Goblin Hovel

[Nightingale]

Closed to Salamander.

The goblin chieftain Skamaw perched on his throne and sipped his tea. The throne was made of skulls. The tea had been brewed from peppermint.

A petitioner kneeled before him. Skamaw, as leader of the practically named settlement Goblin Hovel, spent about ten percent of his time leading bloodthirsty raids from the back of a giant hog, and about ninety percent of his time listening to knobble-nosed housewives and bug-eyed bugbears submit complaints.

Goblin Hovel consisted of one giant room beneath a mound of dirt. Skamaw’s throne sat on a rectangular dais in the exact center of the room. Around the chief and his petitioner, goblins scurried back and forth, napped on the floor or did private goblin things behind cloth curtains. More than a few, however, eavesdropped.

“M’lord,” the petitioner began. He nervously fondled a necklace made of rat tails. “Thanks to recent events, the tribe suffers from a shortage of livestock. Tonight, I will lead five of our fiercest warriors to Bridgetown and bring back meats for our children.”

“Have you submitted a ‘Request to Steal Cattle Form (a) [Specifically a Request to Steal Cattle in the Middle of the Night]’?” Skamaw asked.

The petitioner scratched his leg and the chieftain smirked internally.

It is all well known fact that bureaucrats exist wherever there is sentient life. They even exist in the really weird areas where creatures have as many stomachs as tentacles and everyone’s names are written with too many apostrophes. Skamaw knew this because he attended conferences, and at those conferences he received awards. He was a good bureaucrat, as he was a bureaucrat by both temperament and intention. He had been chieftain of Goblin Hovel for almost four decades, and one does not remain chieftain of a band of goblins for so long without some kind of trick. In Skamaw’s case, that trick was confusion. He had risen to power as a young gob and replaced a complex legal system based on blood feuds and trial by combat with a complex legal system based on paperwork and Petitions for the Reschedulement of an Appointment to Petition to Blood Feud. The goblins of the tribe, befuddled and mostly illiterate, had submitted to stranger authority.

“I have not, m’lord,” the petitioner said. “But--”

“But?” Skamaw hissed. “Are you questioning your chieftain’s rules?” He stood up. When Skamaw stood up, he seemed to unfold. The chieftain unfurled like a sail from a mast and suddenly there was a lot more goblin than there had been five seconds ago. The bureaucrat's head knocked against the ceiling and his fingers brushed against the ground.

“No, m’lord!” the smaller goblin squeaked. “Certainly not! Me and the lads just thought--”

“You thought nothing, or you would have submitted duplicate copies of your request and had the requests notarized before you dared to kneel before me, you hopeless knobblenose!”

The smaller goblin pouted, and then glared, and then pouted again. “What will our wives and children eat this winter, if not salted beef, m’lord?”

“We are working on that, youngling,” the chieftain said. “They will eat. I declare your petition a misfile and dismiss it out of hand. You may appeal in no less than thirty days.”

The petitioner slouched away. Skamaw shrunk back into his chair and sighed. “Neeblenaw?” he requested. A goblin the size of a housecat scampered to the side of the chieftain’s throne.

“Yes, m’lord?” Neeblenaw asked.

“Bring me another tea, please,” the chieftain said. “Raiarean spice would be lovely.”


*

The sun wobbled like an egg yolk and Annie Bellecote sweat like a piglet under her overalls on the day she and her brother Gavin left home. The two siblings stared at their parents for a long time and said nothing. They all shuffled their feet on the porch. She and Gavin had been chittering about this day for weeks, so she didn’t know why she felt so reticent to leave now.

“It’s hot,” Annie said, stupidly.

“I filled your canteens with iced tea and lemonade,” Mama Bellecote said. A hundred cicadas sung from the apple trees in the front yard.

“Thanks, Mama,” Gavin said.

“Thanks, Mama,” Annie said.

“When you’re out, don’t act like teenagers, okay?” Mama said. She embraced each sibling in turn with an enormous bear hug. Papa stood in the cottage door, chewing a piece of gum.

“Okay,” Annie said. Normally she would have complained about the admonition, but today she didn’t. “We’ll come back and visit on the regular,” she promised.

For the rest of the afternoon, the farmgirl pouted and dragged her feet on the country road. However, by the time evening came around and she and Gavin rolled out camp in the corner of someone else’s pasture, the two were postulating about what adventures and treasures might await them on the road ahead. By the time the moon came up, they were bragging about what famous heroes they’d be the next time they passed down this road. And by the next morning, they were giggling about how they’d never have to pluck an egg from under that nasty hen Black Betty ever again. And then Annie felt normal again, more or less.

The second day was just as hot as the first. The obsidian-colored bow on Annie’s back, the fabled bow of thieves, sweat just as much as the girl did, for reasons no one knew. The black beast looked more than a little oversized on the pudgy, freckled girl of eighteen, and now and again it felt pretty heavy. She shot damn well with it, though, and they ate a fat pheasant or rabbit every night. After a week, they passed Farmer Gregory’s house and he offered them a seat at dinner and a place in the guest bedroom.

Shockingly, Gregory hadn’t heard a word of what had happened to the Bellecotes over the past year or so, and Annie had to tell the whole story over from the beginning just to convince him that they weren’t runaways. She told him about the cache of jewels, gold and ancient weapons they’d found in the middle of the Bellecote’s rye field. She told him how the Bellecote family had gone from peasant to proper pedigree aristocrats in one night, and how because of that the law forbade them from tending the fields like they always had. How they’d built Mama and Papa a nice new cottage to relax in for as long as they felt like, because they were old enough to enjoy the rest and not mind sitting around too much, and how she and Gavin had decided to leave to make their reputations (if not their fortunes, which had already been made for them).

“So now we’re becoming adventurers,” she concluded.

“Makes me think I should spend more time tending my rye fields,” Gregory chuckled, same old way he’d always chuckled, but his blue eyes had gone cold like well-water and he seemed happy enough to watch the kids leave in the morning. Most of the peasants the siblings passed on the road gave them equally curt farewells, but whether that was a result of the Bellecote’s newfound blue-blood or Annie’s reputation for stickyfingers, she couldn’t say. She supposed they were all a bit friendlier with Gavin than her, so maybe the latter. Either way, there were reasons why the thief-girl wouldn’t feel so sad to leave this county.

And reasons why she would be, she thought, thinking about Mama and Papa.

Two weeks later, the wheat fields that surrounded the road turned to hill-pastures, and the hill-pastures turned to thin forest. And thin forest turned to dense, old forest, and that was the last Annie or Gavin saw of farmland for a long, long time.

[Salamander]

As Annie and Gavin Bellecote were walking through the forest they came across a clearing with one single stump in the middle of it. Gavin, being the curious boy he was, walked up to it. It had words engraved into the top of it, in a messy handwriting. The words read “Bridgetown ahead, Goblins… beware...” As Gavin read these words Annie jumped up in excitement.


“A town! An actual town! Not just some cottage in the middle of the forest! An actual farm!” Her face was beaming with excitement. She seemed worry-free of the last part of the note engraved onto the stump. Gavin, however did look a little sceptical about that note.


“But that last part… ‘Goblins… beware...’ What could that mean?” Gavin asked, looking at Annie with a little worry on his face.


“Are we goblins? No, so we don’t really have to worry.” Annie responded, carefree of the message. Gavin sighed and muttered something of agreement but Annie walked ahead, past the stump, and onto the dirt road that they had been following. After about a half an hour, the woods started thinning. Another half an hour the woods stopped, abruptly, with nothing but a cliff in their place. Beneath this cliff was a large lake and in the center of it was a giant square of floating wood, with buildings on it. At four sides of the lake, there were bridges that lead to this floating town.


“I suppose that’s Bridgetown judging that it’s quite clearly a town made of bridges.” Gavin stated with unarguable logic. “How are we going to get down though?”


Annie looked over the edge of the cliff. “There’s only a ten or so foot fall before there’s a staircase that leads down to one of them bridges!” She answered, balancing herself as she looked over the cliff. “Come down!” She motioned for Gavin to come over to the cliff. They both carefully jumped down, no harm done. They made their way down the stairs, which were strangely made out of marble.


They finally made their way down to the bridge made of oak wood. Gavin and Annie watched the water under them as freshwater fish swam in it, creating ripples in the otherwise still water. Gavin was afraid he’d fall in, as he had never experienced something like this. They finally made it to Bridgetown but by the time they did, it was dusk.


“We should really call it a night.” Gavin said, pointing to a building with the word “INN” on it. They walked into the inn and were greeted by an overly enthusiastic innkeeper. She was short and plump, and had bright red hair.


“Hello, and welcome to the Tea House!” she yelled a little too loudly. “My name is Ginger Alice and I run this Tea House. I’m glad to have customers, as lately sales have been tough!” She smiled at them with a large welcoming smile as she said this. The kind of smile your grandma might make as she hands you some home-baked cookies. “Those god damn goblins won’t stop stealing our cattle! Now that our whole economy is ruined no one is visiting Bridgetown!” she yelled, with a sudden change of emotion.


Gavin looked confused. “Goblins… stealing your cattle? You have cattle in the middle of a lake? I am so confused right now… Can we just have a room for the night?” Alice handed him and his sister room keys and tea then gestured for them to sit down at a table.


Alice looked at them with a look of anger on her face. “Yes… goblins… those little creatures won’t stop stealing our cattle! I hate them! Our economy completely centers around cattle we raise outside of bridgetown on a farm in the surrounding forest. It’s hidden by trees so that ideally goblins wouldn’t be able to mess with our farm but that plan didn’t work. Hey, you two look like adventurers, why do you go check out the situation?” Gavin and Annie looked at each other then sighed,

“We’re in,” they said in perfect unison.

[Nightingale]

No neck pain! Annie thought as soon as she woke up. This is why humans sleep in beds and not on the ground!

Annie liked the outdoors, in a certain sense. She liked looking at the outdoors. She even liked working in the outdoors, sometimes. She did not, however, like living there. The Bridgetown Tea House’s facilities were mundane but comfortable. Ginger Alice and her family ran the inn, swept the floors, brewed the tea and probably made only enough to keep it running. Not the kind of people Annie felt tempted to steal from.

She got dressed and walked down to the common room. There, she found Gavin awake and absorbed in a scone. He was reading a book about herbology under the table.

“Would you like a kettle, m’lady?” No sooner had Annie sat down than Ginger Alice’s son approached to offer breakfast. The waiter leaned over to meet Annie’s gaze and a curling crimson lock of hair dropped across his forehead.

Annie blushed. The man had no reason to believe she came from a noble heritage. “Yes please,” she squeaked.

When the waiter left, she turned and tousled her little brother’s hair. “Reading about plants again?” she teased.

“Plants are important,” Gavin pouted. “They’re good for healing people.”

Annie nodded. She agreed, she had only been teasing. “Let me know if you find anything interesting,” she said. When the waiter came back, he poured Annie a bramblewine mix and set a small loaf of rye in front of her. Then, much to her surprise, he sat down next to her. She raised her eyebrows and blushed again.

“There aren’t any other customers,” he explained. “And I have to admit that I’m curious about you.” The way he said “you” made Annie suspicious that he meant her alone, not her and Gavin.

When the siblings had crossed from farmland to forest, Annie had resolved to share as little about their past with strangers as possible. Now, however, she found herself blurting out the events of the past year in far too much detail. How she and Gavin had found a cache of gold under their crops. How her family could no longer work the land by law, as they were descended from a noble family, and how she and Gavin had left to find their own place in the world, more or less.

“Well, you know the rest of Corone isn’t that way, right?” the waiter asked.

“What do you mean?”

The waiter adjusted his pocket handkerchief. “The Pelleas barony you come from is old-fashioned, but above all else tiny. Although it is a matter of some controversy, the Assembly tolerates Pelleas’ conservatism because they are loyal subjects otherwise and because there are so few of you. The rest of Corone is a Republic, miss. You’re free to do as you wish.”

Annie felt lost. “So you mean there’s not a king anymore?”

“You must come from a strange family,” the waiter said. “I mean that you can work however you want. You can settle down wherever you want, farm if you like, or even help run an inn or a tea house. Get married to whoever you like. It doesn’t matter what kind of family you come from.”

The thief-girl’s blush disappeared and the butterflies in her stomach were replaced by moths. “Okay,” she said. She hurried to finish her tea and looked over at Gavin. He seemed oblivious to anything outside his book.

The red-headed waiter lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Look, I know this must be miserable for you. Sleeping outside, dragging around some bookwormy, snot-nosed kid...”

At that point time froze for Annie. She thought about her brother, sitting cross-legged with a little bit of glazed scone on his cheek and thinking about how he can best help people. She thought about Black Betty, the nastiest chicken in the coop with the sharpest beak, and how it wasn’t until age thirteen that Annie learned the right tool for dealing with her. The tool was what Annie thought of as The Stare. The Stare that said you are my chicken and I know seven different ways to turn you into food if I decide I want to eat you.

She gave the waiter The Stare.

The waiter stiffened up. He brought them the bill. They paid. They left.

“What an asshole!” Annie said, as soon as they were halfway across one of the bridges that formed the exits to Bridgetown. Ginger Alice had told them last night that the goblin hovel was to the west, so they went that way.

“Yeah, he was,” Gavin said. He made a ‘what can you do?’ face.

“If you were listening, why didn’t you say something?” she asked.

“Would you have wanted me to?”

The road ahead of them dove down a hill and into deep, deep forest. They both paused for a second before continuing. “No,” she said. “Thank you. I probably shouldn’t have told him that we found a giant cache of gold, huh?”

Gavin shrugged. “I guess we should be more careful about telling strangers stuff in the future,” he said. Annie appreciated that he’d included himself in that sentence, although really she was the one with a blabbermouth.

Stupid, she thought to herself, mournful. Mama told me not to act like a teenager.

They decided to simply follow the road west and hope they saw some sign of goblins that would suggest their destination. Neither of them were particularly great trackers, and neither of them had so much as seen a goblin before, but they figured they’d know one when they saw one. “Well, at least they gave us a proper adventurely job,” Annie said. As far as she could remember from the fantasy books, clearing out a hovel of dastardly, thieving goblins was about as standard an adventuring task as there was. Just because one man had been rude to them didn’t mean they shouldn’t help the people of Bridgetown at large. These things, at least, were cut and dry.