given to a creature too stupid to appreciate it.” Cassium spat in disgust. He’d read about goblins and their ability to warp space, and seeing it in person was disorientating. How could such an idiot make things disappear, or if the stories were true make things appear from nowhere? His books spent a little time on the subject when they weren’t babbling about goblins and circles. Angry, Cassium said, “The prisoner.”

“This way.”

Jast led them ever deeper into The Pit. Each level had the same dispirited prisoners languishing in their cells. Cassium had no pity for them, but dead men couldn’t be called to testify against coconspirators, nor could their lives be used as bargaining chips to ensure their relatives obey orders. Now that he thought about it, Skitherin Kingdom could be in danger if word got out that so many convicts had died. Their families could revolt. There, that was sufficient legal justification to get rid of the warden.

Not all the sick prisoners had died, for these hallways were filled with the sound of coughing. Cassium’s servant covered his mouth with his sleeve. His driver merely shrugged and said, “Better you than me.”

Cassium scowled at those words. ‘Better you than me,’ nearly qualified as Skitherin’s national motto. Too many men looked the other way when crime happened or the consequences fell, provided it didn’t affect them or the few people they loved. There was no loyalty to the throne, no desire to serve, and no attempt to take responsibility, just a craven willingness to ignore everything that doesn’t personally affect them. The Ministry of Obedience had spent decades trying to beat that flaw out of the citizenry, and failed.

“How much further?” Cassium demanded.

“We’ll reach your prisoner in another ten minutes,” Jast assured him.

They went ever deeper into the ground, floor after floor. They’d just reached the fifth floor when there was a tapping from a nearby cell, then a bang! Bang! Bang! Cassium went for his dagger as his servant and driver got behind the guards escorting them.

“That one still has some fight left in him,” Jast said casually. “I thought he’d give up after a few weeks, but he keeps trying to break down the door. It reminds me of something that happened during the False Land War. You remember when…oh, yes, you wouldn’t have been born yet. There was a small castle, one of the nameless ones on the border that were built long ago, then abandoned and repaired a hundred times over the years. A wizard named Dark Cloth lived there and was attacking caravans and villages.”

“Dark Cloth?” Cassium asked. He didn’t try to hide his contempt.

“He picked the name, not me. He’d fixed the gates so well we couldn’t breach them even with a battering ram. We tried for days, hammering just like that fellow in the cell. I thought we’d have to starve the wizard out, months and months of siege costing who knows how much money and lives. Turned out we didn’t have to.”

“He surrendered?” Cassium’s servant asked. Cassium snarled at the man, silencing him.

“His castle came down around him. My men and I were happy enough but couldn’t figure out the cause until we saw goblin tunnels in the wreckage. Dark Cloth had destroyed a village known for making cheese, one the goblins frequently snuck into to steal a wheel or two. They didn’t appreciate the damage done to their cheese supply, and made their displeasure known in a very dramatic and permanent fashion.”

“Goblins did what you couldn’t with a company of men, and you’re actually speaking of it?” Cassium marveled at the warden’s stupidity. How could Jast have remained in his post for so long if he’d openly admit to such a humiliating event?

Jast stepped into a pool of foul brown liquid, splashing Cassium’s robes with it. “It was an eye opening experience. I learned not to discount the small and meek that day, regardless of how little others might think of them.”

Every step in the prison was worse than the one before it. The ceiling dripped with condensation until it seemed to rain on them. The stench actually got worse, like rotting meat blended with spoiled milk. Random sounds increased in both frequency and volume. Nerve wracking as it was, the fact that the guards and warden didn’t seem to even notice the foul conditions made matters even worse.

Cassium was fast losing his temper with the warden and his degenerate prison. His servant looked like he was seconds away from panicking from their ghastly surroundings. His driver, a useless fool to begin with, kept trying to hide behind Cassium.

Once they descended to the next level, they found the floor slick with water fouled by liquid waste. More of the stuff dripped off the ceiling and down the walls, enough to ruin Cassium’s robes beyond all use. “What madness is this? Is this a prison or a sewer?”

“It’s rained often this month and raised the water table,” Jast told him as he continued marching, splashing through the mess. “Lower levels of The Pit can flood, so we have bilge pumps like those aboard ships to pump water out of the prison. Healthier inmates handle that task.”

Cassium’s servant blurted out, “They serve the very prison that holds them?”

That would have earned him a strike across the face, except Cassium wanted to hear the answer. Jast walked by more cells with moaning prisoners, saying, “They cooperate once they learn that the alternative to manning the pumps is drowning.”

“Warden,” Cassium began.

“Almost there.”

“Warden, there is another goblin! There, right there in front of you!”

Goblins as a rule were small, ugly, weak and stupid, and this one had doubled down on ugly. The goblin trying to hide in a corner had long, filthy hair, like a mane going down to his waist. His raggedy clothes were so dirty they were black. His arms were longer than his legs, so when he ran he actually galloped on all fours like an animal.

“Oh, him.” The warden kept walking like it was nothing. “He’s been here longer than I have. I call him Mouse.”

“This will not do!” Cassium marched in front of the warden and pressed a finger against the man’s chest. “Having even one goblin in a prison is unheard of, and you’ve allowed two of the vermin to take up residence. You, sir, have failed in the most basic duty of a warden.”

“He’s clearly never dealt with goblins before,” Jast told one of his guards. “Magistrate, it happens all the time. Goblins are crazy. There’s no making sense of what they do. Put a goblin in prison and he’ll break out the same day. Try to keep him out of the prison and he’ll stop at nothing to get in. I’ll wager a year’s pay that you’ll find goblins hiding in every prison in Skitherin.”

“No one breaks into prison!” Cassium yelled.

Mouse the goblin raised his hand. “I did.”

“I have had enough!” Cassium yelled before drawing his dagger and throwing it. The goblin made a break for it. He didn’t have to. The air around him turned musty and dark before live earwigs rained down and a tree stump appeared from nowhere. The dagger hit the stump, sparing the fleeing goblin.

“I already told you it’s not worth attacking them,” Jast said. “How many more times do you need to see the same thing?”

Cassium gritted his teeth and prepared to let loose a string of insults and obscenities the likes of which the world had never heard, when suddenly his eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. “I’ve already seen a goblin warp space twice. Even once should have been impossible.”

With that he seized a lantern from one of Jast’s guards and set it on the floor. Quickly he opened his backpack and took out the books he had on magic. He flipped through them, reading by the lantern’s meager light as he looked for and then found sections on goblins.

“Magistrate, what’s this about?” Jast asked.

“Shut up.” Cassium checked one book and then another until he found what he was looking for. This was one of those rare and happy instances where his books agreed with one another, besides that circle nonsense. He stood up and pointed one of the books at Jast as if it were a weapon.

“Goblins warp space through their combined stupidity and insanity. Combined, warden. It takes many goblins to warp space even once. To do it twice, and in a short period of time, demands the presence of large numbers of goblins. The Pit doesn’t have two goblins in it. There must be dozens of them!”

Jast smirked. “Try thousands. Tally ho!”

Cell doors around them burst open to release waves of filthy, stinking, hooting goblins. They ran past Jast and his guards before swarming the magistrate, his servant and driver. Cassium tried to fight back while his men tried to flee. They were overwhelmed and pulled screaming to the floor. More goblins stole the magistrate’s backpack and ate most of his possessions.

Cassium struggled in vain as the goblins jeered at him. Jast walked up to the magistrate and frowned. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“What have you done?” Cassium demanded.

“I give you credit for not being afraid, and you figured out some of what’s going on here,” Jast said. “I don’t give you credit for anything else. Like I said before, your name carried a lot of weight here. The prisoners told me stories about you. They received beatings, whippings and every sort of insult in your court, but never justice.”

“How dare you!”

“He dares very easily,” a goblin replied. This one was small, barely two and a half feet tall. Spear bald, the goblin wore ratty clothes and had yellowish skin and a perpetual grin. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Innit, and I speak for these goblins.”

Cassium looked at Jast and then Innit. “You, you’re in league with them!”

“I am,” Jast admitted.

The goblins dragged Cassium and his men further into the prison while Jast, his guards and Innit walked alongside. More goblins ran in from elsewhere in the prison to laugh and jeer their prisoners, their numbers growing by the minute. Innit kept smiling and explained, “We learned of this wonderful place years ago quite by accident, and hurried over at once. Breaking in was hard but worth it. It’s warm in the winter, protected from outside attack, and almost no one comes here. Dark, dank, smelly, why, I can’t say enough good things about it.”

Jast continued, “I didn’t know what to expect when I was assigned this post. Three days speaking with inmates proved this was a place of horrors. So many people were here for the crime of having what men in power wanted.”

Furious, Cassium demanded, “What did you expect them to say? The truth?”

“I spoke with enough people outside the prison to learn that the inmates weren’t lying. Not one man in ten was truly guilty, and even the real criminals didn’t deserve this.” Jast walked on in silence for a moment. “But there was nothing I could do. Their land was confiscated, so they couldn’t go home. They were convicted felons, so they couldn’t settle elsewhere in Skitherin without being caught and executed. I couldn’t safely smuggle them out of the kingdom when we’re so far from the border.”

“A most unfortunate situation,” Innit agreed. “My people were in a bind, since we couldn’t move in with so many humans already present. That’s when we made this.”

Jast opened a cell door to reveal a circle made of bricks on the floor. It was ten feet across, and each brick had a different symbol carved into it. Cassium realized in horror that this must be the circle his books kept babbling about.

“You’ll have to explain this,” Jast told Innit. “I’ve never understood the thing.”

“It’s a goblin gate,” Innit said. “There are a thousand of them all over the world, hidden away in quiet, isolated places. Each one is made with twenty bricks connecting them to twenty other gates, and each of those is connected to twenty more. Goblin gates are powered by stupidity and craziness, which goblins have in surplus. Once we step on a gate, it can take us anywhere.

“We tunneled into an empty cell and built a goblin gate, then told the prisoners we were taking over and they would have to go.” Innit’s smile was briefly replaced with by a look of utter puzzlement. “I can’t explain why they left without a fight. Many seemed quite cheerful to lose their home, actually giddy.”

“I didn’t know what was happening until a third of the prisoners were gone,” Jast admitted. He kneeled down next to Cassium and looked sad. “I’d been here for months and couldn’t do anything for these poor souls, and then goblins gave me the answer.”

“You let the rest of your prisoners escape?” Cassium yelled.

“I escorted them to the gate and sent them through,” Jast replied. “They deserved better, but this was the best I could do. Wherever they went, there’s at least a chance they can build a new life. It was easy to keep secret since no one came here except more prisoners. When officials in the Ministry of Obedience asked for a prisoner, I said the man was dead. It worked for three years until you showed up.”

“And you keep the money sent to feed them!” Cassium struggled to break free, but the filthy mob of goblins holding him was too strong.

Jast shrugged. “Three plebs a week for eight hundred prisoners comes out to only twenty-four hundred plebs. It keeps my men and their families fed better than the wages we’re paid. But the money doesn’t matter. This is justice, magistrate, real justice, the kind people don’t get in Skitherin anymore, if they ever did.”

“I’m still trying to grasp this ‘justice’ concept,” Innit confessed. The air in the goblin gate grew momentarily darker, and there was a whoosh as five goblins appeared inside it. “Ah, more friends.”

One of the five new goblins walked out of the gate and blinked. “Where are we?”

Innit shook the newcomer’s hands. “You’re home.”

The goblin smiled. “Home. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“That’s been going on for three years,” Jast said. His earlier ambivalence was gone, replaced with a tone of satisfaction. “Prisoners come and are set free the same day. More goblins stream in through the gate or tunnels they’ve dug into the prison.”

“What of the men I saw in the cells?” Cassium demanded. It was a testament to his self-confidence that he expected answers even after being taken captive.

Giggling goblins brought in a straw dummy wearing ragged clothes. It was smeared with dirt and had an animal pelt for a wig. Up close it was obvious what it was, but in the cells’ poor lighting such dummies had been convincing. One goblin stuck his hand into the dummy’s head and raised it, saying, “Mercy! Mercy, please!”

“No, stupid, you’re suppose to cough like you’re sick,” another goblin scolded him. “I’m supposed to make the dummies beg.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting my lines,” the first goblin said.

Innit shrugged. “We’ll work it out in rehearsal. Magistrate Cassium, allow me to correct you on one point. You called this place The Pit, a rather bland and totally unoriginal name. My fellow goblins and I rechristened it as Goblinopolis. There is already one Goblin City in The Kingdom of the Goblins. Now there is a second. We are thousands strong here, and both our numbers and Goblinopolis grows each day as we bring in new residents and carve new tunnels and homes from the limestone.”

“The Pit, excuse me, Goblinopolis, is a third bigger than when I was first assigned here,” Jast added. He looked so sincere when he asked, “Can you believe that one of the greatest horrors of our world could be made into a place of refuge, into a home?”

“You, you’re mad,” Cassium said. “Totally insane. These, these creatures, they’ve infected your mind somehow. You have to know this won’t work. You can’t kill me! My superiors will search for me and learn what you’ve done if I don’t return.”

“When you don’t return, magistrate.” Jast grabbed Cassium and pulled him to his feet. His guards grabbed Cassium’s driver and servant. “Every man within fifty miles is loyal to me. Tomorrow I’ll send word to the capital that my men found your carriage overturned and burned, the horses and occupants missing. It’s tragic, but isolated roads like these are infested with bandits and monsters. If you were from a noble house your superiors would work day and night to find you, but a commoner, trying to rise above his station? No, magistrate, they’ll write you off as a loss, one easily replaced.”

Jast threw Cassium into the goblin gate, and his men threw Cassium’s servant and driver on top of him. Jast scowled and said, “I don’t know where this will take you, but there’s a good chance you’ll arrive in a place settled by prisoners you sent here. They’ll be most interested to see you. Mouse, if you’ll do the honors?”

“Whoo hoo!” Mouse the goblin ran on all fours and jumped onto the goblin gate, where he provided the stupidity and craziness necessary to power it. Cassium screamed as the air around him darkened and blurred before he and his men were sent a thousand miles away, where a hundred men bearing scars and whip marks never fully healed were indeed very interested to see him.

“Hey!” Someone poked Habbly in the back as he lay on top of a 50-pound sack of rice. Habbly grumbled and rolled over, pulling an empty grain sack over himself, but the unwelcome guest wasn’t giving up. “Hey, this is private property!”

“Then neither of use should be here,” Habbly mumbled. “You leave first and I’ll be right behind you.”

There was a pause before the man addressed Habbly again. “Nice try. Go find another place to sleep, because for the next four hour this warehouse is under my protection.”

Habbly sat up and rubbed his eyes, pushing aside copious amount of dirty hair to reach his eyes. He studied his surroundings, slightly brighter than when he’d snuck in last night and even less impressive now that he could see it clearly. The warehouse contained sack after sack of rice, tons of the stuff. A few rats scurried about while a bored cat followed them, not sure whether it was interested in hunting. If you were looking for exciting places, this was as far away as you could go.

The young man with brown hair facing Habbly was equally unimpressive. He was in his late teens and wore gray and black clothes. Plain was the best way to describe his face, hair, height, weight, everything. He practically radiated blandness, averageness.

Then Habbly saw the youth’s staff. It was made of oak, stained and carved with strange symbols the goblin didn’t recognize. Long, narrow panels made of black marble were built into the staff so beautifully that they looked like the wood had grown around the marble. Maybe it had. That staff must have cost real money to make. Worse, it meant the kid was a wizard.

“Why is a wizard guarding rice?” Habbly asked.

“It’s a paying job, thank you very much, and temporary. So toddle on out of here and…wait, you’re a goblin. I thought those sacks you were laying on were you. Feeling kind of stupid now.”

Habbly yawned and stood up. He’d come here last night in the hope of finding a quiet place to sleep. If it was nice enough he would have spent days here in the silence and darkness. Goblins as a rule were well suited for living in shadowy places like this, but Habbly had another reason to take shelter in a grain warehouse. Warehouses were boring places where nothing happened, and Habbly was desperate for peace and quiet. The wizard would doubtless make sure he didn’t get it.

“I am a goblin. I didn’t eat your rice, although rats are chowing down on spilled grain. I’m not carrying money, weapons, gems, magic, artwork, knickknacks, horsehead bookends or anything else you might want.”

To Habbly’s shock, the wizard got down on his knees so he could look Habbly in the eyes. “I need a goblin. Please, can you help me?”

Habbly stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I need a goblin to introduce me to William Bradshaw, the King of the Goblins, the War Winner. Please, it’s more important than you can imagine!”

William Bradshaw was a name Habbly knew even if he’d never met the man. Bradshaw was the latest human to be tricked into becoming King of the Goblins, and earned the moniker War Winner by leading his goblins into one fight after another. No one understood how he’d survived those fights, much less won them, but he had. The poor fool should have been killed long ago or at least been slapped silly. Instead he’d become a man both feared and despised. That made the wizard’s request all the more confusing.

“Um, why?”

The wizard took Habbly by the hand and led him outside. “We shouldn’t be in here. Come, we’ll talk outside.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Habbly protested. He would have rather stayed in the relative safety of the warehouse, but he was half the height of the wizard and nowhere near as strong. He was pulled outside to the streets of Nolod.

Nolod was a city blended with a sewer, a stinking metropolis of a million souls known for trade, manufacturing and indescribable filth. The tall brick buildings were stained black by smoke and pollution. Streets were paved with cobblestones, and then covered with a glaze of mud, sand, dung and trash ground up by people’s feet until it became a paste. Men of wealth bought clothes monthly not only to stay current with fashion but also to replace clothes ruined by the foul air. Countless men, dwarfs, elves, minotaurs, ogres and trolls traveled the streets and spoke so much and so loudly that it became a constant background roar.

A few men stopped when they saw the wizard come onto the streets with Habbly. The wizard waved them off, saying, “It’s under control.”

“Can we take this into an alley, or at least a doorway?” Habbly asked. It was broad daylight, or at least as bright as it got through the thick layer of smog. Goblins stayed out of the light to avoid bigger races. “I’d rather not be chased off the street.”

“No one’s going to bother you while I’m here. I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Kadid Lan, wizard of earth magics.”

“Charmed,” Habbly told him. “Earlier you sounded like you wanted me for something other than target practice.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you!” Kadid exclaimed.

Habbly scratched his head, digging out a pile of dandruff in the process. Wizards were known for being powerful, grumpy, overconfident and preferring quiet to company. Kadid defied expectations. What could Habbly possibly do to help a wizard?

“Let me explain,” Kadid began. “I studied under Uoni Marthax, one of Nolod’s resident wizards. He’s powerful and respected, or at least feared enough that men give him a wide berth. Not long ago your King was fighting Quentin Peck, the richest man alive, and he came to my master for help. My master refused him. He said your King’s problems weren’t his and turned him away empty handed. King Bradshaw went on to defeat Peck, and when he did he revealed the horrors Peck had done to the world. Peck had created suffering like you wouldn’t believe across three continents.”

“I’d heard about him,” Habbly replied. The poor goblin had grown up in the living nightmare known as Battle Island and survived the war against the Fallen King. Suffering and fear were no strangers to him. But Quentin Peck was in a class all his own when it came to wreaking havoc. He’d pretended to be an honest businessman, all the while insidiously destroying the kingdoms he traded with. No one knew exactly what Bradshaw had done to Peck, but the richest man alive was gone and none mourned him.

“Afterwards I told my master that we should have helped your King. My master disagreed.” Kadid scowled, which would have looked intimidating on anyone except him. He just couldn’t look bland and scary at the same time.

“And that’s bad?” Habbly asked.

“It’s inexcusable! My master doesn’t want anyone angry at him, so he does nothing. He ignored Peck even when your King said what was happening, and my master is only too happy to ignore the next problem and the next after that.” Kadid looked down. “And I used to be just like him.”

Habbly rubbed his eyed. This was getting maudlin. “I’m not seeing where I come in.”

Kadid’s scowl was replaced with a pleading, sincere look. “I want to be more than what I was. I want to be the kind of person who makes the world better, like your King. I want to be a hero.”

Passing men snickered. Kadid raised his staff and shouted, “Angry wizard doesn’t like being laughed at!”

“Then angry wizard shouldn’t guard a warehouse,” a man retorted. “That’s poor man’s work.”

Kadid snarled before returning his attention to Habbly. “I left my master’s service after he called me a fool. Fool, maybe, but I’m no coward. I want to go to the King of the Goblins to apologize and offer my services. My old master was happy to let others win or lose. Your King fights for those in need, and I’d like to fight beside him.”

Habbly stared at Kadid and did his best not to look horrified. He wasn’t worried that Kadid would do something stupid like attack Bradshaw. The War Winner could take care of himself. But it was clear that Kadid was feeling heroic. Habbly had seen that plenty of times before, and it usually ended with the guy dead.

The wizard and goblin were drawing an audience as pedestrians stopped to watch. Most of them snickered at the wizard’s words. Nolod was known for riches and filth, a contradiction the city excelled at, but honor, courage, decency, these were foreign concepts. Seeing a man pledge himself to a distant king was laughable.

Not all men were so snide, their faces instead betraying fear and revulsion. Will Bradshaw had come to Nolod to face Quentin Peck, a man against a metropolis, and he’d won. The fighting had taken less than three weeks, yet the city hadn’t fully recovered from their battle. Half of Peck’s many businesses had closed forever and the rest been snapped up by opportunists, and many of Peck’s ships had been seized or stolen, reducing trade. If Kadid was willing to follow in Bradshaw’s footsteps then he was a threat to the city.

Habbly waved for Kadid to follow him into an alley running between warehouses. Once they had some degree of privacy, he said, “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!”

“No, you’re an idiot among idiots. Wizard, you have no idea what you’re asking for. If you go this route then you’ll never know a second’s peace. Enemies will come after you day after day after day until you’ll dead. I’ve seen it happen to better men than you.”

“What?” Kadid struck a pose pointing a finger at Habbly. “You’re insulting your own King! He fights the good fight.”

“And nearly dies from it. How long can his luck hold out? Gamblers put his odds of living until year’s end at one in ten. You want to be like him, fight alongside him? You’ll go down with him.” Habbly put a hand over his face and shook his head before saying, “It’s just like Julius.”

Kadid’s outrage changes to surprise and then delight. “Julius Craton? You think I’m like him?”

“Yes.” Habbly looked at Kadid, the poor, bumbling fool. “I know him. He’s a friend of mine, sort of. I gave him the magic sword he uses these days.”

“That’s incredible! You’ve helped the greatest hero of our day!”

It was awe inspiring how blind Kadid was to reality. Maybe Habbly could get through to the wizard if he tried harder. “I met him, armed him, and I nearly watched him die. Julius is a man three steps ahead of death and losing ground fast. He fights one noble quest after another, usually alone or with too few helping him. He’s worn thin. Most men would have given up or died by now. He’s tough, so I figure he’ll last another eighteen months. After that he might get a funeral if someone can find his body, people will make nice speeches, and then they’ll look for their next hero.”

Kadid leaned his staff against the warehouse and threw his hands in the air. “Don’t you see? That’s what I’m trying to fix! Your King fought against impossible odds alone. Wizards, dragons, generals, knights, none of them helped! That happens all the time in Nolod and most of the world. No one is willing to risk their lives or reputations. They sit back and let someone else face the danger, and let the consequences be what they may. You need more men like me to help men like your King and Julius Craton. I want to be that man!”

Habbly gave Kadid a skeptical look. “You think you’re as strong as they are?”

Kadid looked down and rubbed the back of his head. “Um.”

“He’s not,” a passing woman said.

“It’s embarrassing,” said a dwarf.

“Ran for his life from a devil rat,” a man added.

“That happened once!” Kadid shouted. “Don’t laugh! You weren’t there! It was huge, with red eyes and sharp teeth, fifty pounds of hate! I got it in the end!”

“You’re guarding a warehouse,” Habbly pointed out. “That’s not exactly heroic, is it?”

Kadid looked down. “I need the money. The journey to your King is going to take weeks. That means money for food, road tolls, taxes, maybe bribes. This is one of the few honest jobs I could get.”

The wizard bent down to look Habbly in the eye. “You’re right. I’m no hero, not yet, but I could be. I could help men better than me, learn from them, and in time I’ll be as great. It’s a risk I’m glad to take if the alternative is living the life of a coward.”

“Living a life is better than dying for your dreams.” Habbly was getting a headache. This fool was so dead set on being a great man that he was going to end up just plain dead. What was it about humans that they were constantly ready to throw away their lives? Goblins weren’t this stupid!

“Let me explain it to you this way,” Habbly began. “I’ve seen more fights than I can count and been in too many. I’ve been in a war. Whatever you’ve heard about glory in battle is garbage. I came to Nolod to stow away on a ship going far away, somewhere there are no fights or at least less of them. I’ve had my fill of war and want no more of it. So when you come begging for the chance to run into battle, I’m letting you know as someone who’s been there that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Habbly saw men running in the street. He peered out and found a gang of men lazily walking toward the warehouse. There were eight of them dressed in leather and armed with daggers, clubs, gaff hooks and blackjacks. Young, strong, healthy, they were a threat and the street cleared as they approached.

“Trouble,” Habbly said.

“Evening, governor,” one of the gang said. “Seems to me we have a problem.”

Kadid should have run off. Instead he stepped out of the alley to meet them. “And what would that be?”

“The captain who rented this warehouse didn’t pay toll. You own a warehouse, you rent one, no difference, you pay the Warf Rats fifty guilders a month. We take it in cash or in cargo, but make no mistake, we take it.”

“My employer rented this warehouse for two nights and will have his goods shipped off tonight,” Kadid told the gang as they spread out in a half circle around him. “He’s already paid the fees Nolod requires. He’s not paying a guilder more, especially for protection money.”

“Ooh, strong words, governor, strong words,” the gang’s leader jeered. The others chuckled. “What’s he paying you? Can’t figure it’s enough to die for.”

Kadid gripped his staff and pointed it at the nearest gangster. “Your boss should have sent more men if he’s going to threaten a wizard.”

The leader drew a dagger and held it up to his face. He licked the flat of the blade and smiled. “An apprentice wizard for hire, hmm, let me think, does that intimidate me? You know what, no. Thought I felt something for a second there, but it was just gas.”

Habbly watched the two sides ready for battle. Kadid was outnumbered and by all accounts not that great of a wizard. The only smart thing to do would be back down, run or maybe get help. But he was sold on the dream of heroics, of being a big man, and it was going to get him killed.

And then Habbly saw it, a sight to disgust any sane, moral being. The streets had cleared around the fight, but only for twenty feet. Men, women, even children who’d been going about their business stopped to watch. Not one came to help Kadid, who might be an idiot, but was at least in the right. Some of them placed wagers on the fight, as if this was a sporting event. Habbly had seen the same thing on Battle Island and its gladiator pits. Men fought and died while crowds cheered, like it was fun.

It made him mad.

The gangsters moved in, Kadid began casting a spell, but Habbly got the first hit in. He grabbed a mop from a nearby washerwoman and swung it like a club, striking a gangster across the face. Two gangsters turned to face him while the other six went after Kadid. Habbly jabbed the mop handle in a man’s gut and then cracked it against his shins.

Kadid finished his spell. The layer of filth coating the ground slid across the street and gathered in front of the wizard in a glistening, stinking column six feet tall and two feet wide. There was the slightest pause before it sprayed at the gangsters and splattered against them, ruining their clothes and blinding them. The crowd cried out in disgust as a fair portion of that toxic stew hit them as well.

“You’re not getting one coin!” Kadid screamed. He swung his staff and struck the gang’s leader in the shoulder. Another swing hit the man in the ankles, tipping him over. “Not now, not ever! Do you hear me? Nothing!”

A gangster drew his dagger and threw it at Kadid. Habbly raised his mop in time to catch the dagger in the mop head. He pulled the dagger free and tripped the man with the mop handle.

Three gangsters cleaned enough filth from their eyes to get back in the fight. Kadid saw them coming and cast another spell. Cobblestones pulled free from the road and connected end to end, forming a long whip made of bricks. The whip swung at knee height, sending all three men screaming to the ground before the cobblestones went back into the street.

The gang leader staggered back to his feet. Kadid saw him and charged the man. The leader had just enough time to raise a club and block Kadid’s staff swing. Two more followed and broke the man’s club. The leader swung his dagger, but Habbly ran over and grabbed the man’s arm to make sure the blade never hit.

“Are you intimidated now?” Kadid yelled. He struck the leader hard enough to drop him to the ground. Another gangster tried to tackle the wizard. Kadid braced his staff against the warehouse and pointed it at the man. The gangster’s charge sent him straight into the staff stomach first. That staggered him long enough for Kadid to hit him across the face.

Two gangsters tried to run. Habbly tripped the first with the mop while Kadid chased down the second one and knocked him down. A lone gangster looked strong enough to continue the fight, but seeing so many of his fellows defeated convinced him to surrender.

Kadid breathed hard as he stared at the men. “Get this through your thick skulls. This warehouse is under my protection. You won’t steal a single grain of rice out of it. You won’t get so much as a copper coin from my employer. If you even think about setting the warehouse on fire, I will personally entomb you in bricks and dump you in the ocean. Am I getting through to you, or do you need a demonstration?”

“Clear, governor,” the leader gasped.

As the gangsters tried to leave, Hably whispered to Kadid. The wizard ordered, “Drop your weapons. You can leave, but not armed.”

Reluctantly the men disarmed and left a pile of weapons at Kadid’s feet. Habbly whispered more to Kadid, who added, “And your money. Come on, empty your wallets.”

“What the…you’re robbing us?” a gangster sputtered.

Kadid leaned down into the man’s face and scowled. “Call it the price of stupidity. Angry wizard is losing his patience. Money, now.”

The gangsters emptied their pockets and produced a small pile of copper coins. Injured, disarmed and broke, they fled into the crowd. With the show over the crowd dispersed, moving on as if it was just another day. A single man with a badly stained suit stayed behind and marched up to Kadid.

“Look at what you did to my clothes! This is never going to come out! I demand—”

Kadid pressed the tip of his staff against the man’s neck. “You stayed to watch the show, you take responsibility for the consequences. Beat it.”

With that the fight was over. Habbly handed the mop back to the washerwoman while Kadid took the loot from the fight and retreated to the warehouse’s doorway. Exhausted, Habbly joined him there.

“That was pretty impressive for someone who doesn’t like to fight,” Kadid said.

“I don’t like it, but I’m good at it.” Habbly sorted through the weapons until he found a dagger that fit his hands well. “That’s not bad magic. Why did you hire out for a job this small if you’re so strong?”

Kadid looked worried. “Um, those two spells are all I can muster. I won’t be able to cast more magic until tomorrow. But I’m getting better! Last year I could only cast one spell a day.”

Habbly put a hand over his face. “You can cast two spells a day and you want to be a hero.”

“I want to be the man who saves those in need. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I guess not.”

They spent the next few hours talking and keeping an eye out for the Warf Rats. Thankfully the gang didn’t make a second attack. Men came near dusk with wagons and loaded up the rice for shipment elsewhere. A richly dressed merchant counted out ten guilders and handed them to Kadid.

“Good money for two day’s work,” the merchant said. He tipped his hat and left without another word.

Astounded, Habbly asked, “That’s all you got paid?”

Kadid shrugged. “That plus another job and the bounty money on that devil rat should get me where I’m going. Are you coming or not? I don’t want to force you into this, but it would go smoother with a goblin’s help, and I think you’d be happier in a kingdom of your own people.”

“I don’t know,” Habbly said. He and Kadid left the now empty warehouse behind and headed into Nolod’s tangled web of streets.

“We’ll find a flophouse to spend the night and make a decision in the morning,” Kadid said. He stopped in mid stride when they came across an elaborate poster stuck to a wall. “That’s weird.”

Habbly went over to study the poster. “What is?”

“This. I’ve seen lots of advertisements in Nolod, but they’re always on cheap paper and have sloppy writing. This one’s made of high quality paper. It looks like it’s made with linen as well as wood pulp. Pricy. And look at that fine penmanship. The blue ink is a strange choice, too.”

“No secrets,” Habbly read aloud. “I’ve seen these before in Sunset City. That’s hundreds of miles from here. Let’s see what they’ve got this time.”

“Ooh, look at this!” Kadid pointed to a paragraph near the middle. “It says Julius Craton is on a secret mission to Oceanview Kingdom, where he will do battle with the Red Hand criminal organization. I’ve heard of them. They used to work out of Nolod before they were chased off. Still a dangerous bunch.”

Habbly’s jaw dropped. “Do you have enough money to pay for ship passage to Oceanview? Please say yes!”

Kadid looked confused. “What’s the matter?”

Habble stabbed the middle of the poster with his new dagger. “This! If Julius was on a secret mission, it’s not a secret anymore! Anybody who comes across this poster knows about it.”

“Not just this one.” Kadid pointed his staff at identical posters on other buildings. “Look. There are dozens of them. Who put these up? They weren’t here this morning.”

Terror gripped Habbly’s heart. “I’ve seen these posters in other kingdoms! If there are so many and they’re spread so wide, it’s almost certain the Red Hand will hear about Julius’ mission. He’s walking into a trap!”