The Goblin Reign Boxed Set
Page 49
“Who is that on the stage?” Spicy asked.
“Glyph warden,” Goldbug said. “Pay to set your fortune.”
“Does it work?”
Goldbug shrugged. “Not if you worship the Divine Mother. Their priests don’t get along. Come on.”
Middle Finger waited for the two to catch up. They followed him to a pier where he spent some time talking to a man who appeared to be a dock official. He had a surprisingly friendly face. He pointed them up a broad street where a busy market was set up.
A moment later, the three huddled together. “Cat’s Cradle let off her passengers,” Middle Finger said. He was squinting as he surveyed the waterfront. “I didn’t press too hard, but Alma and company were heading to the merchant district. Apparently, Alma and Blades had been arguing. Blades was overheard saying he was going to get drunk. We can start by checking the watering holes nearby.”
Spicy looked down the crowded street. “What’s your plan when you catch them?”
“I’m going to have a word with my foreman. And then I’ll appeal to his better nature. Leave that part to me.”
“Should we get the rest of the crew?” Spicy asked. “If we run into them…”
Middle Finger just waved him along.
Spicy felt increasingly nervous as they left the water behind them and headed into the heart of the city. He knew there would be more than talk when they caught up with the people they were after. Alma and Blades didn’t negotiate. Spicy got the mercenary woman to back down the last time they had faced each other only because he had been pointing a giant crossbow at her. The foreman with the bomb recipes in his head might be the same. And Blades’s only skill was murder.
The more Spicy worked the problem in his head, the more he kept coming to one conclusion: there would be a fight.
And Spicy’s current allies didn’t have the weapons or manpower to win.
Chapter Fourteen
As they elbowed past a dense pack of men and women drinking outside an overcrowded bar, Goldbug handed Middle Finger a small purse.
Middle Finger took it without comment and slipped it into a pocket.
“Should be enough to buy your glasses back, Captain,” Goldbug said.
“Good lad.”
Spicy hadn’t even seen the victim of Goldbug’s larceny. They had been moving past so many people. Too many were looking at him. He began wishing for a hat or cloak or some manner of disguise. He was the only goblin in the city, as far as he could tell.
“Do we have the money to buy a scarf?”
“Why would you want to hide?” Goldbug asked. “You’re quite the sight. Gives me plenty of opportunities as people stop to watch the goblin. Unless, of course, we charge a penny a pat. For luck! The captain will make a sign and we’ll be the belles of the street corner.”
Goldbug continued to yammer on excitedly. From another passerby’s pocket he yanked out a fine white handkerchief with lacy edges. The victim didn’t notice, too busy speaking in loud tones to a woman on his arm. Goldbug playfully dabbed his mouth and nose before handing it to Spicy.
Middle Finger began walking faster. “Keep up.”
Goldbug’s grin vanished and he tugged at Spicy to hurry.
They cut past the throng and right in front of an oncoming carriage, turning with it and rushing down an alleyway. The alley took a corner where a makeshift wall built of pallets blocked their path. There were a few small spaces between the stacks, but they faced a dead end.
Middle Finger began working at his belt. “You remember what we need to do.”
“What’s wrong?” Spicy asked.
“My stupidity. We got a tail from the last harbor. Looks like four fellows will be coming around that corner any second. Alma must have set them to watch for anyone asking about the boat, and we walked right into it. Damn that harbormaster. So let me hear you say you know what we need to do.”
“Find the foreman and the book and bring them back to the Sin Nombre,” Spicy answered.
Middle Finger handed him his knife and the stolen purse. Goldbug began to back up until he reached the pallets. Three lean men and a woman came around the corner. They were dressed as laborers, but from their loose clothing came clubs, a pipe, and a knife. They spread out.
Goldbug was shaking his head. “We fight them together.”
“You’re the best bump thief I’ve ever seen, but you’re no brawler,” Middle Finger said. “And there’s no way I’m climbing that wall. Off with you. I’ll buy you a little time. Now go.”
Middle Finger gave Spicy a shove. He didn’t hesitate but began to squeeze through the largest gap in the pallets as the gang closed in. Goldbug nudged Spicy forward as he crowded behind him.
“Get those two!” the lead ruffian shouted.
A nail caught Spicy’s trousers and he felt the fabric tear as he pulled away. Goldbug pushed on his butt until they made it to the other side. Another street lay before them. The way was clear, but both Spicy and Goldbug stopped to peer back through the wall of pallets.
“You lads and lady will have to be content with me for the moment,” Middle Finger said.
“We’re not afraid of you, old man,” one of the ruffians said.
“Afraid? I expect not. But I’ll let you know that I’m the captain of the Sin Nombre. You may know the boat. You do what you have to do. I imagine you were paid coin to catch anyone asking the wrong questions. Know this, if you please. I see you’ve got me outnumbered. All I’ve got is my two fists, and I suppose you four will get the better of me. Each blow you deliver will be answered, maybe not now and not by me. But we always pay our debts, bruise for bruise, and blood for blood. This I swear by my boat and her crew.”
There followed the sounds of fists striking flesh, then more blows and grunts of pain. The pallets shuddered as someone slammed into them.
A ruffian laughed. “Easy money.”
The flurry of hard thuds that followed could only mean one thing. Middle Finger was down and the gang of thugs were laying into him.
“What about the other two?” one of the thugs asked.
“Head around and get them. We’ll finish this one off.”
It was Spicy who had to drag Goldbug away down the street.
Chapter Fifteen
Several times Goldbug tried to go back, but Spicy kept a grip on the young man’s hand as they fled.
“They’re killing him,” the pirate said.
“He’ll be okay. We have a job. Now come on!”
Middle Finger wasn’t a friend. So why was he feeling guilty?
They had turned several corners and passed a merchant selling shoes and riding apparel, including cloaks and capes. A man wearing a shiny vest stood in the doorway, a measuring tape draped around his neck.
Spicy stopped to look at the display of apparel. “We need to purchase clothing.”
The merchant’s nose wrinkled. “I’m sure we don’t have things made for your kind.”
Spicy patted his coin purse. “Then we’ll be off to someone who does.”
“Wait, wait! Excuse me, sirs. I’m mistaken. I might be able to find something for a…goblin of your stature. What type of garments did you require?”
Ten minutes later, they had both purchased cloaks with hoods. Goldbug wore dark gray. Spicy’s cloak was a deep blue and had a thick lining and a few pockets. The merchant had made the garment a month prior for an older child of a client who hadn’t picked it up. When the merchant saw the actual coins, he offered fully tailored pants, shirts, and a coupon for a neighboring shoemaker, but Spicy declined and paid the man for both cloaks.
Spicy looked at Goldbug to see if the price sounded fair. His friend had put on his new garment, but his eyes were glazed and his face slack. Spicy handed five coins to the merchant, who pocketed them without comment.
Before Spicy could react, the merchant spritzed him with a small purple bottle. The thick scent of lavender assaulted Spicy’s nose.
“Why did you do that?”
Spicy got Goldbug out the door even as the merchant hurried to follow.
“Socks? Cravats? Surely one accessory isn’t enough to complete your new look.”
They marched away and didn’t look back.
The perfume made Spicy’s nose itch. “The cloaks help, but we have to get off the street if those guys are still looking for us.”
“You overpaid,” Goldbug said.
“You didn’t tell me if it was too much.”
Goldbug pulled his arm away. “We have to go back for the captain.”
“That’s not why we’re here. He told us to finish the job. Isn’t that what the crew would do?”
“They’d never leave him behind like we did.”
“We didn’t have a choice. If they catch us, they beat us too. Or worse.”
“Then we get the crew and come back,” Goldbug said.
“And what? Start a street brawl? Aren’t we doing this for everyone’s family back at Bird’s Landing? How will getting arrested help? What do they do with pirates here, anyway?”
Goldbug flinched. “Not so loud.”
A few people glanced at them as they passed by. The cloaks weren’t much of a disguise, and the cloud of perfume made him stick out like a bouquet of flowers.
“There’s got to be one of your rules for this,” Spicy hissed. “Always finish the job?”
“Don’t leave the captain behind.”
“It’s done and it’s too late to go back. We’re following orders. Are you coming or not?”
Goldbug fell in behind him and they kept to the side of the street. After walking down a block, Spicy paused to survey the crowds. There were many eyes on them, but no one that looked like the ruffians had. He saw no murderous intent, only curiosity and indifference. People had work and their own cares and places to go that had nothing to do with a random goblin in their midst. Even still, Spicy felt tense. The press of so many humans was too much.
“The captain said Blades was going to drink,” Spicy said. “But that means going back to the bars by the waterfront. Let’s stay away from there for now.”
Goldbug looked like he wanted to say something but kept quiet.
“I’m sure the captain’s okay. If you still want to, you can go back to the boat and get the crew. But I have to keep going.”
“You’re right. We finish the job.” He paused to sniff his new cloak. Some of the spritz had caught him too. “Let’s go find the other merchants who sell perfume. At least there, we’ll fit in.”
In Orchard City, each block often presented a unified district dedicated to a trade. Here in Pinnacle, the shops were arranged seemingly at random. Meat was sold next to a basket weaver, and fish stalls bracketed a storefront where a barber was pulling teeth. Spicy suggested they ask someone for directions, but Goldbug led the way confidently.
“At least pretend you know where you’re going,” Goldbug said.
Spicy thought it might make a good rule and hurried to keep up.
The further they moved from the waterfront, the nicer the shops and homes became. The city became progressively cleaner as they traveled uphill. A pair of guards wearing red capes patrolled the streets. Polished brooches decorated their uniforms and their boots shone. But none of them smelled like lavender.
Goldbug carried a bundle of folded shirts he had nabbed from a cart parked in front of a boarding school. Spicy marched beside him and didn’t make eye contact with the guards as they passed. The guards only glanced at them briefly.
“Delivery boy with an attitude can get you anywhere,” Goldbug said. “They have no way to know who is dropping something off for a noble.”
Spicy kept an eye out for his own parcel to steal, but no opportunities presented themselves.
Goldbug paused in front of a flower shop. Out front, a woman in a frilly dress was placing an arrangement of white posies in a wrought iron stand.
“Where’s the perfume shop?” Goldbug asked.
The woman looked them over. “Which one?”
Goldbug hesitated.
When no answer came, Spicy cleared his throat. “We have a delivery to a perfume shop owner. We had a card with the address but we lost it.”
“Bad luck for you, then,” the flower vendor said. “You have no address and no name? Didn’t you get told where those shirts were to be taken?”
Spicy slapped Goldbug’s arm. “He was told. And then we stopped off for a beer and breakfast. He had three, and so went his memory.”
The flower vendor offered a bemused smile. “You poor dears. There’s two fragrance shops near here which sell perfumes.”
Spicy took the shirts and showed them to the woman. An embroidered S was attached to the pocket, but it might have been any number of letters as the scrolling was overwrought.
“Maybe they’re for Shantay. I don’t think she’s even the manager, but she works the shop on Garnet. But those look like men’s shirts. Oh dear, it’s a pickle. Why don’t you try there first. The second shop is right down the street from them.”
Spicy offered a bow. The woman giggled. Then she patted him on the head.
Neither perfume shop merchant claimed they knew of Alma’s whereabouts when Spicy described her. Once it was clear they didn’t have a customer, neither wanted to have their time wasted. Spicy dropped the name of the Orchard City shop owner, Arturo, but was met with shrugs. Arturo was unknown to them, and Orchard City might have been the moon, as far as the merchants were concerned.
The second shop owner was scowling. He checked his pocket watch a second time as his visitors lingered.
“Are there other perfume shops you could direct me to?” Spicy asked.
“I’m certain there must be some down at the waterfront that will sell you whatever you need.”
“If it’s a matter of compensation,” Spicy began as he opened the money pouch.
The shop owner sniffed derisively. “I have clients of privilege who would never return if they thought I would divulge information about them. Now please, I have to close for lunch.”
“Wait. One more question. What if this perfume maker from Orchard wasn’t looking for perfume, but for where to buy the ingredients? Tell me that, and we’ll be on our way.”
The shop owner sighed. “Chemy House. Down by the foundries. Close the door on the way out.”
Goldbug showed the merchant the bundle of shirts. “Can I offer you some fine shirts before we leave? They feature the monogram S for ‘smells great’!”
Chapter Sixteen
The walk to the Foundry District took hours.
Goldbug warned Spicy of certain neighborhoods to avoid as they headed past run-down townhomes that shared walls with one another. Dogs roamed the streets. One milky-eyed canine closed in on Spicy until he threw a rock and sent it running. More of Pinnacle’s citizens lingered and watched the two pass by. Spicy kept his hood drawn over his head and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.
They took a few detours down side streets to avoid groups of men or youths.
“The place has changed,” Goldbug said. “I don’t know this area anymore or who runs it.”
Spicy nodded. “I haven’t seen a guard for the last mile.”
“The last two miles. It didn’t used to be like that. Even these streets had patrols once. Something’s changed.”
Past the rooftops rose several chimneys belching smoke. The homes gave way to industrial yards where bricks, metal scrap, soil, lumber, and other materials were gathered and stacked or piled high. Teams of laborers worked at an iron mill where a few carriages were being assembled. Loud banging came from a dozen locations. The exhaust from the chimneys blended with the fog blowing in overhead.
The air tasted of soot.
Even as Spicy breathed through his sleeve, he marveled at the scale of the industry. The size of the city itself was unimaginable. It just kept going. And so many humans. He co
ncluded they must breed like rabbits, with litters of a half dozen or more to fill so many homes. Yet of the mothers he had seen, only a few carried young with them. Perhaps they were set loose once they were weaned.
He would have to ask Goldbug later. Or Fath, if he ever made it back to the mud village.
The Chemy House took a while to find, but the gruff and dirty workers were happy to give directions. At the end of a wide street that terminated in a cul-de-sac was a two-floor building surrounded by a spiked fence and a double gate, which lay open.
Goldbug was about to enter when Spicy stopped him.
“If they’re in there, they’ll see us. They might not recognize you, but they won’t miss me.”
“If we don’t look inside, we won’t know if they’re there,” Goldbug said. “Besides, I have a delivery of shirts to drop off.”
“I’ll wait here.”
Goldbug went inside.
There were a few wagons parked out on the street in front of a sawmill. From one wagon, a girl was selling chopped-up meat and peppers wrapped in small flatbreads made of corn. Spicy walked closer. The smell was amazing, and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. The man in front of him paid with a penny and got two of the flatbreads, which the girl called tacos. Spicy handed her one of the tencoins from his pouch, all while keeping an eye on the Chemy House. She handed over the food and nine pennies. As he fumbled with his food and his change, he dropped a penny.
“This is piss,” a familiar voice near him said. A nearby cart was selling beer from a keg mounted on the back.
“Then take your business elsewhere,” the beer vendor said.
“I most certainly will.”
The mercenary named Blades threw a tin cup into the gutter. Beer splashed on the street as the cup clattered. Blades walked right past Spicy towards the Chemy House. There he paused and scraped something off his boot. Spicy fumbled with his food and money, trying to keep his face covered under his hood.