Arthur Daigle's Blog, page 11

new goblin stories 9

The city of Harath had become a place of shrouds. Black curtains hung in every window and black flags flew from every tower. There was no sound of music or merriment, and despite the late hour there should have been revelers. Harath was known for producing the finest wines on Other Place, a fact the elves disputed every chance they got, miserable backstabbers that they were. No one cared about elf lies, and for good reason as countless bottles of quality wine flowed from wineries established thousands of years ago. The residents of Harath were joyous and celebrated life, but not today.

Midnight came and went. Clouds blotted out the moon and stars as if they shared the city’s mood. Few fires burned and no lanterns were lit. This meant no one noticed short figures clothed in black garments sneak through the city streets. The stunted and smelly beings stood between two and four feet tall, and they left not an inch of skin uncovered. Awkward as their appearance might be, they were as silent as falling snow as they moved through the cobblestone streets.

The furtive people were careful in case they might run into dogs, burglars or various scary beings of the night. That last category was less worrying than it sounded since the scary beings unionized last year. Still, there was a chance, however small, that they would be noticed. That wouldn’t do. The smelly crowd used every trick they knew to avoid making the slightest sound. They kept to the back alleys and less traveled roads on their way to the castle.

Castle Sea Crest was a real castle, one of those fine old castles that remembered they were built for war and not just huge mansions. The walls were yards thick, the bricks made of granite and the towers soared high above the prosperous city. There hadn’t been a serious threat in generations, but the royal family kept Castle Sea Crest in good repair. After all, you never knew what the future held.

The black clad figures stopped near the edge of the castle. Guards patrolled the outer walls every fifteen minutes, and even in such a time of woe they kept a strict schedule. Timing would be tricky.

Guards armed with spears and torches came near. The crowd edged back into the shadows and waited for them to pass. Instead the guards stopped and one took a silver flask from his pocket. He took a sip and offered it to another guard. The man waved it off.

“These last few days food and drink taste like ashes in my mouth.”

The first guard put the flask back and looked down. “Dark times, indeed.”

“I fear worse ones to come,” the second guard said. He shuddered and looked at the castle before leading the other men away.

Once they were gone the crowd returned. They were silent as cats, in part because they’d gagged themselves before beginning this mission. Fifteen minutes more until the guards returned.

A window high up on the castle opened. The crowd below tensed, relaxing only when they saw more short figures in black wave to them. The group in the window lifted a large leather bag six feet long and two feet across. They slid it out the window and lowered it with ropes to the ground below. The waiting crowd took the large bag and carried it into the shadows.

One by one the figures above climbed to the ground using the same ropes they’d lowered the bag with. The last person threw the ropes down. Below him the crowd hung a rope net between the castle wall and a nearby house. One leap sent him fifty feet down where the net caught him. They gathered up the net and ropes before fleeing into the night.

They’d only gone a block when alarm bells rang from the castle. Piercing lights shined in windows, and the drawbridge came down with a thud to release dozens of knights on horseback. They raced through the city streets, screaming at the top of their lungs the whole time.

“To arms! To arms! Wake the citizenry and seal the city! The King’s body has been stolen!”

One of the black clad figures pulled off his gag. “So much for the mannequin.”

“I really thought that would fool them until morning,” another replied. “Maybe it shouldn’t have been smiling.”

“Hurry,” a third whispered.

Harath’s slumber ended as doors and windows flew open. Men and women ran outside to see what the noise was about. This slowed the knights from reaching the alleys where the black clad figures scurried with their heavy load. The delay wouldn’t last long, and the black clad crowd broke into a run.

They reached the city’s outer wall and ducked into a small building. More people in black waited for them and opened a secret door hidden in the floor. All of the short figures went inside with the large bag and their belongings. From there they went through sewers and tunnels until they reached another door a mile from the city. They peeked outside in case the knights had already gotten this far, but the noise and light was still far off.

It took them the rest of the night to get through the vineyards and fields around the city to reach the safety of home. Home was a network of caves well away from farmland and human habitation. The rocky ground couldn’t support grapes or wheat, so it was left empty.

Empty places are where goblins live.

Back in the safety of their cave, the goblins pulled off their disguises. Black cloaks and pants were replaced with regular leather and cotton clothes, and black soot was washed off from around their eyes. They set down the bag they’d brought so far and cheered as still more goblins poured into the cave. Their numbers grew until hundreds of goblins crowded around the bag. The air rippled as the collective craziness and stupidity of so many goblins close together began to warp space.

“You did it!” a goblin with a crooked staff cheered. He had green skin and blue hair, and wore heavy robes made from an old carpet.

“You doubted us, Estive?” one of the returning goblins teased. Now out of his disguise, he had pale skin and small eyes. His unruly brown hair covered his shoulders in greasy locks that stained his leather clothes.

“Doubt you? Brat, you and Oler broke into a castle in the capital city of a kingdom, and on a day when the humans are riled up like wasps when you hit their nest. You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

“Hmm,” Oler muttered. Oler was hulking by goblin standards, with dense muscles and strong arms and legs. His leather clothes didn’t quite fit, and his fair skin and brown hair were always dirty.

“Show us, show us!” goblins shouted.

Brat and Oler untied the bag and carefully took out King Justin Lawgiver, a sight to behold even now. His skin was wrinkled and his hair white, but there was a strength to him, a look of nobility. His clothes were fine linens dyed deep blue, with a sable cape and fur lined boots. He still wore his signet ring and jeweled crown. The King smelled of lavender from the perfumed oils he’d been anointed with.

“Speech!” the goblins yelled. “Speech!”

Brat smiled and said, “We snuck in by—”

A goblin waved his arms. “Not you, Justin!”

Estive rolled his eyes and pushed his way to the front of the group. “None of that! You get things ready, and do a good job! It’s not often we have a guest.”

The goblins hurried off, one saying, “Wouldn’t want to look bad in front of the King.”

It took two hours of hard work, something few goblins bothered with even for a minute, but they made the cave presentable. Colorful streamers dyed with berry juice hung from the cave walls. Tables and chairs of dubious quality were brought out and dusted off. A large table was brought out for Justin Lawgiver to rest on since he was the guest of honor. Goblin cooks who’d been abducted and dragged here against their will were politely asked to prepare a banquet.

Musicians played horns and fiddles as goblins piled their plates high with heaping helpings of food. There was some concern that they’d offend Justin since goblins eat what humans couldn’t stand the sight of. The fear proved baseless as the King was being a good sport about the matter. That wasn’t surprising given that he was dead, but he’d been a good one even when he was alive. One goblin set a plate of food beside the King on the off chance he’d feel better and ask for a snack.

The celebration was in full swing with raucous music, copious eating and much laughter. It went on for hours and even the goblin cooks joined in. Once the music and gorging was done, the goblins gathered around Justin Lawgiver’s body. They fell silent, but their expressions were not dour, nor were their tears. A few goblins gave the King a pat on the back and some encouraging words before they settled down.

Estive gathered up his ratty robes and struck his staff on the cave floor. Bang! The goblins turned their eager eyes toward him. Once he was sure he had the crowd’s attention, he waved his staff over the cave and addressed the goblins. “Friends, allies, neighbors, people we tied up and dragged here, we come here together to bid a fond farewell to Justin Lawgiver, who through no fault of his own was King.”

“Poor guy,” a goblin said.

Not bothered by the interruption, Estive pointed his staff at their esteemed (and deceased) guest. “Justin, also known to us as Big J, J Master and the Guy with the Crown, was an honest, hardworking man who gave his people a chance to make the best of themselves that they possibly could. I’ll never understand how he lasted so long. Forty years a King and every day of it a struggle with other kings, merchant guilds, his nobles and especially his family.”

Brat shook his head. “Four sons and one throne. I do not like that math.”

Getting a little annoyed, Estive said, “You’ll get your turn. Justin fought the longest battle I ever knew to make sure his people never fought at all. He created alliances, brokered trade deals, soothed wounded egos and tried so blasted hard to keep everybody from killing each other. The job took years off his life, no question. If the world was fair he would have been born a potter or yam farmer.

“Instead he was surrounded by petty, vindictive, greedy and otherwise not at all nice people. Any one of us would have run off in a heartbeat, but he stuck it out and made it work. My theory was he used magic or possibly blackmail, but I’ve been told by people who know such things that he didn’t.

“And he was good to us!” Estive shouted. Goblins chorused their agreement as Estive said, “No more anti-goblin raids by the army. No more goblin hunting parties for the nobles. No more bounties on goblin heads. He put a stop to that here and in neighboring lands. They hated him for it, but he stood strong no matter how they yelled at him and threatened him.”

Oler belched and scratched himself.

“That’s why we had to do this. Poor Justin wasn’t even cold and his family started fighting. ‘I want to be King!’ ‘No, I want to be King!’ They should have been giving him a proper send off after the good he did for them, and instead they brawled over who got his stuff. Greedy bums one and all.” Estive banged his staff on the cave floor again. “The guy was dead and they still weren’t going to leave him alone! So, brothers, friends, hangers on and idiots who wandered in, we have come together to bid a fond farewell to dear Justin Lawgiver, King to the Humans, and ensure his peaceful rest.”

A goblin in the crowd waved to get Estive’s attention. “You’re sure he’s not a goblin?”

“We’ve been over this,” Brat said. “Several times.”

“I mean, it makes more sense if he’s always been one of us,” the goblin continued. More goblins nodded, proof that the man/goblin debate still wasn’t settled.

Estive lost his patience and threw a rock at the offending goblin, missing by inches. “He’s twice as tall as you are and four times as heavy! And, I might add, he was born instead of falling out of a giant mushroom like we are!”

“I’m just saying,” the other goblin persisted.

“Just say it somewhere else.” Estive waved his staff at Brat for him to come over and take his place. “Before we bid goodnight to Justin, I’d like to ask the people who knew him best to say a few words.”

Oler picked his ear and farted.

“It’s Brat’s turn first, Oler,” Estive said. He stepped away from the body and let Brat speak.

Brat brushed his dirty hair aside and spoke to the goblin mob. “We were able to break into the castle by—”

Estive threw a rock at Brat and hit him in the shoulder. “Talk about the dead guy!”

“Okay, okay! Geez.” Brat rubbed his shoulder and began again. “The first time I met Justin was twenty years ago. The boys and me had broken into his castle for some food. It wasn’t hard when they just dump their potato peelings and coffee grounds in buckets where anyone could get them. Anyway, we were nearly out when Justin and his knights came by. Me and Oler hid up in the rafters and waited for them to leave when a rafter gave way and dumped me on the floor, and both my buckets landed on my head.”

Brat laughed. “Hoo boy, was that embarrassing! The knights went for their swords and I was about to run when Justin broke out laughing. He went down on his knees and then sat down so he didn’t fall over. I’d seen him plenty of times before that, but that was the first time I saw him laugh. When he got his breath back, he told the knights to escort me outside the castle, and he let me keep my stuff. Then he said that from now on he’d have his cooks leave their kitchen scraps outside the walls where we can get them.”

There was a pause as Brat looked at the King. “Most people won’t do that for you. I mean, he couldn’t eat the stuff, but he still could have kept it from us or burned it.”

“We should have done more for him,” a goblin said.

“After that I checked in on him every chance I got,” Brat continued. “So many people shouted at him, demanding stuff. Most of the time they wanted gold, but his sons kept demanding his crown. I found him once when he was alone. He was watching little kids playing in the streets, and he had this big smile. I went over and said he should go play with them. He shook his head and said ‘There are things a King cannot do.’ So I said, ‘But you want to,’ and he nodded.”

“We tried,” Estive said.

“We tried,” Brat echoed. “I got him laughing a couple of times, and I made a few of his enemies look stupid. I can’t take too much credit for the last part when they were already as dumb as toast. But it was a little bit of happy against a whole lot of sad.
Today we’re putting things right. Justin will be with friends from now on, and let those jerks argue without him. Oler, it’s your turn.”

Oler looked surprised. He tried to back up, but other goblins nudged him up to the King. Oler wasn’t sure what to do. He’d seen funerals before. Most of the time people said profound things about the dead guy. Oler wasn’t good at that. Other times they were polite and poetic. He really wasn’t good at that.

“Go on,” Brat urged him.

Oler looked at the King for a while as he tried to come up with honest words to say. He placed his right hand over Justin’s stilled heart. “We will meet again.”

Estive and Brat patted him on the back and let him join the other goblins. As one the goblins gathered around the King and lifted him up. They carried him to a small chamber in the cave network and placed him there with the streamers and a plate of food (just in case).

With the King safe in his tomb, Estive placed a folded piece of paper in Justin’s hand. “A map, should you get lost on your final journey.” He placed his staff across the King’s chest, saying, “My staff, should the trip prove tiring.” Finally he took two dice from Brat and slipped them into the King’s pocket. “Loaded dice, because you’re the unluckiest man I’ve met, and anything that tips the odds in your favor is good.”

From there the goblins gathered rocks and wet clay. They carefully placed the rocks across the chamber’s entrance, fitting them together so tightly it was hard to see between them. They mixed the clay with powdered stone from the caves until it took on the same color as the native rock. They pressed the clay between the rocks and over them like cement. Goblins heated the clay with fire until it became hard as stone. More goblins chiseled the clay to remove any imperfections. Normally goblins wouldn’t go to so much effort, but there are things you’ll only do for a friend.

When they were done, the entrance to the chamber was gone, covered so well it looked as if it was a solid wall and always had been.

Brat gave an approving smile. “Even I couldn’t break into here. If the humans find our cave and searched it, they’d never find Justin Lawgiver.”

“I hear tell you can’t be a king without a crown,” a goblin said.

Estive waved his hands. “Nonsense! William Bradshaw King of the Goblins doesn’t have a crown, and he’s the best King our people ever had.”

“If it’s true Justin needs a crown, then he should get to keep the one he has,” Brat said. “I won’t see him demoted for silly reasons like being dead.”

Oler sneezed.

“Good point,” Estive told him.

The goblin that brought up this topic said, “What I mean is, if Justin Lawgiver has his crown then his sons can’t have it. That means none of them can be King.”

Brat laughed at the news. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch.”

Estive looked at the camouflaged tomb. He tapped it with his knuckles and smiled. “He’s safe now. We did it.”

“That we did.” Brat smiled and looked at the others. With their solemn duty done, he said, “Let’s go throw ducks at people.”

New Goblin Stories 8

Habbly was a goblin on the run for a crime he didn’t commit, which was ironic since he’d committed forty minor crimes no one had noticed. The little goblin hurried through the narrow streets of Sunset City and overturned a pile of wicker baskets stacked on the street. The old lady selling them shouted at Habbly and shook her fist, but the makeshift barricade blocked the narrow cobblestone street.

Sunset City was the Capital of Oceanview Kingdom, a land not known for creative names. As befit a capital of a minor power, Sunset City had brick buildings proof against stormy weather, an excellent if small harbor and a population of eighty thousand. Habbly had come here to lose himself in the safety of the crowded streets. It hadn’t worked out so well.

“Halt in the name of the…uh…law!” That was Officer Dalton, the man after Habbly. Nice man, good hair, popular with the ladies, he had many fine traits, intelligence not being one of them, or agility. Dalton tried to jump over the baskets and tripped. Habbly was running for his life, but even at these speeds he saw two old men grin and one hand a coin to the other.

“That makes ten falls this month,” said one.

“Double or nothing he reaches twelve,” the other offered.

Habbly had nearly escaped when he heard Dalton’s partner arrive. Now he was in trouble. The goblin poured on the speed and took three turns in rapid succession, all to no avail. He heard his pursuer’s hard breathing getting closer and closer. Pounce! Habbly was knocked over, and the gray furred husky jumped on his chest and licked him.

“Shep, no, bad dog!” Dalton caught up and tried to pull the exuberant dog off. Shep was having none of it. He sniffed Habbly from to bottom, and the goblin giggled where the dog’s wet nosed tickled him. “Don’t lick him! You don’t know where’s he’s been!”

Dalton was dashing in his blue uniform with black trim. He hadn’t drawn his sword during the chase, no surprise given he hadn’t drawn it in two years service. Word was he’d gotten his job due to family connections. Dalton was kind. Dalton was brave. Dalton had let go every criminal he’d ever caught. He was known for daring rescues from burning buildings and swollen rivers, and eleven people owed him their lives. That and his pleasant disposition kept him employed.

Shep was a young dog, big but still very much a puppy at heart. The husky loved people and took every opportunity to play with them, as he did now by wiggling away from Dalton and jumping on Habbly again.

“Nice doggie,” Habbly said. Habbly was a weird goblin, with a mop of unruly brown hair and a braid running from the back of his head to the street. He wore tan clothes over a red shirt, a daring move since everyone knew the guy wearing red got killed first. In spite of that Habbly was a survivor, having lived seven years on Battle Island before escaping to the mainland, and from there surviving a war against the Fallen King.

Dalton struggled to pull the dog off and went for his rulebook. “You are hereby charged with upsetting the public morale, by means of posting or presenting seditious materials. You have the right to an attorney if you can afford one, or you can represent yourself. Wait, are you writing this down?”

Habbly took a pencil and pad of paper from his pockets to copy Dalton’s charges. “It seems important.”

“Huh. No one’s ever done that before.” Dalton paged through his rulebook and smiled when he reached the right spot. “You have the right to remain silent, and we’d prefer it if you did. You have the right to three meals and four bathroom breaks per day during your incarceration, which cannot exceed fifty years in duration.”

“That’s a long time. Don’t people get bored?”

“Not in our jails they don’t! There’s hard labor, educational classes, sing-alongs, more hard labor and visits from relatives.” Dalton looked confused. “Do you have relatives we should inform of your arrest?”

“No. Your dog is trying to eat my shoes.”

“Shep, no, bad dog! Bad! Don’t lick my face! Do not, look, you keep this up and the suspect will escape again.”

A crowd grew around Habbly, Dalton and Shep. Sunset City was known for two things, trade and epic levels of boredom. In the last century there had been no pirate raids, rampaging monsters, invading armies or natural disasters. The Sunset City tourism board had lobbied King Baldos to start a war or at least invite a deranged wizard to settle in city limits to improve the city’s reputation, but he’d refused.

This made the arrest of a goblin news, a sad state of affairs.

An old man poked Habbly in the belly. “What did the rascal do?”

“He tipped over my baskets!” the old woman shouted. She’d restacked them in time for Shep to knock them over again.

“Sit!” Dalton ordered. Five men sat down, but not Shep. “Heel! Beg! Roll over! Come on, you’re supposed to obey commands.”

“Play?” Habbly asked. Shep’s tail wagged faster and he leaped onto the goblin.

Dalton slapped a hand over his face. “Worst partner ever.”

“Excuse me, but I’d like to contest the charges against me,” Habbly said from underneath the dog. “Or I’ll contest them once I understand them.”

Dalton pulled his dog off Habbly and seized the goblin by the arm. “You’re under arrest for posting inflammatory lies on public and private buildings.”

“I didn’t do it,” Habbly said. He took a moment to size up the men around him. It was an old habit he’d picked up on Battle Island, where judging enemies was the difference between life and death. In this situation, death was only going to come from old age. None of the men had armor, and only three carried daggers. They didn’t carry themselves like soldiers, either. If things turned ugly he felt confident he could escape the crowd.

“A likely story.” Dalton pulled Habbly to a neighboring inn called The Gilded Cod, and the crowd followed them. The two story brick inn’s only claim to fame was never having a customer die on the premises (over the years several customers had been evacuated to maintain that reputation). The inn’s outer walls had attracted a fair bit of graffiti, as was common in large cities. Some of it was from goblins while other messages came from vendors trying to drum up business. Dalton shoved Habbly in front of a particular message painted onto the wall rather than written in charcoal or chalk. “See that?”

“It’s a wall.”

The crowd following them chuckled. Dalton’s face turned red and he shouted, “The message on the wall! The one in blue paint! The one we can’t wash off, scrape off or burn off. The city watch has found fifteen of these since morning.”

That got Habbly’s attention. He scratched at the blue paint with his fingernails, and sure enough he couldn’t make a mark on it. “I’ve never seen that before. How’d you do it?”

“I didn’t do it, you did!”

“Did not.” Habbly scratched at the letters again. “Could not. I think this is magic.”

“I hate it when people say that,” Dalton said. “If they can’t explain something they blame it on magic. My laundry won’t dry. My flowers are wilting. The cat keeps throwing up. None of that’s magic and neither is this.”

“Is this fuss over those silly signs?” a woman asked. “And here I thought it was something exciting.”

“Exciting means someone’s trying to kill you,” Habbly said. The crowd stared at him as the goblin studied the message on the wall. “If you’re lucky you get away, but you have to be lucky all the time. I’ll take boring any day of the week. I came here because it’s supposed to be boring. Can we go back to boring?”


The delay gave Habbly time to study what was written on the wall. His first impression was this was the work of an artist or calligrapher. The handwriting was exceptional and brushwork clearly from a master’s hand. There was no paint splattered on the cobblestones below, so whoever did this didn’t waste a drop.

But the longer he looked the more it seemed like the work of a fool. Habbly read aloud, “No Secrets: Your leaders are keeping the truth from you!”

Dalton dragged him back. “None of that! I’ve sent for a man to paint over this, and I won’t have you spreading your lies before he gets here. Why isn’t he here yet?”

A man in the crowd raised his hand. “I’m over here.”

“Why aren’t you painting over the graffiti?” Dalton asked.

“You’re in the way.”

“Oh, sorry.” Dalton stepped back to let the man through. The crowd snickered and Habbly tried to keep reading the message.

“Mayor Killingbird of Matros City has run up five hundred gold sovereigns in debts at illegal gambling halls,” Habbly read.

“Cut that out!” Dalton shouted.

Habbly looked up at Dalton. “Where’s Matros City?”

Dalton looked confused and admitted, “I’ve never heard of it, or a Mayor Killingbird.”

One of the old men came closer and looked at the graffiti. Dalton tried to shoo him away, saying, “You’re not supposed to read that.”

“I don’t know how to read.” Illiteracy was common among the poor, and in large cities like Sunset more than half the people couldn’t read a word. The old man tapped the blue words and asked, “What’s so special about this that we’re not supposed to read it if we could read?”

“Guildmaster Kleist Mastro has been seen in the company of women of loose morals,” Habbly read.

That brought the men in the crowd hurrying over. One asked, “You got names for those ladies?”

“Perverts,” a woman said.

“No, and it doesn’t say where this Kleist guy lives,” Brody told him.

One of the old men rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“We’re not supposed to be reading this!” Dalton protested. “The captain said these messages were seditious and likely to cause a breach of the peace.”

Reading further, Habbly said, “The Elf King Viliamorous Trathanic is engaged in secret negotiations with King Inverness of Kaleoth, regarding the excavation of elven ruins in Kaleoth.”

Dalton’s dog Shep took this opportunity to romp over and play with two small boys who joined the crowd. One boy wrapped both arms around the dog’s neck, and it pulled him along when it chased the other boy.

Normally this would have earned the dog a rebuke, but Dalton’s attention was on the graffiti. He, Habbly and the entire crowd stopped to read it. Dalton frowned and read, “The Gilcas Trading House is in negotiations with the city of Nolod to let them rent an entire city block for reasons unknown.”

Habbly scratched his head. “So?” When the others looked at him, he shrugged and asked, “Why should we care? I haven’t heard of most of these places or people. None of this is hurting me or people I care about. Most of it sounds boring. So what if Gilcas wants to rent a city block? Who cares if Kleist What’s-his-Name is seeing naughty ladies?”

“Ahem,” a woman said.

“His wife would care,” Habbly admitted, “but not us. Who here was hurt when this stuff happened?”

Habbly’s question was met with silence. The men and women shrugged in response or furrowed their brows. Several lost interest entirely and walked off. Dalton gave up and waved for the man he’d summoned to paint over the graffiti.

“I guess reading this is no crime when it’s so, well, boring,” Dalton said. “I thought it would be revolutionary or threatening when my captain said to get rid of these messages.” He patted Habbly on the back. “You’re free to go. Just don’t do it again.”

“I didn’t do it the first time!” Habbly was starting to lose his temper at this sorry affair. “Why don’t you go find out who broke into the post office last night and carted off a bag of mail?”

“What?” Dalton spun around and pointed at Habbly. “You know about a serious crime?”

“Doesn’t everyone? The guys who did it were as stealthy as drunken rhinos playing tubas.”

“That’s a lead! I’ve been looking for leads! All right, goblin, let’s hear it.”

Oh that was a mistake. Goblins shouldn’t come to the attention of the authorities; it never ends well. Habbly backed up and made a break for it, using several large, slow moving men to cover his retreat. He just needed to get to the main roads and their welcome crowds to complete his escape.

“Shep, fetch!” Dalton commanded, and Shep ran to obey with a giggling boy still latched onto his neck. “Fetch the goblin! No, don’t lick him! Get that out of your mouth!”

New Goblin Stories 7

“I promise not to panic,” Brody the goblin told his friend Julius. “I might faint, scream, run away or wet myself, but no panicking will occur.”

Julius frowned. “Any of those actions is the definition of panicking.”

Brody waved his hands. “No, that’s a sensible reaction to being in life threatening danger. Everyone except you does that when they’re going to get snuffed out. Panicking is doing something stupid when a killer is coming after you, like hide under a bed, run upstairs or try bargaining with someone who clearly wants you dead.”

“The dangerous part is done,” Julius promised. “Now we turn in our prisoners and get out without embarrassing ourselves. That may be harder than is sounds when nobility is involved. I’ll go in front and do the talking if it makes you feel better.”

Not going at all would make Brody feel better. He was a small goblin with blue skin, blue hair and what looked like antenna growing from his head and shoulders but did nothing for him. He wore swim trunks and looked boyish, and wasn’t prone to cause mischief, making him a rare goblin. Making him rarer still, he was friends with the renown human hero Julius Craton. They’d been traveling together for some time, with Brody doing his best to keep Julius from getting killed.

That shouldn’t be a hard job given Julius was the most famous and possibly most dangerous member of the Guild of Heroes, the people you call when the world falls apart. Julius looked kind of average, a man in his thirties with brown hair, clean shaven and in good health. He had a fair number of scars and wore chain armor, and had the magic short sword Sworn Doom. He was also a veteran of countless battles and had a record of victories none could match. Julius had a reputation for fairness and mercy, which fools took for weakness. Most enemies didn’t live long enough to regret their mistake.

In Brody’s experience, half the people in the world love and adore heroes while the other half try to kill them on sight, which made introductions kind of awkward. He never knew whether to run and hide when people came toward him and Julius. Arguably angry people who attacked Julius had a bad habit of quickly becoming dead people, reducing the overall risk, but it still wasn’t fun.

Brody did what he could to keep Julius out of trouble, but the hero kept running straight for danger. Julius’ reasoning went he was strong and skilled while others weren’t, so he was the best person to deal with threats. The problem was there were an enormous number of threats and very few people qualified for dealing with them. It took a lot of effort to keep Julius from taking on every problem in the world, but Brody tried.

“I think you’ve earned a vacation,” Brody suggested. He pointed at the fifteen prisoners following them, their hands bound and tied to a wagon. Two farmers who owned the wagon guided the old plow horse pulling it.

“Try Roaring Waters Falls,” a heavily bandaged prisoner suggested. “They’ve got a good gift shop.”

“You’re not part of this conversation,” Brody told the man.

“Well excuse me for trying to participate!”

Julius shook his head. “There’s so much to do.”

Brody had known Julius would say that and was ready. “I know. I saw farmers rebuilding houses burned by the bandits. That’s weeks of hard work. Hey, we could help them out!”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Julius said. “The sooner they have a roof over their heads the better.”

“That’s the spirit!” Brody’s enthusiasm was genuine. Construction work was hard but safe, and would keep Julius out of danger for a while.

Julius and Brody journeyed through a dense forest with the wagon on their way to the nearest city. Farmers were encroaching on the woods, clearing more land each year, but the woods were still thick enough to hide many secrets and dangers. That included the prisoners Julius had taken. The Ulti Bandits had preyed upon this region for three years before running into Julius. There were other dangers, and Brody kept an eye on their surroundings until they left the forest and entered farmland around a small city.

Brody had worried about their reception, but in this case all seemed well. There was more cheering than cursing as he and Julius approached the city of Crow Haven, and the soldiers hadn’t drawn their swords yet. That was good. Crow Haven’s gates opened to let in Julius, Brody and the wagon. The prisoners Julius had tied to the back of the wagon were sullen, no surprise when Julius had to keep peasants and shopkeepers from killing them.

“Good people!” Julius shouted over the roar of the growing crowd. “Please, these prisoners need to be questioned by Earl Wolfshead.”

“They need a knife in the back, same as they gave us!” a rancher shouted back. “You dirty thieves cost me half my herd, and for what?”

One of the bandits shrugged. “For twenty guilders a cows.”

Brody figured that response would earn the prisoner a blow to the head, but to his surprise the crowd was stunned rather than enraged. The rancher pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Twenty? Who’s paying twenty?”

“I never got more than fifteen,” one farmer added.

A different farmer pointed at Brody. “Was he with the bandits?”

“What?” Brody didn’t panic. He did not panic! It was tempting!

Fortunately a rancher spoke for him. “You muttonhead, he came with Craton!”

“Hey, I wasn’t here when he came!”

Julius raised his hands and called out, “I need someone to summon the sheriff and his men at arms. Please ask them to come so I can turn over my prisoners.”

The crowd settled down and four men went to fetch the authorities. Normally that was a sign for Brody to run for his life. Sheriffs, knights, soldiers and armed men in general hated goblins and were capable of showing how angry they were with swords. Brody fought back the instinct to flee. Julius was much loved (in most places) and men in power gave him a lot of leeway, which included allowing Brody to live.

Scores of men in armor carrying spears and shields marched out of Crow Haven. The city’s sheriff, a nasty looking man in plate armor named Bilge, pushed people out of his way. The soldiers stopped in front of Julius and came to attention as if he was an officer. Looking ever more irritable, Sheriff Bilge inspected the prisoners.

“That’s Brian Ulti and his men,” Sheriff Bilge said. He scowled and turned to face Julius. “Where are the goods they seized?”

Brody pointed at the wagon. “In there. There isn’t much left.”

The sheriff’s face turned an interesting shade of red. “Silence, dog!”

“He answered your question honestly,” Julius said. “Everything we found in the bandit camp is in the wagon.”

Two soldiers looked under the tarp and winced. The sheriff pushed them aside and his face went pale. Over the years the Ulti bandits had taken a fortune in goods, and little was left. “I see. Men, take custody of the prisoners and the recovered goods. Craton, Earl Wolfshead will want to speak with you. The rest of you, you’ve got jobs, see to them!”

“Charisma, it’s a lost art,” Brody said. Julius shushed him.

Brody and Julius were led into Crow Haven and found the city disorderly and confused. The city was growing so fast it had filled in the area between the castle and city walls, and had spread outside those walls. Houses were packed tight and made of wood, stone, canvas and in one case living trees. People saw Julius returning successfully and cheered, and a good number of them threw garbage at the prisoners.

Brody grabbed a rotten apple before it hit a prisoner and ate it. “They’re setting out the buffet early. Are you getting paid for this?”

“Not this time,” Julius said. Being a hero paid poorly or not at all, and this job fell in the second category. “Earl Wolfshead’s family has been a supported of the Guild of Heroes for generations, but is barely breaking even financially. We have so few friends that we have to back them up when they’re in danger.”

“There’s no bounty on us?” a captured bandit asked. “The nerve! We’ve been a plague on this land for three years. You’d think they could have the decency to recognize that!”

“Not helping your case,” Brody told him.

Brody, Julius and their unwilling guests were escorted into the castle. Brody had seen better. The mortar was coming loose between the bricks, the doors were cracked and the floors were filthy. Guards were present, but most looked like they should be getting pensions.

Armed men led away the prisoners and the wagon was sent away. Servants directed Julius to follow them, and they grimaced when Brody came. Julius didn’t give them time to protest. “Brody’s a friend and helped in this mission. He goes where I go.”

The servants looked queasy at the thought of letting a goblin in the castle, but they reluctantly led them to a dining hall. The room was huge, intended to seat the entire castle staff. Three long tables ran the length of the room and a fourth smaller table was across the front. There were dozens of chairs rather than benches, with bigger and nicer chairs closer to the front of the tables. Servants laid down tablecloths and lit lanterns while others brought trays of food. The castle might need work, but Earl Wolfshead made sure dinners got the attention they deserved. Roast duck, venison steaks, barbecue boar ribs, boiled eggs, piles of fruit, countless loaves of bread and more, it was a feast for all five senses.

Before the entered, a servant told Julius, “None enters the earl’s presence armed. Hand over your weapon and it will be returned when you leave.”

“I don’t like this,” Brody whispered.

“It’s expected behavior.” Julius placed his sword, still sheathed, in the servant’s hands.

Guests and castle staff were already filing in. Men and women headed for specific seats rather than grab whatever was available. The servants who brought Brody and Julius directed them to the smaller table at the front and sat them on the left side of a large throne.

“Sir Craton.” It was Earl Wolfshead, a plump man in his fifties wearing red robes trimmed with sable. He entered the hall followed by his attendants, and behind them a crowd of soldiers. The soldiers stopped at the hall’s entrance and waited while their leader took his place at the table.

Julius kneeled. “Earl Wolfshead, it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you again.”

“You may stand,” the earl said. Once Julius was upright, the earl nodded to him. “I am pleased the guild took my needs so seriously that they sent their best man. Your reputation does not begin to give you the credit you deserve. In one month you arrested men who’d bedeviled me for three years. I hadn’t intended tonight’s meal to be a celebration, but in a pleasant change fate has been kind and we may enjoy your company and your success.”

“To serve is an honor,” Julius replied.

Earl Carl looked at Brody with obvious disdain. “You bring a goblin into my house. Explain.”

“Allow me to introduce Brody, a friend who has traveled with me this past year,” Julius said. “Brody has many good qualities and proved his value many times over, including in dealing with the Ulti Bandits. I vouch for both his abilities and good character, and swear he will cause no disturbances.”

The earl looked unconvinced, but was willing to let it pass. “Your word carries great weight. If this goblin has won your admiration then he may stay. My steward will seat you and we can begin our meal.”

Brody and Julius were directed to specific seats on the earl’s left. Brody noticed no one sat until the earl did, and even then they waited until men higher on the tables sat first. Once the earl was down, servants dished out heaping helpings of food. A serving girl stopped when she got to Brody, hesitating before feeding him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll eat off someone else’s plate,” he assured her. She looked shocked, and he added, “I like rib bones.”

Sure enough, other diners soon produced a pile of bones from their meat dishes. Thy tossed them aside, sometimes onto the floor, and Brody scooped them up for his dinner. A few people looked appalled, but most took it in stride.

Earl Wolfshead went through one plate of food after another, speaking between bites. “Sir Craton, it may interest you to know that I received a letter from King Baldos of Oceanview Kingdom. The king asks for your aid and apologizes for the misunderstanding that occurred during your last visit.”

Julius looked surprised by the news. “Last time I was in Oceanview, the king’s knights tried to cut off my head. I’m not sure what part of that I didn’t understand.”

“King Baldos claims they acted without his instructions and have been severely punished,” Earl Wolfshead replied. “How you wish to respond to this matter is your own affair, but I was honor bound to pass along the message.”

A young woman wearing silk on the other side of the table stared at Julius. She blushed and asked, “Daddy, can’t Sir Craton sit on this side of the table? We should show him more gratitude when he’s done so much for us.”

“Sybil, the rules of etiquette are quite clear on the matter,” the earl said between mouthfuls. “Family sits on the right side of the main table and guests on the left.”

“At least let me prepare a plate for him.”

The earl wasn’t budging. “That’s servant’s work, unfit for royalty. Sir Craton, I should make format introductions. This is my daughter Sybil. My wife and younger children are visiting my in laws, where in a welcome change they bring chaos to a household other than my own.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful people and will grow to be worthy heirs to your noble family,” Julius said.

The earl grunted. “Truly spoken like a man who’s never met them.”

Julius kept his eyes on his plate, more nervous now than when he’d defeated the bandits. Brody had seen this before. Julius was at home on the battlefield where rules were simple if brutal. Put him in a social situation and he became the proverbial fish out of water. Adding women into the mix made a bad situation worse, as he found the fairer sex bewildering.

Brody was nearly as out of place as Julius. He kept quiet and munched away on boar ribs stripped of meat. Two men watched him, their faces showing disgust and amazement in equal measure. One said, “You have to admire how strong his jaws are.”

“And his teeth,” said the other.

Servants brought bowls of chicken soup, one to each person, but no spoons to eat it with. Now that Brody was thinking about it, there was no silverware on the table, not one spoon, knife or fork, just metal cups. The other three tables were the same. Men and women ate with their hands just like goblins. It made him feel more at home, but it was odd.

“Anyone got a spoon?” Brody asked. He figured Julius would want one.

“Eating utensils are not allowed in the presence of the earl,” a servant said.

Brody waited for an explanation, and when none was offered he asked, “Why?”

“It’s a first at banquets I’ve attended,” Julius admitted.

The earl tore off a piece of bread and dunked it in his soup. “The life of royalty is constant danger. Assassins are a fact of life, and the devils use every tool at their disposal. A killer once attacked my great grandfather with the knife off his dinner plate. Thankfully he lived, but it was a close thing, and he ordered no knives, forks or spoons be allowed at meals.”

Brody frowned. “You could use wood spoons.”

“My grandfather was attacked by a killer using a wood spoon,” the earl said. “It wasn’t a very successful attempt, but it prompted him to outlaw wood utensils at dinner. My father forbade glass and clay bottles which cold be broken and used as weapons, so we drink from pewter cups.”

Sybil put her elbows on the table and propped up her head with her hands. “One more generation and food won’t be allowed at dinner.”

“Sybil, that’s quite enough, and elbows off the table.”

The young woman’s mood suddenly brightened. “Sir Craton, I understand you’re unmarried.”

Julius had been trying to drink, and ended up spitting wine across the table. Sybil giggled and her father said, “That’s not acceptable dinner conversation.”

Brody raised a hand and said, “Pass the salt. We’ve got salt, right?”

Sybil was up like a shot. “I’ll bring it!”

Earl Carl grabbed her by the arm and sat her down. “Let the servants do it.”

Stymied again, Sybil scowled. “Can I at least ask Sir Craton about his victory?”

“You may,” her father conceded.

Julius relaxed now that the conversation was steered back to a comfortable topic. “I can’t claim it as a great victory. We—”

The discussion ended when Sheriff Bilge showed up. The man had removed his armor and wore a black tunic with white sleeves, and black boots. He sat across from Julius and scowled. “I apologize for my tardy arrival, sir. I was delayed seeing to the prisoners.”

“Your absence was expected and no offense was taken,” the earl said. He waved for the sheriff to sit before he dug into a rack of ribs.

“Sir Craton was going to tell us how he caught the bandits,” Sybil said, her voice fawning.

“Craton is not a knight or nobleman, and should not be called sir,” the sheriff said hotly.

The earl tried to talk with his mouth full and made a sort of sloshing sound instead. He swallowed and tried again. “Julius Craton is a high ranking member of the Guild of Heroes who has given military service to my family and this land. As he is not one of my subjects I can’t grant him a knighthood, but the work he’s done demands recognition. Therefore etiquette allow a sir in this situation.”

“You were going to tell us about the bandits,” Sybil prompted Julius.

Julius set down a joint of beef and wiped his hands on a napkin. “I have to give much of the credit to Brody.”

“The goblin?” Sheriff Bilge sputtered.

“He made contact with goblins living in your lands and they located the Ulti Bandits’ camp in the woods. Once we knew where they lived, we waited until nightfall. Brody and the goblins harassed the bandits until they chased after them. When they were gone I dealt with two bandits guarding the camp and set an ambush. The remainder returned an hour later, exhausted from both the chase and the late hour. I caught them by surprise and defeated the first five, then offered the rest a chance to surrender. Thankfully they took it.”

Earl Wolfshead nodded. “A commendable effort.”

“Craton returned with only a pittance from the bandit camp,” Sheriff Bilge said. His tone was harsh and his eyes were locked on Julius. “They stole good valued at a thousand guilders, and what little he brought can’t hope to pay a tenth of that.”

“I’m surprised we found as much as we did,” Brody said. “Bandits live a step ahead of starvation. They eat anything they grab and sell the rest for food and drink.”

“I didn’t ask for a goblin’s opinion,” Sheriff Bilge shot back.

“And yet you received it,” Earl Wolfshead replied. “I counted the stolen goods as a loss long ago and anything returned is a bonus. Since Sir Craton brought the bandits back alive I can sentence them to hard labor cutting timber. Twenty years at the job should make up the loss. And Sheriff Bilge, kindly address our guest as Sir Craton.”

“Sir, I will not.”

The table fell silent and all eyes turned to the Sheriff. Earl Wolfshead set down his pewter cup. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your lordship, this is too much!” Sheriff Bilge pointed at Julius, who remained silent. “I have served you faithfully for eighteen years, yet you bring in an outsider to do my job. You praise who the Guild of Heroes sent, yet their choice belittles you! He was abandoned at a beggar woman’s doorstep as a babe. He is illegitimate, with no father who’d admit to siring him nor mother to bearing him.”

And that ended the pleasant part of the meal. Brody always expected trouble and had already spotted three good escape routes (two of which involved going out a window). He opened his mouth to suggest he and Julius make their excuses and leave when Sheriff Bilge knocked him to the floor.

Earl Wolfshead leapt from his seat, a move that made everyone else stand to attention. He waved his hands down, “Sit, everyone, now.”

Brody scooted under the table, a safe place to be when idiots were about. Julius kept quiet and the rest of the guests were as silent as the dead. Earl Wolfshead kept his eyes on Sheriff Bilge, who glared at Julius. The earl sat down before addressing his sheriff.

“Sheriff Bilge, I respect the good service you have rendered over the years, and I recognize the great hardships you endure, but your behavior is unacceptable. You demean a guest at my table. You strike another. You refuse to obey me. Etiquette demands a harsh penalty, but I will allow you to apologize to those you offended and let the matter go.”

“Apologize to a goblin?” the sheriff roared. His face went from red to purple. “Apologize to a bast—”

The earl slammed both hands against the table. “Enough!”

Julius bowed to the earl. “Your lordship, my presence brings strife to your household. With your permission I will take my leave before I do more harm.”

“I’ll not have a guest driven from my house.” Earl Wolfshead turned his attention back to the sheriff. “My house, my rules.”

The sheriff wasn’t backing down. Brody studied the man for a sign he was going to attack. Professionals like to call those signs a tell while goblins called it the crazy look. The sheriff hadn’t reached that point yet. But as Brody watched him, he saw something out of place. Oh dear. This would be bad if it got out.

Brody climbed back into his chair with a handful of bones. The sheriff bared his teeth at him. “Stay in your place, vermin.”

Sybil cleared her throat and put on a phony smile. Trying to defuse the situation, she asked, “Does, ah, anyone have a small portion of venison? The one on my plate is a bit too much.”

Brody met the sheriff’s gaze and decided he was done being nice to the man. “Cut it in half, your ladyship. You can borrow a knife from the sheriff. He’s got two.”

The earl shot up again, and everyone else followed. “You what?”

“They’re tucked in his boots,” Brody explained. “The handles are black leather so they blend in.”

The sheriff backed up. “Sir, I—”

“No weapons are allowed in my presence!” the earl thundered. “Those rules are enshrined in Etiquette for Royal Personages and Other Really, Really Important People, by Yuri daFool. You’re the man who enforces the rules and you’re not following them!”

“I forgot I still had them!”

“Forgot?” The earl pointed at the sheriff and bellowed, “There seems to be a lot you’re forgetting lately! Your manners! The rules! The obedience you owe me as your liege! You complain I brought in an outsider, yet all Sir Craton needed to do the job was help from goblins! I’m left wondering why you didn’t do the same? How many years earlier could this matter have been resolved if you had?”

Julius went down on one knee. “Your lordship, please, I’m sure this matter can be settled privately.”

Sheriff Bilge kneeled as well, but only long enough to draw a knife. He charged Julius, screaming, “This is your fault!”

Earl Wolfshead shouted for his guards. Men ran to his aid. Women screamed. Brody jumped onto the table and grabbed a bowl of soup. He threw it at Sheriff Bilge and aimed for the man’s face.

Julius was a generous man, often going out of his way to praise Brody and list good qualities the goblin didn’t know he had. In the past Julius had claimed Brody was brave, observant and quick witted. But Julius had never admired Brody for his upper body strength, and for good reason. The steaming hot soup fell short of Sheriff Bilge’s face and struck him in the crotch.

The sheriff screamed a high pitched wail and dropped his knife. He covered where the soup had hit with both hands while his mouth opened wide like a bass who’d been hooked. Julius jumped to his feet and grabbed his chair. The sheriff staggered forward two steps before Julius clubbed him with the heavy chair. Sheriff Bilge fell backwards and writhed on the floor.

Guards dragged the sheriff away. Earl Wolfshead dropped back down in his chair, clearly shaken by what had happened. Julius set down the chair and apologized to the earl while Brody stayed by Julius in case they still had to flee. Men and women milled about, not sure what to do and talking excitedly. Amidst this chaos, Sybil looked depressed and asked, “Daddy, please tell me this doesn’t mean you’re going to take away the chairs.”

New Goblin Stories 6

Bub the goblin crouched in the cover of dense brush, backed up by his Tactical Assault Squad. He didn’t know what a Tactical Assault Squad was, but it sounded cool, so that’s the name he’d christened his thirty followers. It wasn’t easy to keep so many goblins together, what with them constantly wandering off, but Bub managed through a mix of generous payouts and the promise of mayhem. It took years of hard work, but he’d assembled the best goblins for the hardest jobs, like tonight’s caper.

“Could we be the Ultra Tactical Assault Squad?” a thin goblin asked Bub.

“No.”

“Hyper Tactical Assault Squad?” the same goblin suggested.

“That one’s already been taken,” Bub told him.

“Almost dark,” another of his followers said. The squad was dressed in black clothes that covered every inch of their bodies, with soot rubbed around their eyes to complete the disguise. Five goblins carried specialized tools and ten more brought a ladder. Normally Bub’s goblins were armed with clubs and daggers. Tonight’s work required better weaponry, and they’d armed themselves appropriately.

Bub’s hideout had another advantage besides the thick brush. It was also on a ridge and provided an excellent vantage point to view the large valley below. They saw abundant fields around a walled village. Two guard towers on the walls manned by archers bolstered the already heavy defenses. Roads had all trees and brush cut back a hundred feet to deny cover to potential attackers, and soldiers patrolled those roads often. It was an excessive level of protection for anywhere else but here.

This province of Oceanview Kingdom bordered The Land of the Nine Dukes, a wildly dysfunctional kingdom (and coming from a goblin that said a lot!). Hungry soldiers were knows to cross into Oceanview and turn bandit to supplement their slender and often nonexistent rations, or just to do some looting. That was the official story, anyway. Word was that the dukes secretly ordered these attacks to feed their men at someone else’s expense and fill their coffers with stolen gold.

Speaking of soldiers, a pair of them was coming with a leashed dog. Bub peered at them from the shade of his hiding place. They wore the king’s colors, an orange shirt over their chain armor, and they had shields and sheathed swords. The men came closer as the road went up the ridge. The goblins were camped where the road split in two. Which one would the men take? If they got much closer the dog would catch their scent. The goblins had washed before coming here, but a good dog wouldn’t be fooled.

Bub held out a hand and one of his followers gave him a small glass vial. He opened it and held it away from his face before he slipped out onto the road. He sprinkled the bottle’s contents of concentrated peppermint across the road and brush before retreating into cover. In seconds the smell of peppermint was overpowering.

The dog caught the scent and went wild. One soldier said, “What is it, boy?”

“Something wrong?” the second asked. Both men came closer, but the dog strained at the leash to stay away. The second soldier frowned when he noticed the smell. “Some rogue’s been here and tried to cover his scent.”

“Figure we should head back and report it?” asked the first.

The second soldier shook his head. “This is so strong it has to be recent. Let’s take a look around in case whoever who did this is still close.”

Bub rolled his eyes. This was just dandy! He had hoped the men would get help and go running off after smugglers or thieves who didn’t exist. Instead they were being intelligent. With any luck they’d find nothing and leave, a minor win but one he’d take.

The dog barked wildly and tried to flee the peppermint smell, forcing the soldier holding its leash to work hard just keeping it in place. His fellow soldier looked down nearby roads and then searched for tracks in the dirt. He was nearly finished when he peered into the brush. His expression went from curiosity to shock. He’d seen them!

Bub burst from cover, no easy task when you’re two feet tall and weigh fifty pounds. The soldier went for his sword, but Bub was faster. Whap! Bub’s aim was perfect, and he nailed the soldier in the face with a pie. More goblins ran out and threw pies at the dog and other soldier. Whap! Whap! Three throws, three hits, a new record.

The first soldier put back his sword and scrapped pie off his eyes. Pale yellow cream and white meringue covered his face so he looked like a ghost. The man tasted the white and yellow goo and spit it out.

“Coconut cream. You monster! There are rules!”

Sympathy wasn’t Bub’s strong suit. “Hush, you’re dead. And muzzle the doggie.”

The soldiers cleaned off their faces and sat down on the road before muzzling their dog. If the poor animal had been miserable before, getting a face full of coconut was pure horror.

“I can’t believe people eat this stuff,” the second soldier said.

Bub marched over and poked the man in the nose. “You are dead, and dead people don’t complain. It’s not a hard concept.”

The soldiers grumbled but fell silent as the goblins pulled them into the brush with their dog. Bub’s mind raced as he considered his next step. The two men wouldn’t be missed immediately, and a reasonable delay returning from a patrol wouldn’t be unusual. After that other soldiers would assume something had happened (it had) and be doubly vigilant. Maybe they’d send out a patrol and thus split their forces, but any soldier left behind would be ready for an attack.

“Hurry,” he told the others. The goblins followed him into the growing darkness. Together they skirted the villages and headed deeper into enemy territory.

The locals were prepared for trouble because it came so often. The walls were brick twelve feet high and in good repair. Militiamen stayed on those walls with bells and lanterns, and the men drank prodigious amounts of coffee to stay awake. Dogs were common and kept hungry and alert. This forced the goblins to give villages a wide berth to avoid drawing attention.

“How long do we have?” a goblin asked Bub.

Bub scurried as fast as his short legs would carry him. “Figure their patrol would last two more hours. Half an hour after that other soldiers will notice they didn’t come back and get worried.”

“Not a lot of time,” a third goblin said.

“Plenty enough for what we’re doing,” Bub told them.

“We could be the Maximum Assault Force,” the thin goblin suggested. Bub gave him an ugly look. “What about the Furious Knights of Entropy?”

“I am not changing our name,” Bub snarled. “The business cards are already printed up, and the focus group was very enthusiastic about Tactical Assault Squad.”

A strong goblin scratched his head. “Focus group? You mean those drunken elves you pestered at the bar?”

“Yeah, those guys. Now pipe down.”

It took nearly one hour to reach their destination, a manor house on a hill. It belonged to Baron Ironseller, who also owned the villages and farmland in these parts. Ironseller was a clever sort and it showed. He’d built his manor house on high ground and cut back tree cover around it. A tall brick wall fifteen feet tall surrounded the house with watchtowers at each corner. Archers manned those towers and swept the surroundings with bull’s eye lanterns. They also had bronze bells to alert the manor of danger.

Bub left the others behind and snuck in as close as he dared to study the defenses. He dug a shallow hole and hit bedrock inches below the surface. Tunneling would be hard and take time they didn’t have. A closer look at the wall showed it was plastered and had shards of broken glass embedded in it. In daylight that would make the wall glitter, but more importantly the sharp glass would cut anyone foolish enough to try climbing the walls.

Impressive as the defenses were, Bub saw weaknesses. There was only one person per tower and fifty feet between towers. The archers were focused on the exterior, but their lanterns could only illuminate a small area. He didn’t hear or see dogs, nor were there guards patrolling outside the wall.

Satisfied he’d found an opening, Bub returned to the others. “Here’s the plan.”

“Kaleidoscope Rangers,” the thin goblin said.

Bub grabbed the thin goblin by his black clothes and dragged him down until they could see eye to eye. “We are not having this discussion. Not now, not ever. We are breaking in there, and here’s how.”

It took only minutes to explain the plan, and the goblins went into action. They crept to within a hundred feet of the wall and waited for an archer to sweep his lantern from right to left. Once the beam of light passed, they scurried up to the wall and leaned the ladder against it. It would have made a noise when it touched the wall, but Bub had wrapped the last two feet of the ladder in straw.

The archers didn’t notice what was happening. Goblins went up the ladder and spread out across the wall, with Bub leading one group and the thin goblin taking the other. Splat! Splat! The two nearest watchtowers fell with barely a sound. The archers scooped pie off their faces while goblins seized their lanterns.

“Not one word,” Bub told the archer he’d pied. The archer scowled and sat down.

Bub and his goblins pulled the ladder up and lowered down the other side. Two goblins stayed at each of the watchtowers and swept their stolen lanterns back and forth the same as the archers had. This made it look as if the archers were still on duty, a worthwhile accomplishment that cost Bub the use of only four goblins for the rest of the mission.

Now inside the walls, Bub led them to the manor house. The place was a fortress three stories tall. The walls were brick and the doors oak with iron bindings. The windows were narrow with the hinges on the inside. An added defense came in the form of rosebushes planted under each window. It was impossible to tell what color the flowers were in the dark, but Bub had no trouble seeing the sharp thorns on those long branches. The goblins could cut down the roses to access the windows. It might come down to that.

The manor house’s upper floors looked like a better bet. No one expected a break in so high up, and the windows were larger. Bub led his followers to place their ladder against a second story window. He went up first and tried to break in. The window was shuttered and barred, but wasn’t locked. He took a long, thin flat blade from his belongings and slipped it between the shutters. The blade went in, barely, and he felt it press against the bar inside. Bub raised the bar slowly and then pressed the knife to the left. The shutter opened two inches, enough for him to reach in and grab the bar. He set it down inside the manor and waved for the goblins to follow.

“Hey, George, it’s my turn,” a man’s voice called out. Bub winced. The guards were changing shifts! He helped his goblins in, hurrying them as much as he could. He saw a man leave the manor and approach the outer wall. “George? You see something out there?”

“Move,” Bub urged his followers. They spread out through the manor, stopping to listen at each door before opening it. They found storerooms and an armory, but not their target. Bub’s heart beat faster. In moments the whole place would be in an uproar and he hadn’t found his target yet.

That’s when the dreaded cry came. “George? George! Invaders! Invad—” Splat! “Oh for the love of God, there’s coconut in this pie!”

“Move!” Bub yelled. Secrecy was lost, making speed and numbers the goblins’ only advantages. Bells rang out across the manor, and Bub could hear men running both above and below him. A door opened and a soldier came out. For a moment seeing a room full of goblins left him too surprised to move, a precious second where the goblins splattered him with four pies.

“That was uncalled for,” he said sourly.

Bub pushed past him and found a spiral staircase. He took a pie from another goblin before running up and told the others, “Hold them off!”

“Intra Galactic Hyper Mega Soldiers of Doom!” the thin goblin shouted as Bub climbed the stairs. “It could work! Think about it!”

Every second counted as Bub entered the top floor of the manor and a long hallway. Candles and lanterns were being lit across the building, and he saw light coming from beneath several doors. Below the sounds of battle rang, or rather splattered as the Tactical Assault Squad hurled pies for all they were worth. Judging by the bangs, someone was overturning furniture to use as barricades.

The last door on the hallway had a crest on it that looked like a dragon twisting around a stone tower. Bub ran past the other doors, two of which were opening, and he pushed the last door open. There he saw his quarry.

Baron Ironseller was in a surprisingly plain room. There was a bed, a desk with a chair, a bookcase and a chest in the corner. The baron was sitting at his desk reading a book when Bub came in. His clothes were nice but nothing fancy, just well tailored cotton. The man himself was in his forties, healthy enough but with worry lines around his eyes and thinning hair.

Splat! Bub’s pie was spot on and struck the baron full in the face. Men ran up behind him and grabbed the goblin. Unperturbed, the baron didn’t even wipe away the pie, instead picking up a bell and ringing it.

With that the battle ended. Goblins came up with the soldiers they’d been fighting. Many men had been pied and goblins mussed up clothes looked like they’d been tackled. Embarrassed men and triumphant goblins waited while the baron cleaned up.

“And that concludes our business,” he said. The man had a lovely accent, very formal and polite. He took a paper and feather quill from his desk and prepared to write. “What are your findings?”

“You need a wide moat around the outer wall,” Bub told him. “There needs to be a second guard in each tower, and they need to keep in better contact with each other. Maybe have one guy walk the wall and visit them.”

“I see.” Baron Ironseller wrote down Bub’s findings. His men stared at their feet, too ashamed to look at the leader they’d failed to defend. “Go on.”

“Having dogs with your patrols was a good idea, but there has to be a couple in the manor to sniff out trouble. You need locks on the windows. Doors inside the manor need locks, too. And you need more lights outside and inside. Those bull’s eye lanterns throw light a long way, but they don’t cover much area. That’s about it.”

“Valuable advice,” the baron said.

Bub cleared his throat to get the baron’s attention off his writing. “There was a fee in our deal.”

“Of course.” The baron gestured for a soldier to go to the chest. The man brought out a wheel of cheese two feet across and five inches deep, and with the greatest reluctance he handed over the bounty. “Gentlemen, that concludes the manor’s yearly security check. I’m grateful for your assistance and look forward to doing business with you again.”

“Keep safe, baron,” Bub called over his shoulder as he led his followers away. “Even shares for everyone, and no, we are not changing the name!”

Once the goblins were gone, the baron looked at his men. One man covered in pie managed to say, “Sir, I know we failed you, but was this really necessary?”

“When I hired the goblins to test our security I included the clause that no harm come to my staff,” the baron replied. “Pie throwing was agreed to as the best way to simulate injury without inflicting it, although I must admit their choice of flavors was a surprise. Next year I will have to insist on apple pie.”

Baron Ironseller stood up and addressed his men. “This was humiliating. It was meant to be. If goblins could penetrate our defenses then so could others far worse. Bandits, thieves, assassins, we do not live in peaceful times and must be ready for their kind and worse. We have to improve our performance considerably, for my good and the good of the people.” Baron Ironseller made a face when a glob of pie still on his face slid into his mouth. “Distasteful as this has been, in every sense of the word, it has one benefit: goblins work cheap.”

The Great Goblin Migration

Most goblins live lives of chaos, mayhem and needless property damage, and they like it that way. But every so often goblins will break the mold and go on to do something new. It will undoubtedly be stupid, sometimes risky and in rare instances brave, proof that goblins can rise to the occasion when the situation demands it. More often it’s just proof goblins do silly things.

The Great Goblin Migration

The Great Goblin Migration was started eighty years ago by an average goblin named Teetops, who wasn’t strong, fast or brave, and definitely not smart. He saw geese flying south for the winter and wondered where they were going. Was their destination better than where he was? It almost had to be since he lived in a garbage dump. Intrigued by this question, Teetops headed south after the geese, who were blissfully unaware of the chaos they’d caused.

Teetops had gone only a few steps when other goblins asked him where he was going. He explained his goal only to have a dozen goblins join in the quest. This isn’t unusual as goblins are forever doing stupid things without good reason. Together they abandoned their homes and went south, picking up more goblins with each mile they traveled. This went on for a week with the number of goblins rising the farther they went. What started as an individual doing something foolish grew to a gang, then a mob and finally a horde of goblins seeking the elusive homeland of the geese.

Coincidentally, their goal only lasted one week. They saw a knight on horseback ride across their path, shouting for them to make way. The man looked terrified and his horse was lathered in sweat. Curious, the goblins wondered what was so important to the knight. They changed course and followed the knight. This lasted for eight days until the goblins stopped to admire a beautiful sunset and forgot where they’d been going. They then set out on a new quest to find out where dirt came from.

The Great Goblin Migration has been going on in this fashion for decades, its destination and reason for being changing at least three times a month. Over the years they have tried to reach a distant mountain range that was really a cloudbank, fled for higher ground during a flood, marched in support of a king (who didn’t want them), escorted a merchant caravan through a perfectly safe forest and done many other idiot things. Goblins involved in the migration are certain they are headed somewhere important and must keep walking. The problem is they have yet to reach any of their many goals.

Few people see the migration and fewer still care, but those who do have noticed rules it seems to operate by. The goblins avoid cities and towns whenever possible. They will travel through small villages only at night. The migration avoids dangerous places like dragon lairs, although it may spend days circling them. Lastly, the goblins seem drawn to forgotten places, and have accidentally discovered many ancient ruins and abandoned castles.

Membership in The Great Goblin Migration changes monthly. Teetops, the idiot who started the whole thing, lost interest in it after just fifty days and wandered off. The migration continued on without him, as he’d never really been the leader anyway. Goblins get distracted and wander away from the others constantly. Others decide to settle down in the lands they travel across. These losses are replaced as more goblins join the migration to see where it’s going. At times the migration has dropped to as few as eleven goblins or swelled to over a thousand, with three hundred being the average size.

Oddly enough, the migration attracts more beings than just goblins. Travel through the wilderness can be dangerous for small groups, which tempts many to find company for their journey. Human refugees, elven outcasts, renegade dwarfs fired from their companies, adolescent trolls looking for adventure and the odd ogre has joined the migration at times. These non goblin additions stay only so long as the migration is going in the same direction as they are, leaving when the goblins forget where they’re going and head off elsewhere.

The most famous addition and the longest lasting was the nymph Delecena. She was fleeing a suitor who didn’t understand the difference between romance and kidnapping, and spent nine months wandering with the goblins before settling down in an abandoned farmhouse. Fifty goblins stayed with her, partly because it was a very beautiful place and partly because they felt the need to protect her. Months later they beat her suitor senseless and sent him to a maximum security prison by mail.

The Great Goblin Migration earned a degree of notoriety ten years ago when they stumbled upon an army of rebelling human soldiers. The soldiers served a younger brother of their king and were attempting a coup. They’d made camp in a wilderness and were fast asleep when the goblins stumbled across them. Not breaking step, the goblins snuck through the rebel camp and picked up every weapon they saw, and then dumped the swords, bows, daggers and axes in the nearest lake. It was later referred to as the Bloodless Coup, as the now unarmed rebels couldn’t draw a drop of blood and were soon arrested.

And so it goes to this day, The Great Goblin Migration wandering across countless kingdoms and nations. It shows no sign of slowing down and no one seems interested in stopping it. The goblins insist they’re making progress on the journey, with longer serving members swearing that they’re almost there.

New Goblin Stories 5

Fenton chuckled as he watched the merchants run screaming into the night, a common reaction to people visiting The Weary Traveler inn. He’d figured they would have lasted longer since there were five of them and they were armed with daggers. Weapons and numbers often made humans feel more confident. In this case it hadn’t help.

“That has got to be a new record,” Fenton told his fellow goblins. Fenton’s oversized floppy hat nearly covered his beady eyes, and his shoes didn’t match. The grey skinned goblin was cleaner than most of his kind, a necessity since body odor might warn their victims.

Pug smiled and held up an hourglass. “Half an hour tops. I’d like to take the credit, but they never even reached my catapulting toilet.”

Fenton slapped Pug on the back, nearly knocking the thin, green goblin over. “Next time, pal, next time.”

The other twenty goblins laughed as the fleeing humans disappeared into the growing darkness. This was the fate of most visitors to The Weary Traveler, for the inn was not merely occupied by goblins but had been built by them. In contrast to most goblin buildings the inn was a well made two story wood structure with a brick fireplace, kitchen, bathroom, stable and eight rooms. It was billed as the first self service inn, with a slot next to the front door for guests to deposit a silver coin. Most didn’t, a wise move and likely the only smart thing they’d do during their stay.

In fine goblin tradition, the inn was a giant trap. Anyone setting foot inside The Weary Traveler faced traps ranging from simple snares to insanely complex mechanical traps that could throw grown men. The kitchen was bare of food but had a spice rack where every bottle contained hot pepper regardless of what the label said. A staircase leading to the second floor ended in a solid wall, making it impossible for visitors to use those rooms. Secret passages ran throughout the inn and allowed the goblins free access to every room. And, in a move of shocking intelligence, the goblins could turn off the traps in seconds.

“They were the first guests we’ve had in weeks,” Pug said. “We might have to tone it down a little, maybe let the next few groups have a quiet stay to get a good reputation.”

Fenton shrugged. “Yeah, we get more visitors when a few people recommend us. It’s that or we take the inn apart and move it to another road.”

Pug opened a secret door and put the hourglass inside. “That’s a lot of work for fresh victims. I think we should stay here until the place gets too beaten up to bother fixing.”

With the fun over and none more expected, the goblins went to work on their inn. It hadn’t taken much damage this time, just a few shattered clay bowls and a broken chair leg. Those were easy to fix. Guests at the Weary Traveler could do a lot of damage if they got mad enough. Years ago a family of dwarfs had torn the ground floor apart after their patriarch was ejected out of the kitchen and into a dung heap. They’d set off twenty more traps in the process, but it had taken Fenton and his fellow goblins a month to repair.

“We’ve got to start advertising,” Pug told Fenton. “I know a human who can write us a stack of fliers for a song, as long as it’s not Goblins in Oatmeal. Seriously, ten copper pieces gets you fifty fliers.”

Surprised, Fenton asked, “This guy takes jobs from goblins?”

Pug smiled. “It’s a tough market to get into and he’s got bills to pay. I hired him two years back to make fliers saying the king was offering bounties on live skunks. I was kind of surprised when humans brought five hundred of them to his castle. It made for an interesting week.”

“Ads could bring too many people,” Fenton warned. He swept up the broken bowls and dumped the pieces in a garbage can. Neatness counted in the hospitality business, and victims would leave too soon if the inn was messy when they arrived. “If we get a crowd they’ll band together when traps go off and come looking for who’s responsible.”

“Spread the fliers out a few each week and we’ll get around that. Be fair, my idea lets us do something with those coins.”

Fenton and Pug both turned to look at a wood bucket hidden inside the open secret door. Most people didn’t pay the suggested one silver piece for staying a night at The Weary Traveler. The goblins considered this fair since few guests stayed the entire night, and they didn’t turn off the traps for paying customers. But to their surprise some visitors did pay, and they had amassed two hundred silver coins. They had little interest in money since they couldn’t spend it, goblins not being allowed in stores. Having cash was bad policy for goblins since it encouraged people to rob them. Fenton and Pug didn’t know what to do with the money, and more came each year.

“We could bury it,” Fenton suggested.

“Or throw it in the sea,” Pug said.

“Kaleoth is a landlocked kingdom,” Fenton pointed out.

Pug took out a fresh chair to replace the damaged one. “Things change.”

Maintaining The Weary Traveler took a few hours each day. There were a surprising number of traps in the building that required regular tending. Pug did a lot of that work, and he grabbed a wrench from the secret passages to fine tune a slamming door trap.

Their routine was interrupted when twenty more goblins hurried into The Weary Traveler. Annoyed, one said, “We heard there were guests tonight. Why didn’t you invite us to come watch?”

Fenton rolled his eyes. “There wasn’t time. Those chickens ran off before we could send runners to get you guys. I swear, one human gets rammed by a stuffed moose and the whole bunch panicked.”

“This isn’t the first time we missed out,” the offended goblin said. “There’s nothing fun to do around here and you guys hog all the laughs.”

That was all Fenton was going to take. He stood up straight and pushed his hat up. “If you want to watch every show then you have to stay at the inn and help out like the rest of us.”

“But nothing can happen for weeks! It’s boring!”

Pug held up a boot one of the merchants had left behind. “It’s worth it.”

An eager goblin ran up and reported, “Humans coming!”

The whole mob ran over to the windows and peered outside. The Weary Traveler was on a lonely road between Kaleoth and Ket Kingdoms, Kaleoth known for being dirt poor and Ket for being led by three generations of morons. The land was flat and grassy, and you could see for miles even under the light of a half moon. Their new victims were a golden haired man and woman. Fenton squinted as he studied the pair.

“They’ve got a kid,” he warned. “Show’s over.”

The goblins moaned and whined, but they went into action. Goblins fanned out across the inn, pressing hidden switches to deactivate traps. Others ran through the secret passages to turn off more traps. The couple and their child had nearly reached the door when the goblins hurried into the secret passages and closed the doors behind them.

Fenton, Pug and the others watched from peepholes as someone knocked on the door. They knocked again, and after a short pause the man opened the door. “Hello? Innkeeper?”

The couple stepped inside, the man first with his hand on a sword sheathed in his belt. He was young, twenty at most, and wore expensive black linen clothes. His boots were lined with sable and the pommel of his sword was silver with sapphires that matched his blue eyes. The man had a lantern he lifted high to better light the room, but even the lantern had silver trim. He carried a backpack that bulged with what Fenton assumed was gold.

Not being a fan of the rich and powerful, Fenton had half a mind to reset the traps right then and there. He held back the impulse on account of the woman. Her clothes were in good repair but not so rich. She had a haunted look to her, like a person who’d been through too much. She cradled a tiny sleeping infant wrapped in a cotton blanket.

The woman pointed at a sign next to the door and the slot for paying. “It says we must pay a silver coin a night. Tristan, we’ve not enough left.”

Tristan studied the interior of the inn. “I’ll speak with the owner and see if he’ll accept labor or trade in lieu of cash, assuming I can find him. Sir! Madam! Pardon the intrusion at such an hour, but you have guests! Is no one here?”

The woman walked inside. “There’s no dust or webs in the corners. If the owner is absent, he hasn’t been gone long.”

“He’s not here now.” Tristan checked the nearest door and then the next one. “I dislike entering a man’s home without permission, but there’s nowhere else to stay. We’ll apologize to him in the morning. He’s sure to come then.”

The pair went into a bedroom with a bed trapped to collapse at the slightest touch, or it would have if it hadn’t been disarmed. Fenton led the others down a secret passage so they could continue watching the family through another peephole. Tristan set down his backpack and gestured for the woman to sit on the bed.

The baby woke and made a gurgling, cooing noise. Tristan stroked the infant’s chin and smiled. “She’s the splitting image of you, Isa. Your eyes, your strength.”

Isa began to weep and clutched the baby to her chest. Tristan dropped to his knees and embraced her, whispering, “No tears, dearest.”

“I can’t help it. You’ve lost everything because of me. You were better off before we met.”

“No.” Tristan’s voice was firm but kind. “My life was worthless. Not one minute was spent that my father didn’t plan. I was little more than a puppet, my ever word and deed his choosing. Marrying you was the only thing I’ve ever done that I’m proud of.”

“We run because of me.”

He kissed her. “We run, but not forever. I’ve friends in Oceanview Kingdom who can help us start anew. We’ll not know riches, but I’ve seen how little value gold really has, and our daughter will be happy. Peace, wife, we will have peace.”

The couple went to sleep, and Fenton led the goblins out of concealment. Pug frowned and pointed at the infant girl. “Bummer.”

“Yeah, the little lady is going through a rough patch,” Fenton agreed.

Fenton searched the man while he slept, a delicate maneuver but one he’d practiced for years. The backpack contained only food. The man’s wallet contained five small copper coins, but Fenton didn’t recognize the markings on them. He’d seen coinage from all the surrounding kingdoms and a few from far away. The goblin returned the money and frowned. How far had these people traveled?

The other goblins studied the baby with great interest. Goblins weren’t that bright and got especially confused around children. Newborn goblins look enough like human and elf infants that many goblins couldn’t tell them apart. Children say and do silly things because they don’t know better, which pretty much summed up goblin behavior.

Even rare smart goblins were attracted to children. In a pinch goblins first inclination is to stick together. Being small and weak meant their best chance at survival was in groups, the bigger the better. That instinct kicked in when they encountered infants or children of other races. Their first impulse was to protect, and if necessary add them to the group. That wasn’t called for here, but they still felt drawn to do something.

The goblins went back to the secret passages and went through their accumulated loot. Many visitors of The Weary Travel fled in such a hurry that they left property behind. A quick search through piles of lost and abandoned goods turned up a few possible gifts.

Fenton grabbed a handful of silver coins. “We can get rid of some of this garbage and help the kid’s parents at the same time.”

Pug dug through a bag until he turned up two small stuffed toys. “I’ve got a teddy bear and a ducky.”

“Good. We’ll give her the bear.”

Sounds a bit hurt, Pug said, “I was going to give her the ducky.”

“What for? It’s been scientifically proven that teddy bears make things better. Ducky’s are just good company.”

Pug held up the toys. “We can give her both.”

Fenton rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I want to make it clear the bear’s going to do the heavy lifting in this partnership.”

The goblins snuck back in and filled the man’s wallet. They opened the baby’s blanket and placed the toys in her arms. As always they were stealthy enough to avoid waking a guest. There was some disappointment since they normally sabotaged guests’ belongings and occasionally sewed their clothes together.

With this done the goblins retreated to their secret passages, satisfied they’d done what was needed. Fenton was a bit bothered that he’d lost an opportunity to spread confusion and chaos. Maybe it was time to start advertising after all.

“There’s a light coming down the road,” Pug said.

Fenton went to a peephole pointing outside and saw the light. It was coming from the same direction Tristan and Isa had, and approaching so fast it had to be someone riding. That was odd. Few people rode at night given the risk that a horse could trip and break a leg.

“If it’s another insurance salesman I’m filling his pants with live trout,” Fenton promised.

Pug folded his arms across his chest. “You said I’d get to do the next one.”

The light stopped at the front of the inn. There were two horses, one carrying a man and the second saddlebags and backpacks. Both animals were healthy, young and good breeds. The rider was an older blond man who chilled the goblins’ hearts.

Something was wrong with him. You could see it on his face with his scowl and narrow eyes. Big and strong, his shoulders were broad and his arms powerful, but his muscles twitched. His clothes were rich, silks and linens dyed dark blue and black, and he wore jeweled rings on both hands. His lantern was black with silver edging. He tied the horses’ reins to a post outside the inn and marched to the door.

Worried, Fenton ordered, “Lock him out.”

Pug pulled a lever to lock the door while Fenton left their hidden refuge to bar the door from inside. The other goblins huddled around the peepholes, and when Fenton rejoined them he had to push them out of the way to look outside.

The older man grabbed the door handle and pushed hard. When it failed to open he snarled and took a bronze gauntlet from his horse’s saddlebag. He slid it over his left hand and marched back to the door.

“What’s he think he’s going to do?” Pug asked. “That door’s oak and inches thick. It’s held out bandits, griffins, wyverns and a really surly unicorn.”

The gauntlet lit up as the man made a fist and pulled back for a punch. Fenton scrambled back and shouted, “They didn’t have magic! Brace yourselves!”

Wham! The door flew off its hinges and sailed across the inn’s common room before landing in the kitchen. The blow sent shockwaves through the inn and knocked over the goblins like they were bowling pins. The couple woke with a scream as the older man marched inside the inn. Fenton got to his feet and looked out a peephole in time to see Tristan and Isa step into the common room and meet the intruder.

“No!” Isa clutched her baby tighter to her and backed away.

“You wench,” the older man spat.

Tristan got between them and drew his sword. “Don’t you dare call her that!”

“I’ve harsher things to say to you,” the older man retorted. “Idiot boy! You failed me a thousand times, but this disaster makes all others pale in comparison. Years of work arranging a marriage for you into nobility, and you threw it away for a serving girl!”

Safe inside the wall’s secret passage, Pug asked, “What do we do?”

“Haunted house routine,” Fenton ordered. The goblins had perfected many ways to make a stay at The Weary Traveler the stuff of nightmares. They knew dozens of ways to infuriate, annoy and humiliate. The haunted house routine was their best.

“I threw away nothing worth having!” Tristan shouted back. “The baroness despised me. Only crushing debt made her father even consider marrying her to a commoner. Your money could buy her hand, but never her love.”

The older man swung his armored fist at a table and smashed it to splinters. “I didn’t need her to love you! I needed her to carry your children. Our family would finally have noble blood and the connections to go with it. Untold riches wasted, squandered for a passing fancy! You could have had this girl on the side, kept her in a house in the country and visited her when you pleased. You didn’t have to marry her!”

Fenton missed more screaming as he climbed a hidden staircase to the second floor. The thick walls muffled the shouting while he searched among the mass of colored and numbered levers that operated traps below. Pug joined him with two more goblins. They opened peepholes to the rooms below and took their places at the controls.

“Timing this is going to be hard,” Fenton warned. “We have to get the jerk and miss the other two.”

Pug looked down a peephole. “He’s getting closer. Red lever number eight in three, two—”

“No, father,” Tristan said. “I will never go back under your roof and your rule. I have a wife I love. We have a child.”

Tristan’s father growled as he raised his armored fist. “That can be corrected.”

“One, now,” Pug said.

Isa screamed as the older man advanced on her. Tristan raised his sword to attack when a floorboard dropped beneath the older man’s foot. He cried out in surprises as he tripped. Tristan and Isa backed away in amazement.

“He’s getting up,” Pug said. “Pull blue lever number ten in three, two, one now.”

A board from the ceiling swung down and struck the older man square in the face. He howled in outrage more than pain as he staggered back. Gripping his face with his right hand, the man shouted, “What is this?”

Fenton ran from the levers to a metal funnel pointing downstairs. He took a deep breath and tried to sound bigger and scarier than he was as he shouted into it. “For five times a hundred years I have called this home, and never has blood been shed within it! You would be the first to bring violence here since I lost my life? Nay! I say thee nay! Be gone, and let these walls not know sorrow again!”

Isa gripped her husband’s arm. “Tristan, the building’s haunted!”

The older man threw back his head and screamed in defiance. “No man living thwarts my will, and I’ll not let the dead stop me, either! I’ll bring your precious walls down and stain them red!”

“He’s by the kitchen door,” Fenton told the other goblins. “Pull ever lever there!”

The inn’s common room seemed to explode as attacks were launched from the walls, ceiling and floor. Boards swung like clubs, walls opened and fired pots filled with mud, while live spiders rained down from the ceiling. Most of the attacks missed and the older man batted aside some with his magic gauntlet, but enough hit that he was forced to his knees.

Tristan took his wife’s hand and tried to lead her away, but his father recovered faster than the goblins had thought possible. The older man lunged at the couple, howling and swinging his gauntlet. Tristan swung his jeweled sword. Sword met gauntlet, and the blade shattered like glass.

“Do something!” Pug shouted.

Fenton pulled a lever triggering their second best trap. A hidden door slid open and a stuffed moose slid out on wood rails. The taxidermy animal rammed the older man in the back and knocked him to the floor. Tristan and Isa fled the inn while the older man was down. Down but not out, the older man swung his gauntlet and tore the moose open, sending sawdust flying across the common room.

“No!” Fenton yelled. “He was three weeks from retirement! You animal!”

The older man got up, staggering and disoriented. He shook his head and looked up. “Noises above. This inn’s not haunted, it’s inhabited!”

Fenton and Pug looked to one another. Pug shrugged and said, “Give him credit, he’s the first to figure it out.”

The older man yelled a battle cry and attacked the inn. He smashed furniture and ripped apart walls, revealing the secret passages and a startled goblin who ran for his life. The man ran after him, tearing open the walls as easily as a farmer shucking corn. Fenton triggered two more traps that hit the man in the shin. That slowed him down, but he grabbed a chair with the gauntlet and threw it at the ceiling. Boards broke and Fenton fell through the hole. He landed on the man and jumped off.

“Goblins? My son consorts with serving girls and now goblins? I’ll kill him and you!”

Fenton backed up, his eyes darting across the ruined inn in a desperate search for anything that could stop this maniac. He backed up until he hit a wall, and as his enemy raised his fist for a fatal attack, he saw a way out.

“Your son’s stealing your horses.”

The older man’s jaw dropped and he lowered his fist. He ran to the door in time to see Tristan throw off the saddlebags and backpacks from one of the horses before helping Isa onto it. He mounted the other horse, and taking the reins of both animals rode off into the night.

“You’ve got a long walk ahead of you, old timer,” Fenton sneered.

The older man roared and ran after them. For a moment Fenton thought the lunatic was going to chase them, but instead he took off his magic gauntlet and dug through his baggage. Then he stood up with a crossbow.

Pug ran downstairs and saw what was happening. “What is it with this guy?”

Fenton grabbed Pug’s arm and pulled him to the bathroom. The older man needed to load the weapon, giving the goblins time to act. They reached the bathroom and catapulting toilet trap, their finest accomplishment. The trap could throw a man out a window into a horse trough outside, but it was also in line with the madman.

“Take off the pins holding the toilet down,” Fenton ordered. He and Pug pulled them out as the older man notched a crossbow bolt and stood up. The goblins yanked out two metal pins, and Fenton pulled a hidden lever for the trap.

Sproing! The catapulting toilet trap was only supposed to throw an unfortunate victim outside, and depending on the timing anything he’d left in the toilet. With the pins removed the trap hurled the toilet out of the inn. In an act of blind luck goblins everywhere would be proud of, the ridiculous projectile sailed through the air and hit its target with enough force to knock him over. The toilet, crossbow and older man’s right arm were smashed.

Fenton ran out of ruins of The Weary Traveler. He heard Pug shout for him to stop, but he knew the fight wasn’t over. Tristan and Isa had escaped with their baby, but the older man still had his magic gauntlet that fit over his left hand, and he could come after the goblins. Fenton raced past the older man howling in anguish. The madman saw him and struggled to get up. Fenton grabbed the magic gauntlet before the older man could reach it. The goblin was shocked when it clamped onto his left hand. His hand wasn’t nearly big enough to wear the thing, but when he moved his fingers the gauntlet’s fingers mirrored his actions.

The older man screamed in rage as he staggered after the goblin. Fenton spun around and held up the gauntlet, glowing like a lantern. The man stopped, his eyes locked on the potent weapon. Neither of them moved. Fenton was better armed (a first in goblin history) and unhurt, but the man had a longer reach and was the better fighter.

“I don’t get to decide how this ends,” Fenton told him. “That’s on you.”

They stood there a moment longer. Goblins swarmed out of the inn armed with clubs and kitchen utensils, including one goblin carrying a whisk for some reason. The older man bared his teeth before grabbing a saddlebag. He draped it over his left shoulder and then picked up a second one with his left hand, then walked off in the same direction as Tristan, Isa and their daughter. He couldn’t hope to catch up to them, nor could he do them harm with his right arm broken, but reason didn’t stop him anymore than love or loyalty to family had.

The goblins watched him leave. There was no sheriff or city guard they could hand him over to if they beat him, nor a reward for the effort. Pug walked over to Fenton and asked, “You okay?”

“Been better.” He looked at what was left of The Weary Traveler. “Not looking forward to fixing that.”

“Me neither. That was, uh, kind of heroic, rushing after a crazy human armed with a magic weapon.” Pug squinted at his friend. “Did somebody swap out your brain? Take off the hat, I want a look under there.”

new goblin stories 4

Safe in their dirty hovel, a mob of goblins gorged themselves on chicken bones and strips of leather, fine dining indeed. The city of Nolod provided for all their needs, be it housing, food or entertainment, and they got lots of exercise when fleeing the fallout of their mischief. Happy as could be, the goblins chatted and fed.

One goblin didn’t eat or speak. Sitting by himself, the pale skinned goblin with large eyes and molding robes stared at the food. His stomach growled, but he made no move to share the feast his fellows gorged on.

“I find myself hungry even though I don’t exist,” he began. The other goblins looked up from their meal. “That’s clearly not possible, as imaginary beings shouldn’t need sustenance. Nevertheless I am hungry and the food looks appetizing, which suggests I need it and it would satisfy me. Does this mean the food also doesn’t exist? Do beings that don’t exist need things that do exist? Does—”

A fellow goblin grabbed a handful of leather and crammed it into the pale goblin’s mouth. That ended the monolog as the goblin chewed and swallowed.

“Sorry, Stotle, but you were getting metaphysical on us again,” the other goblin apologized.

The goblins watched Stotle, who ate his fill without further intervention. One of them shook his head. “He’s been like this ever since he read that philosophy book.”

“I knew that thing was bad news,” another goblin said. “You can’t fit so many big words in such a small head.”

Stotle was a bright goblin and had learned to read, no easy feat when the only way a goblin could attend school is by hiding in the rafters. He’d taken to books like a fish to water, finishing one book after another. Children’s books gave way to histories and biographies as he voraciously read every book he could steal.

But the day came when Stotle found a philosophy book. It took him a year to finish and the effort left him exhausted. When he was done he was left more confused that any goblin in history, certain he didn’t exist and doubtful about everyone else. He spent countless hours in mind numbing debates with any person or object he could talk to regardless of whether they’d talk back (tree stumps had proven to be very poor debate partners). His friends thought it would pass like bad gas, but Stotle’s condition hadn’t changed in months.

“Maybe he’d get better if we bashed him over the head?” a goblin suggested. Stotle made no attempt to flee this potential attack.

A shaggy goblin shook his head. “No, I tried that last week. I think getting him a new book might do the trick. I mean, one book messed him up, another book might fix him.”

“Which book should we give him?” a short goblin asked.

The other goblins shrugged their shoulders and furrowed their brows. Getting books in Nolod was hard work. The city was famously rich from trade and manufacturing, but books were an acquired taste, and few in Nolod had picked up the skill. It didn’t help that books were so expensive. A man could labor for a year to write a large book, making them both rare and pricy. The few in Nolod who had books were determined to keep them.

Most goblins living in Nolod stayed in the slums and shantytowns. Here reading was as rare as hen’s teeth. Few could read and those who did couldn’t afford books. Goblins had to sneak into the wealthier parts of the city if they wanted to get a book, and the more money a person had the more they spent to defend their property.

The goblins were shaken out of their problem by screams and banging outside. This greatly cheered them up. Nolod had more criminals than a wolf pack had fleas, and there were robberies, muggings and general mindless violence on any given minute. The goblins hurried to the door of their miserable shack to watch the fun.

To their amazement the fun came to them. A richly dressed man forced the door open, knocking the goblins over in the process. A ten foot tall golem followed him inside and he shut the door behind it. Panting and sweating, the man put his back against the door to hold it shut.

“Oh God, oh God,” he gasped. Then he saw the goblins looking up at him. His face twisted in terror, he begged, “Don’t tell them I’m here, please, for the love of God.”

“Tell who?” Stotle asked. He hadn’t joined the other goblins at the door and was the only one still on his feet.

“Hold the door closed,” the man told the golem. It put a hand against the door while the man crouched down. His smile looked forced as he said, “I, um, I’m in a bit of trouble right now, and there are people after me, bad people. I, I really don’t want them to find me. It would be bad. So, uh, if you can all be really quiet…oh no.”

The goblins smiled like they were about to do something stupid. Asking goblins to cooperate was the best way to make sure they’d disobey. One of them asked, “Who’s up for a round of Goblins in Oatmeal? Nice and loud, boys.”

“Why are these bad people after you?” Stotle asked.

The goblins turned to Stotle, surprised by his question. It had been too long since he’d shown any interest in the world around him. This was a good sign! The shaggy goblin waved to get the other goblins’ attention. “Hey, fellas, how about we let Stotle and this guy talk. It might do him some good.”

“Fair enough,” the short goblin said. He nudged the man in the kneecap. “Make with the answers, tall pockets.”

“Ah, yes, answers.” The human was somewhere in this thirties, healthy enough and fairly tall. It was his clothes that drew their attention. He wore yellow and black robes with a black cloak, all of it silk and very stylish. He carried an elaborately carved oak staff, but nothing more. No jewelry to match those fancy clothes, no backpack, no sack.

“I am, uh, Elegax Stormwright, graduate of the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology,” the man began. “The, um, men after me are bounty hunters.”

“You’re clearly a wizard,” Stotle said. “Why should you fear bounty hunters?”

“There are a rather lot of them, and they’re very well armed and good at their jobs.” Elegax put his ear up against the door. “I’m not skilled at combat magic. I studied how to create magic items and beings.”

The shaggy goblin frowned. “I thought dwarf wizards are the only ones who do that.”

“They have the market cornered, but the quality of their work has been going down for decades. Customers are tired of buying buggy, overpriced magic items. It’s a good time to break their monopoly. Shh, I hear someone coming.”

The goblins heard men run by and the clanking of armor. They fell silent until the noise faded away. Goblins had a healthy fear of men with swords, and if the people after Elegax were willing to kill a wizard then they likely wouldn’t have an issue with killing goblins.

Elegax blew out a deep breath and slid to the floor. “They’re gone, for now.”

Stotle showed no fear of the armed men outside and instead walked up to the wizard. “Bounty hunters seldom attack wizards given how such fights typically end. Why are they after you?”

Elegax gave the goblins that same phony smile he’d used before. “Say, maybe we can help each other. I’d love to talk with you, but those men are going to keep looking until they find me. Is there any way you could distract them?”

The shaggy goblin slapped him on the back. “Easy! You and Stotle keep chatting and we’ll keep your bounty hunters busy.”

The other goblins opened a window and climbed out, leaving Stotle with the wizard and his golem. Stotle took the opportunity to study the towering creation and found it perplexing. Golems were typically built of one material. Clay was common, as was wood, but a person with deep enough pockets could buy a golem made of stone or even iron. This golem was a blend of materials. Most of it was made of wood, but it was boards pressed together instead of thick logs. There were bricks in the golem’s chest and shoulders, and its right hand was an iron pot two feet across. There were more metal parts, namely hinges, nails and iron spikes. Its left hand was made of wood and had four thick fingers and a thumb. The golem had black iron eyes but nothing more on its wood head.

“You made this golem?” Stotle asked.

“This is the Model Zero Constructor.” Elegax put a hand on the golem’s leg and smiled. “It’s not a golem even if it uses many of the same spells. Model Zero is my solution to all life’s problems.”

That sparked Stotle’s curiosity. “How so?”

“It occurred to me back at the Vastan Institute that housing is mankind’s biggest problem. Too many people need homes and don’t have them. They lost their homes due to fires, disasters, wars, evictions and any number of other problems. Model Zero can fix that.”

“He builds homes?”

“It is a home,” Elegax said with a smile. “Model Zero can unfold into a house big enough for one person. If there’s a source of building materials Model Zero pulls those in and make a bigger structure, even a mansion. It took me three years and fifteen thousand guilders, but it was worth it.”

Stotle’s years of reading made him smarter than most goblins even if he was as mad as a hatter. “A house big enough for one man costs no more than fifty guilders, and a mansion costs ten thousand. This seems an expensive solution to not having a house.”

“You’re forgetting portability and time. Model Zero walks. Admittedly he’s slow and dumb as toast, but I can fix that in the next version.” The golem’s shoulders slumped, but he kept his hand on the door. Not noticing the effect he had on the golem, Elegax said, “Let’s say your house was destroyed. You need a new one now. Model Zero can be marched in and ordered to make a new house for you. There would be no waiting for builders to arrive or materials to be gathered, you’d have a roof over your head in less than an hour.”

“I can see the advantage.” Stotle stroked his chin as he thought. “A group of your Constructors could replace an entire village destroyed by fire or flood.”

“And they could stay in place until the residents built new houses, then off they go to their next destination,” Elegaz said. Still smiling, he asked, “I, uh, haven’t heard any footsteps in a while. Is the coast clear?”

“Let me check.” Stotle opened the window and looked outside. The street was a mess of mud and trash, like always, but the only people in sight were street children and peddlers on their way to work. Stotle closed the window and sat down next to Elegax. “Five, and they look disgruntled. They may have guessed you’re in hiding and are waiting for you to come out. Tell me more of your walking wonder.”

Speaking more softly and sweating a lot, Elegax said, “You see, Model Zero is just the beginning. It can make many types of houses, but nothing complicated. I have plans for new series of Constructors. There’s going to be a high end model for building expensive houses, luxury on demand. I have plans for larger ones that can build even bigger buildings. And then there’s the military version.”

“Military?”

“Instant forts, barricades that can be put up in minutes, jails for prisoners and barracks that can go up anywhere. It would revolutionize how we fight wars.”

“So it would.” It took some effort, but Stotle didn’t let the disgust he was feeling spill over into his voice. “This does rather beg the question why bounty hunters are trying to keep you from making your perfect world.”

Elegax looked offended. “I was minding my own business when somehow word got out about my work. The dwarf corporation Golem Works sued me. They said I used their patented spells in the Model Zero. The next thing I know they sent bounty hunters after me and burned my wizard’s tower. I barely got away with Model Zero.”

Stotle didn’t try to hide his surprise as he spoke. “You stole spells from Golem Works, the most litigious dwarf corporation in existence?”

“Not stole, copied.”

“That explains why you’re running from those bounty hunters. Golem Works has sued dozens of wizards. They even sued and won against the Inspired, wizards who epitomize evil. When they hire bounty hunters they pick ones with a track record of fighting wizards and winning.”

Sounding hurt, Elegax said, “Thank you for making my situation even more miserable.”

“You didn’t think this would come back to haunt you?”

“I didn’t think they’d find out until I had royal patronage and a few dozen Constructors to defend me. I’m still not sure who told them.” Elegax looked desperate verging on madness. “There’s a way out of this. There has to be.”

The other goblins climbed back into their shack, smiling and unharmed. The shaggy goblin shook Elegax’s hand and smiled. “Mission accomplished. The guys after you are heading for the merchant quarter.”

Elegax jumped to his feet. “How did you do it?”

The short goblin held up a tin whistle. “We borrowed a couple of these from the city watch. It makes people think there’s interesting stuff happening when you blow on them.”

“I’m free!”

“You’re free for now,” Stotle corrected him. “The men after you won’t give up easily. You still have to escape Nolod without the bounty hunters learning of it.”

Elegax’s elation dimmed, but not by much. “I can do it.”

“With help, yes.” Stotle waved at Elegax’s expensive clothes. “People who see you are going to remember you when you’re dressed like that, and witnesses will talk when the bounty hunters begin buying drinks. Your robes have to go.”

“What am I supposed to wear?”

Stotle asked the shaggy goblin, “Lord Bryce has been more of a pill than normal these last few weeks. Do you think you could steal some of his clothes? I think they will fit our friend and be respectable enough to suit his status.”

The goblins were off like a shot at the chance to cause mischief. They returned in an hour with armfuls of handsome clothes. Elegax cast off his robes and put on the new clothes, which fit fairly well. He smiled at the disguise. “I look like a rich merchant.”

“You can sell your robes and use the money to buy passage on an outbound ship,” Stotle continued. “So many leave port each day that you should have no trouble finding one going far away. The bounty hunters will never find you, and will be hard pressed to follow you even if they learn which ship you’re on.”

“That could work,” Elegax said approvingly.

Studying his fingernails, Stotle added, “But you will have to abandon Model Zero.”

“What?” Shocked, Elegax grabbed the golem by its one hand. “This thing cost fifteen thousand guilders!”

“Your change of clothes lets you blend in with the million people of Nolod. What can you do to disguise someone as large as Model Zero? Taking him with you makes your disguise worthless. You can buy passage on a ship, but few captains will take a golem onboard, and none without demanding a hefty fee.”

“I can’t just leave it here!”

“You can and you must,” Stotle told him. “You know how to make another, so he is replaceable. You plan on making better ones, meaning he has little value to you. I should also point out that this abandonment is temporary. Nothing is stopping you from coming back at a later date to reclaim him provided no one finds him, and they won’t. You are in one of the largest cities on Other Place. Model Zero can turn himself into a house. What better place to hide him than in a city?”

Elegax stared at Stotle. “I, uh, I guess that would work.”

Checking again to make sure the coast was clear, Stotle led Elegax and the goblins out of their shack. They snuck through the shantytown until they came to an open patch of ground.

“Model Zero, change from a man to a house,” Elegax ordered.

The goblins oohed as Model Zero transformed. Wood legs pulled apart into boards. Bricks set down to form a foundation. Model Zero’s wood boards looked like spider legs as they reached out and snatched up loose bricks and old boards to add to the building. In half a minute Model Zero was gone and a modest house was in its place.

Most people would have thanked the goblins, but Elegax headed for Nolod’s port in his stolen clothes without a word. He did stop partway down the street and look at Stotle. “When you spoke of Model Zero, you used the word he instead of it. Why?”

“He describes a person while it refers to a thing. Too many people call goblins it for us to use the word in regards to another.”

The wizard gave him a funny look. Chances were good he didn’t get the point. The goblins watched him leave before turning their attention to Stotle.

“You sound good,” the shaggy goblin said.

“It has been an interesting morning.” Stotle studied Model Zero, who looked like a house that had always been there. “A thought occurs.”

The small goblin grabbed Stotle by the arm. “No, no! Don’t go thinking, Stotle! Nothing good has ever come of that!”

Stotle ignored him and pointed at Model Zero. “I have seen few golems, but they all came with a ring or amulet their owner wore to control them. Elegax had no such item.”

“You’re right,” the shaggy golem said. “If he did we would have seen it when he changed clothes.”

“Then how did he control the golem?” the short goblin asked.

Stotle shrugged. “Presumably there is no magic control device and one can simply give the golem orders.”

“You think he’d build something this nifty, but not make it so the golem only took orders from him?” the shaggy goblin asked.

“He did have a history of bad decision making,” Stotle pointed out. He walked up to the new building and stopped in front of the door. “Model Zero, change from a house to a man.”

The earlier process reversed itself as the building changed into a golem. The extra material fell to the ground and the golem stood facing Stotle.

“We’re going to go someplace nice,” Stotle told the golem. “I would like it if you would join us. Will you come?”

Stotle took a few steps down the road, and to his delight Model Zero followed him. The goblin waved for the others to join him. “Come along. The bounty hunters are doubtlessly after both Model Zero and his maker. We have to get him to safety outside Nolod.”

“Wait, the ten foot tall guy made of wood, metal and bricks needs us to save him?” the shaggy goblin asked.

“Oh yes,” Stotle said. He smiled and put a hand on Model Zero. “Gentlemen, what we have here is a good home in need of a good home.”

new goblin stories 3

Splat the goblin was the leader of the most notorious goblin gang in the city of Nolod, which was a tad odd given there were only two members and he was one of them. The second member, Mummy, barely counted given his total lack of skill in just about any category you could name. Actually that might be the reason why Mummy stuck around. One day this sorry state of affairs would change. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, and possibly not this century, but it would change.

“Okay you guys, let’s get started,” Splat told his followers. He’d gathered ten extra goblins in addition to Mummy, and together they were plotting their next caper in a warehouse attic. At four and a half feet tall Splat was big for a goblin and wore dark blue clothes in good condition. There were three buckles on each arm and leg, and two across his chest. He covered his mouth with a scarf and wore a blue hat and gloves to better disguise him.

“Who are you again?” a goblin asked.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” another goblin said.

“I’m a mummy,” Mummy said. He was wrapped head to toe in dirty bandages.

The other goblins stared at him. One asked, “What’s a mummy?”

“I’m glad you asked. You see—”

Splat grabbed the goblins by their arms and literally pulled their attention off Mummy and back onto him. “Focus! We’re going to pull off the most audacious crime of the week, and if it’s going to work I need you to learn your parts.”

“No one said there was going to be learning!” a goblin whined. He and two others headed for the stairs back to the warehouse ground floor.

“Cheese!” Splat shouted. The goblins hurried back with eager eyes and giddy smiles. “That’s right, boys, we’re going to get cheese, lots of it. You like cheese, and I can get it for you.”

One of the goblins opened his mouth to ask a question, but Splat headed off that disaster when he rolled out a sheet of grubby paper. “Feast your eyes on this. I have a plan for robbing the big cheese just minutes after he buys his stash from the city’s main cheese factory. It’s going to be a smooth job, easy if we all do our parts.”

“Wait, we have to get things right?” a goblin asked.

“We do and we can,” Splat assured him. “I’ve led my boys on five capers and four of them worked just the way I planned. Tell them, Mummy.”

“A mummy is a dead guy who has had all his squishy bits taken out,” Mummy began.

Splat pushed Mummy out of the way. “Mummy and me have been partnered up for a year. I’ve been filling out the gang by recruiting goblins like you lot when we pull off a big job.”

“And where are these goblins?” the same goblin asked.

Splat sighed. “They keep wandering off.”

That was Splat’s problem in a nutshell. Goblins make terrible followers. They have the attention span of a gnat and the work ethic of a drunken goat. They were also stupid and a bit crazy. It didn’t matter that Splat had been successful most of the time, nor that he’d been good about sharing both the credit and the rewards. Once a mission was over his goblins would drift off in a matter of minutes. When he had a new mission planned he had to recruit a new gang to carry it out.

A wrinkled goblin frowned and said, “I’m doubtful.”

Mummy shook the wrinkled goblin’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Doubtful. I’m Mummy.”

Splat was going to start slapping goblins when he saw a new goblin come up the stairs. “Hey, who are you?”

“I’m Molly,” the new goblin said.

“Molly? That’s a strange name for a goblin.”

Molly giggled. “I’m a girl.”

“Right,” Splat said, not even trying to hide his disbelief. Molly was shorter than he was and had both messy hair and dirty skin. Molly’s clothes were so filthy and worn they should have been burned. It was obvious Molly was a goblin, and a crazy one at that.

This was not a problem in goblin society. Goblins as a rule were at least a little crazy and many were totally out of their gourds. But crazy goblins came up with ideas so bizarre they often worked, and if nothing else they made for interesting company when you got thrown in jail. Goblins were also so small and weak that the only way to succeed was to smother their enemies with overwhelming numbers. Goblin leaders couldn’t afford to reject goblins just because they were mad or incompetent, because that extra goblin might be the one to tip the scales. So when Splat was presented with a goblin who was totally mad, he wasn’t much bothered by it.

“All right, Molly, we’re going after the mother load of cheese. Are you in?”

Molly needed a moment to think about it. “Yes.”

Splat clapped his hands together. “There we go. I’m in, Mummy is in and so is Molly. Are the rest of you guys going to sit back and let us have all the cheese?”

That settled it. The other goblins gathered around the paper where Splat had written down his plan. Satisfied that he had enough goblins to do the job, he sat down and explained what he needed.

Pointing at a stick figure on the paper, Splat explained, “This is Lord Bryce, the big cheese. Little people buy wedges of cheese when they go to the cheese factory, but Lord Bryce is so big and important he buys a whole wheel at a time. That’s thirty pounds of cheddar.”

Molly looked awed. “I didn’t think anyone had that much money.”

Splat lifted up a wood plank a foot across and ten feet long. He pointed to the end where he’d tied an old cushion earlier that day. “Lord Bryce rides around in a fancy carriage with open windows. A couple goblins stop the carriage while the rest slide out this plank like a bridge, then I go in and grab the cheese.”

The wrinkled goblin rubbed his chin. “Risky. Who distracts the guy?”

“Mummy leads that team. He’ll need one more goblin to make it work.” Splat looked at Molly. She did look kind of like a human if you squinted and the lighting was bad. “Can you fight?”

“No.”

“Are you a good climber?”

“No.”

“Can you pick locks?”

“No.”

“Molly goes with Mummy and the rest of you are with me.”

Splat led his newly formed gang into the alleys of Nolod, with Mummy and Molly following him and the others carrying the board. The cheese factory they were heading for was on the edge of the business district, a place where goblins weren’t welcome for a variety of good reasons. At night this wasn’t much of an issue, but it was broad daylight in the stinking metropolis of Nolod, and the streets were crowded. Alleys were one way to avoid notice, and they only came across a few humans.

They did meet one man hurrying along with a bulging leather sack who almost ran into them. Both sides came to a stop. The man’s sack jingled as he moved. He looked nervous as he studied the goblin gang before Splat said, “I didn’t see nothing if you didn’t see nothing.”

The man tipped his cap and ran by them. With the way clear, Splat led his gang onward. They looked like a good bunch. If he was lucky he could talk one of them into joining his gang permanently. If he were really lucky they’d remember him and tell other goblins about his success. This could be the job that made his reputation and brought goblins to follow him. He could be a leader, someone people respected!

Splat stopped when he reached the cheese factory. It was a large stone building built like a fortress to keep out goblins, and he’d learned the hard way how effective the defenses were. But those defenses offered no protection once a customer left with his purchases. The busy street had an empty building on the corner where the owner had been evicted and a new owner hadn’t arrived. Lord Bryce’s carriage had to come by that house on his way home.

“You’re sure he’s going to come today?” the wrinkled goblin asked.

Splat nodded. “I’ve been spying on his mansion. They’re going to have a party this weekend and he’s coming to pick up supplies today.”

Mummy blinked, his eyes the only part of him visible. “He’s not sending servants?”

That made Splat chuckle. “His servants are busy cleaning the place up, and a couple of them quit when their boss shorted them on their pay. Lord Bryce has to get his hands dirty for a change.”

Molly smiled and pointed at business in the street. “My daddy works there. He sweeps the floors.”

It astounded Splat how far Molly was going with this bizarre game of pretending to be human. Granted, goblins are allowed their particular foibles. He knew one who insisted on bringing a bag of live snakes wherever he went. Shocking how a simple milk snake could make human women scream.

“Mummy, you and Molly head into the street. When Lord Bryce comes, do whatever you can to stop him at the house on the corner.” Splat waved for the rest of the goblins to follow him into the abandoned building. “Bring the board and make sure no one sees you.”

Splat led his goblins into the building. They snuck in through an open window, only to find a human carrying a rug leaving by the same window. The man gulped and waved his hands. “Hey, ah,—”

“I don’t care,” Splat interrupted. The man smiled and left. Splat went in with his gang, wondering if there were any honest people in Nolod’s million residents. If there were, they should be escorted out before the rest of the city’s inhabitants robbed them blind.

Splat and his followers waited by a window facing the street. Hundreds of men and women walked past them. Most were workers at Nolod’s countless factories, markets, shops and stores. They were poor folk eking out a living while millions of guilders poured into and out of the city. There were a few foreign merchants in their outlandishly bright clothes. You could tell which ones had been in Nolod over a week because their fancy clothes became progressively drabber as Nolod’s near toxic air stained the fabric.

“There we go,” Splat said. The other goblins crowded around him, and he pointed out the window at a fancy carriage coming down the street. People moved out of the way, not out of respect but to keep from being run over. Lord Bryce had a list of bad qualities a mile long, but one look at that carriage proved he had money. Sleek young mares pulled a carriage with brass fittings, expertly carved mahogany panels and a red satin lined interior. Keeping it clean in Nolod’s polluted air (which tried hard to be a liquid or even a solid) had to be a full time job.

And then there was Lord Bryce himself, a striking human in that he was both handsome and likely to strike someone with little to no provocation. His lordship was a man in his thirties, black hair trimmed and styled in the latest fashion, black suit with silk lining, just the right amount of gold to look wealthy but not gaudy, oh yes, he was impressive. He also looked down on dwarfs, elves, goblins (no surprise there), trolls, minotaurs, ogres, and for that matter the vast majority of humans. People who got in his way had a bad habit of getting slapped, insulted and occasionally spit on.

Lord Bryce’s carriage stopped at the cheese factory and a servant came out to take his order. A minute later the servant came out with a wheel of cheddar and loaded it into the wagon. No money changed hands, as a man of Bryce’s station had good credit and would be billed later for the goods. With that done the carriage pulled away, but it moved slowly as the streets were crowded. The carriage neared the house with Splat and his goblins. So far everything was going well.

That’s when Molly came out in the open. Mummy was nearby, but Molly went into action first.

“Mommy! I want my mommy! Mommy!” Molly stood in the middle of the street, bawling her eyes out. Splay could see the waterworks from here, tears pouring down as Molly screamed, “Where’s my mommy?”

The carriage came to a halt right where Splat needed it to. The goblins with him slid out the wood board like a drawbridge until the end touched the open carriage window. The cushion tied to the end of the board muffled the sound as it came down.

“Mommy!” Molly was still going at it, and was wildly successful. Most of the humans walked by, but enough gathered around her to block the street. An older woman kneeled down and tried to comfort Molly.

Lord Bryce leaned out of his carriage and bellowed, “Get that brat out of the street before I run her over!”

Oh that was the wrong thing to say. Splat had long ago observed that most humans were pathologically protective of children. It was one of the few things he liked about them. Worse, Lord Bryce commanded respect only due to his wealth. Poor people knew how little he thought of them and they returned the favor. Lord Bruce’s threat had turned this into an ‘us versus him’ situation.

The crowd around Molly grew as strong men gathered around her. The mob swelled exponentially, their mood foul and their eyes locked on Lord Bryce. Lord Bryce got out of the carriage and shouted abuse at the crowd, how they were lazy and delaying commerce. No one attacked him, but no one moved, either.

Splat climbed across the board and into the carriage. He spotted the cheese wheel at the top of a pile of goods. Ignoring wine, pastries, joints of beef and other food, he grabbed the cheese wheel. From there he rolled it across the board and into the building. Men in the crowd spotted him, but to his relief they only smiled. The other goblins pulled back the board and they retreated into the alley. Minutes later the street cleared and Lord Bryce rode off swearing and snarling insults.

Molly and Mummy snuck back, Molly’s tears gone and a smile on her face. “Did I do good?”

Splat patted her on the back. “You were golden, kid.”

The wrinkled goblin nudged Splat. “We’ve got the goods, like you said. How’s it being divided?”

“Even shares all around, boys,” Splat promised. He drew a knife and sliced up the cheese wheel on the spot. That gave him time to evaluate this gang. They’d all done their jobs, but Molly had really stood out. He handed out wedges of cheese and gave Molly the last one. He smiled and told her, “I’ve got more plans I’m working on. Stick around and we can go far together.”

Molly took her wedge of cheese and ran off. “I have to go home to my mommy and daddy.”

Splat watched her go. He turned to the rest of the gang, only to find they’d left with the exception of Mummy. Typical. He pointed at Molly and told his only gang member, “There goes one confused goblins.”

* * * * *

Molly, who wasn’t a goblin and never had been, ran home smiling. Her clothes were worn and dirty because her family was desperately poor. Every coin and bite of food was hard earned, and her mother often scrounged for food in the garbage of better neighborhoods. Molly knew how hard her parents worked, and until today she hadn’t been able to help.

She got home seconds after her father returned from work. Maybe he’d finally been paid today. If not then the cheese would be especially welcome. Molly’s mother was in the kitchen of their meager house, cooking parts of a chicken most wouldn’t think of eating under the reasoning that anything was edible if you boiled it long enough.

Molly ran up to her mother and held up the wedge of cheese. “Mommy, look what I brought!”

Her mother looked surprised in addition to tired and worried. “Girl, where did you get that?”

“A nice man gave it to me.”

“Gave?” Her mother bent down and studied the wedge of cheese. “Mercy, that’s three copper pieces worth of cheese. No one gives away that much, not to the likes of us and not for good reasons.”

Worried that she’d done something wrong, Molly hugged her mother. “Mommy, am I in trouble?”

Her mother stared at the cheese wedge, the first food they’d had in weeks that hadn’t come from someone else’s trash. “Not if we eat fast. Husband! Children! Come quick!”

New Goblin Stories 2

It was supposed to be a grand adventure in the Land of the Nine Dukes. The ruins of Broken Crown Castle lay not far ahead, and a band of brave adventurers had come together to slay the monsters living there and plunder its riches. It should have been so simple.

“Not much farther now,” Javnal promised his friends. He was finally out of the duke’s militia after serving his year for Duke Kramer, and he’d learned a lot about combat. Unfortunately he hadn’t been paid during those twelve months, a common fate for men employed by the dukes. Facing the prospect of going home broke, he’d kept his militia issue chain armor and long sword and struck out on his own. It hadn’t taken him long to find likeminded men to aid him.

“You said that five miles ago, and fifteen miles before that,” Malcolm Unlied replied. The young wizard was freshly graduated from the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology, and Javnal’s first recruit. Convincing him to join had been easy given how massive his student loan payments were. The wizard’s red cloak, orange robes, well groomed dark hair and oak staff set with garnets made him stand out in a crowd, but he wouldn’t part with them.

“It’s going to be a piece of cake,” Javnal promised. “Between you, me, the thief—”

“Try again,” Casner said.

“Poacher?” Javnal asked.

Casner covered his face with his hand. “Scout. I am a scout.”

“Who just happens to steal things,” Malcolm said.

“As opposed to what?” Casner asked. “I was supposed to just leave the money there? Would any of you have walked away empty handed?”

The wizard smiled. “I wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

There was an old adage that poachers made the best game wardens, since they knew the tricks of the trade and could catch fellow poachers much better than soldiers. Duke Warwick’s men had caught Casner poaching deer, and rather than execute him the duke hired him. The wiry poacher, err, scout, proved his worth several times against bandits and marauding wolf packs responsible for killing sheep. Then he’d found a merchant wagon on the back roads carrying contraband goods, including weapons. He’d reported it to Duke Warwick only after helping himself to a suit of leather armor, a short sword and a pair of daggers along with some gold. Casner didn’t know who ratted him out, but he’d left the duke’s service steps ahead of a sheriff.

Javnal pointed to their fourth and final member, an elf whose name was open to some debate. “With you two and Ren Lemax, we’re going to finish this in record time without a scratch.”

The elf stomped his foot and scowled. “That is not my name. I am Ren til’ Lemath Romaxal—”

“No one’s calling you that,” Javnal told him. “Every elf I’ve met used a pseudonym instead of his full name. So can you.”

“I just call him Ren,” Malcolm said.

“That’s the name I was given as an infant! Using that leaves out my family name, my coming of age name, my school graduation name, my—”

“No one cares,” Casner told him. “When, not if, we’re in an emergency, we’re not going to spend two minutes reciting your name when we need to tell you something, assuming anyone but you can remember it all.”

“I’ve memorized his name up to the point where he lists his romantic conquests,” Malcolm said. “I’m pretty sure he made those up.”

“That does it, bookworm!” Ren went for his bow. He was smart enough to know he’d never get close enough to use his sword before the wizard blasted him, which was kind of odd since Ren wasn’t smart enough to avoid insulting his father. The fair-haired elf had also insulted his mother, uncles, aunts, grandparents, neighbors, teachers at school, government officials and random strangers he met on the road. It was no surprise when he left home last year with his bow, long sword, street clothes and little else. It was surprising no one killed him before he left. Ren had joined Javnal’s group because no one else would have him regardless of how dangerous he was in a fight.

Javnal put a hand on the elf’s bow. “Save the arrows for monsters trying to kill us. There will be no shortage of those soon enough.”

“I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. You seem to think I care about your opinions, peasant.” Ren pulled up his shirtsleeve to show a ring of swords tattooed on his arm. “You see this? I earned it by defeating ten students at my fighting school. Granted three of them weren’t awake when I attacked, but it’s their fault for not being prepared when they knew I was coming for them, the inbred twits. When you match that I’ll consider listening to you.”

Javnal tried to keep his dysfunctional group heading down the country road. He knew it would be difficult, but he was confident everything would fall into place once they had a few wins and money coming in. Especially money. Men set aside their differences provided they got enough cash, and there would be plenty to go around soon enough. And there’d be no stopping them if they could get their hands on magic weapons!

“You expect much opposition at what’s left of Broken Crown Castle?” Casner asked.

“Lots,” Javnal told him. “Back when I was in the militia, there was a list of places we were never to set foot in. Broken Crown was at the top of that list. It’s been abandoned for eighty years, plenty of time for monsters to move in, and it’s in the wilderness. Few soldiers or knights patrol this close to the border, so dangerous men and monsters go unchallenged.”

Casner frowned. “What do you expect to find?”

“Bandits, harpies, animated dead, monkey snakes, giant ants, maybe a mimic or golem. That’s why I asked you guys to come.”

Casner put a hand over his face again. “Money. What kind of money do you expect to find?”

Javnal smiled. “Lots. Broken Crown Castle was fully garrisoned when Duke Warwick’s grandfather destroyed it. A castle that size with hundreds of men would have needed thousands of gold sovereigns to pay the soldiers and knights, plus whatever was in the castle’s vault. And the lord of the castle had a magic flaming sword called Chromas. I call dibs on the sword.”

Malcolm raised a hand and asked, “Why didn’t Duke Warwick’s grandfather and his men take this treasure?”

“That’s the beauty of the plan.” Excited, Javnal pointed at the ruined castle already visible on a distant hilltop. “Warwick’s grandfather couldn’t breach the walls, so he had his men dig under them. He meant to send his men through the tunnel, but they damaged the foundation and brought the whole place down. He didn’t have time to excavate the ruins since he had to run off and fight more battles.”

“Whereas we can spend weeks or months looting the place to our heart’s content,” Malcolm finished.

Ren gave Javnal a murderous look. “Months of digging through rubble, what a joy. Do you see a beard on my chin? Do I look four feet tall, foul smelling and stoic? This is a job for a mud grubbing dwarf, not an elf warrior.”

Javnal shrugged. “I tried to recruit a dwarf, but the ones I met weren’t interested. If you don’t want the money then you can go back to town. Maybe the mayor has forgiven you for saying there’s no difference between him and his horse.”

“Is there anyone you won’t insult?” Malcolm asked the elf.

“It wasn’t an insult. It was an observation.”

Casner said, “I notice your list of enemies doesn’t include soldiers.”

“The area is off limits for Duke Warwick’s men, and Duke Kramer’s men won’t go near it.” Javnal smiled. “They say the ruins remind them of their defeat there eighty years ago.”

“I thought humans were used to defeat and humiliation,” Ren said. “It happens to them so often.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes and asked Javnal, “You couldn’t find someone of equal skill and less arrogance to join us?”

“Um, no. Recruiting help is hard when there’s a price on your head and not much in your wallet.”

Shocked, Malcolm said. “You never said there was a bounty on you!” His indignation was replaced with shock when he saw the guilty look from his other two companions. “Wait, all of you are wanted men?”

The awkward silence went on a few moments before Javnal coughed. “I kept my armor and sword after being mustered out. It seemed only fair since the duke never paid me, but he didn’t see it that way. It could be a problem and there are…places we’re not welcome, but that leaves 99% of the world to earn our fortune. Let’s leave legal niceties to the lawyers and focus on the mission.”

The road to Broken Crown was a lonely one. Land between Duke Kramer and Duke Warwick’s territory was mostly vacant due to the countless wars that raged between them. Here and there enterprising peasants tried to clear a few acres of forest and start farms, but the dukes’ armies had a bad habit of eating everything they came across when they were on a campaign. Farms not under a duke’s protection were prime targets for looting by hungry soldiers.

That meant there were no houses on the forested road. The trees were high, with thick underbrush and slender young trees growing along the edge of the road. Tracks were few and weeks old. There were plenty of birds and insects flying about the lush green foliage, but no people.

“I don’t suppose you could catch us some lunch?” Ren snidely asked Casner.

Missing the insult, Casner nodded. “I see good places to set snares.”

Ren stopped walking, his left hand raised as he went for his sword with his right hand. The others stopped behind him. They couldn’t see what was bothering the elf.

“I smell humans and farm animals,” he announced.

“There’s a village not far ahead,” Javnal told him. “Peasants keep trying to settle here. I figure we can spend the night with them and go to Broken Crown in the morning.”

Ren waved his left hand like he was shooing off a fly. “I’m not done. I smell goblin. The scent is fresh and offensively strong.”

Casner laughed. “That’s what’s got you worried? Children fear goblins.”

“Not where I’m from,” Malcolm said. Casner and Javnal looked at him. He shrugged and explained, “In my home town goblins try to play with children. Parents work hard to keep them away.”

Drawing his sword, Ren snapped, “I didn’t live this long by taking chances. Goblins are getting confident since their latest king led them to defeat a human monarch. I didn’t think humans could sink so low, but it happened. Goblins have been pushing their luck ever since, and I’ve no desire to walk into an ambush.”

Sword at the ready, Ren edged further down the road. His eyes narrowed as he watched the forest for signs of life. He stopped ten feet from the others and bared his teeth.

“Goblins, show yourselves. I’ve a short temper and no time to waste on vermin. Step forward and show proper respect, and you may leave with your lives. Bother us with your tiresome pranks, and I swear by the father who sired me—”

“Who you hate,” Malcolm interrupted.

“Who I hate with the fury of a thousand exploding stars, that I will strike you down and leave your bodies for ravens and rats,” Ren concluded.

Nothing happened. Javnal walked up alongside Ren. “I’m sure there are goblins here, but did you really think they were going to come out of hiding just because you told them to?”

“It’s a formality. That makes it legal when you kill them.”

Casner laughed and continued down the trail. “My brave brothers in arms are worried about goblins. I’m trying not to lose faith in you, but I didn’t have any to be—”

He never saw the tripwire he stepped on. There was a twang as a log swung down the trail and hit the thief, err, poacher, um, scout in the back of the legs. He was knocked on his back, and seconds later thirty pounds of horse manure flew through the air and splattered across his chest and legs.

“Scoundrels, flee from Ibwibble the Terrifying!” A goblin jumped out of the woods on the right of the trail and struck a pose. He was odd even by goblin standards, with green skin, black hair and startlingly bright blue eyes. At four feet tall he was big for a goblin and looked healthy. His leather clothes had countless pockets bulging with God only knew what. The goblin carried a club and had a dagger sheathed on his belt. He paused and looked at them. “Wait a minute, you’re not tax collectors! What are you doing here?”

Ren gritted his teeth and headed for the goblin while Javnal helped Casner up. “We’re killing you, which should qualify as a public service.”

“You idiots!” the goblin screamed. “I worked for days to get this ambush ready, and I didn’t do it for small fry like you. Go back wherever you came from and we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I’ll handle him,” Javnal said. He drew his sword and headed after the goblin. He despised goblins, dirty, rude, troublesome creatures, but he had no love for needless slaughter. He’d just scare it off with a show of force.

Ibwibble saw him coming and waved his hands in front of him. “No, stop!”

Javnal cried out in shock as the ground gave way underneath his feet and he plummeted ten feet to the mushy bottom of a pit. Thankfully there weren’t spikes or dangerous animals in the pit, but it was still a nasty shock.

The goblin pulled at his hair. “Not the pit trap! I’m going to need hours to reset that!”

“Go left!” Ren ordered the others. He sheathed his sword and took the bow off his back. He notched and fired an arrow so quickly it seemed to happen by magic. Ibwibble dove to the ground, just fast enough that the arrow went through a bulging pocket on his sleeve instead of piercing his chest. He rolled off the road and ducked between trees.

There was a rustling to their right. Ren spun around and fired at the sound. Casner limped over and pushed the leafy cover aside to find that Ren had hit an old oak. Frowning, Casner held up a rope tied to a young, springy tree. One pull would make the tree move as if a person had brushed against it.

“That’s what you heard moving,” Casner said.

“Get me out of here!” Javnal shouted.

“Hold on a minute,” Malcolm told him. He went back to back with Casner and studied the trees lining the road. “There’s too much cover. I think we’ve only got one goblin to deal with. If there were more they would have mobbed us by now.”

The lush greenery along the road moved again, this time much closer and in two places. Ren shot both of them and Casner went to investigate. Again he found ropes tied to sapling trees.

“Impressed as I am with your speed, it would help if you hit something with a pulse,” Casner quipped.

“I’ve crippled elves for saying less than that,” Ren snapped back. He notched another arrow and watched for movement.

Casner untied one of the ropes and brought it to the pit trap. “I’m going to tie this to a tree and drop it to you. Think you can climb up?”

Ren’s eyes bulged and he shouted, “Snare!”

The warning came too late. Casner stepped into a snare smeared with dirt so it blended in with the road, hidden so well the former poacher hadn’t noticed it. There was a twang as the snare went off and dragged Casner screaming ten feet above the road. He dropped his sword and one of his daggers fell out of his belt sheath. Casner swung back and forth like a piñata at a children’s party.

Ren watched Casner swinging by his heels. The elf turned to Malcolm and said, “Please tell me no one is watching us. My reputation couldn’t survive being associated with you idiots.”

“Ah ha!” Ibwibble charged out of the woods and wrapped both arms around Ren. The elf shouted in revulsion and staggered back. He dropped his bow and punched the goblin in the head and across the back. Ibwibble held on tight, shouting, “I gotcha! I gotcha!”

“Shoot him!” Ren screamed.

Malcolm pointed his staff at the goblin, but hesitated. “I’ll hit both of you!”

Ren swore and kept hitting the goblin. He couldn’t draw his sword since Ibwibble had an arm over the weapon’s hilt. He finally beat the goblin off and drew his sword as Ibwibble ran off into the forest again. Ren stopped to pick up his bow and shout, “You’d better run, rodent! Wait…oh he didn’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked.

“He took my wallet! That thieving, slimy, smelly cretin! He’s almost as bad as my relatives!”

Still swinging overhead, Casner calmly asked, “Would one of you kindly get me down?”

“Oh, sure,” Malcolm said. He pointed his staff up and cast a spell. A small jet of fire shot from the garnets on the staff and burned through the snare. Casner screamed as he fell to the ground.

Bruised and angry, Casner shouted, “I didn’t mean like that!”

Malcolm shrugged. “You left room for interpretation.”

“Still sitting in a pit,” Javanl called out.

Ren snarled and headed into the forest. “You two dig out our fearless leader. I’m going to get my wallet back and whatever remains of my dignity by killing that miserable little monster.”

With that the elf stalked off alone into the forest. Malcolm looked at Casner and asked, “Should we help him?”

“I’m wondering why I should help any of you,” Casner retorted. He tied the rope to a large dead tree and lowered it into the pit. “Here you go, but I can’t see things getting better in the near future. You might want to stay down there for a few minutes.”

The rope grew taunt as Javnal pulled himself up. His armor and other gear weighed a lot, so getting out was hard work. “This wouldn’t have happened if I had a magic sword. I’m sure of it. Hold on, almost there…”

That was when the tree gave way, falling across the road and landing with a bang! Javnal fell too, although he landed with more of a squish when he hit the muddy bottom of the pit again.

Flat on his back for the second time today, Javnal called out, “I hate you all. I just want you to know that.”

“He’s not that heavy,” Malcolm said.

Casner studied the tree. “It’s been cut at the base, and it looks recent. I think the goblin did this.”

“It’s Ibwibble the Terrifying!” the goblin shouted from the depths of the forest. “Not the goblin, not vermin, not rodent, Ibwibble!”

They heard Ren cry out, “There you are!”

Malcolm looked skeptically at Casner. “I don’t see this ending well.”

“For him or us?” Casner picked up his sword off the ground and pointed it at Malcolm. “It occurs to me that you’re not using your magic on that goblin.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I’m not shooting at a target I can’t see hiding in dense cover. And I didn’t chase after him when he clearly knows the terrain better than we do and has obviously trapped the road.”

“You couldn’t just blast everything and catch him that way?”

“How good are you at putting out forest fires?” Malcolm asked.

Casner hesitated. “Not very.”

“Me neither, so I’m happy to let Ren deal with this.”

As if on cue, the goblin swung across the road on a rope tied to a tall tree. He screamed in delight and waved Ren’s belt before he disappeared into the forest on the other side of the road. Ren chased after him, one hand holding his sword while the other kept his pants up.

“You disgusting beast! I’ll make your end slow and painful for this!”

“Fifty soldiers, ten knights, three ogres, a hag and two cows have tried to kill me, and I’m still here!” Ibwibble called out from the forest. “You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable or I’d use the really nasty stuff on you, pointy ears!”

Ren made a growling, hissing noise before he ran after the goblin. Neither Malcolm nor Casner made any move to get involved in the mess. Casner said, “He’s as crazy as any goblin I’ve met, but I’ve never seen one so bold.”

“Most goblins aren’t,” Malcolm replied. “There are exceptions to every rule. After all, most humans aren’t wizards.”

Back in the forest they heard leaves crunching underfoot, branches snapping and hard breathing. Then there was the sound of shattering pottery, followed by the elf’s anguished cries. A minute later Ren staggered back to the road, his face pale and his eyes watering. He smelled horrible, and his clothes were stained from his shoulders down to his knees.

Casner covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. “What is that?”

“Liquefied hog waste blended with skunk musk and powdered carrion,” Ibwibble said cheerfully from the forest.

Ren swayed back and forth, eventually steadying himself by leaning against an oak. “There are times it’s not good to have an exceptional sense of smell. The goblin threw a pot at me, and I struck it before it hit. The pot broke open and the stuff went everywhere. It, it’s dripping into my shoes.”

Together the three of them pulled Javnal out of the pit. It took some effort because the warrior was so beat up from falling down the same pit twice that he couldn’t help them. Ren was so nauseous that he was little help, either.

“One day our deeds with be the stuff of legends,” Javnal promised the others. “With no witnesses, this won’t be a part of those legends.”

They heard timbers creak in the forest. Ren sounded exhausted when he said, “Catapult. Small one.”

Beaten up as they were, only Malcolm ran fast enough to avoid the fifty pounds of fresh horse manure that flew between the trees and splattered across the road. The wizard frowned as he looked at his bedraggled and filthy companions.

Ibwibble walked out onto the road not far ahead of them, still carrying Ren’s belt. The goblin thrust out his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “I worked for days to get this ambush ready, and in five minutes you numbskulls ruined it. You guys had enough, or do I need to break out the good stuff?”

“He’s in the open!” Casner yelled at Malcolm. “Blast him already!”

Ibwibble rested a hand on the dagger sheathed in his belt. “Yeah, wizard, make with the magic.”

Malcolm kept his eyes on the goblin but did nothing. “I think not. You’re far too confident for my liking. If you know of my profession and are standing out of cover anyway then you’ve got reason to be confident, likely more traps. Satisfy my curiosity and tell me why were you trying to catch a tax collector.”

“Because they’re the most feared beasts in the Land of the Nine Dukes! If wyverns or chimera attacks a town, people try to drive them off. They might lose, but they always try. If a tax collector shows up he takes everything they have and there’s nothing they can do about it. That’s a real threat. People aren’t going to take me seriously if there are tax collectors waltzing around and grabbing everything that’s not nailed down. This is my territory, and I won’t let anyone just show up out of the blue and make me look bad.”

Javnal took a step closer, a bold move given recent events, and said, “Look, Ibert—”

The goblin stomped his foot. “Ibwibble! Get it right!”

“Ibwibble, sorry. Uh, look, we said some things we shouldn’t have and we’re sorry, so can we just put this behind us? My friends and I are on our way to the ruins of Broken Crown Castle. There’s no need for us to fight if you’ll just let us by.”

The goblin frowned. “That dump? What do you want to go there for?”

“We’re looking for money and the magic sword Chromas buried in the ruins.”

Ibwibble gave him a look that managed to mix contempt and disbelief with a healthy dose of ‘I question your sanity’ throw in. “You have got to be joking.”

“We can do it, I know we can!”

Casner scrapped horse manure off his leather armor. “I have my doubts.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Ibwibble marched up the Javnal and poked him in the chest with his finger. “I did all this work to catch a tax collector who’s coming any day now, and you ruined my ambush for that? There isn’t anything worth finding there! There never was!”

“But the castle was destroyed with all hands!” Javnal protested.

“It was destroyed eighty years ago,” Ibwibble said with exaggerated patience. “Did you think you were the first people to hear about it, or you were the first ones to come? People looted the castle five years after it fell. They walked away with a little gold and some silver. Ten years after that another bunch of people came to the ruins. They dug up a few silver coins and some dented copper pots. The group that came eight years after them only got scrap iron. The last five groups to explore the ruins got nothing from it but tetanus.”

“What about the magic sword Chromas?” Javnal asked.

“Never heard of it.”

“What about the gold?” Casner demanded. “There’s supposed to be pay for an entire castle garrison in there!”

Ibwibble gave him a pitying look. “You’re not from around here, are you? Soldiers in the Land of the Nine Dukes get paid when their duke has money, which is rare, and when he feels like paying them, which doesn’t happen. I’ve fought knights who hadn’t been paid in years. They get food and a bed to sleep in, and the promise of gold that never comes.”

Casner pointed his sword at Ibwibble. “You’re lying!”

“Why should he lie when he’s already beaten us?” Malcolm asked.

Red faced, Casner bellowed, “Because he’s a goblin! Goblins lie!”

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Ibwibble said. “Keep going down the road and tell the farmers living there where you’re going. They could use a laugh.”

Javnal’s heart sank. Worse, given his own experiences he was almost certain the goblin was right. He’d gone a year without pay before he left the army. It wasn’t hard to imagine the same thing happening to the soldiers who’d once garrisoned Broken Crown Castle when it still stood. Their first adventure was a loss before it had even begun, with no gold, no magic sword, nothing to show for it except bruises.

Ren took his belt from Ibwibble and put it on. He turned and walked back the way they’d come, saying, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to dig a grave for my self esteem.”

Casner and Malcolm left next. Desperate, Javnal asked the goblin, “You’re sure about the magic sword?”

“A hundred other people didn’t find it.”

Feeling even worse than before, Javnal joined his friends. It would take days to reach the nearest sizeable town, a long walk where his group would verbally (and possibly physically) tear each other apart. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Some good you were, wizard,” Ren said. “You didn’t do anything in the entire fight.”

“I kept from laughing. You’ll never know how hard that was.”

Ren took off his shirt and wrung out some of the liquid filth staining it. “The thief was no better.”

“How many times do we have to go over this? I am not a thief!”

“A thought occurs,” Malcolm said. “We, meaning the three of you, aren’t welcome in the Land of the Nine Dukes for a variety of reasons. It might be a good time for us to head for greener pastures. The Gilcas Trading House runs caravans through this area and they always need guards. We won’t make much, but Gilcas always pay their men and it lets us relocate at the same time.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Casner said.

Javnal looked back and saw the goblin marching off into the forest. One goblin shouldn’t have been a threat. “What went wrong?”

“I don’t have time or patience to go over that list,” Ren said. He stopped and shouted, “I still want my wallet back!”

Ibwibble tossed the elf’s wallet on the road. Ren went back to retrieve it and set off the last of Ibwibble’s traps, which dumped three gallons of blue dye on him.

* * * * *

Feeling very low indeed, Ibwibble headed for his camp in a nearby cave. He went inside and dug through a pile of supplies and gear he’d amassed for his hunt of tax collectors, dangerous and canny beasts.

A light appeared farther back in the cave. Ibwibble glanced over and saw Dawn Lantern open to reveal a glowing eye. The lantern’s casing was made of lapis and obsidian with platinum edging, and the eye was made of a flawless faceted blue diamond as big as a plum. The diamond eye turned to follow Ibwibble as he sorted through his belongings. Dawn Lantern was one of the mightiest magic items on the world of Other Place, and had been abandoned in this cave for decades before Ibwibble showed up a week earlier.

“You return early.”

“You won’t believe the day I had,” Ibwibble told it. “Some yahoos ruined every trap I set. All that work and not a tax collector to show for it. I’m telling you, some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.”

Ibwibble found a shovel and coil of rope among his disorganized possessions. He pointed the shovel at Dawn Lantern and said, “And why did it happen? They were on their way to loot a castle that’s such a wreck even goblins don’t live there. Hey, have you ever heard of a magic sword called Chromas?”

“No. Who made it?”

“Who knows, or cares.” Ibwibble loaded himself with tools to rebuild his traps and placed them in a wheel barrel. He’d need the wheel barrel to carry horse manure from the small human village up the road. They couldn’t figure out why their stables were cleaned every night this week, and as long as Ibwibble was careful they’d never know he was involved.

“Need help?” That was a dangerous offer given the power Dawn Lantern possessed.

“No, I got this.” Truth be told, it had never occurred to Ibwibble that he could claim Dawn Lantern and use its great strength. His mind simply didn’t work that way. He left the cave and told it, “Don’t wait up for me.”

new goblin stories

The Multicultural Music Festival claimed to have hired the best human, elven and dwarf musicians, but, and Upsky thought this most unfair, no goblins. Posters and handbills advertising the event went out of their way to say there would be absolutely no goblins present. Armed guards with dogs trained to sniff out goblins were hired for the express purpose of removing any goblins that might try to join in.

Studying one of the offending handbills, Upsky told his friends, “This here is an example of cultural stereotypes. Humans make good music. Elves make good music. Dwarfs make good music even if it’s so loud your eardrums vibrate for ten minutes after it’s over. But tell people that goblins make music and suddenly they get picky. We’re not good enough. We’re not cultural.”

“Be fair, when goblins snuck into the last music festival and played, the audience ran away, and some of them bladder control,” Odd told him. Odd was a stout goblin regardless of how much he exercised, and his raggedy clothes and filthy skin didn’t improve his appearance. The dirty goblin carried a pan flute over his shoulder and a bag of rat bones he was snacking on.

Upsky waved off the comment. “Don’t bring up facts, Odd. They just get in the way. These snobs are desperate to prove that Nolod has class, and I won’t let people tell lies about my hometown.”

With that said Upsky crumpled up the handbill and ate it. Tall for a goblin, Upsky wore oversized shoes and a man’s shirt that came down to his knees. His skin was pale blue and his black hair was an absolute mess. He had a scuffed up drum that had seen better decades tied to his back and a coil of rope looped over his right shoulder to his left hip.

The other five goblins with Upsky and Odd carried a fiddle, a kazoo, an empty jug, chimes and one goblin had two rocks to hit together. This was typical of goblin musicians, who couldn’t afford good instruments and didn’t know how to make them. Goblin music could best be describes as an enthusiastic attack on the listeners’ ears. There were goblin performers who could produce worthwhile music, but they were a rare minority unappreciated by both goblins and other races.

These intrepid goblins were huddled in an alley near the newly renovated Grand Music Hall. The building was impressive in size and design, a towering edifice of elegantly carved stone that evokes images of royal grandeur. Tall windows let in light from the setting sun as lanterns were lit inside the building. Men had worked for weeks to scrub the building clean of soot, dirt, slime and graffiti until the building gleamed as it had when it was built last year.

Upsky watched a richly dressed crowd enter the Grand Music Hall. Mostly they were humans, but there was a smattering of elves and dwarfs who kept their distance from one another. The people wore silks and furs while dripping in gold and jewels. Thieves would drool at the sight. Upsky just wondered how they kept the stuff clean in Nolod’s near toxic air.

“Now that is a proper audience,” Upsky announced. He pointed his drum at an elf patron and smiled. “Poor fella probably has never heard a hoe down. That changes tonight when him and his friends gets an earful of Goblins in Oatmeal, a song for the ages!”

“I think it would be best if we let the other performers do a few songs before introducing our piece,” Odd suggested. “You know, lull the audience into a false sense of security.”

Upsky edged back into the shadows as a man walked by. Once the coast was clear, he looked to Odd and said, “I like it, but getting in at all is going to be hard.”

Nolod was rich beyond the dreams of avarice and so filthy that living in a pig stys would be an improvement. The coastal city made a fortune manufacturing and shipping goods across Other Place. But the prosperous city was built for a hundred thousand residents, not the million it had, and the waste from so many people and industries made Nolod the health hazard it was today.

Humans, elves, dwarfs and other races made due in the filth and crime, but some aspired to better. The Multicultural Music Festive was the latest attempt to give Nolod a veneer of class, assuming you could afford it, and were from the right social class, and weren’t from an undesirable race.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if they let in ogres,” Upsky said as he studied the building. There just had to be a way inside. “You ever hear them play?”

“Twice,” Odd told him. “I was surprised they could play so well when they were drunk. Now for my money, you can’t beat harpies. Everyone goes on about their screaming, but they only do that when they’re mad. They sing really good when they want to.”

Upsky nodded. “Especially when they’re trying to keep their fledglings happy. I see an opening.”

Odd slipped in beside Upsky. “Where?”

“The guards are focusing on the entrance, two exits, servants entrance and the windows. But, and this is important, they’re not on the roof. We can throw a rope from the government building next door, loop it over the bell tower on the music hall and climb over.”

The other goblins smiled and rubbed their hands together in eager anticipation. Rooftop entries were difficult to pull off, but once night fell they could do it without being noticed. All it would take was a dusting of soot rubbed into their skin, and if there was one thing Nolod had in abundance it was soot.

Five minutes later the seven goblins were covered in soot and working their way up the government building. It was made of bricks, three stories tall and absolutely filthy. They scaled it without difficulty, coming up on a side of the building facing away from the music hall. Government workers still toiled away inside their offices, but Upsky and his gang were as quiet as flying owls in their ascent. They crept up the wall and over the top. Once the whole gang was up, Upsky slipped off his coiled rope and made a loop at the end.

“Ah ha!” City watchmen seemed to come from nowhere, swarming over the goblins and pinning them down. Upsky tried to go back over the building’s edge, but rough hands grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him back up. The seven goblins had their hands tied behind their backs and were shoved to their knees.

“You won’t be causing trouble tonight,” a watch lieutenant said. Upsky didn’t recognize him, but the turnover rate for watchmen was so high that few lasted more than three years before quitting. Poking Upsky in the belly, the watch leader smiled and said, “We knew you rodents couldn’t resist trying to make a mess of things, so we left an easy opening and waited for you to show up.”

“That’s…actually kind of cool,” Odd admitted.

“I’d shake your hand if I wasn’t tied up,” Upsky said. “These ropes are kind of tight.”

“They’re supposed to be.” The watch lieutenant took off a black cloak that had helped him hide in the shadows. His eight man team did likewise now that they didn’t need to hide. Watchmen had chain armor and were armed with swords and clubs. They were a rough bunch paid to maintain order in Nolod, an impossible task at the best of times. The watchmen took their goblin prisoners downstairs through a maintenance door to the offices below.

“We were just trying to participate,” Upsky whined as he was dragged past surprised bureaucrats pushing papers at their desks. “This is supposed to be an event for musicians of all races, but there are no trolls, no ogres, no harpies, no goblins, nobody fun to be with!”

“Civilized races are allowed in,” the watch lieutenant said. He dragged Upsky while his men pulled along the other goblins. “You’d just make trouble.”

“That is brutally unfair!” Upsky squirmed, trying to get his hands free from the ropes, but it was a good knot. He’d need one of the other goblins to chew it off, and for that to happen they had to be free of the watchmen.

The watch lieutenant took him down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. “Unfair? The things I’ve seen your kind do in this city would make a man’s hair turn white. I was here for the goblin goat races. You cretins knocked over fifty vendor stalls and ruined a fortune in textiles.”

Odd looked at Upsky and asked, “Wasn’t that imported cloth from Despairan slave farms?”

The watch lieutenant’s face tensed and his men looked uncomfortable. “It doesn’t matter who made it. It was bought fairly and you had no right to ruin it.”

The goblins were pulled out of the government building and into the street. Hired guards around the music hall snickered and pointed at the goblins. One guard said, “They catch the goblins and we get paid. Got to love that.”

“The only thing you could catch is a cold,” the watch lieutenant told them. They just laughed as the watchmen led the goblins away. Once they were clear, the lieutenant muttered, “Is there anything worse than paid swordsmen?”

“I can come up with a few things,” Upsky replied. The watchmen pulled them through the streets, past bystanders who pointed and laughed. “Where are we going?”

“You are going to a prison barge that is going to drop you off on an island a hundred miles from Nolod and ten miles from land. You can make all the trouble you want over there. I am going to get a hot bath and a good meal.”

Odd rolled his eyes. “The old prison island idea? It’s been tried for so many years it should be getting a pension.”

“He’s right,” Upsky said. “It never works.”

“If it keeps you out of Nolod for a month then it’s good enough. But first we’re going to put an end to this music nonsense.” With that the watch lieutenant and his men grabbed the goblins’ instruments and smashed them to bits. “You’ll get more sooner or later, but not today.”

Upsky didn’t look especially bothered by the loss. “Why are you doing this?”

The watch lieutenant resumed dragging Upsky through the streets. “You can’t be so stupid. I saw you goblins sink a boat in the harbor. I was there when you rodents broke into the city jail and let out fifteen prisoners!”

“Fifteen out of three hundred,” Upsky clarified. “Those men shouldn’t have been in there. As for the boat, that brought in the clothes made with slave labor. Nolod allows indentured servitude, which is appallingly, but even your leaders won’t stomach slavery.”

When that didn’t get an answer, Upsky asked “I mean why are you doing this, being a watchman? All your complaints happened after you entered the watch, not before. You could have gotten a different job, a better job.”

“It pays well enough and I make a difference in the city.”

“One of us does,” Upsky said. That got him and angry glare from the lieutenant, but he went on anyway. “Come on, you’ve seen goblins cause mischief, but there’s been worse crimes and goblins didn’t cause them. How much of that should have been stopped long ago? How much can’t be stopped because it’s legal?”

Getting angry, the lieutenant shouted, “We aren’t talking about that! We are talking about your crimes!” Shoving Upsky up against a stable, he yelled, “This wall was clean ten hours ago!”

Upsky took a moment to study the stable wall. “Okay, the picture of the prime minister with his head stuck in a toilet is our handiwork, same with the banker with a wolf’s head. And I am downright proud of that one near the bottom with ships being loaded with barrels of filth, which really happened. It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you sometime.”

Nodding his head at one of the wall’s graffiti pictures, the goblin insisted, “That not one of ours.”

The watch lieutenant peered at the graffiti. The last one was painted in blue and showed an open book with the words ‘No Secrets’ written above the book. Frowning, he said, “You might be right. That one shows some talent.”

“No, no, it’s garbage, no social commentary, no attempt to influence or humiliate,” Odd said. “Good brush work, but no message.”

“Getting back to my point, you and your gang don’t need to be here,” Upsky told the watch lieutenant.

“We’re not a gang! We’re the opposite of a gang!”

“Not according to the prime minister,” Upsky said. “I heard he called the city watch a step above thugs and a step below mercenaries. Last week he said he’d get better results if he put baboons in uniforms and paid them in bananas to do your job.”

The watch lieutenant roared in outrage and lifted Upsky off his feet. He slammed him into the stable wall and met the goblin’s eyes with a murderous look. The suddenness of the move startled Upsky, but only for a moment.

“Why do you work so hard and risk your life for a man and a city that don’t care whether you live or die?” the goblin asked.

“Because!” the watch lieutenant bellowed. Breathing hard, he gradually regained control of his temper. “Because it’s my job. Because the money I earn feeds my family. Because there are days I make a difference. That’s why.”

“I understand,” Upsky said softly. More conversationally, he offered, “If you look in my pockets you’ll find job applications. I’ve been collecting them for weeks. You and your gang, I mean men, can get better jobs with more pay. I think you’ll make more of a difference that way, too.”

The lieutenant checked Upsky’s pockets and came up with a stack of folded up papers. He read them under the light of a nearby lantern, then grunted and stuffed them into his pockets. “I’ll give you credit, this is new, but it won’t distract me. You and your followers are going out to sea and far away from the music festival.”

“Those people would appreciate goblin music,” Upsky protested. “The blissful tones, the inspiring message—”

The watch lieutenant burst out laughing. “I heard about your latest musical atrocity, Goblins in Oatmeal! What does that even mean?”

“The final line explains it all,” Odd said.

The watch lieutenant led his men in dragging off the goblins. “No one would last that long. Men heard you vermin practicing your assault on the senses. They complained of suffering dizziness, headaches and blurred vision inside of thirty seconds.”

Shocked, Upsky asked, “Thirty seconds? Huh. Normally that doesn’t happen until they reach the chorus.”

“What?” The watch lieutenant spun around to face Upsky. “What do you mean they?”

“I, uh, I didn’t say nothing!”

Pressing him against a tavern wall, the watch lieutenant said, “You didn’t say until we reach the chorus, you said until they reach the chorus. Who are they?”

“Good work, blabber mouth,” Odd muttered.

Upsky tried to come up with a believable lie and couldn’t. He looked down and sighed. “Um, we’re not musicians. We’re warrior goblins. The musicians called us this morning and asked us to distract the men guarding the music hall. They thought you’d drop your guard once one group of goblins was caught, and that would give them the opportunity to break in. While you’ve been hauling us off, they snuck in through the sewers and nailed the doors shut from the inside. They’re playing Goblins in Oatmeal as we speak.”

“But you must be musicians! You had instruments!” The watch lieutenant pointed down the road where two rocks lay on the street next to the broken remains of their pan flute, drum, kazoo, fiddle, chimes.

“They gave us those to improve our disguise,” Odd told him. “You must have noticed it didn’t bother us when you broke them.”

The watch lieutenant threw Upsky to the ground and raced back to the music hall. His men followed suit and left the goblins behind as the lieutenant yelled, “Come on!”

“How good are your teeth?” Odd asked Upsky as he raised his bound hands.

“I want to see this first,” he said and led the goblins back to the music hall.

Goblins and watchmen reached the music hall to find it in a state of pandemonium. The doors were closed, but they could hear men pounding on them from the inside, desperately trying to get out. The hired guards were trying to force the doors open and having no luck. Onlookers crowded around the music hall while people in nearby buildings opened windows and stuck their heads out. They could hear noise from inside the music hall, and there seemed to be a rhythm to it, but no one would call it music.

A second floor window broke when a man inside threw a chair through it. The chair splintered when it hit the ground and gawkers had to run to avoid being hit. The crowd heard a discordant tune playing within, including the ending line, “And he never got it off!

The man who’d broken the window leaned out and threw up.

Ashen faced, the watch lieutenant stared in horror at the scene until one of his men asked, “Sir, please tell me you kept those job applications.”