Grizelda

by Margaret Taylor

  By the time they got to the square, she was trying to figure out how she was going to lose him. He couldn’t keep his cover like this forever. Window-shopping was all well and good, but he must realize if he kept up like this long enough, somebody was going to notice. If she crossed the square, he would have to give it up. There was no way he could up with her and still pretend to be looking at stores. She set off diagonally across the square, keeping half an eye behind her to see what he would do.

  To her astonishment, he decided to keep following her. He was not even pretending anymore. He stepped out into the square, obviously intending to go after her. Then Grizelda started to get really scared. She broke into a run, and the goblin ran, too.

  Fueled by panic, she put on more speed, not paying any attention to which way she was going. Once she got to the other side of the square she wove through the city streets, taking turns at random. She never looked back to see whether he was still on her tail. Finally, exhausted, she slowed to a fast walk, then stopped and sat down.

  She was in another of one of those run-down parts of town on the fringes of the Goblin Union, all abandoned buildings and cracked, unmaintained roads. The place where she was sitting had once been the front steps to a factory, now closed down. There was no other being in sight.

  At least she’d lost the spy, then, or whatever he was. Lord. They’d chanted kill the ogre when they put her on trial. What if he had it in for her? But now she had a new problem. She’d taken so many twists and turns on her way out here that she had no idea how to get back to the center of town. She took her best guess, got up, and prepared herself for a long walk.

  Before she’d gotten more than a block, though, she was stopped by an amazing sight.

  Between a couple of buildings there was a vacant lot. But even though it was vacant, it was far from empty. It was dotted all over with broken machines, scattered about like haystacks in a field. They were leaning shipwrecks, twisted hulks of metal and broken springs. After patching and repatching them, the goblins had finally given up on these ones and dragged them here to rust. They’d scavenged all the useful parts and left nothing behind but the skeletons. The corpses. This place was a graveyard for machines.

  Grizelda did not want to linger in this place. It gave her a creepy sensation, as if she’d put her hand in her pocket and run into something slimy. But just as she was turning to go, there was a telltale flicker of green light from between a pair of the derelicts. What could a ratrider be doing here? Almost against herself, she crept forward.

  She moved ever so slowly, holding her breath, willing herself to blend in to the shadows. She did not have to worry about being seen, after all. Meanwhile the green light danced and bobbed, casting crazed shadows across the walls. She crept around the curve of one of the machines until it no longer blocked her view. Even exposed as she was, she knew the ratrider would not see her. And then she watched.

  A flock of bats had taken up residence in one of the skeletons, hanging from the metal slats like so many furry black seedpods. They were sleeping this time of day, or at least they should have been. The ratrider moving among them was disturbing them. She swung nimbly from handhold to handhold through the roostery, a lantern stick strapped to her back and a contraption of ropes held in her teeth. All around, the bats shifted their wings in irritation and wrapped themselves up tighter.

  Grizelda recognized this ratrider. She was the one in the aviation gear who had given her such a cool reception at the ratriders’ grotto. She was still wearing that gear. Heavy boots, gloves, goggles pushed up to the top of her head, a model of toughness and functionality. Unlike all the other ratriders, who took their fashion cues from magpies, she wore no ornaments of any kind.

  The ratrider spit out the ropes and slung them over her shoulder, then, balancing herself, reached out to stroke the membrane of one bat’s wing. It unfurled halfway, the bat gave her a reproachful look, then started to wrap itself up again.

  But the ratrider would have none of that. She caught its wing, while reaching into her pocket for something.

  “Hey. I’ve got something for you.”

  The bat was curious enough to snap at the treat she held out. She pulled it away, backing down a roughly horizontal metal spar, finding a new foothold with each step. The bat bestirred itself enough to shuffle along upside-down after her, every once in a while reaching up to have a go at the treat.

  “That’s right. Come on. Come on.”

  All at once the ratrider tossed the treat straight up into the air. The bat left its perch in a flutter, and the ratrider threw herself onto its back. The bat let out an ear-splitting screech that made Grizelda flinch. It zigged back and forth like a crazed moth, trying frantically to dislodge its new passenger. Meanwhile the ratrider was calm, wrestling the mess of ropes that Grizelda now saw was a bridle down over the bat’s face.

  The ratrider struggled to her feet on the bat’s back and took hold of the reins.

  “Hup!”

  The bat responded instantly, soaring across the top of the cavern in a wide arc. Another twitch of the reins and it crashed through the roostery, scattering the other bats in all directions like startled pigeons. Then she sent it diving skimming low across a stream running through the center of the lot.

  She whooped.

  Ratrider and bat seemed like a centaur of the air to Grizelda. They responded to each other on the subtlest cues, now that the bat had accepted her dominance, and swooped, zagged, and barrel-rolled their way across the cavern. The other bats could do nothing but dive out of their way. Exultant, the ratrider sent them in a hairpin turn around the pinnacle of one of the skeletons.

  But she must have made a miscalculation, because the bat’s wingtip grazed metal. That touch was enough to set off a catastrophe of crumpling metal, as the skeleton, grown unstable through years of rust and still cave air, collapsed in on itself. It jangled and crashed to the ground, sending up a puff of ancient dust where it had stood just a moment ago.

  The bat screeched and veered off course. Grizelda could see the ratrider was wrestling with it, trying to yank it back into line with the reins.

  “Stop it, Apollo! Stop it! Get control of yourself!”

  But the bat was beyond help. It flapped back and forth in a panic, trying to escape the din that was still reverberating all around it. As soon as it reached a point that was near the ground, the ratrider leapt from its back and rolled.

  Grizelda was up and kneeling by her in a flash, all hiding forgotten. Something flew past her head, a flurry of wings, screeching and heading for the outer caverns.

  The ratrider sat up, pulled off her goggles and rubbed her eyes. She touched her shoulder and winced. Then she saw Grizelda kneeling over her and leapt to her feet.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Are you okay?” Grizelda asked.

  “You saw everything, didn’t you? Ouch!” When the ratrider took her hand from her shoulder, there was blood.

  “Look, you’re hurt, can I take you–”

  “No! Why don’t you just leave me alone, ogre? Why don’t you leave me the hell alone?” The ratrider was standing hunched with her arms folded. She wasn’t acting like the other ratriders Grizelda had met at all. Why was she so angry, when she was only trying to help?

  “But–”

  “I said scram!” Grizelda looked into the ratrider’s eyes and saw that she was serious. There was nothing she could do to help here. A little awkwardly, she backed out of the machine graveyard and left.

  Chapter 12

  Grizelda spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around inside the cafeteria, hoping to avoid the spy goblin. Late-lunch stragglers came and went as she sat at a table in the back, avoiding eye contact with everybody. A couple of times, with a start, she thought she recognized the goblin who’d been following her, but she could never really be sure.

  This could not go on. She was going to have to tell somebody, but she couldn’t figure out who. Crome? He wasn�
�t likely to be sympathetic. Most of the other goblins were strangers to her, and besides, they hated her guts. The only goblin who was at all her friend was Lenk. All right, then. She’d ask Lenk for help the next chance she got.

  Gradually she realized that all the goblins in the cafeteria were getting up and leaving. They should have been coming in for dinner at about this time, but instead, within the space of a few minutes, the room was completely empty. Not caring to be left alone when the spy could be anywhere, she got up and opened the cafeteria doors.

  The city square was already crowded, and it was getting fuller every minute. Like a repeat of the day of her trial, they were all flowing toward one point, the high, carved archway in the back, leading to the Union Hall. It wasn’t another trial, was it? She stepped out into the crowd, getting buffeted about as she tried to ask the goblins for information. As usual, they ignored her until finally somebody told her they were going to Proletarian Theater. That didn’t help much.

  By this point she was jammed up in a crush of elbows and knees and had no choice but to flow along with the crowd. For the first time, she passed under the archway that led to the Hall. She’d never realized how massive it was until she got up close. It was carved all over with old goblin script, and suggested tons of rock hanging in suspension, ready to fall down on her at any minute. They used to be important, these goblins. Before they got poor.

  A cold shadow passed over her, then she was inside the Union Hall. There was a small circular waiting area at the bottom of the hall, just big enough to contain the goblins as they were passing through on their way to their seats. Three equally spaced sets of steps cut into the walls led the goblins up to the higher levels. Here at the bottom the steps were so shallow they were almost the same as level ground. The stage where she’d stood just a few days before on trial was nothing more than a small black square high above, silhouetted against the glare of lights.

  Well, it looked like something important was going on, but she couldn’t figure out what. She got shoved by a goblin pushing past her to get to his seat. She couldn’t just stand here staring. Judging by the crowds it looked like everybody in the Union was supposed to attend, so she’d better play along and find a seat.

  Most of the lower rings of seats were already filled, so she followed the goblins who were filing up the stairs. The first time she found an empty seat and sat down, she got herself a sharp jab in the elbow. The goblin next to her glared at her and pointed upwards. Typical. She got the message and got up again with a duck of her head.

  She moved on, but it was proving hard to find a seat that was far enough away from the other goblins that they would tolerate her presence. Halfway up the hall, where the walls turned vertical, the seating inverted itself. Risers became balconies and each balcony stuck out a little farther than the one below it. There were dramatically fewer goblins up here, and before too long she found a row where the only being in sight was an older goblin seven or eight seats away chewing on a strip of meat. Either he was ignoring her or he didn’t realize she was there, so she sat down.

  A moment later, the lights dimmed and a peevish little messenger appeared at the foot of the stage carrying a clipboard. He looked around, then jogged up onto the stage.

  “May I have your attention, please?”

  The murmur of the crowd, as they talked to each other in low voices and settled into their seats, continued unabated. He stood around looking uncomfortable for almost a full minute until Chairman Grendel in the foremen’s balcony stood up and lifted his arms. Slowly, the crowd quieted down.

  “The Council of Foremen has a few announcements to make before we begin,” the messenger said. “Firstly, Manufacturing Floor R is being shut down. We repeat, Manufacturing Floor R is being shut down. All citizens who have been working on that floor should report to the government building tomorrow morning to receive their reassignments. Um…”

  Well, this was boring. Grizelda struggled to pay attention to the messenger, who stopped, looked up at the ceiling, frowned. Then he started reading off of the clipboard again, holding it close to his face.

  “Ogre officials from the township of Yves met with Foreman Ranshin today and expressed interest in buying our pig iron.”

  There was scattered applause, a few whoops.

  “And … oh.” He pushed up his glasses and squinted at the paper. “We wish to inform you that the collapsed mineshaft in Section B is still off-limits as a safety hazard.”

  Finally he threw down the clipboard in frustration and shouted up at the ceiling, “It’s too damn dark in here to read a thing!”

  The lights started to go up.

  “No, not now! I just finished!”

  The lights dimmed again. The messenger picked up his clipboard with a look of disgust. “The People’s Acting Troupe, with tonight’s enlightenment.” He stalked off stage.

  To polite applause and a couple of groans, eight goblins in stylized miner’s outfits marched in solemnly and lined up on either side of the stage. There was a silence. Grizelda could hear goblins settling and a cough.

  “O, goblins!” the first group of four intoned,

  “People of the rocks and stones,

  Keepers of the secrets of the earth,

  Long may you work and prosper.”

  To which the second four of the miners replied:

  “This tale is a warning

  To those who are not wary

  When they undertake to plunge

  The secrets of the earth.”

  What was this? It didn’t really rhyme, and it wasn’t really sung, either, more like an atonal chant that the goblin actors kept calling out to each other. They didn’t even move. Just like everything else Grizelda knew about goblins, it was about as far removed from fun as logically possible.

  Grizelda gave up on them after the first three verses. An undercurrent of noise was running below the actor’s droning, goblins speaking with each other as loud as they dared, getting up and sitting down. There were even a few snores. Bored, she started fiddling around with her seat. She discovered that the back would lean back if she pushed it and the arms moved up and down like levers. There was a little compartment underneath one of the arms that, after she had figured out how to open it, she found contained a couple of hard round balls…

  “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” came a voice at her feet.

  Grizelda jumped. She looked around to see who had spoken, then she caught sight of a characteristic shock of orange hair. Kricker was sitting cross-legged under her seat.

  “To tell the truth, I wasn’t really paying attention,” she whispered down at him. The goblin down the row didn’t seem to notice. Actually, he seemed to be asleep.

  “Nobody ever does,” Kricker said. He stretched his neck out, trying to get a better view of the proceedings. “What’s it about this time?”

  “Remembering to wear your helmet or something, I think. Do you want me to lift you up so you can see better?”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I mean, really, that’s okay. I’m just fine down here.”

  Grizelda thought it was a bit odd that he’d answered so hastily and had now scooted himself two or three body lengths away from the balcony edge. Maybe she had better change the subject.

  “Kricker, I met this strange ratrider lady today. She was riding a bat and she got furious when she found out I was watching her.”

  “Oh.” Kricker burst into such a broad grin that she wondered what could possibly be so funny.

  “That would be Laricia.” He tapped his head. “You could say she’s a touch … batty.”

  Apparently he thought it was hilarious, which made her irritated. “Is it really so funny that she’s trying to tame a bat? I mean, she was really upset–”

  She was interrupted by a messenger who came running straight up the ramp to the actors’ platform and into their midst, cutting off the performance. Several of them gave him reproachful looks. The crowd’s murmur rose and the guard at the foot of the sta
ge put a hand on his baton.

  “What’s this all about, Comrade?” Chairman Grendel said.

  “Message from Yves, Chairman,” the messenger said, breathless. “They just announced that the township will move its business to the goblins under Whithall unless we agree to drop our price to, uh…” He swallowed. “…three-quarters of theirs, Chairman.”

  “Why couldn’t you wait to tell me this in private?”

  But the Chairman’s comment was drowned in a furor. There were boos from everywhere, cries like “They can’t do this!” and “That’s extortion!” From the vague shapes moving in the dark, Grizelda could tell the goblins were agitated, starting to leave their seats. Several seats down from her, the old goblin’s head jerked up with a start and he looked around in confusion.

  “Kricker, what’s going on? Kricker? Kricker!”

  But the ratrider had vanished. Grizelda was getting alarmed. The crowd was churning now, and it was sounding angrier every minute. She didn’t know what it might do. What if they started chanting kill the ogre again? The messenger had fled the stage in terror, and a few seconds later the actors a little reluctantly followed him. The foremen in their balcony were trying to quiet the crowd, but it accomplished nothing.

  Grizelda got up and started running down the stairs. There was a press of goblins in the aisles all around her, only milling around at this point but getting ready to do something. A voice carried over the crowd, one that she recognized.

  “Unite and fight! Unite and fight!”

  Fists all around rose into the air as they took up Nelin’s chant. “Unite and fight! Unite and fight!”

  If she didn’t get crushed, she was going to get suffocated. It was a struggle just to keep going in a straight line. She didn’t even know where she was going to go yet, but she had to keep moving. For a moment she picked a face out among the crowd – Mechanic Lenk.