The Goblin Gate

by Hilari Bell

  “I need to talk to you,” Jeriah told her. “Alone. Without anyone to see. I think tonight would be a good time for that.”

  “Why alone?” she asked reasonably. “There’s no one listening now.”

  “Well, it’s not me you need to talk to.” Jeriah lowered his voice carefully. “I’ve…made contact with someone who might have some of the answers we talked about.”

  Koryn’s eyes widened. “That night on the terrace…”

  Jeriah leaned closer, the picture of someone whispering words of romance. “It wasn’t a rat. But they’re not about to come into the palace again, so you’ll—”

  Koryn held up her hand for silence. “We’re going outside? Let me get a shawl. This silly gown’s too thin to go out at night.”

  “You should have warned me to get my boots too,” Koryn grumbled as Jeriah led her through another tangle of brush. “If I’d known we’d be thrashing around in the wilderness, I’d have changed.”

  This pang of guilt was worse than the last three, but Jeriah suppressed it, too. Maybe he was a cad, or even worse, but he needed her out here in those ridiculous, slick-soled slippers.

  “You knew they were goblins,” he said. “Did you expect them to join us in the Hierarch’s sitting room? Especially after what almost happened to their first messenger. Meeting us in the ravine guarantees their safety, because they can get in and out of it so much more easily than humans.”

  The small, steep-sided ravine that drained the ornamental stream would also be hard for a crippled girl in a formal gown to climb out of.

  He hated using her injury as a weapon against her. Particularly when he remembered how she’d been crippled. She was the hero…so what did that make the person who betrayed her?

  “What would goblins know about barbarian magic?” Koryn asked. “I never found any connection between them in my research.”

  “There’s no connection.” Jeriah had already decided to tell as much of the truth as he could. “But I was looking for magic that didn’t come from any of the Gods, and that’s what the goblins have. It may not use the same source as the barbarians’ magic. The goblins I spoke to said the barbarians are as quick to kill them as they are to kill us. Maybe quicker. ‘They regard us as a delicacy’ is the exact quote. That’s one of the reasons they might be willing to help us.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  “We’re here.” Jeriah paused on the brink of the ravine. The trees had thinned, revealing the steep banks. It wasn’t some canyon she’d be trapped in forever, Jeriah assured his complaining conscience. Only a twenty-foot scramble. And having used this ravine to meet conspirators, before they’d all been hanged, Jeriah knew there were easier ways in and out of it. He just didn’t want Koryn to find them quickly. “Let me help you. This bit’s tricky.”

  She got herself down with less assistance than he’d thought she’d need, wrapping her skirt tight and sliding down the rougher sections on her butt. When they reached the bottom, the first thing she said was, “What’s the other reason the goblins are willing to help us?”

  The brush had reduced her hair to a wild tangle, and the moonlight softened the angles of her face. Jeriah wished it had softened her brain.

  “I don’t know how much you know about goblins,” he said, “but they always demand a price for their services.”

  Koryn snorted. “Everyone knows that.”

  Was she standing more awkwardly than usual? Jeriah didn’t want her hurt. Just delayed for an hour or two.

  “Come sit down on this rock.” He led her over to it. “We may have to wait awhile.”

  They’d have to wait forever, since his goblin allies were currently deep under the palace—and probably wondering what was keeping Jeriah so long!

  He had to do this. He had no choice.

  Had Master Lazur thought that, when he committed his first betrayal? Jeriah had sworn to take a different path, and here he was, doing something his whole being screamed was wrong…for the greater good.

  But Koryn wouldn’t die. And if he didn’t get her out of the way tonight, Tobin would.

  Koryn had followed him, but a frown creased her smooth forehead. “Are you stalling me?”

  “No,” said Jeriah. But he was stalling. He didn’t want to lose…what? They were hardly friends. He would certainly lose her respect when he tried to kiss her, when he told her he’d lied and brought her to this isolated spot with seduction in mind. But he had no reason to suppose she respected him now. It was just…He didn’t want to see her hurt, or frightened, or even made uncomfortable. And he’d have to do at least some, maybe all of that, to make her slap his face.

  “The thing is”—he helped her settle onto the flat rock—“I’m not sure you’re going to agree to what the goblins want. In exchange for their aid.”

  As much of the truth as he could tell. And being involved with one plot should make him look more innocent of being involved in another. At least, he hoped it would.

  “So what do they want?” Koryn asked. “You’ll have to tell me, sooner or later.”

  She was right.

  “The goblins want their leader back,” Jeriah said bluntly. “The girl who took my brother into the Otherworld. Think about it for a minute before you say no. Her army is shattered and scattered, and she told Master Lazur under a truth spell that she’s only a hedgewitch—she hardly has any magical power at all! She couldn’t even dent your precious relocation! And—”

  “And your brother could come back with her.”

  Was it only the moonlight softening her face?

  “Jeriah, I don’t have their leader in my back pocket—or you brother either. I told you before, I don’t even know where Master Lazur’s spell notes are!”

  But Jeriah did, and if Master Lazur ever heard about this part of the conversation…he’d believe Jeriah had lured her out here to win his bet. Particularly if Jeriah got his face slapped trying. And if he was going to get those notes in time to save his brother, he’d better start now.

  Jeriah stepped forward, only a small step needed, and bent to press his lips on hers. He’d intended to be a little rough, a little intrusive. But he hadn’t known her lips would tremble when he touched them. Or be so soft. Or cling so gently when he finally pulled away.

  He stood staring down at her, at the wide, colorless eyes…that suddenly narrowed in suspicion.

  “What are you up to?” she demanded.

  Now was the time to tell her about the wager. Now he’d have to tell her, because that hadn’t been a face-slapping sort of kiss.

  “Nothing,” Jeriah heard his own voice saying. “I just wanted to…um…”

  “Rubbish!” she snapped. “You wouldn’t drag me all the way out here for a kiss, and I already told you I don’t know where those accursed notes are. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, and you know that too. So what are you—”

  All Jeriah’s seething emotions boiled over.

  “You really wouldn’t tell me, would you? You’d let my brother die rather than take the slightest risk that your precious Master Lazur might be wrong about something. They’re right, what they say about you, nothing but nettles and ice, because you’re so wrapped up in your own obsession, in your hate, that you can’t even feel anything else!”

  Her thin hand flew up and slapped his face, the sound echoing in the empty ravine.

  Jeriah took a step back. Then another. Then he turned and scrambled up the slope as if the barbarian army were after him.

  “Hey,” she called. “Wait! I can’t get out of here. Jeriah, wait!”

  Jeriah kept walking.

  She’d slapped his face. He looked like a total cad. He’d accomplished exactly what he’d come for, and he hadn’t even had to maul her, physically.

  Only to betray a friend. Only to hurt her heart.

  A wind was rising and the new leaves whispered. The room Cogswhallop had showed him on the map was behind the kitchens, which were now full of servants enjoying their own feas
t. Jeriah had to circle around the terrace and work his way through several corridors. As well as he knew this level, it took him several minutes to locate the door, which looked more like a cupboard than the entrance to a room. The rattle of the chain washed over Jeriah as soon as he opened the door.

  “They’re running it fast tonight.” Cogswhallop stepped out of the shadows. “Must have a lot of dishes to wash.”

  Jeriah eyed the dripping buckets the great chain carried to the cistern under the temple floor, from which water flowed into taps and fountains throughout the palace.

  “Are you sure you can get into the vault from here?”

  The goblin snorted. “I showed you the builder’s plan three times. This shaft is where water’s hauled up from the spring room—see that big bucket chain? All you have to do is climb down the ladder beside it and use those big muscles of yours to remove the grate that keeps folks like us from going past the dungeons.”

  Jeriah looked dubiously into the black pit—he couldn’t see the bottom. “Isn’t there an easier way down?”

  “Of course. There’s a great human-size door into the spring room from the wine cellar. It’s right next to the vault’s guard station. You could—”

  “All right!” Jeriah gripped the ladder and descended into darkness.

  The rungs were evenly spaced, and soon the rhythm claimed him. Down and down. The sound of splashing water grew louder. He stumbled when his feet hit the floor, then stood aside, clinging to the ladder. Cogswhallop came down and felt his way across the room, grumbling softly.

  A starter scraped, and light bloomed from the lamp in the goblin’s hand. It shimmered on the surface of a deep pool, as bucket after bucket sloshed in and out. The great wheel that guided the chain creaked. From the pool’s rim, two shallow troughs led into the wall through culverts about three feet high. Water ran in one, but the gate that controlled the other was closed.

  “I suppose it’s too much to hope we go down the dry one?”

  Cogswhallop grinned. “Best take off your fancy tunic. They’re sewage culverts, hero. They open the gate when they’ve got prisoners on one side or other. So your sister’s on the side—”

  “Where the water’s running. Naturally.” Jeriah pulled off his tunic. “And someone might notice if we shut it off.” There were worse things. He drew a resolute breath and pulled a crowbar from the pile of tools the goblins had placed near the culvert’s mouth.

  “Do I owe someone a button for these?”

  Cogswhallop bit back a grin. “Part of the service—no payment required.”

  “You’re joking. A goblin doing something for free?”

  “Not for free; for getting the Decree of Bright Magic revoked. Don’t forget that, hero. Not ever.” The softness of his voice did nothing to diminish the threat.

  “I won’t. We’d better go.”

  “Wait.” said Cogswhallop. “You can’t hold that bar while you crawl—you’ll clank all the way. Sound carries in stone, and there’s an opening up to every cell.”

  They strapped the crowbar to Jeriah’s back and he crawled into the culvert, trying to ignore the cold water flowing over his hands, soaking his knees and feet. It was no colder than the dread in the pit of his stomach. Jeriah tried not to think about the layer of slime that covered the stone—at least it made their progress quieter.

  The culvert was dark, for Cogswhallop had left the lamp back in the spring room, but every ten feet a faint patch of light shone from above; sewer holes from the cells. They were only small square shafts with bars across the top, but that light meant there were prisoners in some of the cells above—and that meant guards, who might hear someone pulling out a grate or chipping through the culvert’s wall.

  Senna was in one of these cells. Terrified? Despairing? The goblins had delivered his second note hours ago, but Jeriah longed to stop and whisper up some words of hope. He didn’t dare. He had no way to know if the guards were watching her. If Senna got into more trouble, would his father blame him for that, too? It hardly mattered—if Senna came to harm because of his schemes, Jeriah would never forgive himself.

  Below the sixth shaft Jeriah’s dark-adapted eyes caught a glimpse of something lumpy, crouched precariously above the waterline. He stopped so abruptly that Cogswhallop bumped into him and breathed a curse. The shape stirred and resolved itself into a grinning Daroo, who motioned them past. They must be beneath Senna’s cell. Jeriah had hoped she’d be imprisoned near the grating he’d come to remove, but there’d been no way to arrange it. Yet another of the things that could go wrong. They’d been lucky—Jeriah passed only three more openings before he reached the grate, which blended with the darkness so well, he ran into it. “Ow!” He managed to keep it to a whisper.

  “Shhh.”

  Hanging the crowbar quietly over one of the bars to keep from losing it in the water, Jeriah studied the barrier with his fingers—he could see almost nothing.

  The bars stretched from one side of the culvert to the other. If they’d been drilled into the stone, Jeriah’s plan would probably have ended there, but they were fastened to an iron rim that had been spiked to the wall. The spikes didn’t feel too large.

  “I can do it,” Jeriah murmured, “but it’s going to make a demonish noise.”

  “Isn’t that why we passed that second note to your sister telling her to create a diversion? Give me a minute to signal Daroo. Then give her a minute or two to get it started.”

  The goblin moved away and appeared in the faint patch of light beneath the nearest shaft. He waved to Daroo, and moments later a muffled shout echoed down the culvert. Jeriah couldn’t make out the words, but it was a girl’s voice.

  Cogswhallop crept back to Jeriah. “Wait for it….”

  Vigorous clanging joined the shouts. “What’s that?”

  “We gave her a rock to pound on the bars. How else could she make enough noise? Hurry it up. The guards will reach her soon.”

  Jeriah wedged the crowbar under the iron rim, braced himself, and heaved. Iron shrieked and stone cracked. Jeriah prayed that in the corridor above them Senna’s clanging would be louder, but he had no time for finesse. He pried the grate free of the stone and pushed it to one side. Then he stopped, listening. He heard nothing but Senna banging on the bars and shrieking, and his own gasping breath. It had only taken a few moments.

  Cogswhallop’s eyes gleamed. “Good enough. Back out with you, hero.”

  “That was easy!”

  “Humph. For a great lout like you, maybe. Not one of us could have done it, even if the others could touch iron. Come along, back to the dance. Your alibi, remember?”

  Jeriah turned awkwardly and crawled out, grinning at Daroo as he passed. “Tell her she did great! Tell her—” But the child was already scurrying up the shaft to Senna’s cell. As Jeriah and Cogswhallop passed the next opening, the clamor quieted—the guards, come to see to Senna’s “illness.” It really was going according to plan, St. Cerwyn be praised! With a little more luck, Senna could be out of that place by morning.

  Jeriah emerged into the spring room, which now seemed brilliantly lit. Half a dozen goblins darted into the culvert, their tools wrapped in rags so they wouldn’t clank.

  Cogswhallop, who looked like he’d rolled in a pig wallow, watched them critically. “They’ll do. Once you get past the dungeons, there’s only three or four inches of stone between the culvert and the vault. It’s a pity no Stoners were left behind; they’d have done it better. But we’ll manage.”

  Jeriah looked down at himself. He not only looked like he’d rolled in a pig wallow, he smelled like it. “I can’t go back to the dance like this. I have to change, but I haven’t got time! I didn’t think—”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got us to think for you.” Cogswhallop dug into the equipment pile and pulled out a clean shirt and britches. “You can get wash water from the pool. With your tunic over them no one will…Bend over.” He grabbed Jeriah’s collar and pulled him down to brus
h at his hair. “Aye. Clean clothes and you’ll do. I’d best get back to the action.” He strolled into the culvert and disappeared.

  Jeriah washed off the stinking muck, put on clean clothes, and climbed the ladder, leaving his muddy garments for the goblins to dispose of. If they wanted another button or two for their pains, that would be fine with him!

  Nothing had changed at the dance when Jeriah slipped back in, and he was startled to realized that less than an hour had passed. Koryn wasn’t there. He hoped she’d made it out of the ravine by now, but he didn’t dare go in search of her.

  He returned to the dance floor and spent the last hour till midnight avoiding the squires he’d bet with, and trying to look as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  The next step might not go so smoothly; it depended on Nevin. Jeriah looked at the high table where Nevin hovered over the weary Hierarch. He was no fool and, arrogant idiot that he was, he loved the old man. It would work. It had to.

  Nevin fussed about, putting the Hierarch to bed. The menservants had been dismissed, and Jeriah boiled water for the drugged tea. One level scoop of leaves…It would smell stronger if he added more. As Jeriah poured steaming water over the sieve, the leaves compressed. He grabbed a generous pinch of the tea and added it to the sieve, pouring again till the cup was full. He turned the sand timer and waited for it to steep. A minute and a half.

  A minute and a half for Jeriah to realize that a stronger dose might harm the Hierarch. That someone might notice there was more tea in the sieve than usual. Fool! Why did you have to improvise?

  Jeriah could smell the sickly sweetness of it. Would Nevin? He hadn’t been wrong to try to strengthen the scent—if Nevin failed to notice it, the whole plan would collapse. And Jeriah’s father would be destroyed.

  So don’t let him fail.

  The last of the sand ran through the glass. Jeriah removed the tea sieve and carried the cup to the bed where the Hierarch waited, helpless. He couldn’t let the old man drink such a strong dose. If worse came to worst, Jeriah could spill it. That would surely trigger Nevin’s memory, but it would be cursed suspicious—twice in one day.