The Spark

by Taylor Gibson

  We reached the main gate, but unlike the artistic majesty that was the walls, it wasn’t a welcoming sight. The area had an awful stench of manure, which packed the corners of the concave, and the whole gate was nothing but a simple pair of large, bland wooden doors with rusted iron fittings and hinges. The gate keeper was a crusty old man dressed in ragged clothing, having scraggly white hair and a few facial deformities. He brought us to a halt before we could pass into the city. He winked at me, watching my every move with a sickening, perverted smirk. George had that look in his eye; the one that made me afraid of what was going to happen if the gate keeper made any sort of move on me. He swallowed a hock of mucus down his throat and started to speak to me, “Do you sell that body, ma’am? ‘Cus I’m sure willing to barter for entry. Into that shiny, shiny blouse, I mean!”

  Just when I was about to look back at George to keep him calm, he rushed towards the old pervert and slammed his gaunt body against the wall, with a growl. I watched as he whispered in the creep’s ear. But I was unable to make out what he was saying. Just as I was about to move in closer, George shoved him, and with terror in his eyes, the man waved his hand at the gateway and yelled, “Go!” I stood there for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, and then the gate keeper repeated himself, “Go!” And that was exactly what we did. We entered the city without even having to give out a single gold piece for the entry fee.

  As soon as we entered, and I was able to lay my eyes on the grand city, I was awestruck and barely able to catch my breath from the deep gasp I let in. George chuckled and wrapped his arm around me, admiring the glorious sights and buildings that were as tall as mountains. Nearly everything was made of gold or decorated in gems. This place was nothing like it had been in the nightmare I had. The roads were even paved with gold and the sidewalks had gemstones spotting them like a leopard’s pelt. Everything I observed in this prosperous metropolis was almost too good to be true! I thought to myself, maybe we can take a break and enjoy the scenery for a bit. It isn’t as if Jobik is a threat we need to detain right away.

  “Sui,” George nudged, leaning his head against mine, “this is Shi Shii, the grand capital of the kingdom of Shimbia. King Bonitheraj II himself lives within that very palace.”

  He pointed to a large castle with decorated bulbs at the top and glorious architecture speaking a divine language to my eyes. The palace of Shi Shii was a fantastic sight that was unable to be unseen. In the midst of our inane desire to explore this intoxicating place, Spike crudely coughed and rushed us with his impatience. Demanding us to end our sightseeing and continue to the tavern. “Just hurry up!” While no one was looking, I punched the little goblin in the face and said in return, “You better shut your mouth, Spike! I may just squeeze the information out of you and leave you here to be taken by the Gemini Twins! Would you want that to happen?”

  Swallowing yellow spit and nodding his head like a coward, it was obvious that he was easy to intimidate. After I deterred Spike, George and I walked about, observing the beautiful streets of gold. This place seemed like a paradise, inside and out. The sounds of laughter and busy streets; I had a sudden fondness for the city, as there seemed to be a sort of vibe and revolution happening within my spirit from this new atmosphere. It was invigorating; nothing like the green country I was used to. Carriages and chariots holding people, cargo, livestock, and produce rolled all around the roads, drawn by various animals such as: horses, mullos, elephants, and felkeros. Though the population was entirely human, most of them had different styles of clothing and an assortment of jobs. The guards were all clad in blue-colored armor with immaculate plating that had to have been polished every day. Their faceless helms were what made the uniform complete; having dragon wings spread apart on either end, with a large, red feather protruding out of the top. They were only friendly with the rich and middleclass, so George and I didn’t have much confidence around them.

  There were beggars and pickpockets, but not like in my dream. They were self-sufficient and used a mix of legal and illegal methods to maintain their survival. The shop keepers, peddlers, and Shii-pushers had all manner of ways to catch the unwary shopper in a swindle. There were men in hoods patrolling the streets; Shimbia’s one and only secret police force. Mangy dogs, carrying ticks and fleas, wandered the gold pavement, warding off the squeamish aristocrats that exited their carriages to enter a private party, in a local park. Most of the wealthy had a love for disgracing the poor. It was a shame, as George tried his best to conceal his growing resentment toward those greedy and sadistic oppressors. I observed the poor district and how the rich would frequently harass the less-fortunate, on the border between their own segregated part of the city and the other. It was sad, and I knew there was nothing we could do for them lest we risk blowing Spike’s cover.

  Upon reaching the corner of the poor district, I saw many taverns, inns, and clubs, for the needy to have their entertainment with lower-grade attractions. Even though having a bit of a tour was something we wanted to do while we were there, we had to continue with our main objective. It was time that we had a certain goblin wet his throat so that he could tell us the whereabouts of the enemy.

  “What is the name of that tavern you wanted to go to, Spike?”

  “The Wet Twigs Inn; it’s a fine place for a cup of ale, last I heard. You do have money on you, do you not?”

  “Uh-”

  I checked the pockets of my armored blouse and found that I had two coins of gold, which should have been enough for two pints of ale. I nodded to the goblin and then carried him onward to the Wet Twigs Inn on the north side of town. As I had noticed in other parts of the city, George stared out into space when he saw something he remembered and wanted to forget. Something involving the tavern had a connection to his past. I didn’t want to bother him with it, so I didn’t ask. With Spike being held in my left arm like a baby, I took George’s hand with my right and walked closely beside him the whole way down the street.

  Above a pair of vented doors, there was a wooden sign hanging from a rope that read The Wet Twigs Inn, very crudely carved into the face of the wood. Daylight was dimming, but we had an hour left before the sun completely set. Before entering, I looked around to make sure no police or guards were present and took off the bindings from Spike’s wrists. I had to ensure that he was in my sight the whole time we were in there, but thankfully all the people were probably low-life scum who wouldn’t be interested in turning the goblin over to the authorities, even if it concerned pay. Spike promised he wouldn’t run off, but to trust a goblin was like trusting a vengeful ghost not to hold a grudge. George and I entered the tavern, and we immediately saw a great many men drinking and dancing on the tables. The men at the edge of the bar were singers who were probably the only sober ones, aside from the bartender, chefs, and tavern master. A stage with half-naked women dancing on a vertical pole, was surrounded by hooting and howling drunks. George knew we had to blend in with the crowd, so he sat at a table to play a board game with some rough-looking men. As I sat Spike down in a stool next to a fat, sweaty shirtless man who smelled like ripe cheese, the bartender stared at him with a spiteful look.

  “What? Is a goblin not one of your usual customers?” I asked, giving him a twisted look to make him feel as though I was offended by his reaction.

  In the most minor manner of apology for his rude reaction, the bartender shrugged his shoulders and continued cleaning mugs by spitting in them and smearing it around with an overused rag. The entire place was revolting and had the rank scent of expired beer, body odor, and old rat feces.

  “What brings a green elf to my bar? Lost from the East continents? Perhaps you were thrown out of Bineer’s mine, hmm?”

  “I never speak of the East,” Spike snapped, “too many colors; too many sights. I used to be a leader of my own clan out there, but I abandoned the fools a long time ago to live the simple life with these two travelers over here. Been on the roa
d for about two days now with no sleep, no meal, and no drink, we have. Spin me an ale of some sorts, any sorts!”

  “Not much simple life here,” said the bartender suspiciously. “That’ll be one shii.”

  Assuming he may have had the money himself, I waited for Spike’s grimy hand to place it on the bar, but when he turned around to face me with an evil grin, I knew I was going to be the purse.

  “I have one gold coin, will that pay for it?”

  “Got anymore?” asked the bartender with his greasy hands under the bar, as though he was about to pull out a weapon if I said no. Quickly, I set all the money I had on the bar counter which was a mere two gold coins.

  Thankfully, the bartender saw it as a fair price and took it from me with a wink. “One mug o’ ale commin’ right up!”

  I kept my eyes on Spike. I feared for what may happen if he got loose. Would he unleash another swarm of specters as he did before, or something worse? Still, I knew I had to stay strong for the cause. I was going to kill Jobik and fulfill the prophecy before he could even begin his own evil agenda.

  George was sitting at one of the tables, talking to a neatly groomed elderly man who seemed to have first-rate wealth. They spoke to each other as if they were friends from before George arrived in Rïdeneer. His clothes were nicely treated and his white hair kempt sleekly. I watched him and asked myself what would bring a man like that into a place like this? When I looked back at the bar to see if Spike’s ale was ready, I saw that it had arrived already and he was just sitting there in front of it. He looked up at me and said with a smile, “I may be unbound, but if you want your intel, then you’re going to have to serve me first. Pour the ale into my mouth and I’ll give you your information.”

  “You have to be joking.”

  “I like it when a lady serves me my brew.”

  I bit my tongue, rolled my eyes, and prepared to give him the best cup of ale he had ever tasted in his life. I was desperate to find Jobik, and this wasn’t half as bad as what the gate keeper had in mind. I picked up the frothy mug and said with a smug smile, “Bottoms up!”

  As I wondered more and more why I was allowing Spike to live, I poured the warm brew into his mouth, letting a bit of it fall down his cheeks, making a mess. Careless, the goblin licked his dark lips and wiped away the excess liquid with his bare hand. I was hoping that getting him wet would dim his pleasure in my service, but it seemed quite the opposite. Either way, I was going to get the information I needed out of him. Growing angry, I wished I had squeezed it out of him by the cliff.

  “Okay, Spike, you had your drink, now tell me where Jobik is.”

  With a chuckle, Spike looked back at me with lazy, half-opened eyes and a tight-lipped mouth. He was intentionally trying to test my patience. His muteness was truly tearing the nerves from within my body and boiling my blood into vapor. It was clear that a bit of an interrogation was needed in order for him to give me the knowledge I demanded. But I had to be subtle about it, as not to attract any attention in the tavern, especially the bartender who was right in front of us, watching the dancing girls from afar, planning which one he was to bed that night.

  After scanning the area, I took his wrinkled hand and held it behind his back at a painful angle. I pinched his skin as hard as I could, which caused the goblin a serious amount of pain. My grip on him made him bite his tongue and silently shriek in agony. I breathed down his neck with a deep menacing hiss. Spike was beginning to cower like the little, rotten shrimp he was. It was too easy to hold power over him. Spike knew that I was capable of almost anything. I asked him again, hoping that the goblin would give me the response I deserved.

  “I’m going to ask you again, Spike, where is Jobik? Tell me or I’ll end your life here, and say it was an allergic reaction to the brew you took in.”

  “You thought I was serious? I’ll never forsake my master for the likes of you.”

  I pinched harder and breathed harsher down his crinkly neck. I whispered in his ear, trying my absolute best to remain calm. “Tell me now.” I moved in with my hand to grapple his wrist and got ready to twist it if he didn’t comply. The whimper exiting his quivering lips and the tear forming in his eye caused me to feel sorry for him again, slightly. But I knew I couldn’t show mercy anymore. I was going to get the answers I needed out of him one way or another.

  The bartender went off to speak with a scraggly drunk sitting at the end of the bar, giving me the opportunity to lay some more heat on the goblin. I slowly began to twist his wrist beyond its capacity, and when he remained tight-lipped about Jobik’s whereabouts, I twisted it even farther. I jerked his hand, causing the wrist to pop out of place. A river of tears flowed out of his eyes, but I continued to twist and pull his bony wrist in directions it wasn’t supposed to go. While George spoke with the elderly gentleman, the bartender chatted away, the girls on stage danced erotically, and the men at the end of the bar started to sing to the bartender, I continued to look around to make certain that there were no witnesses. I never saw myself as an interrogator before, but in that moment, having Spike at my mercy, I felt that it was in my blood.

  The fat man beside us thought that we were flirting or something, but that was fine as long as he didn’t know what I was really up to. When I continued applying pressure against Spike’s wrist, I noticed he was beginning to let out an involuntary scream. Seeing that the stout man was watching us, I rolled my eyes and put my hand against Spike’s mouth.

  “Excuse me, sir, but would you be kind enough to let me have some of that food you have there in front of you?” He wasn’t touching his meal, anyway. “My, uh, client is in need of some nourishment. He gets awfully sick when he doesn’t eat and I don’t do frisky things with a man if he’s just skin and bone.”

  I gave him a convincingly sweet smile and a wink, and like a man being seduced for the first time in his life, he handed over his cold plate of rolls, pork, beans, and rice with gravy for the filling of Spike’s stomach. As soon as the plate reached my hand, I took a hard stale roll and stuffed it in Spike’s mouth. He tried to chew the bread, but the size of it was too great for his scrawny neck to swallow. He could neither answer me, nor scream. The fat man watched with his wide eyes staring in excitement. I tried to find a creative way to make him turn around and mind his own business.

  ““Hey, you’ll have your turn darling. You just have to wait. Order some more food, dear. It’s on this fellow.”

  Oh, how the situation I was in made me feel awkward. I had to kill him silently since he was so insistent on not coughing up any more than a chewed up dinner roll. But I considered George should have been the one to do it, so I waited for him to look my way from across the bar. At the same time, keeping a firm grip on Spike’s dislocated wrist. The fat man beside us ordered another meal so that I could shove more rolls down Spike’s throat. He thought I was going to satisfy his little fetish, but he was mistaken. Spike was about to die, and I was about to blame it on Spike himself for choking on bread. Breathing heavily out of his nostrils, Spike began to wine, knowing my intentions by the look on my face. I was no longer waiting for George, but out of the kindness of my heart, I allowed him a few more chances.

  “Tell me,” I whispered again in his pointed ear, “or I shall put a curse on you that will ensure your death in ten seconds flat.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he mumbled around the bread stuffed in his face.

  “Try me.”

  I tightened my grip even more on his wrist and twisted it as hard as I could to the left until I heard another loud popping sound. With a muffled shout, I knew I had broken a bone. Again I demanded the whereabouts of Jobik, still the little bastard continued to disappoint me. I grabbed his other wrist and twisted it to the right, breaking the bones in that one too. He softly cried and moaned, but still remained loyal to the Black Beast.

  I growled with a sneer and pushed him to the floor, to walk away and
speak with George and the old man. A few noticed me shove him, but nobody seemed to care. I had no intentions of meeting the well-dressed fellow in my flustered mood.

  “Come, George, we have to get our goblin friend to a doctor. It appears he might have some broken wrists.”

  “Oh, well, we’ll have to speak another time, child,” said the man with a supple and kind tone of voice. “I hope we meet again sometime.” He shook George’s hand and stood up, looking me in the eye with a curious gaze, as if he knew what I had been doing to Spike. If that was so, then it was clear that he saw my actions to be quite distasteful, and they were, but for a good cause he was clearly unaware of. It was a frightening thing to have to deal with in the first place. So, when I looked into the man’s disapproving eyes, I began to fear him as much as I feared my own decision of allowing this goblin to live. This old man seemed pleasant, but a tad too intimidating to fully admire. He turned away from us without giving me his name or exchanging any pleasantries.

  As I watched him walk outside on his a cane, accompanied by a shrouded woman wearing black, I felt George’s fingers insistently tapping my shoulder. When I turned to face him, his eyes were wide and his jaw dropped low as he pointed at the fat man. Spike had escaped our grasp. A twinge waved down my back and caused me to clamp my hands into tight fists. I turned around to scan the entire tavern. I could find no sign of him. When I realized that he had completely vanished, I stomped my foot.