by Bryan Huff
“But I’m not saying any more than that!” Edric added. “That information’s our only guarantee the gnomes won’t run off without us!”
Hearing this translated, Gnome One said something to Gnome Thirty-Seven, and laughed.
“Smart boy,” said Gnome Thirty-Seven.
The meeting lasted a while longer, with Stella asking for input as she made a list of things they might need, encounter, or experience emotionally on their quest. Then after a brief discussion about teamwork—and how there was no “I” in team, but there was a “me,” but it didn’t count because the letters were out of order—she called for Marta to bring dinner.
Hob had never had such a fabulous meal in all his life. Nothing in the Gobble Downs even compared. There was warm beef stew braised with red wine gravy; roasted potatoes, beets, spring peas, and sweet cider by the mug. Hob’s mouth sang a new tune with each flavor, all in harmony. He ate plate after plate, until, for the first time in ages, he was full.
As dinner wound down, Stella went over to speak with Gnomes One and Thirty-Seven at the far side of the table. A few minutes later, she returned.
“Good news,” she announced. “They’re willing to proceed. They still won’t tell me much. But they want me to accompany them, in Eldwin’s place, to inspect the rest of the crew, and sign some sort of contract. Then, hopefully, they’ll let us in on their secret arrangements, and join our quest.”
“So you’re leaving?” asked Edric.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” said Stella. “I hope to be back for you in the evening, one way or another. Until then, you’re safer here. Promise me you won’t leave the inn?”
“What?” Edric protested. “You can’t expect me to just hide in my room all day?”
“Promise!” said Stella.
“Okay, okay,” Edric grumbled.
“Thank you,” said Stella, before turning to Monty. “Keep an eye on him?”
“No way!” said Monty. “I’m not lettin’ you go off by yourself with a bunch of strange gnomes. They could rob you blind! And my face isn’t on the wanted posters. I’m comin’ with you, lass, whether you like it or not.”
Stella sighed, and turned to Hob. “Looks like you’re on guard duty.”
A short time later, Hob and Edric lay in their beds, talking. Marta had shown them to the cozy chamber they would share for the night. It had two small beds with a nightstand between them, a fur rug on the floor, and an empty wardrobe in one corner with a broomstick propped up beside it. Moonlight streamed in through the dusty window at Hob’s bedside.
“… Talk about living proof three heads aren’t necessarily better than one!” Hob concluded.
“Not when they’re attached to the same dumb troll!” Edric agreed.
They laughed and laughed, until the laugher died down and was replaced by contented silence.
“Uh … Edric?” Hob began again.
“Call me Ed.”
“Ed,” Hob repeated, proudly.
He’d been thinking about The Ballad of Waeward the Wanderer. A tiny voice called up to him from deep inside his twisted-up stomach, begging him to say something about it. This was as good a chance as he was likely to get, and he really wanted to. Unfortunately, the words just wouldn’t come out.
“Sorry about your father,” he finished instead. It occurred to him he hadn’t had the chance to tell Edric that yet. “Is he your only family? Captain Fist made it sound like you two are the last of the royal line.”
More silence followed.
“Yeah, we’re it,” said Edric. “I have no brothers or sisters. And my mother died when I was born. It’s always been just me and my father.”
Hob nodded. No wonder Edric wanted to find the King so badly. “If it helps,” Hob said, “in stories, the best heroes never have both parents.”
“It doesn’t really,” Edric muttered.
“Oh, sorry,” said Hob. “I don’t know my father. And my mother’s a giant monster who tried to have me beheaded. So I’m not exactly an expert.”
“That was your mother?” said Edric. “Man! What am I complaining about?” He shook his head, and stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t have it that bad, really. Not until my father left.”
There was another long silence.
Edric broke it with a sigh. “I guess I just miss him, you know? I understand why he had to leave in secret. He couldn’t let anyone stop him. And he wouldn’t have wanted to risk anyone else’s life on his quest. He’s like that. He’s a real hero. But I wanted to go with him, not take his place at the palace.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know how he made it look so easy! Filling in for him was a nightmare. Everyone either tried to control me, or avoided me completely. Even my so-called friends. And they all wondered why I kept sneaking out to hang around with commoners! Hah!” He laughed darkly, and looked back over at Hob. “The only thing that kept me going was the thought of this quest, of finding my father …”
“We will,” said Hob. “Tomorrow, we’ll be on our way.”
For a second, Edric went silent, like he wasn’t so sure about that, like there was something more he wasn’t saying. Then he nodded, and rolled over to go to sleep. “G’night, Hob,” he said.
“Good night, Ed.”
Hob blew out the candle on the nightstand, and rolled over in his own bed, curling up beneath the blankets. He had a hard time believing where he was, whom he was with. It occurred to him this was the first human bed he’d ever slept in. It wasn’t lumpy, scratchy, cold, or hard; it was like being tucked into a warm cloud. Hob fell asleep at once.
Chapter Eleven
A Goblin About Town
Hob awoke with a painful buzzing behind his eyes, and a mouth that tasted more than a little like goblin gruel. As he lifted his head from the pillow, he discovered the problem. Sunlight streamed in through the window beside his bed. He was lying in a bright patch of it.
Squinting hard, Hob swatted at the shutters, trying to close them. Then he remembered Eldwin’s goggles. He fumbled around on the nightstand until his fingers found their leather strap. He pulled them onto his face, and fastened the strap behind his head. As he reopened his eyes, he felt his headache begin to dissipate.
Hob glanced around the room. Edric’s bed was empty.
“He must have gone for breakfast,” Hob assured himself, though he secretly worried Edric and the others had decided to leave without him after all.
Luckily, he was distracted from these fears, and what remained of his headache, by the music piping up outside his window. It didn’t sound like the goblin music he was used to, full of banging drums and clanging metal. It was much softer and sweeter.
Hob stood on his bed, opened the window, and leaned out of it.
Outside, the Spring Chicken Festival was underway. A parade of musicians marched up the street below, playing strange instruments—silvery mouth tubes, and wood with strings. And, all around them, crowds of humans of every shape and size—some even smaller than Hob—wandered about. Looking across town, Hob saw tents and banners, tables and signs, flags and stages, all in bright hues. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so many colors in one place.
Goblin holidays existed mostly as an excuse to hit things, like Whack-a-Snake Day, or hit each other, like Clubmass Eve and Bruise Morning. But a Spring Chicken must have been a wonderful thing to have inspired such a party.
Looking between two buildings across the street, Hob could see a small courtyard where the townspeople had erected a stage. They seemed to be putting on some sort of a play. Onstage was an old man in black armor. He was obviously the villain. He laughed maniacally and raised his sword to the throat of a pretty woman in a white dress. From off stage, a young man in a puffy white shirt swung in on a rope, drawing his own sword. He was obviously the hero.
Hob could tell this was the final showdown between the two. The audience members seemed to know it as well. Their cheers echoed all the way up to Hob’s window. T
he actors’ swords flashed as they dueled back and forth across the stage. Hob quickly lost himself in the action.
A few minutes later, Edric returned to find Hob jumping between the two beds in their little room, swinging a broomstick like a sword, and making quite a mess of the covers. Realizing he wasn’t alone, Hob froze, and let go of his pretend sword mid-swing. It spun toward the doorway.
Smack! Edric ducked the broomstick just in time, and it struck the wall in the hallway outside.
A tense moment passed. Hob worried Edric might send him packing.
Then Edric burst out laughing. “Hah hah!”
“Sorry!” Hob squeaked. “I was just …” He searched for the right word.
“Practicing?” ventured Edric, with a smirk. He stood in the doorway, carrying a tray of food in one hand and a big canvas sack in the other. A sheathed sword and a coil of thin rope hung from his belt, and a crossbow was slung over his back. He must have paid a visit to the weapon rack in the secret cellar. “I brought us some lunch,” he said, entering the room. “Or, breakfast for you.”
Edric was right. Outside, the sun was already high in the sky. If anything, it was past lunchtime.
“I’m usually nocturnal …” Hob mumbled.
“I’m not judging,” said Edric. “Hope you like bread and honey.”
He passed Hob a plate of bread and a small bowl of honey, and sat with him on the edge of the bed.
“Eat up!” said Edric. “We’ve got a lot to do, and not a lot of day left to do it in.”
“I though’ we were wait’n’ fer Stello?” Hob mumbled, his mouth already half-full of food.
Regardless of what happened on the rest of the adventure, the meals at the Headless Goblin had made everything worth it. The bread was warm and soft, the honey sticky and sweet.
“We are waiting,” said Edric, tucking into a plate of his own. “Just not in here. Remember that tower-Lady the old woman was talking about? The pretty one?”
“The Lady of Valley Top? A beautiful maiden, cursed by an evil spell to remain locked in her tower for all time?” asked Hob. It wasn’t a story he’d soon forget.
“That’s the one,” said Edric. “Well, I’ve been thinking about her. Actually, I can’t stop thinking about her. I have to see her for myself!”
Hob bit his lip nervously. “I don’t know, Ed. Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing Stella said not to do?”
“Stella says a lot of things,” said Edric. “But what does she know?”
“She knows the Royal Guards are in town, and there’s a huge festival going on,” said Hob. “Maybe we should just do what she asked. She saved us from them once already, after all.”
“And you’re not the least bit curious about the mystery of the Lady in the tower?” Edric pressed him. “About the world outside that window?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hob replied, firmly. “I can’t just do whatever I want. I’m not a rebel, like you.”
“But you are a rebel like me!” Edric exclaimed. “An adventurer like me! You skipped out on your own execution, ran off with a human and a dwarf, and even followed us when we told you not to. What do you call that?” Edric laughed, reached in his sack, and drew out a small sword, complete with a scabbard and sword belt. With a flourish, he freed the blade from the scabbard, and turned the hilt toward Hob. “Here. Every adventurer needs one of these.”
“Whoa,” Hob whispered, taking the sword and holding it up in the beam of sunlight. It wasn’t much longer than a dagger, but it was the perfect size for him. The bronze hilt was fashioned after a falcon, and the blade was made of shining steel.
“It’s just lucky I found one in your size,” Edric went on, setting aside the belt and scabbard. “It’s a dwarvish short sword, I think.”
“Thanks!” Hob exclaimed, still in awe. It was a gift to match even Eldwin’s goggles. His very own sword!
“You’re welcome,” said Edric. “No more practicing with broomsticks for you. It’s time for a real lesson!”
“Huh?” said Hob. “A lesson?”
An image flashed in his mind’s eye of Grunt handing him a clobber-stick and dragging him into the practice ring in the Great Cave. And Hob fretted for a second that Edric’s lesson might be like that one. This was followed by pang of guilt and worry. Hob knew that Grunt, his brother, his first friend, had only been trying to help him—had only wanted what was best for him. Had Grunt been punished for Hob’s supposed crimes? Had he made it through the Clobbering? Been shipped off to join the Sorcerer’s army? Hob hoped he was all right.
“Yes, a lesson!” Edric went on, bringing Hob’s attention back to the present. “If you’re going to be part of the quest, I’m going to have to teach you a thing or two about real adventure.”
“Wow!” said Hob. Edric’s lesson did sound much better than clobbering practice.
“And you know what’s the greatest adventure of all?”
Hob thought back to all the stories he’d ever read. “The search for the Heavenly Chalice of—?”
“That’s right. Life! I’m going to teach you how to live.”
“Oh!” said Hob.
“And real life is out there,” Edric went on, pointing out the window. “You can’t find it in here, or in some book, or by following every dumb rule. You have to go out and live it. And that means going to see the Lady!”
“But why?” Hob sighed, suddenly feeling more conflicted than before.
Edric hesitated. “Well, I … Oh, maybe you wouldn’t understand … Maybe it’s human stuff. Just, please … It’s important.” He stared at Hob, with big, hopeful eyes.
Hob groaned. “Oh, all right,” he said. He still wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But he didn’t want to disappoint his new friend, especially after Edric had given him such a great gift, and promised to teach him about a life of adventure. It was everything Hob had ever wanted and more. How could he refuse?
“Excellent!” said Edric, clapping his hands, and standing up from the bed. “Now, we’re gonna need some disguises.” He looked Hob up and down. “Especially you. Luckily, I borrowed some clothes from the cloak room.” He emptied his sack’s remaining contents onto the floor.
A short time later, a tall figure appeared in the doorway of The Headless Goblin Inn. He wore a dark burgundy cloak and a black patch over his left eye. The hood of his cloak was pulled up, leaving his face barely visible under its shadow.
A much smaller figure waddled up next to him. His boots were too tall for his short legs. His little winged sword and scabbard bounced awkwardly against his hip. And his green cloak trailed behind him along the ground. Even more peculiarly, his face was hidden under a thick brown scarf, a tight hood, and a green hat with a long feather and wide brim. All that could be seen were his eyes, which appeared abnormally large behind the odd tinted goggles he wore. He promptly banged his head on the doorframe, and stumbled sideways into his friend.
“No peripheral vision,” Hob explained, adjusting his goggles with hands hidden in floppy elbow-length gloves. “But I’ll get used to it.”
“Just follow me,” Edric encouraged him. “You look great.”
The next thing Hob knew, he was waddling along beside Edric as they made their way through the winding streets of Valley Top, heading for the castle tower that loomed over every part of the city.
The mountain sky above them was clear and blue. And Hob felt the sun’s gentle warmth on his skin, and admired its light where it fell, golden, on the stone walls of the buildings and on the many different faces of the people in the crowds. This was just the sort of sunny day Hob had always longed to experience for himself, but had never been able to without Eldwin’s goggles.
Still, as the streets grew increasingly congested around him, Hob began to feel overwhelmed. It was one thing to overlook the festival from the safety of his room; it was another thing to be squeezing through the teeming human masses himself!
It didn’t help matte
rs that Edric’s face stared at him from every wall and street corner. There were wanted posters of the Prince up everywhere!
“Oh, look, the market!” said Edric, ignoring the crowds and the posters, and pointing dead ahead. “What do you know? It’s on the way.”
Without warning, he dragged Hob up the street, through a tall archway between the buildings, and into the city square.
Really more of a circle, the square was a round area, paved with cobblestones, and ringed so seamlessly by shops and apartments that the only roads in or out passed through four identical archways. It housed the marketplace at the heart of the Spring Chicken Festival, and was filled with a sea of people milling about between the many tents and stalls.
Hob was more nervous than ever. But, as he followed Edric through the marketplace, he couldn’t help but get caught up in the wonder of it all. Edric too seemed to be enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells. He made an excellent guide. He led Hob from stand to stand, explaining what sort of goods they were selling or just how delicious their treats were.
Some sold clothing, or toys, or jewelry, or cookware; others sold meats, or cheeses, or breads, or cakes. One man was serving whole roast chickens, just for the occasion. His sign read, Mortimer’s Spring Chickens, Official Chicken Vendor of the Spring Chicken Festival.
It was a good thing Hob had just finished lunch; looking at all the delicious things to eat made his mouth water.
Occasionally, they encountered local city guards on patrol, dressed in half-helms, simple chainmail armor, and surcoats bearing the mountain crest of Valley Top. Edric paid them little attention, and they paid him none.
Only once, when he spotted the crimson cloaks and gilded steel armor of three Royal Guards, did Edric panic. He turned away and pretended to examine whatever the nearest merchant was selling very closely. Hob copied him. When the guards had passed, the pair moved on.