Tamora Carter

by Jim Hines

“What’s the first thing you saw when you arrived?”

  “Can’t say. Secret.”

  “Can you tell me why you came here?”

  “Learn about humans,” said Gulk. “Supposed to learn how to kill Elf Queen’s human heroes.”

  The odd inflection on “supposed to” made Tamora frown. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

  “Goblins came to get away from war. Hide and not die.” He’d finished the other half of his Pop Tart, and looked at her expectantly.

  She grabbed the second packet of Pop Tarts. As casually as she could, she said, “And where did you come through?”

  “Roots of the palace.”

  Was he trying to be unclear, or was that just how goblins talked? “Was there a palace on your world?” Roots could mean he’d been underground at the time. “Did you come through the basement, or a dungeon?”

  Gulk clapped both hands over his mouth, then reached up to twist his ears. “Stupid Gulk. Not supposed to tell. Other goblins kill Gulk.”

  “I won’t let them,” Tamora promised. “You’re safe here.”

  Slowly, Gulk lowered his hands. “You protect Gulk?”

  “That’s right.” She offered him another Pop Tart. “What happened after you came through?”

  “Dark.” He scowled. “Then red and blue lights, and shouting humans.”

  Someone must have called the police. “What happened next?”

  “Ran away. Konko fell down. Clumsy Konko.”

  She assumed Konko was another goblin, not a goblin term without an English equivalent. That raised another question. “How do you speak our language?”

  He sat back and cocked his head. “How you speak Goblin?”

  “I’m not—wait, you think I’m speaking your language?”

  “Magic,” he said.

  Magic to understand all languages, or just English? “Hangukmal hasil jul aseyo?”

  Gulk scooched to the back corner. “No spells!”

  “It’s not a spell. It’s Korean.” He understood English, but nothing else. “Wait, so if you’d landed in Mexico, you’d speak Spanish, right?”

  He stared blankly.

  “Or you could have shown up in Texas.” She imagined the goblin speaking with a thick drawl, like a TV cowboy. “Or in Canada. ‘No spells, eh?’”

  “Humans crazy,” Gulk muttered.

  “Why do you talk like that? ‘Humans crazy’ and ‘you protect Gulk’ and stuff instead of ‘humans are crazy’ or ‘you will protect me’?”

  “Humans talk too much. Too many words.”

  “I’m just speaking properly.”

  “Understand Gulk?” he snapped.

  “Yes, I understand you, but—”

  “Then Gulk speak fine.” He chomped on his Pop Tart, as if that settled everything. Maybe it did.

  “Can you take me to the portal?”

  Gulk wiped crumbs from his chin. “Can’t. Not safe.”

  “Gulk, I have to see it.”

  “Human promised to keep Gulk safe. Portal not safe.”

  Tamora gently thumped her head against the wall. “You said last night you needed a key to get through the portal. Do you have a key?”

  “No.”

  “How did Andre and the others get to your world?”

  “Used key.”

  She thumped harder. “Where did they get a key?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Gulk had said the Dead King, whoever that was, made the key to get the goblins through to this world. Could someone here on Earth have made another key to send three humans through the doorway?

  Or maybe something had come through to fetch them.

  She popped open the can of Mountain Dew, lost in thought. Gulk jumped at the hissing sound.

  “It’s a drink.” Tamora took a sip to demonstrate, then handed him the can. “Here.”

  He took a deep swallow. His eyes bulged. Gulk sneezed three times in rapid succession, covering Tamora and the walls in misted Mountain Dew. The can dropped and spilled. “Poison!” he croaked.

  “It’s not poison.” She snatched up the can. “It’s carbonated. Lots of bubbles.” She started to take another drink to show him, considered what kind of germs the goblin might have left behind, and changed her mind. “My brother loves it.”

  “Brother crazy,” he muttered.

  “Don’t call him that!”

  Gulk flinched like an abandoned pet expecting to be hit.

  Tamora unclenched her fists and took a slow breath. Gulk hadn’t meant anything by it. He didn’t even know her brother.

  Shoulders hunched, Gulk reached out to take the Pop Tart wrapper from the ground. Without taking his eyes from Tamora, he began licking the inside of the wrapper.

  “You and Pukwuk tried to eat those two little dogs last night. Have you eaten other pets?”

  Gulk stared at the ground. “Tried. Dogs too mean. Cats too. Sharp claws and teeth. Squirrels too quick. Birds fly away. Hunting hard here. Konko almost caught black and white cat. Smelly, smelly cat. Smelly, smelly Konko.”

  “Sounds like a skunk, not a cat.”

  “Skunk?”

  “Very smelly,” she said. “Gulk, did anyone else—or anything else—come through the portal? Maybe someone who took those three humans to your world?”

  He held up the wrapper. “More Pup Tarts first?”

  “Pop Tarts. Answer the questions, and I’ll see what we have. Who else is here from your world, aside from goblins?”

  He shivered. “Don’t know. Too much magic stink.”

  “Magic stink? You mean you can smell magic?”

  “Goblins can. Humans can’t.” He smirked. “Tiny, useless noses.”

  “Why would my world, my town, smell like magic?”

  He hugged himself, crumpling the wrapper in his hand. “Powerful, powerful stink.”

  “What kind of stink?”

  He peeked up at her, shivering. “Dragon.”

  * * *

  Gulk was too upset to talk after that, aside from mumbling about how the dragon would eat them all. Even Pop Tarts didn’t help, though he scarfed them down quickly enough. Finally, Tamora retreated to the house to think.

  She sat on the living room floor with her back to the couch, petting Smoosh with one hand and Appa with the other. “How can there be a dragon in Grand River?”

  Appa didn’t answer. Smoosh simply rolled over so she could scratch beneath his chin.

  Maybe Gulk was making it up. Goblins were one thing, but how could anyone hide a dragon? Only she was pretty sure he wasn’t faking his fear.

  Why would anyone send a dragon here? Not to help the goblins, or Gulk wouldn’t have practically peed himself just talking about it. Maybe to stop them? From everything she’d seen of the goblins, that was like using a flamethrower to kill a mosquito.

  Or maybe not. What did she really know about dragons, anyway? The things she’d seen in movies and read about in books might have nothing to do with real dragons.

  The sound of Dad’s car door slamming in the driveway startled her so much she bit back a scream. She extricated herself from Smoosh and Appa and jumped to open the front door. “Can I go to the library?”

  His forehead crinkled. “What are you doing awake? Is your brother up? Why are you in such a rush to go to the library?”

  “A wrong number on my phone woke me up. Mac’s still sleeping.” I want to look up police reports to see if I can figure out where the goblins came through to our world. “And the library just got the audiobook of Roller Girl.”

  “Are the animals fed?”

  “Yes, and I ate breakfast,” she added impatiently, anticipating his next question.

  He yawned and waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks!” She ducked through the open door and hurried down the driveway. The library was a mile from their house, an easy walk up Eastwood Street and over the river.

  The Grand River Library was an old brick building that reminded her of a school, with a
big flagpole out front and a row of orange day lilies behind the bike racks. She hurried inside and headed straight for the desk.

  “Good morning, short stuff!” A young woman with a huge smile waved from behind the desk. “What can I do for you?”

  Tamora was glad Ms. Pookie was working today. The librarian’s real name was Cunningham, but she insisted people call her either Megan or Pookie. She was in her mid-twenties, and her hair this week was platinum blonde over a layer dyed hot pink. Tamora always knew when Ms. Pookie was working alone, because she’d play country music over the PA system. At a respectful volume, of course.

  “I need to look at police reports for the past couple of weeks.”

  Ms. Pookie didn’t even blink. “Local, statewide, or national?”

  Five minutes later, Tamora was sitting at one of the computer desks with copies of the weekly newspaper, the Grand River Review, stacked beside her. Ms. Pookie leaned over Tamora’s shoulder, her fingers racing across the keyboard.

  “I’d start with the printed paper,” she said. “The Police Blotter is in the back of the Local News section. I’ve pulled up the Review’s website for you. The police department’s page is on the next tab. If you’re looking for something that’s not publicly available, come get me and I can help you send a Freedom of Information Act request to the police.”

  “Thanks.” Tamora grabbed the most recent newspaper and turned to the small column of police news, which listed everything from the theft of an ornamental flag to a man who’d swerved to avoid hitting a possum with his car and took out a stop sign instead. Nothing about blue-skinned goblins popping through a magical portal.

  Not that the police would have known what they were seeing. They’d probably reported it as a noise complaint, or maybe a group of teenagers causing trouble. She tried the websites next, but all she found was a complaint about barking dogs and a pair of kids who’d been busted for shoplifting cigarettes.

  Another search on the Review’s site brought up several reports of loud noises coming from the sewers down by Walnut Street. Maybe the goblins were hiding underground, but none of them had smelled like sewage.

  “School doesn’t start until next month,” Ms. Pookie commented, making Tamora jump. She hadn’t heard the librarian return. “So this probably isn’t homework. Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

  “My friend Andre.”

  She didn’t know what made her blurt it out. She clenched her jaw and waited for Ms. Pookie to give her the same empty reassurances Tamora had heard again and again. Would it be “The police are doing everything they can” or “Worrying won’t help your friend”? Or maybe the less common but infinitely more annoying, “Everything happens for a reason.”

  Ms. Pookie pursed her lips and leaned over Tamora’s shoulder. Her hair smelled of lilacs and honey. “Andre Stewart, right? He’s one of the poor souls who went missing a couple weeks back.”

  “That’s right.” Tamora swallowed, refusing to get choked up in the middle of the library.

  The librarian ran her index finger down the computer screen, scanning the entries. She paused briefly at the bullet point about the sewers. “You’re not looking at articles about the abduction. These other incidents, you think there’s a connection the police missed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s good. You wouldn’t believe how often knowing gets in the way of learning.”

  Tamora bit her lip. Ms. Pookie was taking her seriously so far. No need to blow it by talking about goblins and magic portals. “I heard about…an incident from around the time they disappeared. The police showed up to investigate a complaint about a group of kids. I thought it might be related, but I’m not seeing it mentioned anywhere.”

  “If it’s part of an ongoing investigation, they might not have said anything publicly yet.” She tugged at a lock of pink hair, twisting it around her finger as she stared at the screen. “Do you have any other leads?”

  “What can you tell me about dragons?” She’d done it again, speaking without thinking. “It’s for my brother,” she said quickly. “You know how he loves that kind of story.”

  “Oh, yes. Mac’s great.” She laced her fingers together and stretched her hands. “Is your brother interested in dragons from any particular culture? The Leviathan from Biblical texts? Three-headed Russian dragons? Serpentine water dragons from Korean mythology? Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec feathered serpent? You know, I was thinking of adding a Chinese dragon as my next tattoo.”

  “I think just dragons in general,” said Tamora.

  Her hazel eyes studied Tamora a moment longer, and then she clapped her hands and spun away. “General dragon info it is. In a lot of the stories, dragons like to hoard treasure. It’s often gold, but I don’t know why they couldn’t collect other things. Baseball cards or stuffed penguins or vintage Star Wars action figures. They’re very possessive of their treasures.

  “They also tend to be proud. If you’re not a mythical warrior with a blessed blade, your best bet is to use the dragon’s pride against it. Either that or run away.”

  Tamora’s phone chirped. It was another text from what she assumed was the same unknown caller as before. This time, they’d sent a poem, and not a terribly good one.

  Unknown: The path untraveled led you away

  With words unspoken you dared not disobey

  Through the roots of the palace, deep in the clay

  For months unchanging, day after day.

  Goosebumps raced up Tamora’s arms. The roots of the palace. Gulk had used the exact same words. Her thumbs raced over the phone’s screen.

  Tamora: Who are you?

  “Is everything okay?” asked Ms. Pookie.

  Could this be another goblin? But how would a goblin have gotten her cellphone number? If Gulk was any example, they were more likely to try to eat a cellphone or throw it as a weapon than to text with it.

  It was nine-thirty. The first text had said to meet at Cornerside at ten. The only place by that name in Grand River was Cornerside Pizza, a fifteen-minute walk from the library. Meeting a stranger went against everything Dad had taught her, but Cornerside was a public place. “I forgot, I’m supposed to meet someone this morning.”

  The librarian began gathering up the newspapers. “Who’s that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” Ms. Pookie paused. “Is this about Andre too?”

  “Maybe.” If this person had any connection to Andre or the goblins, Tamora had to talk to them.

  Ms. Pookie continued to watch her. “This isn’t like roller derby, with referees to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you came to one of our bouts.” Tamora rubbed her lip, still tender from last night’s practice. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “Not true.” Her smile softened the response. “You’re choosing to go. I have to choose whether to stop you.”

  “You can’t.” Tamora stepped back. She shouldn’t have said anything.

  “No, I suppose not. You’ve made your choice.” Ms. Pookie raised her hands. “Be careful, Tamora Carter. I hope you find your friend.”

  Chapter 5: Mystic Cheerleader

  The smell of garlic, cinnamon, and fresh dough greeted Tamora as she pushed open the door to Cornerside Pizza, jingling a set of brass bells overhead. To one side were a half-dozen booths and small tables, mostly unoccupied. A small group of teenagers sitting in the far corner, talking and joking over drinks and a brownie the size of a small pizza. Cornerside’s business was mainly pick-up and delivery.

  Enormous goldfish drifted in green water in a tank by the counter, left over from two years ago when this had been a Chinese restaurant. The clock above the tank read nine fifty-six. Tamora was early.

  “Welcome to Cornerside Pizza,” said a girl behind the counter. Sarah, according to her name tag. She sounded like she was reading from a script. “Would you like to try one of our new breakfast pizzas, or a
n order of cinnamon breadsticks?”

  “Um, sure. The breadsticks.” She tugged out her wallet. “And a drink, please?”

  The drinks were self-serve. Tamora took her cup and filled it with juice, adding a bit of Sprite for extra kick.

  The bells over the door rang. Tamora stuck a lid onto her cup and turned to see Karina Lord standing in the open doorway, staring around as if she wasn’t sure where she was or how she’d gotten here.

  Karina was Kevin Lord’s twin sister. Tamora had seen her on the news, standing behind her father in some of the stories about the missing kids. She was a tall, slender white girl with wispy blonde hair and braces with yellow and black rubber bands that made it look like she was eating bees. She’d been an 8th grade cheerleader last year, and looked the part, in a sleeveless silver-and-brown Grand River Rams shirt and matching mid-thigh shorts.

  Tamora grabbed a straw, steeled herself, and walked toward the door. “I got your texts.”

  Karina looked down at her. “Who are you?”

  “Tamora Carter.” Karina’s expression didn’t change. “You said to meet you here at ten, then you sent me a poem.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  Tamora’s face burned. Had she been wrong about Karina sending those texts? She grabbed her phone and pulled up the messages. “These didn’t come from you?”

  “I sent that first message to my brother. How did you get it?”

  “Your brother Kevin?”

  “That’s right.” Karina stepped past Tamora and approached the counter, where she ordered a slice of cheese pizza for herself, and a pepperoni-and-green-pepper for her brother, adding, “I’m sure he’ll make it this time.”

  Sarah looked sad, but punched in the order. Karina asked for two cups, filling one with water and the other with Coke before taking a seat in the booth closest to the door.

  Sarah caught Tamora’s eye. “Your bread’s ready.”

  Tamora had almost forgotten about her order. She took the basket of butter- and cinnamon-drenched breadsticks and a packet of cream cheese frosting. “Does Karina come here a lot?”

  “Three or four times a week.” Sarah kept her words low as she scooped two large slices of pizza onto plates. “Always orders the same thing for her and her brother. It’s creepy.”