Goblin Rogue

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “I guess the men missed this,” the commander said.

  The commander plodded ahead of Spicy, scanning both banks and the dense vegetation ahead. He tugged at the chain connecting Spicy’s wrists and led him along.

  Thick trees formed an overlapping canopy. Beyond a curtain of reeds, the water widened and once again grew deep. The tracks vanished. A film of yellow, foamy algae clung to the water’s surface. Whatever boat had been hauled must have been floated from that point on.

  They had to climb rocks to follow the shore, the commander having the harder time of it, as his boots kept getting stuck in pools of sucking mud. He was also heavier. A cluster of flowering hyacinths lay ahead. In amongst them was a small canoe covered with a tarp. Spicy caught the scent of the children.

  “Up the bank here,” Spicy said, motioning away from the boat.

  But the commander’s attention was fixed on the canoe. He had spotted it.

  “Hold on. Let’s go see what’s in that boat.”

  The commander yanked Spicy along. Spicy didn’t have time to protest as they waded into the water and through the vegetation. The tarp on the canoe shifted. Someone whimpered.

  “And what have we here?” the commander said. “I thought you were just making up a story to save your skin.”

  He drew a dagger from his belt. The water was waist-deep as the commander pulled on the boat to draw it closer.

  “Gotcha.”

  He whipped the tarp away to reveal the five goblin children. Dill was ready for him and leapt forward, smashing a rock into the commander’s forehead. He stumbled back, his hand letting go of the chain binding Spicy’s wrists. Spicy swung his arms over the commander’s head and caught him around the neck. Then he tugged, throwing all his weight backward. They fell into the water, the man kicking and twisting as he clawed at Spicy. But Spicy didn’t let go. With all his might, he pulled the chain tight even as his lungs screamed for air. The commander’s frantic thrashing continued until finally the man jerked, twitched, and grew still.

  Spicy rose, coughing and spitting foul water. He held the man under for another minute before letting go. The commander bobbed up next to him. The children were crying. Spicy didn’t have the strength to speak. His hand trembled as he gestured for them to be silent. Then he went through the commander’s pockets in search of keys.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The children watched Spicy in silence as he pushed the body under the cover of the hyacinths.

  He had no way to know what horrors they had witnessed. He could only hope Rime had saved them from seeing the worst of it. But at any moment, the archduke’s son would come searching for them. He hauled the canoe along but didn’t want to try to board it lest he tip it over. His teeth chattered from the cold.

  “Where’s Uncle Rime?” Eve asked.

  “He’s not coming,” Spicy managed. “Now be quiet. We’re still in trouble.”

  He brought the canoe as far as he could before climbing on board. The canoe had two paddles. Flora and Pix tried to help with the rowing, but he took the one from Pix. They needed to move quickly.

  “Uncle Rime said he’d come back,” Dill said.

  “He’s dead. I’m sorry. But he’s dead. And if we don’t row and row fast…” Spicy felt his throat tighten. His arms were numb and he felt dizzy.

  “We’ll die too if we don’t leave,” Eve said.

  Spicy could only nod as hot tears ran down his cheeks. Flora and Spicy dug their paddles in the water and rowed. Spicy sat in the rear and adjusted their course as necessary as they maneuvered through the hyacinths, pushing past fallen logs and low hanging branches. They emerged onto a wider waterway. Spicy took them across to a far shore, where he found a place they could stop. He continued to shiver as he hauled the canoe onto the sand and up the shore into thick cover.

  A satchel lay in the canoe between the children. Spicy stared at it before opening it. In it was a collection of handwritten books taken from the dragon’s library. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to fling the lot of them into the swamp. His legs gave out. He sat in the dirt next to the boat.

  One of the children wrapped him with a blanket. Spicy didn’t know how long he sat with it pulled around his neck. After a while, he realized he still wore the manacles. He found the keys he’d taken off the commander and unlocked them. The children watched him in silence.

  “I just need a minute. Then we leave. We’ll go back north to Athra. We’ll find someplace safe.”

  “What about Fath?” Dill asked.

  Spicy shook his head. He didn’t want to think. It would lead to remembering Rime’s slack face, or the sensation of the red cape commander’s life slipping from him as Spicy choked him. When he again looked at the collection of books in the canoe, he felt bile rise in his throat. He wanted to light a fire and burn it all.

  “We can’t leave him,” she said.

  “He can save himself. We don’t need him anymore. We don’t need anybody. All we have to do is go home.”

  “But he’s blind. He needs us. The men will hurt him.”

  “The men will hurt us,” he snapped. “They’ll kill you and me and the rest of us, all because of these books. So stop your whining, Dill. If you want to live, you’re going to have to be quiet and do what I say.”

  She just looked at him, her face blank. But he saw understanding in her eyes. At that moment he realized she had seen the nightmare of violence that had fallen on the mud village. She was the one who had struck the commander with the rock. She understood what was at stake.

  He felt a rush of guilt.

  The other children just stared, their eyes dry. They were cried out. Rime had shepherded them this far through all their ordeals, and yet they were strong. They were also smart enough to realize that their safety now fell on his shoulders.

  But Dill wasn’t finished. “You promised him you’d be his ’prentice. Like your sister was with Sage Somni, remember?”

  “Yes, Dill, I remember my sister.”

  “Then you have to do your job.”

  Spicy brooded. He spent time leafing through the books from the satchel. He didn’t see any secret recipes for plagues or poisons or bombs that might wipe out human- or goblinkind. But much of it he couldn’t read.

  Destroying it began to make sense. Part of him realized that if this was the distilled knowledge of the dead dragon Mach, it had to be understandable. What would be the point if it wasn’t? Mach had given the residents of the mud village the bomb recipe so it could be followed.

  Several notions crossed his mind.

  A translator could be hired. Spicy could be the goblin who brought home the dragon knowledge and the secrets might serve his kind. Or like Mach had done, the secrets could be sold. Profited from. The gold could be used to bribe the humans into leaving his people alone forever.

  All ludicrous ideas.

  Burning the books meant losing the one thing that might cause the archduke to leave Spicy and the children alone. The tortured residents of the mud village were proof he was willing to do anything to acquire them. Could he be trusted to take the books and let them be?

  His thoughts turned to Fath. Spicy was about to abandon him. But what could one goblin do against so many soldiers, let alone the archduke’s sons who were something else entirely? Wasn’t this one of Goldbug’s rules? Cut your losses? Or was Spicy adding one out of convenience for his conscience?

  And what about Goldbug? He, Middle Finger, and the rest of the Sin Nombre crew would arrive at Bird’s Landing eventually. What fate waited for them if Spicy didn’t warn them?

  He picked through the canoe. It had a pack with dried salted meat and some water. It wasn’t much.

  “Dill, your dad taught you herbs and roots and how to smell them out, didn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re going to camp here. I’m putting you in charge. For the next day, you have to find plants, mushrooms, and bugs for the others. And Eve? You’re responsible for t
he other three to make sure they don’t go anywhere. Be sure to bury your poop so no one can smell you. Stay quiet. But Dill is in charge, no matter what. You all understand?”

  Dill and the others nodded despite the fear in their eyes.

  “Are you going to save the dragon?” Pix asked.

  Spicy kissed his head. He gave all of them a hug. “I’m going to try.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Spicy piloted the canoe out onto the main waterway while sticking as close to shore and its cover as possible. He had to estimate where he might put in so he could approach both the mud village and Bird’s Landing without being seen. Fighting the strong current almost sent him floating out onto the wider waters where a lookout might spot him. But finally, after a grueling hour of rowing, he made land and heard no cry of alarm.

  The afternoon sky was darkening as clouds rolled in. A low rumble of thunder shook the sky but the rain held off. The books remained in the canoe. If he was tortured, at least he could tell them their location without giving up the children.

  He lashed a rope attached to the canoe around a tree root. The stinking waterway had concealed the children from the sons. If the sons had sniffed him out before, he would have to take steps.

  The mud was truly putrid. He gagged as he began to slather himself.

  It still left the matter of how to defeat them. He realized he wouldn’t be able to free Fath alone. He forced himself to move slowly and stick to the softest undergrowth. Mud squished and dry grasses and leaves crunched readily. All hunting basics.

  His skin itched as the mud dried. All his instincts told him to turn around and flee. But he understood that if he fled, even if they made it all the way home, trouble would follow.

  Bird’s Landing had more homes tucked away in the recesses of the hillside than he had imagined. Before long, he was passing makeshift shacks with chicken coops and tarps strung between trees, beneath which cots and small fire rings marked the living spaces of some of the residents. Yet he saw no one. The raiders couldn’t have captured and killed everyone. It meant some had fled while others were no doubt in hiding.

  A pair of pirates were digging up the ground near a hut. Spicy got close enough to see the two were filthy, sweaty, and had nothing to show for their trouble. Others from Breaker’s crew were sifting through the homes and animal pens. Near the main street, Captain Breaker emerged from the makeshift storehouse. A crew member was left guarding the place. If they had spread out, there would be fewer near the tavern.

  One of the sons stood in the center of the road by the tavern. He didn’t appear to be alert, his head cocked to one side, his arms dangling. It was as if he had fallen asleep while standing. If the two other sons remained at the mud village and aboard the Cormorant, that left only him here.

  The red capes nearby reclined on the front porch. The smiling woman emerged from the tavern and brought them a tray loaded with mugs. None of the pirates were with them. It was as if the tavern and the prisoners were off-limits. Somehow the smiling woman had liberty to move about.

  As Spicy got closer, he spotted motion just across the lane. He paused in the shadows.

  The weeds wavered next to a shed beside a whitewashed cottage. Goldbug appeared, elbow-crawling across the dirt to the corner. He paused to study the road.

  Spicy stood up from the shadows and waved to get his attention. Goldbug waved back and a series of gestures followed. Spicy didn’t get it. He waved Goldbug over after checking to confirm no one was nearby.

  There was only the son, and he had his back to them.

  Goldbug hurried across the street without a sound. His face was damp with perspiration. He looked little better than when Spicy had left him.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Spicy whispered. “You’re still sick.”

  “You didn’t return. I had to find out what’s going on.”

  “They’ve captured the dragon. But I got the children out. They have two of your crew prisoner in the tavern.”

  Goldbug studied the street. “The people here are my family.”

  “We’re outnumbered, the archduke’s sons can heal quickly, and they have noses like a hunting dog. They’ll be able to smell you if you’re not careful.”

  Spicy led Goldbug back to a pigsty. Without prompting, Goldbug began smearing himself with wet dirt that smelled much worse than the stuff covering Spicy’s skin. The large hogs milling about came to the fence, grunting and nodding their heads.

  Spicy knew a hungry animal when he saw it. “There’s more pens on the other side of the street, aren’t there?”

  Goldbug nodded. “Time for a distraction?”

  “Wait. You know I can’t free everyone. And one of the archduke’s sons is right out front of the tavern.”

  “Then we save who we can.”

  Goldbug pulled the pin holding the pen gate closed. The pigs gathered and slipped out as soon as the gate was opened. They darted off in two different directions, their noses to the ground as they snuffled about.

  One house over, a pirate cried out in surprise.

  Goldbug gave a thumbs-up and scurried towards the next pen, this one crowded with goats.

  Head low, Spicy cut behind two other homes and headed for the back of the tavern.

  A firepit alive with embers burned out back. It smelled as if something had recently been roasting there. Spicy slowly opened the back door of the tavern and peered inside.

  The smiling woman was in the kitchen washing out mugs in a basin of soapy water. She wrinkled her nose and let out a tiny yelp when she saw Spicy enter. Then she started talking while trying to embrace him. Spicy shushed her to no avail. Then she showed him a fresh tray of cups. The acid smell of bad wine stung his nose. But there was something else to it.

  He looked at her and pointed to the mugs. “What is this?”

  She grinned mischievously. Then she produced a bottle from underneath a counter, pointed to it, and then the mugs. Spicy sniffed the bottle. The smell almost made him swoon.

  “Have you been giving this to them?”

  She just smiled some more. Then she scratched dry mud off his forehead and giggled.

  He gathered a couple of kitchen knives and a meat tenderizer with a metal head. There were a few more objects that would serve as makeshift weapons. They would have to do. He waited at the swinging door to the public room as she picked up the tray and went to serve the red capes a fresh round of drinks. He kept low and crawled through the door.

  Eyes went wide when they saw him, but to their credit, the men and women of Bird’s Landing didn’t make a peep. Spicy crept up to the two pirate prisoners and set down his collection of weapons. They gestured with the chains. Spicy produced the lockpicks and the two men nodded gravely.

  The locks holding them opened with ease.

  “Gob, you smell,” one of the men hissed as Spicy handed him a knife and passed the tenderizer to the other man.

  “Wait for the signal.”

  “What signal? What’s the plan?”

  Spicy hesitated before answering. “It’s to get everyone out of here alive.”

  But the man stopped him as Spicy tried to crawl back towards the kitchen. “Where’s Middle Finger? What were you saying earlier?”

  “He’s running late. He sent me and Goldbug ahead. Trust your captain.”

  The words had the desired effect. The man nodded and sat back as if still restrained. The other prisoners whispered questions but Spicy tapped his lips.

  The smiling woman returned inside with an empty tray. She sashayed past the prisoners, humming a tune. The red capes out on the porch were talking loudly. One burped. Then a mug clattered to the porch floor.

  “Hey,” a guard barked. “Wake up!”

  Floorboards creaked under solid boots. Then came a thud.

  “Told you we shouldn’t have been drinking that piss,” a voice roared.

  Three red capes crowded the front door. Two appeared barely able to stand, but the one in the lead was
n’t staggering. He looked straight at Spicy.

  “It’s the gob!”

  He charged forward but one of the pirates leapt up and tackled him. They wrangled on the floor, the crewman trying to smash the guard’s head with the tenderizer. The other guards advanced but the second pirate sprang up and buried his knife into one of the men. The guard screamed as he sagged to the ground. The last guard had drawn his short sword and was slashing the air as he struggled to keep his balance.

  The rest of the prisoners scrambled back.

  The smiling woman had come up behind Spicy, the empty tray in one hand. She was shouting in Cityspeak.

  Spicy grabbed the tray away. As the guard and the pirate with the meat tenderizer were locked in each other’s grip, he slammed the edge of the tray down on the guard’s head. The man faltered and was trying to ward off another blow from Spicy when the pirate on top of him struck him full force.

  The guard went limp.

  The last red cape in the doorway turned and ran out the door.

  “We don’t have time,” Spicy said. “One of the archduke’s sons is right outside.”

  The two pirates took a dagger from each of the fallen guards and handed off their kitchen weapons to others. One pirate glanced out the doorway and immediately began to back up.

  The archduke’s son strode up onto the porch. He still wore the odd expression, as if listening to the sky above without knowing where he was. He crouched and put a hand on one of the drugged guards who had collapsed outside. Then he drew a sword and entered the tavern.

  “Out the back,” a pirate said. The prisoners began to filter past him. “We can’t stop him.”

  “Yes, we can,” Spicy said. He adjusted his grip on the tray and prepared to swing it.

  The son gazed at each person in turn. It looked as if he were processing a belch. Then his shoulders rolled, and his body appeared to stretch. His jaw jutted out, distorting his face. A long sigh escaped his throat. His arms grew longer, the wrists extending below the cuffs of his sleeves. The sword tip scraped on the floor.