Chapter 19: Bad Things Inside

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The peddler takes some rest while I catch up. He sits on the ground, his basket by his side.

“That took you a while,” he says. “I’m tired of this, pesca. I give you work to do and you mess it up.”

“She caught me by surprise,” I say as he’s getting up and readying his pack.

“You should have tied a loop in the rope,” he says. “And you should have kept an eye on her, in case she bolts. I told you.”

“You never said to tie a loop,” I object, pushing down anger at how he talks to me.

“You should have known,” he says. “I don’t like those clouds. If we’re caught outside with the goblins, I’ll beat you. Stupid pesca.”

Back when the peddler delivered the harvest dolls, Vesh told me that the Empire paid for the building of the overseers’ cabins in exchange for a blood tax. The local towns, up the slope, fix them and maintain the lanterns, also bought with the blood tax.

We hurry along to the next overseer’s cabin as the light drains out of the sky. I feel the wet air on my skin and hear a school of something, sky trout or some unnamed creature, flowing and fluttering above us. I keep an eye out for goblins and an eye on the old woman. If she bolts again, can I catch her, again?

But we see the light of the lantern, coming around the bend. I follow the scrunch scrunch scrunch of the peddler’s shoes on the path as light bleeds further out.

“Come along, aunty,” I say. “Hurry. It’s dark.”

I hear the goblins hissing from the dark cracks in the ground, lurking under bushes, waiting for the land to drink in enough darkness for them to walk free. I don’t want to touch my hood, for my hand is dirty with my blood, but it is near, near dark as the peddler raps on the door.

“Travelers,” he says, and says his name that I can’t remember. “It’s near dark,” he says.

As I catch up to him, old woman in tow, I hear the bone on wood scraping of the bolt being thrown back. Light from the fire and candles inside contest with the light of the lantern. I get the old woman between the lantern and the door, keeping the goblins at bay.

“Aye,” the overseer says and calls the peddler by name. He welcomes the peddler and beckons to me, but then says, “Is that the old woman? That old woman? She can’t come inside. She stinks and she’ll kill us.”

“There’s goblins,” I say.

“That’s no matter,” he says. “They’ll not bother her.”

“Tie her out here, boy,” the peddler says. “Can you make the knot?” he asks the overseer. “Boy can’t tie worth dung.”

The overseer takes the rope and pushes me inside. Staying close to the door, for it is true dark and wet out now, he ties the lead to a hook in the wall.

“Don’t stop me,” the old woman cries as the overseer closes the door.

The house is crowded with - as I’m introduced to them - the overseer for Fearsmere, the dame overseer (who might have been his wife, had they been respectable), and two porters for Lianth, the bone merchant.

“He’s engaged the parlor,” the overseer says.

“I meant that for me,” the peddler says.

“Talk to him. Perhaps he’d like the company.”

“Mind my pack, boy. I’ve tied it with my knot, so I’ll know if you’ve tampered with it. Don’t stick your nose in and don’t embarrass me to these folk.”

In the little silence that seeped in, I heard hissing and clawing at the stone at the back of the house. It was full dark now, and the goblins smelled eyeballs.

“Play your flute, Peng,” the dame overseer says. “Come here, boy. What’s the matter with your hand?”

I show her and explain. When I call her “Ma’am” she says to call her Grammy. Without saying much more, she washes the dried blood and dirt away and bandages my hand up.

We have soft bread and ale for dinner. It’s sweet and my head swims from the ale. Peng (the overseer) stops with his flute and the sound of the goblins reasserts itself.

“What about the old woman?” I ask. I don’t know her name yet.

“Don’t fret yourself,” Grammy says. She holds me close against her with her arm around me. “Such a good boy,” she says. “Just like my second boy.”

“She’s no eyes,” one of the porters says. “You’ve goblins in Eldmere,” he says. “That’s where you’re from,” he says. I don’t remember anyone saying that.

“Bocut, sir,” I say. “We’ve goblins.”

“Course you do, course you do,” he says. “Nasty filthy things crawl out of the cracks in the rock. These are good walls, though, with bone mortar. Goblin claws and teeth can’t gnaw through. Horrid things.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, a little afraid of this burly, strong man who took to talking to me. No telling when a stranger takes something the wrong way. “But won’t she be cold and scared out there?” I ask.

“Don’t fret yourself,” the woman says, again.

Peng, the overseer, speaks up.

“It’s just what she deserves.”

“That’s not kind,” Grammy scolds him. “Poor thing has nothing left.”

“She has plenty inside her. Bad things.”

Submitted: June 22, 2023

Fantasy sprite goblins bones