William Bradshaw and For a Song

Here is the first chapter of my new novel, William Bradshaw and For a Song. It is available on Amazon in paperback and ebook formats.

Chapter 1

“I want to be clear, you’re not giving me a mohawk, shaving me bald, trimming words into my hair or doing anything else stupid I’d be stuck with until my hair grows out,” Will said as he sat on a large flat rock. His hair was getting long, and he needed it trimmed before his goblins started making rude jokes. That meant risking a trip to the barber. Most barbershops weren’t located in caves, but then very few barbers were goblins.

“Sir, you insult my creative talents with these meager requests,” the goblin barber said. He was half Will’s height and had a long, drawn out mouth like the muzzle of a dog, large hands, messy hair and raggedy red clothes. The goblin combed Will’s hair while waving sharp scissors around, nearly hitting Will’s right ear. “A little off the sides? Where is the art in that? The excitement? The daring? You need, nay, must have a haircut worthy of a king, and that means dreadlocks.”

“No!” Will took a wedge of cheese out of his coat pocket and held it up. A small goblin leapt screaming out of the darkness in a mad bid to seize the cheese, but Will lifted it higher and the poor goblin landed face first on the cave floor. “You see this cheese? You’re getting it only if you do exactly what I say. Cut one hair more and I’ll cram it into the mouth of the first goblin I meet.”

The barber rolled his eyes and went to work on Will’s hair. “I don’t know why I bother. I went into hair care for the thrills, and all I get are outrageously boring requests.”

“Why are you living this far north in the kingdom?” Will asked. Locks of brown hair fell onto his black pants, green shirt and black vest. “You can’t get many customers here.”

“It was regrettably necessary,” his barber said. “I was living in the south when I came across some human merchants resting for the night. They’d fallen asleep and clearly needed help. Tilt your head down.”

“What did you do to these people? Watch my ears.”

“You’ve got two of them,” the goblin scolded. “It was obvious they hadn’t been to a barber in ages, and being a generous soul I decided to offer my services for free.”

Will covered his face with his gloved hands. The gloves were black with green fingers, and currently a bit wet. “Let me guess, they didn’t appreciate experimental hair care.”

The goblin barber stopped working and looked off to one side. “My first hour’s work was quite conservative, but then I saw how bushy their eyebrows were. Something had to be done. I thought it was quite tasteful. You wouldn’t believe the response when they woke up! I was surprised how long they chased me, but they’ll wander off eventually. There we go, dull as dry toast, but done to your specifications.”

Will sat up from the rock and studied his reflection in a pool in the cave. He was a young man with gray eyes and brown hair, in good health despite many attempts on his life. He brushed cut hair off his black shoes and the bronze fire scepter hanging off his belt.

“Thank you,” he told the barber. He handed over the promised payment, avoiding another goblin’s desperate attempt to steal the cheese. The barber wolfed it down and welcomed in a goblin client with hair reaching down to his heels.

“Surprise me,” the hairy goblin said, and the barber shrieked in delight.

Will left the cool cave and went into the snowy landscape outside. There were young trees bare of leaves, dirt trails, small hovels built by goblins and an abandoned tollbooth left long ago by dwarf miners. Ten inches of snow covered the land and hid its worst flaws.
This land of ruin was the Kingdom of the Goblins, and Will ruled it as King. He didn’t want the job and had been tricked by lawyers into leaving Earth and coming here. The kingdom was once a dwarf strip mining operation. Nearly a century ago the dwarfs had run out of ore and left for greener pastures, leaving the land a disaster of epic proportions. Few could live here, but goblins thrived in places others ignored.

Outside the cave he found Domo waiting patiently for him. Domo was a leader among goblins, a thankless task given how few goblins felt like being led. Domo had gray skin, ratty black hair and wore yellow robes. He carried a red walking stick made from an enemy flagpole, but owned nothing more.

“Ah, Will, looking sort of respectable again,” Domo said. “I’d ask who you’re trying to impress in this dump, but I suppose there’s a chance your girlfriend might visit. How’s everyone’s favorite fairy godmother?”

Will went through his pockets and took out her latest letter. “Helping children in need and as happy as could be.”

“That’s lovely, but it begs a question. Getting your hair hacked down to an acceptable level makes sense if she’s planning on visiting, but there are barbers in the human villages south of your slovenly domain. You could have gone to one of them instead of coming within spitting distance of the wastelands.” Domo tapped his walking stick on the ground and asked, “You mind telling me what that’s about?”

“I had to be here anyway.” Will looked to the north where goblins dug their way through the snow toward him. “You see, Vial got this idea.”

“That statement pretty much ensures a bad ending.” Domo wasn’t being rude. Vial the goblin alchemist was responsible for endless property damage across the kingdom. There were times his skills were badly needed, and Will was glad to have him, but you could count on Vial ruining rare peaceful moments with explosions. The little guy couldn’t help himself.

Will swung his fire scepter like a golf club. “Vial said we keep getting in world ending kinds of trouble. Generally, that means he has to make one of his large bombs.”

“That’s fair,” Domo conceded.

“Problem is it takes him a while to make them. That leaves us in danger until he’d done. He figured why not preempt the crisis, make a large bomb right now and stash it away until we need it.”

“Stash a bomb?” Domo sputtered. “His bombs blow up everything in a hundred feet when they go off, and they aren’t too picky about when they go kaboom!”

Will bent down so he could look Domo in the eye. “That’s what one of them can do. He didn’t stop at one.”

“What?”

“In my defense, I sat him down and talked to him the second I found out what he was doing and convinced him storing highly unstable explosives wasn’t a safe idea. He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact they could go off and kill him, and us.”

Domo grabbed Will by the shoulders. “How many bombs did he make?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “The room was full when I saw it.”

“So if one went off, it would take the others with it,” Domo said.

“And probably what’s left of the Goblin City. I suggested he test them in the wastelands. I figured he couldn’t hurt anything since there’s nothing here.”

“Aren’t the wastelands healing?” Domo asked. One of Will’s earlier victories was against the Staff of Skulls, a horrifying magic weapon sworn to conquer or destroy Other Place. They’d destroyed it with the Bottle of Hope, and after the battle the bottle went on to cleanse a portion of the wastelands until it became a beautiful forest.

“The forest is spreading, but not fast. It may take years for the wastelands to heal. Until then it’s a safe place for Vial to experiment with.”

Vial and his lab rat goblins finally reached them through the deep snow. Vial looked like a twisted version of a university professor, with his lab coat, glasses, black pants and doctor’s bag filled with explosives. He had short red fur and a wide smile. That smile was proof something was going to blow up.

“Ah, My Liege, a pleasure to have you present for this monumental occasion.” Vial waved to his fellow lab rats in their white lab coats and patted one of them on the back. “This is an exciting day, and my fellow practitioners of alchemy have outdone themselves! It amazes me the thought of using all my bombs at once occurred to you before me, but I suppose that’s why you’re King.”

“I’m glad we could do this,” Will said. Specifically, he was glad they could do it away from the few parts of the kingdom that weren’t a total wreck. There weren’t many of those and he was keen on preserving them, along with his sanity.

Domo studied the flat, worthless, rocky land where Vial had come from. Dwarf smelters had produced this tragedy by dumping slag on the ground, covering countless acres with stone. “How does this work?”

Vial pressed his fingertips together and smiled. “It’s quite simple. We placed explosives across the landscape far enough apart that one bomb detonating would not set off others. Normally I’d dig the bombs in, but the depth of rock we’d have to excavate made this difficult, so the bombs were placed on the surface.”

“You could have asked digger goblins to make the holes,” Will suggested.

“I tried, but the ones I asked wet themselves when I explained the job.” Vial looked puzzled when he added, “Thirty or forty holes shouldn’t have taken them long.”

“You don’t know how many bombs you made?” Domo asked him.

“Why would that matter? Returning to the original question, once we placed the bombs we set their timers, allowing a generous amount of time to leave the blast radius. The bombs are staggered to detonate in sequence so we can better determine which designs work best.”

BOOM!

The ground shook, and a cloud of smoke rose in the distance. All eyes turned to see debris rain down around a newly formed crater.
Vial was positively beaming with joy. “That was beautiful! Far more energetic than I’d anticipated, and with a lovely—”

BOOM! BOOM!

Vial frowned and checked a notebook in his lab coat. “Those were supposed to be separate explosions. The timers must be a tad off.”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Explosions went off fast, shaking the ground so hard that Will had trouble keeping his footing. Huge chunks of rock flew like cannonballs and shattered on landing. Great cracks opened up in the ground, the ragged breaks growing until they joined together.

“Hmm.” Vial shrugged and turned to Will. “It’s not going quite to plan, but we should be safe.”
“Should be?” Domo demanded.

“Alchemy isn’t an exact science, and we ignore the few rules there are. The only way you learn is by ignoring instructions with skulls printed next to them.”

Will edged back. “How far should we run?”
Vial clapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me! Why, the very thought that I’d put your life at risk is—”

CRACKA-BOOM!

Four bombs went off as one with devastating results. Already impressive crevasses widened until a grown man would have trouble jumping over them. A section of ground hundreds of feet wide trembled wildly, broke apart and sank into the earth. The giant crater grew wider as the edges snapped off and slid into the hole.

BOOM! Another explosion went off far away with similar results. Stony ground shattered under the force of the blast and sank from sight. One large slab of rock tilted up at a steep angle before gravity pulled it down and it disappeared below ground. More blasts cracked open the earth until the whole landscape convulsed and began a slow, noisy and violent descent.

“In theory, mining tunnels and chambers under the wastelands could collapse if enough force is applied,” Vial said. A crack formed near his right foot and extended well beyond the goblins. Vial studied the crack with rapt attention. “Fascinating.”

Will grabbed Vial and ran, shouting, “Last one out doesn’t get out!”

Will led the goblins in a screaming escape. Cracks in the ground grew so fast they seemed to chase them. More explosions followed. Will hazarded a look behind him and saw vast sections of land sinking as if some horrible monster was dragging them down. Two bombs were swallowed by the abyssal hole and detonated inside it, throwing up clouds of dust and small rocks.

They kept running until they left the wastelands entirely. Will set Vial down and bent over as he gasped for breath. The other goblins caught up with him and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Will recovered enough to say, “I didn’t need that.”

“None of us did,” Domo told him. “Vial, you Grade A nutcase, you nearly got us killed!”

“How would that be different than normal?” Domo was going to club Vial, but the alchemist added, “In recent years we have been invaded by men and animated skeletons, fought immortal madmen, defeated the richest man alive, and did battle with both a walking city and an army of elves. Hardly a month goes by where we don’t face life ending threats.”

“Those weren’t our fault,” Will said. He frowned and added, “Not entirely our fault.”
“Need I remind you how many disasters we faced last year that were entirely our making?” Vial asked. “The goblin music festival drew international condemnation. The dirty limerick competition nearly started a war. Our adopt a highway program ended with four highways destroyed and two more traumatized.”

Not finished, Vial said, “The Kingdom of the Goblins is known for disasters of epic proportions. We would suffer more invasions except potential attackers worry they’d be caught in our latest catastrophe. Do we really expect matters to improve in the future?”

“No,” Will said. “I guess that’s the way it is.”
Vial wasn’t wrong. Will had led his goblins to victory many times since becoming King. They’d faced an invasion by Kervol Ket and his human army. The Staff of Skulls had been a terrifying threat they’d stopped only with help. They’d ended the Eternal Army’s march of destruction, again with help, and after that survived attacks by the billionaire Quentin Peck. Sarcamusaad the Walking City had been even worse.

They’d won every time, an impressive track record, but the strain was incredible. At best Will could count on a few weeks of peace before some minor peril rose up, and big threats were only months apart. It was a daunting situation, but he refused to let it break him.

“We’ve beat enemies who should have crushed us like bugs,” Will told the goblins. “We’ve fought the strongest, biggest, most dangerous threats this world has to offer, and we’re still standing. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it, we’ll beat it, we’ll move on to the next one. We’ll survive, because surviving is what goblins do, and I’ll be there with you because I’m your King.”

“That speech was very nearly inspirational,” Vial told Will. “Have you been practicing?”

“Every day and twice on Sundays.” Will looked out over the wastelands, which was actually worse after Vial’s bombs. Before it had been like a parking lot, flat and barren, but now part of the wastelands resembled the cratered surface of the moon. It was a reminder of what failure looked like if he wasn’t careful. “I’m heading back to what’s left of the Goblin City.”

“We need time to analyze the results of this test,” Vial said.

Domo waddled over to Will and held out a hand. “That doesn’t include me. Take me with.”

Will took Domo’s hand and closed his eyes. He concentrated on the Goblin City and the many goblin scarecrows in and around it. This morning there had been a scarecrow by the gatehouse, and barring a disaster (ha!) it would still be there. Will swept his cape over Domo and himself, vanishing into it and leaving his now empty uniform behind.

Whoosh. Will reappeared where he’d planned, wearing the uniform that had been hanging on the scarecrow. His ability to tap into the space warping magic of the goblins was improving, and he could trade places with goblin scarecrows anywhere on Other Place by falling backwards into his cape or sweeping it over himself. As in this case, he could bring friends with him on his journey. He could also use his cape as a shield and let attacks vanish into it to reappear at a scarecrow.

“That was an interesting escape from certain death,” Domo said. He looked around and frowned. “Looks like we’re back in time for another.”

The Goblin City was a place of constant activity, not unexpected when it housed thousands of goblins, but today goblins raced about in a panic. Some carried hammers, saws, nails and crowbars. Others had ropes and some dragged heavy chains. Goblins were so small and weak that they stood no chance in a fair fight, so when danger reared its ugly head they gathered together for protection. These goblins were in groups no smaller than forty, and some over a hundred.

Will approached the nearest group. “Guys, what’s up?”

The group had been running for the city and skidded to a halt. One goblin blinked and asked, “Who, us?”

“Yes, you. What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Yes sir, it’s a fine day. I’ve never seen a day this fine.”

Will saw two goblin mobs run into one another and merge into a single larger group that headed south. “Really, because you guys seem scared.”

“Us?” a second goblin asked. “Why I never! You’re stereotyping us. This has been the most peaceful day in the history of the kingdom.”

Will marched up to the goblins, who flinched as he approached. “Most peaceful day in the kingdom? There hasn’t been a peaceful day here since I became King. Not a one.”

“He’s got us there,” the first goblin said.

Mr. Niff ran by screaming, “Don’t panic! Do not panic! Just get tar and cement, and we’ll be all right!”

“Niff,” Will called.

Mr. Niff ran in circles around a tree stump. “Remain calm!”

“Over here, now,” Will ordered. Mr. Niff snapped out of whatever had seized hold of him and walked over to Will. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Mr. Niff asked as he tried to keep from hyperventilating. Mr. Niff had blue skin and wore black clothes. Niff was the bravest goblin in the kingdom, always ready to run to the rescue and never smart enough to know whether it was a good idea to do so. He was a competent fighter and armed with a magic dagger he’d stolen from an elf warrior. This made his current state of panic unusual. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s a perfectly peaceful day in the kingdom, with singing birdies, happy wombats and—”

“We already tried that,” a goblin told him.

“Oh.” Mr. Niff stared at his feet. “Would you believe we’re throwing you a surprise party?”

“A party involving tar and cement would certainly qualify as a surprise,” Will replied. He walked up to Mr. Niff and kneeled so they were eye to eye. “Niff, you know I like you, and I forgive a lot, more than I should. Keeping that in mind, I’d like you to tell me what’s got you and the other goblins worked up.”

Mr. Niff looked miserable. “After you left to get rid of Vial’s bombs, we kind of had visitors.”

“And what did these kind of visitors want?”

“Your head or a vital organ. Possibly both.”

Just then a voice called out in the distance, “Hurry up! We can’t hold them much longer!”

That was London, one of Will’s troll bodyguards. London and Brooklyn were troll youngsters, bigger, tougher and massively more aggressive than Will. They enjoyed fights, the bigger the better. If London was worried there was a serious threat.

Will followed the sound of London’s voice to a clearing outside the Goblin City, and found London and Brooklyn struggling to seal three large oak barrels. Someone or something inside those barrels was trying to break out, and it took all the trolls’ impressive strength to hold them in. They’d pound down the lid on one barrel, only for a second to come loose. Goblins brought ropes to tie the barrels shut, but the ropes kept snapping.

“Boys,” Will began as he walked over. Mr. Niff and Domo followed with hundreds more goblins behind them. London and Brooklyn looked shocked by his arrival. The brothers had fine green scaly skin, with London a shade darker, and wore cotton trousers. Both had serious underbites and fish fin ears, and muscles that would put a professional bodybuilder to shame.

“Boss, you’re back early,” London said.

A barrel nearly opened, and Brooklyn slammed it shut. “That’s not a good thing.”

“Who or what is in those barrels?” Will asked.

“We got invaded by lawyers while you were gone,” London replied.

That was bad. Lawyers were as dangerous as wizards and far more cunning. All the races of Other Place avoided lawyers, even goblins. Legal contracts could force men to obey them, and even rewrite the laws of nature for short times. Lawyers were responsible for abducting Will from Earth, marooning him on Other Place, and he had no desire to get close to one.

“Three of them, girl lawyers,” Brooklyn added.

“They were going to do nasty things to you. One threatened to open a branch office in the kingdom. You got to stop that sort of thing before it starts. Lawyer infestations are harder to get rid of than pixies.”

“You jammed old ladies into barrels?” Will demanded. “I don’t care if they are lawyers, you don’t do that!”

“Young lady lawyers,” London corrected him. “Feisty ones.”

“Give us a couple hours to seal the barrels and dump them in the river,” Brooklyn said. “By the time they get out they’ll be in the ocean and the only ones they can kill are sharks, who stand a fighting chance.”

“I appreciate you trying to protect me, but this isn’t how to fix the problem,” Will said. He headed for the barrels as his friends edged back. “We’re going to try and settle this peacefully, an opportunity that’s probably long gone, but we’ll try. I’ll let these women go and give them a chance to explain what they want. Don’t attack them or do anything stupid unless I tell you to.”

Mr. Niff turned to Domo. “He tells us to do stupid things?”

Domo waved his walking stick. “All the time.”

A barrel shook until it tipped over, and Will heard a muffled voice scream, “When I get out of here, you’re in for such a suing!”

Will hesitated. He took a deep breath and reached for the barrel. “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.”

With that Will pried off the top of the barrel, and an enraged woman came out like a shot. He opened the other two barrels and tried to help the ladies out, but they ignored his assistance and clustered together.
The ladies were roughly Will’s age, wearing gray jackets, black skirts, high heel shoes and carrying briefcases. Their clothes were wrinkled and a bit dirty from being forced into the barrels, and they looked furious. They were also cute, which surprised Will. His experience with the legal profession always resulted in pain and indignity rather than an opportunity to ask someone on a date.

“You treacherous, backstabbing, louse ridden, stinking, illegitimate son of a road kill squirrel!” a lawyer yelled at Will. This one had blond hair cut very short.

“That’s a bad start to the conversation,” he replied. “Hi there, William Bradshaw, reluctant King of the Goblins. I had nothing to do with what just happened to you, and I’m very sorry.”

She marched up to Will and held a finger under his nose. “You’re sorry? We are way past the point where sorry would make things better! I am an official representative of the Ann Sheal Ruin law firm, and buster, Fine Ann doesn’t take this kind of garbage from anyone.” The woman took out a business card and held it in front of her like a knife. There was an awkward pause before she said, “You’re supposed to take that.”

“I’d really rather not, Ann.”

The lawyer rolled her eyes. “Ann is the name of our firm’s founder, a woman with an incredible force of personality who started the only all women law firm. I’m Cybil, you jerk.”

Will clapped his hands together. “Well, Cybil, I’m glad we cleared that up. Now I understand you wanted blood before you were stuffed in those barrels. Would you mind telling me why?”

Cybil sneered and pointed to one of her fellow lawyers. “Tell him, Patty.”

Patty was the youngest of the three and had brown hair worn in pigtails. She jumped when Cybil called on her and said, “Eep!”

The third lawyer snatched Patty’s briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. The woman held it up for Will to see, but pulled it back before he could read it. “This, you creep, is a lawsuit. The Coral Ring Merchant House had contracted to buy a load of salt from Quentin Peck. The salt was loaded and ready to go in the city of Nolod when you, yes you, sank the ship carrying it!”

“That’s right, Meg,” Cybil said. “The salt dissolved before it could be salvaged. The Coral Ring lost a major contract because of you. The cost came out to eight hundred guilders, and the damage you did to their reputation makes it harder for them to get business. We’re suing you for ten thousand guilders plus legal fees, and those are going to be high!”

Will showed no great concern at the threat of being sued. “Peck was trying to kill me. I was fighting back and had my goblins sink one of his ships. I’m sorry your client was hurt by our fight, but I can’t pay that much.”

“Yes, you can,” Cybil said menacingly. “You think you’re in the clear because you’re a king? Kings aren’t above the law. We can seize your assets, garnish your wages and shave your dog.”

“I haven’t got a dog,” Will told them.

Cybil snapped her fingers. “Patty, get him a dog so we can shave it.”

“Eep!” Patty’s pigtails flew up when she jumped like that.

Cybil marched up to Will and held out the lawsuit. “The mighty can fall, king or not. You have been served.”

“I know it’s supposed to work like that, but in my case it doesn’t,” Will said. “Seriously, you don’t want to—”

Too late. Cybil cried out in surprise as the lawsuit burst into flames in her hand. She barely managed to drop it before the fire scorched her fingers. The three lawyers looked amazed, as did the goblins and trolls.

“I tried to tell you.” Will took out his king contract tucked in his belt and unrolled the lengthy and confusing document. “Lawyers with Cickam, Wender and Downe drew this up when they tricked me into being King of the Goblins. It keeps me on this world and in this kingdom unless my life is in peril. If I can direct your attention to this part here?”

The lady lawyers gathered around the king contract. Meg pointed at it and said, “Article 140, subsection 11, paragraph 2, line 51: The King of the Goblins can’t escape by losing the kingdom in a game of chance, including poker, blackjack, backgammon, go fish, Monopoly or Clue.”

“No, this part over here.” Will read the contract aloud to them. “Article 140, subsection 12, paragraph 7, line 11: Any suit filed against the King of the Goblins is automatically sent to the nearest branch office of Cickam, Wender and Downe. Bring it on.”

He rolled up the contract and explained, “I’m sympathetic, really, but if you sue me it goes to the lawyers who got me in this mess. They win every time. Trust me, I know. I think if we sit down and talk this over, we can come up with a solution that helps your client.”

Meg stared at him like he was speaking Latin. “Are you being reasonable?”

“I’m trying to. It usually doesn’t work, but I figure one of these days it might.”

Cybil was having none of it. “You think you’re getting away that easy? Patty, let him have it!”

“Eep!” That seemed to be the extent of Patty’s vocabulary. She kept staring at Will.

Cybil took a rolled up parchment from Patty’s briefcase. Will wasn’t sure what good that would do after her last lawsuit combusted, but nothing could prepare him for what happened next. The parchment rustled and coiled around Cybil’s arm before reaching out like a snake or octopus tentacle. Goblins shivered at the sight. Even the trolls looked queasy.

“This is a living contract,” Cybil explained, her tone smug. “We stole the idea from your lawyers.”

“Hey, they aren’t my lawyers!” Will shouted.

“Whatever.” The contract continued reaching for Will as Cybil spoke. “Living contracts are sentient legal documents that can track their victims across kingdoms, never slowing, never stopping, immune to bribery and totally ignoring pleas for mercy. It’s going to make your life a waking nightmare.”

“That train already left the station,” Will said. He watched the contract move closer inch by inch, and he was honestly considering running for his life when a disturbing thought occurred to him. “If you stole the idea from Cickam, Wender and Downe, that means they already have living contracts. And if they want to keep me on the job—”

Snap! Will’s king contract unrolled so fast it sounded like someone swung a bullwhip. It shot through the air and wrapped around the enemy contract like a constrictor snake. The contracts fell to the ground and thrashed about so violently they knocked two oak barrels aside. Trolls, goblins and lawyers alike stared in shock at the bizarre battle.

“Okay, this is weird even by my standards,” Will admitted.

The contracts lashed out at each other. The fight wasn’t entirely physical as clauses and subclauses lit up as they were invoked. Violent as the battle was, Will’s contract was larger and far more aggressive. The smaller contract tried to slither away, but the king contract grabbed a rock and bashed it again and again until its whimpering enemy gave up and inched its way back to Cybil. Victorious, Will’s king contract slithered back to him and rolled up so one particular section was facing him.

Will retrieved the contract, reluctantly, and read aloud the part it seemed to want to show him. “Article 150, subsection 1, paragraph 1, line 1: This contract is now fully sentient and self aware. It has a total mastery of the law, is homicidally aggressive and has a borderline personality disorder. Well, that’s disturbing.”

“This, this isn’t over!” Cybil shouted. “You haven’t heard the last of us!”

“Obviously not since you’re still talking,” Will said. Cybil fumed and marched off with Meg following her. Patty kept staring at Will, not moving, not speaking. Hoping she was the reasonable one of the group, he walked up to her and smiled.

“I’m sorry the Coral Ring got hurt because of my fight with Peck, and I want to help. Give me time to think on this and we’ll get back together to work out a deal where they get compensation, just not ten thousand guilders. Okay?”

Patty nodded, still not saying anything as Will left. Once he was gone, she asked Domo, “Is he seeing anyone?”

“Yes, and she’s vindictive.”

Patty took a business card from her briefcase and handed it to Domo. “Let me know if they break up.”

Will headed back to what little was left of the Goblin City, but he stopped when he saw something high in the sky. It was a clear, cold day, and he could see for miles. At this distance he couldn’t tell what it was, but it was big.

Domo waddled up to him and saw what had his attention. The goblin squinted and said, “Huh.”

“Is that a good huh or a bad huh?” Will asked.

“It’s a huh,” Domo replied. “Huh rules out good or bad and just signify weird. That’s a harpy, which is weird because there’s not enough wild game to support a flock after the mess the dwarfs made.”

“So what’s she doing here?”


* * * * *

Gretchen the harpy slouched low on the thick, dead branch she was perched on. There weren’t many perches to begin with and fewer now that the flock was getting ready to move. It was hard work to fly so much lumber to their mountaintop roost. With only days to go before they left for fresh foraging grounds, the flock was breaking up the thick branches for firewood. Economical as that was, it meant there were progressively fewer perches as time went by, and harpy’s clawed feet had trouble standing on flat ground. It made the whole flock irritable.

Territory so far north was poor, with few animals or plants even in summer. The flock had stayed a month longer than intended, completely gutting the mountains and hills of edible plants and game large enough to merit catching. They had to migrate to the next part of their large (and largely worthless) territory.

“Good morning, Gretchen,” Tiffy said happily. Tiffy was Gretchen’s cousin, and annoyingly cheerful.

“Nothing’s good about it,” Gretchen snapped.
Harpies as a rule were foul tempered, and Gretchen was worse than most. Her face, chest, upper arms and upper legs were similar to a human woman, although more muscular and leaner. The resemblance ended there. Black feathered wings sprouted from her back. Her teeth were sharper than a human’s and could chew through leather. Her legs below the knees and arms below the elbows were scaled and ended in talons like a bird of prey. Her dirty dress was made from badly tanned animal skins.

“Let me top you off,” Tiffy said as she refilled Gretchen’s cup of coffee. “Nothing’s worse than cold coffee.”

“Lots of things are worse, and you know it. Just go away.”

Gretchen sipped coffee from her battered tin cup. Harpies couldn’t afford to have many possessions when every extra ounce made flying harder, but the flock had to have their morning cup. She owned her cup, a steel dagger that needed to be sharpened, an equally dull hatchet, and a leather bag loaded with food for the journey.

The rest of the flock kept their distance from Gretchen. Most of them were in equally foul moods since migrations were risky. Many of them had fledglings to carry, making it that much harder. But one day their fledglings would fly. Hers never would…her poor, crippled daughter.

“Sister.” It was Maggie, leader of the flock and Gretchen’s older sister. Maggie’s hair was going gray, and she was the most experienced harpy in a thousand miles. “We must talk.”

Gretchen gazed out at the snowy land far below their roost. “I know what you’re going to say, so save your breath. I’ve always seen to my daughter’s needs, no charity required.”

“Sister, the migration begins soon. You are not strong enough to carry Celeste. She’s grown too much. The flock has discussed the matter.”

Gretchen screamed, a horrid noise that made rocks vibrate. She threw her cup of coffee across the roost as she stumbled into the center of the assembled harpies. “The flock has discussed this? The flock? I’m a member of this flock! I wasn’t part of this discussion!”

Other harpies fell silent. Most stepped back. This day had been coming for years, and Gretchen had fought it every step of the way. She screamed at them. Harpies covered their ears from the wretched noise, but they didn’t back down when she stopped.

“She’s my daughter, not yours!” Gretchen screamed. “She’s done as much as any here to feed the flock, foraging and hunting. I won’t have this!”

“You could barely carry her to this roost, and that was a year ago,” Maggie said.

Gretchen hesitated. “She can walk.”

“Three hundred miles?” Maggie asked. “In winter? Alone?”

“I’ll go with her if you won’t!”

“No.” Maggie clumsily walked up to Gretchen, a risky move. “Sister, out of love for you and Celeste I have let, yes let, you keep your daughter. Other flocks would have placed her with a foster mother once she had teeth. I pushed this day back as far as possible, but Celeste can’t stay with us any longer. It’s not fair to the flock or to her.”

Gretchen’s muscles tensed to attack. Slowly, ever so slowly, she unclenched her fists and looked down. “What would you have me do?”

Maggie picked up Gretchen’s coffee cup and handed it back. “I have made inquiries among our friends. There is a kingdom where Celeste might take refuge. The leader has taken in an exiled dwarf, a minotaur and two young trolls. UMLIS live in peace within his borders. I believe we can place Celeste with him.”

“Can he protect her as the flock would?” Gretchen demanded.

“I don’t believe that’s going to be a problem.”