Goblin Apprentice

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Spicy took the book back and opened to the beginning. How had he missed the fine print just after the title page? “Cityspeak? That’s a secret language?”

  Harold shook his head. “Hardly. Just different. Like your Northspeak would be to a place where no one else speaks it. Or Southspeak, like down in Altea. I speak a little of that. My name is actually Haroldo. Plenty of traders know Southspeak. Cityspeak, too. Reading it’s a trick, though. So truly, if you want to learn more, you need—”

  Fath spun. His tail hammered Harold across the chest with a sickening crunch and knocked him over the side. Spicy scrambled away from where the man had been standing. Rime got the children down as the dragon turned to face him.

  Alma had snatched up her bow and was aiming an arrow. Fath eyed her and growled. Blades was wielding a boat hook and pointing it at the dragon.

  “What did you do?” Spicy shouted. “Why did you do that?”

  “Silence,” Fath said. “Enough words. Enough nonsense. Set down your weapons and get this boat underway.”

  “Wait, what about Harold?”

  Alma relaxed the bow before looking over the side. “He’s gone.”

  Spicy ran to the rail. Harold was floating face down and beginning to sink. A cloud of pink swirled around him.

  “I decide who knows my secrets,” Fath said. “No one else.” He turned and crawled back inside the hold.

  Alma let out a sigh and put her weapon aside before starting the work of letting down the sail.

  No one else moved.

  Spicy couldn’t stop looking at Harold. He hadn’t owed the man anything, but he’d died for no reason. All he had done was reveal that the secret Fath was guarding wasn’t as precious as the dragon believed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Being out on the water reawakened something inside Alma she had thought long dead.

  Before her time among the soldiers for hire, she had spent a few years with a man who had saved her life when a group of men accidentally burned down the orphanage and workhouse where her mother had placed her after Alma’s father had been murdered.

  The man was most apologetic. He was also a pirate.

  Following the crew of robbers back to their boat and stowing away hadn’t been the smartest thing she could have done, upon reflection. But the delta town of Lamb had little more to offer her but blisters and a future in service to the church.

  In hindsight, she realized she had been lucky. Some of the other orphans had survived as well, and they had probably gone on to live quiet, ignoble lives.

  Alma had been discovered within an hour of the pirate sloop departing. Her life should have ended there.

  The pirate leader had wanted to throw her overboard and let her swim back to Lamb. But her savior—who would become her lover, if never her friend—had vouched for her. Taken her on. This, she would learn, meant servitude, if not quite slavery. Her life would remain her own as long as she worked hard. If she didn’t…well, it was the water for her, or worse.

  The pirates hadn’t been making an indiscriminate raid but had come to Lamb to steal a coffer of documents from a magister, an operation requiring secrecy and no witnesses. Speed was of the essence and the last thing the captain wanted was complications. But things got out of hand.

  After the debacle of their raid and Alma’s discovery, the captain went as far as to suggest her hundred pounds would slow them down. But the sloop, the Sin Nombre, had little trouble with its extra cargo.

  The crew had a challenge waiting for them at the moonlit beach meetup with their employer two nights later, however. The wrong coffer had been taken and the papers inside were worthless. The captain explained to the employer that the coffer was the one they had been told to grab and there hadn’t been any others even remotely fitting the description.

  Knives and swords came out.

  But Alma had surprised everyone, including herself, when she had come forward and, in front of eighteen well-armed men about to hack each other to pieces, demonstrated how the coffer had a secret compartment in its floor. Hidden inside was a folded bundle of documents.

  No one died that night. The employer paid the pirates. The pirates left richer and happy and with a new crewmate who would draw a quarter share of all future profits.

  So she learned sailing, how to handle a blade, dirty fighting, and that there was a life to be lived free from the shackles of mother and church. Pickings on the delta, however, were slim for a small crew not willing to brave the bay, and after two years on the Sin Nombre, she quit with enough coin in her pocket to last a month.

  The Sin Nombre dropped off a client in Orchard City, some minor noble with a fat purse. She left the boat and followed him with the intent to rob him.

  She hadn’t looked back at her prior life for many seasons.

  But being out on the water again reminded her of fond memories. Running across the sea was as close as she could get to flying. If only a dragon, seven goblins, and her fellow mercenary Martin weren’t in the boat with her.

  Several times during their voyage, she had to make an adjustment to the mainsail. It was impossible to avoid getting close to or even standing on top of the aft cabin where the dragon slept. But it snored unabated as she maneuvered around gear and goblins.

  At least the little goblins had stopped crying.

  With Harold dead, it would mean that much more work for her. Blades was a terrible oarsman. How hard was it to pull a piece of wood set in the water? She didn’t like the idea of using the older goblin boys, as their arms were short and they wouldn’t be much help. Plus none of them appeared to have sea legs and all of them looked perpetually queasy.

  If the wind died and they didn’t want to wait, she’d have to help row alongside the goblins.

  The sloop kept speed with the help of a northeast wind for most of two days, with a stop each night on the eastern shore, as Spicy instructed. Each time she navigated their boat to shelter, she kept her eyes open for signs of life either on land or on the water. She watched for trolls, but they were rare. It was other people that worried her, almost as much as the dragon.

  Yet the dragon continued to sleep. Maybe it was brooding. Maybe it was sick. Ever since it murdered Harold, it hadn’t come out, which suited her fine.

  The downside of avoiding towns and villages was not knowing exactly where they were. The shores of the Inland Sea changed with the seasons, as mud flowed, sand shifted, and water levels rose and fell. Much like the delta, rainfall and drought meant an ever-changing landscape where whole islands might appear while others vanished. The last summer had been dry and hot, and winter felt as if it would be early, but with little precipitation. The sea would be in its narrows.

  A rough estimate placed them a day out of Orchard and two days from the delta proper.

  How long before the dragon once again woke up?

  She kept her vigil at the bow for as long as she could remain awake. A second arrow through the eye would at least blind the beast. Killing it would give her a dragon’s carcass and a boat with enough to sell to make her comfortable. She dared to dream of a life in Orchard City or Pinnacle where she wouldn’t have to sleep with an eye open, her cheeks and lips parched from sun and cold, her stomach empty.

  It was within her reach if she stayed lucky. All she had to do was survive the next couple of days.

  Blades used his fingers to sift through a jar of pickled vegetables, his dirty hand clouding the vinegar. He noisily ate a carrot. “Is tonight the night?” he whispered.

  “Don’t whisper,” she said without thinking.

  It was late evening. Blades continued to munch before putting the jar down without closing it. She could smell him, his unwashed body reeking of old sweat. She wasn’t in much better shape. But leaving the boat even for a dip in the nasty seawater would pose too great a risk.

  Blades wiped his fingers on his blanket. “We’re close, aren’t we? Taking them where they want to go?”

  “We’re going to do as the d
ragon says, or at least his goblin proxy. We don’t know for sure where they’re taking us.”

  “There’s the shore,” he said, whispering again. He motioned, as if indicating they should make a run for it.

  “Be my guest. I’m not leaving the boat.”

  “You heard them talk. It’s going to kill us.”

  Alma nodded. “There’s always that chance. Why’d you become a soldier, Martin?”

  He looked at her helplessly and ran a hand through his red hair. “I thought I was good at it.”

  “What’s here might be enough to set us up for life. Remember what Lord wanted? He lied to us, but only to get us to go along with him. But it never was anything in the dragon’s cave. It’s the dragon. What he knows. It’s all right here. We just have to figure out how to take it.”

  “We can’t beat that thing.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, it’s been sleeping for two days straight.”

  “That’s the only reason I was able to relieve myself this afternoon. But eventually it’s going to wake up.”

  “Eventually. But it also means it might trust us enough to have its guard down. It needs us still. So I’m not leaving.”

  Blades looked like he was about to respond, but then he sat back and wrapped himself tight in his blanket. His breathing grew steady as he nodded off. But she remained awake for a while, staring at the aft deck, trying to piece together the possibilities of dragon, boat, and goblin and how to make a profit off all of them without losing her own life.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Is the dragon dead?” Rime asked. “Because he looks dead.”

  Spicy shushed him. “He’s not dead.”

  Spicy was relieved Rime had spoken softly. It didn’t look like Alma and Blades had heard. No doubt the humans would realize something was amiss, as he had no explanation why Fath would sleep for four days straight. Drawing attention to this would only cause trouble.

  The goblin children were on top of the aft deck and playing a sing-song patty-cake game with a dizzying number of rules, and they paid Rime and Spicy no mind. Even little Domino was joining in, and it was the first time Spicy had heard her laugh since rescuing them. But Pix’s excited giggles turned into a rough cough that took a minute to bring under control.

  Spicy crouched at the hold’s threshold and reached in to place a hand on Fath. He had done this several times over the past day. The dragon remained warm to the touch. His breathing had quieted. But every few minutes a faint rattle came from Fath’s throat or belly.

  “He’s still resting,” Spicy said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “In fact, he’s getting stronger. He just wants the trip to be over like the rest of us.”

  Alma was surveying the water as the wind whipped at her hair. Blades continued to hunker down among a nest of blankets and tarps, barely rising long enough to stuff his face or relieve himself.

  Neither human spoke much.

  It was a gloomy late afternoon. Snow flurries swirled around them. The sun hadn’t shown itself all day. The gray water was foamy and the waves had grown, slapping at the sides of the boat as they sailed.

  Spicy had expected them to put to shore, but Alma sailed on even as the sky darkened.

  The sandbars that frequented the shallows were no longer visible. The landscape changed as well. Trees lined the shoreline. The map in Spicy’s mind wasn’t helping, as he had no idea of their exact bearing or their speed. Alma stepped past him and began to turn the boat towards land.

  “How far to Orchard City?” Spicy asked.

  “A day out if we cut southwest tomorrow,” Alma said. “We’ll start to see islands as we continue south. That’s where we’re going, right?”

  “Yes. Keep going that way.”

  She found a place to dock between several willow trees that grew partially submerged in the water. Their drooping branches made for good cover. Spicy helped her tie the boat off and copied the knots he had observed her use.

  Pix was coughing again.

  “You’ll want to keep him as quiet as possible tonight,” Alma said.

  Spicy felt a rising irritation. “He wasn’t sick back home. None of us ever were, not like this.”

  She didn’t comment as she double-checked Spicy’s work before retiring back to her spot at the bow. Again, they ate a cold supper from the abundant stores. Spicy stuck to the fish. He placed a bundle by the hold for Fath, and there it remained.

  After everyone settled in, Alma lit a lamp and hung it from a ring on the prow. The sparkling orange flame shed enough light that their boat would be visible to anyone nearby. Spicy disentangled himself from the cluster of slumbering goblins and joined her.

  “Why are you doing that?” Spicy asked.

  She adjusted the lamp. “From this point on, if you want to avoid other traders or anyone surprising you, it’s best to let them know you’re there. One light means you’ve claimed a mooring spot. Two means you’re seeking trade.”

  “Why bother? I haven’t seen anyone in the water.”

  “I have.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you’re trusting me to pilot this ship.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  “Listen, goblin, if I wanted to screw you, I’d have sailed us straight at Orchard and abandoned you adrift there. I’m cooperating. I’m taking you where you need to go, and this is the best way to keep us safe and free from any hassles. Anyone out there up to no good will see that we’re not hiding but we don’t want company.”

  He studied the water in search of other boats. But it was too dark.

  After they settled in, he watched with some amusement as the woman got Blades to remove his black shirt.

  “It’s filthy and you smell” was her only comment.

  She washed it in seawater and then hoisted it up above their sail to dry. He never got it back and Alma never took it down.

  Later that night he rose to pee. Their lamp had died down and had almost exhausted its oil. Alma and Blades were asleep. Out beyond the curtain of willow branches were more lights, three of them. He watched until they vanished. Then he realized he wasn’t sure if it meant three boats or just one, and what did three lamps mean, anyway?

  There were other boats visible in the water the next morning. As Alma got theirs sailing across the waves, Spicy saw a handful of smaller vessels, some stationary, some making their way through the mist. A few men were fishing nearby. Alma steered clear. Spicy fought off the yawns and remained vigilant.

  A boat with two sails on a high mast appeared behind them. By noon it had vanished, but as the day cleared and the sun shone, he spotted it. Alma didn’t appear to notice. Or she was deliberately ignoring whoever was following them. Spicy kept watch until the trailing boat fell out of sight, and it didn’t reappear.

  They navigated between several wooded islands. The water had many patches of reeds and other aquatic vegetation. Birds, too. More birds than Spicy had ever seen before. Spicy scribbled out a rough map, re-creating much of what he could from memory and, if he was being honest, felt pretty good about the end product. The only thing missing was the location of Devil Mountain. Fath would have to guide them for the last leg of their journey, but he still slept. Spicy knew he would have to wake him.

  Flora and Eve wanted a turn drawing. He gave them his charcoal pencil once he was finished, which resulted in a fight until he broke the pencil in two. Soon the girls were filling in the characters Fath had scratched into the aft deck, while the other three children nagged them for their own turn at the new activity.

  When a longer shoreline became visible, he went to Alma, who sat crouched near the boom.

  “We’re avoiding all the towns, remember?”

  “Easy enough,” she said. “And our final destination puts us where?”

  “Do you have a compass?”

  “I know these waters.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Spicy’s comment got Blades’s attent
ion. The man rose from his makeshift bed. He was still shirtless and wore his black jacket without it, his pale, hairless chest open to the breeze. Spicy took a step back until he was at the aft deck. Rime and the children grew quiet.

  “You’ll mind your manners, gob,” Blades said.

  Spicy placed his hand on top of the opening to the hold where Fath lay.

  Blades stopped, his jaw clenching. “You won’t always have a dragon or troll with you.”

  “But for now, I do.”

  Rime nudged Spicy. He had come up next to him, a knife in hand. Blades rolled his eyes and backed away.

  “We’ll continue through the islands,” Alma said. “But tomorrow we’ll come to some major landmasses and you’ll have to tell me which way to turn.”

  With that, she let out a secondary sail and they continued across the water until the sun began to set.

  A rowboat and a few huts on stilts spotted in the late afternoon had been the last signs of any humans. They had continued a half hour past sunset before finding a suitable tiny island to tie in to. Rime set out food for the goblins to eat. At the front half of the boat, Blades was having trouble with a jar of olives. He also had a bottle of wine, which he had been drinking from since they had stopped.

  The fog had returned. In the far gloom came the twinkle of a distant lantern. Alma brought out her lamp and prepared to light it. Spicy went forward and, before Alma could stop him, took the lamp away.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “How about no signal tonight?”

  “I thought you wanted to avoid other people. This is how we do it here.”

  He took the lamp with him to the back of the boat. “According to you. Let’s take the chance of someone accidentally bumping into us. From now on, no more lights.”

  “You really are letting this go to your head, gob,” Blades said. He was standing but had to lean on the rail. His foot knocked another empty wine bottle aside.