by Luca Tarenzi
But not before the blow to the head.
3
The Cells were the only underground structure the Goblins could afford to have in the area they lived in at present. Their discovery had been luck and they would have to leave them behind at the next forced migration, but for now they were making as much use of them as possible.
They had originally been part of a rat nest filled with a maze of tunnels perfectly sized for Goblins in one of the few parts of the Landfill with a bit of open land between two mounds of rubbish. Presumably, the area had been some sort of pathway for humans, although only rarely used these days. Once the tribe had pushed out - and eaten - all the rats, they took it over. The corridors had been reinforced, using bits of wood, metal, pencils and plastic, doors and gates made of tin lids and wire mesh had been added, and the main exit to the outside had been covered and fortified by shifting a massive microwave on top.
Such an item was special waste that rarely ended up in the Landfill and usually because of a mistake. It was rubbish the humans might take away if they noticed it and could be bothered. The Goblins always tried to secure such rubbish whenever they came across it.
A titanic, purely nocturnal effort had been needed to get the oven there, moving foot by foot with enormous physical strain. Harnessing the rats using jute twine - the strongest the Goblins had been able to find - had just added to the difficulties. The whole week it had taken was a period of utter paranoia for the tribe.
Fate had been on their side and, once firmly in place above the Cells on the edge of a path at the start of a ridge, this oven fortress had been meticulously camouflaged with ordinary rubbish. If you looked down on it now, it resembled nothing more than a pile of garbage. Below, the Goblins had a vast, safe area for storing non-perishables, building materials and, of course, prisoners.
It was dark when Albedo approached the fortress so it was impossible to make out who he was. One of the guards, a tall, broad-shouldered Goblin with armor fashioned out of a nutshell challenged him, threatening him with his spear made from a needle, but then jumped to attention when he realised who it was.
"My Lord! You shouldn't be moving around at night without any bodyguards..."
Albedo cut him off with a gesture and the guard didn't utter another word.
His father only used to move around surrounded by guards, seemingly afraid the Boggarts or some other enemy might rise up from the earth and attack him in the heart of his own turf. Albedo had always found this ridiculous and, since he had worn the crown, he tried to avoid being surrounded by soldiers as much as possible. At times, he did it just to be different to his father.
"Did you get him?" he asked without slowing.
The guard fell in behind him. "As you ordered, my Lord. He was at home."
"Were there any problems?"
The guard hesitated. "More than predicted."
Albedo raised an eyebrow. Had they really thought it would be child's play?
"Losses?"
"No, my Lord." The guarded shook his head. "Only a few broken bones," he added after a brief pause. "Elytron might lose an eye."
Albedo forced himself not to sigh, reached the entrance - using what had once been the conduit for the microwave's plug - and went inside.
The interior was lit with smoky torches and filled with weapons, armor and other war supplies stacked with a lack of care that made the king cringe. The entrance to the Cells was in the middle of the clay floor, a round hole about three inches wide with step-ladders to allow access to the depths. Next to the opening on a plastic bench two guards held the prisoner, who was sitting unmoving, head bowed. Other guards, none in great condition, busied themselves bandaging their wounds.
Albedo saw three arms in makeshift slings, two legs with splints, a gashed shoulder and a soldier who was dressing a gaping wound that stretched from his forehead to his chin. Elytron, a sinewy Goblin with dark, lumpy skin that looked as tough as leather, was lying on a bed made from rubber and toothpicks, his eyes closed and his mouth tightly closed to make sure he didn't breathe while a companion examined the bloody right side of his face. The Glamour that saturated the room had a sour touch, like overripe fruit, that spoke of physical pain and a desire not to show it.
Albedo moved closer to the prisoner and the Goblins immediately moved aside to make way for him.
He looked down on him. "Do you know why you're here?"
Thaw raised his head, slowly, and looked straight at the king with a face that had clearly been struck a dozen times. His Glamour was cold and damp, like the air above a stagnant pond. It carried no trace of fear.
They looked each other in the eye silently until Thaw's cracked lips broke into a half smile. "Why a band of armed Goblins raided my house while I was dining and dragged me away?"
Albedo repressed a pang of anger, but kept his voice firm. "I know what you did today."
"What I did today?" Thaw raised an eyebrow. "I followed your sister, today. As a youngster I was taught to obey royalty."
"If they taught you that, you didn't learn it very well."
Thaw didn't reply, but he also didn't stop smiling.
"I know you move along the borders alone, blatantly violating my orders. You went with Needleye on her clandestine mission, knowing full well that I knew nothing about it and that I would never have allowed such a thing."
Thaw tried to shrug his shoulders, but with the guards holding him still, he managed no more than a stilted movement. "It was a good idea. It might have worked. Plus, we couldn't leave that treasure to the Boggarts. We were unlucky."
"Your 'bad luck' meant the tribe lost resources. You put the ceasefire in peril. One of us was lost."
Thaw's Glamour pulsed with a wave of anger, touched with something dark and bitter. His expression didn't change, though.
"You're a problem, Thaw." Albedo realised he was struggling to remain calm in the glare of those challenging eyes staring out from a pearly, swollen face. He started pacing backward and forward. "Everyone like you is a problem. The more like you there are, the bigger the problem. How could one govern a tribe of Goblins like you, Goblins who can't do what they're told? How long would it take before such a tribe was thrust into chaos, destroyed by enemies or internal fighting, before winter arrived to catch that tribe unprepared? How long before the seagulls or humans would wipe out such a tribe?"
Thaw licked a touch of blood from his lip and spat it onto the ground. "If all you wanted to do was to teach me a lesson, then you might as well have avoided this whole pantomime. You could have had me beaten in the middle of the encampment. Or hung me on a pole for a few hours. It would hardly have been the first time! You father hung me up many times."
Albedo went stiff, like a bolt of electricity had just shot through him.
"That was his mistake," he whispered. "He thought you might be useful in the end. He felt that trying to handle a disruptive element like you was wiser than getting rid of you." He looked at Thaw once again. "But power than cannot be controlled is dangerous to whoever uses it, not a resource."
Thaw's eyes narrowed to little slits.
"So," continued Albedo, keeping his voice as cold as possible, "for your disobedience today and the many other occasions in the past, you are sentenced to death. You will be taken to the Lake tomorrow evening."
For an instant Thaw was still, but then he began to tremble before bursting out into laughter. "You are seriously saying you plan to throw me to the Sirens?"
Albedo kept looking at him until he stopped laughing. "Obviously not. I'm not stupid enough to think I could get rid of the bastard son of a Siren like that. You are going to be taken to the Lake because that is where those sentenced to death die. It has always been such and your execution must be an example, now more than ever. But you won't end up in the water." He forced himself to look him in the eyes. "You'll be wrapped in plastic and set on fire."
Thaw's body suddenly sagged, like his legs had given way. The guards holding him hadn't expecte
d this and they bent down slightly, pulled down by his movement.
It was precisely then that he made his move.
His Glamour hit Albedo like a cloud of ice pins. The king staggered back a step and placed his hand on his sword, but he didn't get the chance to draw it.
Such was the speed with which Thaw moved that Albedo could hardly see the two guards' heads being smashed together before Thaw punched one in the throat and kicked the legs out from under the other. As the one guard fell on his back, the other sank to his knees, allowing Thaw to rip free the needle spear and then thrust it forward, stopping right against the king's throat.
The Goblins chaotically began to draw their own weapons, but they fell still as soon as they realised what was happening.
Albedo was also dead still, his right hand gripping the handle of his sword with such force that the wound Needleye had made opened and now the bandage was soaked in blood. He opened his mouth and Thaw moved his hands just a touch, letting the king feel the pressure from tip of the spear just below his larynx.
The cloud being emitted from Thaw's body vibrated like taut nylon thread, but his eyes, staring deep into the king, showed no hint of a shaking. In the smoky light of the torches, the dried blood that marked his face seemed to turn the tiny scales on his face into a mosaic of pearls.
Albedo breathed in very slowly and looked at the other Goblins in the room. One word of his cursed voice would leave Thaw unable to move. Getting out that word before the spear was plunged into his throat was the problem.
Could he outdo Thaw's unbelievable speed?
No, no he definitely couldn't.
"Move back slowly," whispered Thaw. "One step at a time. Towards the door."
Albedo tried to buy time. He needed another second. Or two...
"I said..." repeated Thaw.
The kings' eyes shot towards a point behind Thaw, and he moved his head following the king's gaze, but it was too late.
Something hit him on the shoulder, knocking him forward. Unwittingly, he thrust the spear he was holding forward, but Albedo was aware of what was going on and slipped to the side, escaping with nothing more than a scratch on his neck. Thaw turned around at breath-taking speed, but before he got all the way round, his body became stiff from head to toe and he fell to the ground like a branch felled from a tree.
After a moment of stunned silence, the Goblins jumped into action, rushed around the prisoner, weapons raised at him.
"Out of the way," hissed Albedo.
The others obeyed, still rather dazed.
The king moved forward, slowly rubbing his bleeding arm, and looked down at Thaw. As the Goblin lay on the floor his eyes moved to look at the king but the rest of his face remained still, an unmoving mask.
Albedo then turned to a shady corner a little further back, between a rack of spears and a pile of unused blades waiting to be straightened and cleaned of rust. A Goblin slid out of this darkness, bald and no taller than Thaw, but paler and thinner, more leathery, like a praying mantis. He wore only strips of cut elastic carefully woven into a light and flexible garment running from his neck to his ankles.
The other Goblins gasped and stepped backwards, seemingly to keep as much space between them as possible. Albedo had to force himself not to snigger. Nobody ever realised when Livid had entered a room, and nobody was ever happy when they realised he'd appeared.
The king touched Thaw with the tip of his foot. "Will it hurt him?"
Livid bent down to pull a knife made from a rat fang from the prisoner's shoulder, then turned his greyish face towards the king, his eyes a touch too big and his lips a little long. He shook his head. "It's a modified form of tetanus. It'll just keep him still for a while."
Albedo nodded and then looked briefly back at the Goblin on the ground before looking away. Thaw's eyes were still aware of what was going on, remaining fixed on the king.
Albedo gestured with his head to the guards. "Take him away." Then he walked to the door and went out into the night.
Livid slid silently behind him.
"When did you get back?" the king asked after a dozen paces.
"An hour ago."
"And...?"
Livid unexpectedly cocked his head to one side. "I found this." He gave the king a hatchet.
Albedo took it, turning it over in his hands. It had been made from a razor blade broken into four, with a wooden handle that was probably made from a match. It was a common weapon in the tribe, like hundreds of others.
"Where was it?" he asked.
"On the ground. Amid the trash."
"Nothing else?"
Livid shook his head.
Albedo pursed his lips so hard they began to tremble. He forced himself to stop. "Another patrol has completely disappeared. The third in just the last month."
Livid didn't utter a word.
"Where, exactly?"
"Northern border, beyond the Fourth Human Path, twenty-five yards from the Lake. A little valley, just like any other."
Albedo looked at the little axe again. "Do you reckon it's from a Boggart?"
"The blade has no blood on it."
"They might have surprised them. Outnumbered them greatly."
"Perhaps." Livid bowed his head again. "The patrol was made up of four Goblins. Nobody heard anything."
The king breathed in deeply. "Gramarye. The witchcraft of Waspider. A dark spell stronger than anything we've seen thus far."
"Maybe."
Albedo glanced at his assassin. "You don't seem to think so."
He didn't reply.
"What else could it be?"
Livid paused before responding.
His Glamour was so impalpable that despite Albedo's proximity, he could hardly sense it, nothing more than a light hum of insects tinged with a vague touch of ammonia.
"Pale Deaths," he said finally. "If they descend in a flock, it would mean no chance to fight. No screaming. No escape. They just simply take you away. You might very well drop your weapon."
Albedo shook his head. "Our patrols don't let themselves be seen by the seagulls. Four at the same time. All so distracted they forgot to hide themselves with Glamour? It's hard to believe. Too hard." He pursed his lips again. "No. I see Waspider's hand in this somehow."
"But why? He's not going to destroy us like this."
"Not if we stop sending patrols." Albedo raised an eyebrow. "Who would watch our borders then? We might find that the Boggarts started coming and going as they choose, free to attack our lands."
Livid hesitated again before speaking. "It makes no sense. Why break the truce for a couple more walnuts? It's too risky."
"It all depends on what Waspider is up to.” The king looked around at the low mounds of rubbish surrounding the encampment. "And what poisons he is cooking up for us."
Down below in the dark, without any fires to reveal their whereabouts, the tribe's lookouts lay in wait, with nothing but their ears and their clouds of Glamour to monitor the darkness.
Such darkness could hide a phalanx of enemy warriors. Or worse.
"Perhaps it is only to intimidate us," mumbled Albedo. "Waspider wants to demonstrate what he can do, to show us we are powerless to stop him. He'll try to drain our spirit before he launches the real attack."
"Perhaps that is what he wants us to believe. While he hatches some other plan."
Albedo kept quiet for ages, his eyes half-closed and his Glamour receptive to the thousands of concerns that pervaded the airwaves, as if the snippets of human conversations on mobile phones or the fragments of TV broadcasts might hold the answers to his questions.
"What are you going to do now?" Livid eventually asked.
The king shook his head. "I need to think about it. Thoroughly."
"Your orders?"
Albedo turned to look at him. "Are you tired? Do you want to get some sleep?"
Livid opened his mouth for an instant, showing his many sharp teeth, more than a normal Goblin. "No."
"Okay, go and check the prisoner has been secured properly." Albedo raised an eyebrow. "Properly."
Livid nodded once and disappeared into the night.
Verdigris woke with the clear sensation that somebody was in the tent.
She opened her eyes, but it was pitch black.
She moved, trying to make it seem like the clumsy shifting of someone asleep, and slipped an arm out of her sleeping bag.
She loved her sleeping bag. It had been made from a jacket pocket and the inside was soft, padded with synthetic wool. Not many in the tribe could sleep in such comfort. As a youngster, she had fought tooth and nail to win it in a battle with other young Goblins, a relatively common thing among the tribe's orphans. She still bore a dark blue scar from a bite on her calf. Her enemy had come off worse, though.
Even Thaw had winked at her that time, as she walked off smiling and bloody, dragging the pocket in one hand and waving her opponent's ear in the other. Needleye had patted her on the back and Stylus, who was already taller and thinner than all the others back then, had clapped and laughed with his sharp, bird-like voice. A laugh that would never be heard again.
Verdigris swallowed silently and, very slowly, slipped out of the sleeping bag. Her sleeping bag might be the spoils of a battle in her youth but now it was quite tight for her. She couldn't sleep armed.
Her sword was next to her. If she could just manage to move her hand another millimeter...
Somebody jumped on top of her, knocking the breath out of her, but not before she had smelled Glamour with a familiar red-hot metallic tinge.
She instinctively tried to lunge forward, biting, but the weight on top of her ducked and thrust a forearm across her throat.
"You blurted out everything to my brother," Needleye growled in her ear.
Verdigris tried to wriggle free, but Needleye was too strong and she knew it. "What else could I do?"
"Hold your tongue!"
"For how long?" Verdigris struggled to keep her voice calm, but she realised it required enormous effort. "What should we have done? Pretend we had no idea what had happened to Stylus? Shrug our shoulders and lie through our teeth when his family came looking for answers?"