Beast & Crown

by Joel Ross

  “Stuc-ka here,” the goblin agreed. “I dream that one day I’ll wal-ka all the tunnels of the homeland.”

  “You mean, the goblin lands? Outside the Summer Realm?”

  “Yes, please. Where Kultultul are free of everything except other Kultultul.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There is a bad worm in the homeland.”

  Ji scratched his cheek. Goblins were weird. “Sure, a bad worm. Anyway, at least you don’t wear a collar.”

  The little goblin didn’t speak for a moment. “I will when I’m older.”

  “What?” Ji shook his head. “No, the humans don’t even know you’re here.”

  “We share ka-ollars,” the little goblin told him. “We all loo-ka the same to humans. So one Kultulul takes off the ka-ollar, and another wears it for a while.”

  Ji stopped walking. “You mean you choose to put a collar on? But then none of you are free!”

  “None is free all of the time,” the little goblin said, “but all are free some of the time.”

  Ji frowned into the shadows. For some reason, he thought of the tapestry kids he’d left at the looms, bound by threads instead of collars. “It’s not right,” he said.

  The goblin’s piglet face peered up at Ji. “It’s the best way.”

  “I don’t mean the sharing is wrong. I mean the whole thing. It’s not right.”

  The goblin reached out a shoulder-arm shyly and took Ji’s hand. “This way.”

  They followed the ramp downward, hand in hand. The goblin’s fingers felt like leather gloves stuffed with gravel, and Ji wondered what its belly-hands felt like but thought it might be rude to ask.

  After a time, the goblin tugged Ji into a side tunnel and past an underground stream.

  “This isn’t the way back,” Ji said.

  The goblin pointed its torch. “This is another way, please.”

  “Oh! A shortcut?”

  “Yes, a short ka-ut. Except longer.”

  “So a long cut?”

  The little goblin chuffed. “A long ka-ut! I show you something!”

  They climbed a heap of boulders into another tunnel, and the goblin stopped at a wall nook packed with broken combs: tortoiseshell combs, wooden combs, silver combs, bronze, copper, and seashell combs.

  “So!” The little goblin gestured at the nook. “If you please!”

  “Um,” Ji said. “What are these shrines for, anyway?”

  “To be pretty!” The goblin peered at Ji, a glint of hope in its beady eyes. “So?”

  “Well, this one is lovely,” Ji lied. “Very beautiful?”

  “You truly thin-ka?”

  “I do, yes,” he said more firmly. “Gorgeous. The prettiest one I’ve seen.”

  The goblin’s eyes narrowed. “What exaka-tly do you like-a?”

  “Erm.” Ji examined the nook more closely. “The colors and shapes. How the combs overlap and the torchlight shines through.”

  “You truly like-a?”

  Ji nodded. “Definitely.”

  “I made it!” The goblin hopped a few times. “I made this one.”

  “No way!” Ji said, pretending to be surprised. “You did not!”

  “I did! This is mine!” The goblin kid flushed pinker, then pressed a broken oak comb into Ji’s hand. “You would honor me if you added this.”

  Ji looked at the comb. “Are you sure?”

  “I am certain. I am ka-onvinced. Great honor for me.”

  “Great honor for me,” Ji said, and placed the comb among the others.

  The goblin kid took his hand again, and Ji blinked a few times. He did feel honored, for some stupid reason. He didn’t know why. Who cared about a pile of broken combs in a hole in the ground?

  “We should head back,” he said.

  “This way, please!” The little goblin tugged him away. “Humans wear ka-ombs.”

  “Yeah, and brush their hair with them.”

  “That’s why they smell so tasty.”

  “They don’t smell tasty. They’re combs. They smell like heads.”

  The little goblin chuffed in amusement. “Human heads are tasty.”

  “You can’t eat humans,” Ji told it.

  “You ka-an if they’re dead,” the goblin said. “And if you aska please.”

  “No, you can’t!”

  The goblin thought for a moment. “It’s not polite to waste them.”

  “That’s more polite than eating them.”

  “Why?” the goblin asked.

  “Because they’re not food!”

  “They are if you eat them.”

  “Yeah, but . . . you can’t eat humans.”

  “You ka-an if they’re dead,” the goblin repeated. “And if you aska politely.”

  Ji took a steadying breath. “Who do you ask, if they’re dead?”

  “Them,” the little goblin said. “They never say no.”

  “Of course they don’t! They’re dead!”

  The goblin chuffed happily. “Yes, thanka you! Now you understand.”

  Evening light seeped into the chamber from around the snake-bird statue. Ji waved good-bye to the little goblin, then told the others about their conversation. The room darkened as he spoke, and Chibo spread his glowing wings.

  “They’re little monsters,” Ji finished.

  “Hey!” Sally growled. “What’s wrong with little monsters?”

  “You know what Jiyong means.” Roz shuddered. “Eating people.”

  “Yeah,” Sally said. “It’s pretty gross.”

  “They saved our lives, though,” Chibo fluted. “Hiding us here.”

  Roz smoothed her tattered dress. “I suppose they’re not all bad.”

  “Nobody’s all bad,” Ji said. “Or all good. But most of them won’t eat you.”

  “Being eaten isn’t so bad,” Chibo said, “if you’re already dead.”

  Sally grunted. “Not for you and me, but Ji would taste like shoes. And Roz was born for better than goblin barbecue.”

  “I’d taste great!” Ji told her. “Like fish stew!”

  “The sooner we turn human again, the better.” Roz moved the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder. “I’m quite certain that Ti-Lin-Su will know how to break this spell. And that she’ll hide us, if necessary.”

  “I guess recluses are good at hiding,” Sally growled.

  “Where’s Nin?” Ji looked toward the canal drain. “It’s almost dark enough to leave.”

  Sally nodded toward the ant lions clustered at the persimmon seeds on the ground. “They’ve been trickling in for ten minutes.”

  “Nin?” Ji asked. “Are you here?”

  Nin didn’t answer, so Ji asked again until he heard a faint Coming, coming! We’re scurrycrawling fast as we can!

  “Where’ve you been?” Ji asked when a few more ant lions crept around the statue.

  Spying! Nin said.

  “Did you hear anything?”

  Important things! An ant lion climbed onto Ji’s knee. About the queen. We quietcrept into a rock garden and heard the queen’s guard talking—

  “Why don’t you show us?” Sally interrupted.

  We’ll try, Sallynx. Let’s see. The whole thing started like this—

  An image rose in Ji’s mind of a huge, glossy beast. Red-brown splotches covered a rippling, bulging expanse of the creature’s skin. Eyes bulged above a wide mouth and a mottled throat inflated horribly. The monster squirmed and—

  It was a frog.

  An ordinary frog, from the viewpoint of an ant lion. Three ant lions raced toward it on six legs, golden manes shimmering and stingers poised to strike. One leaped at the frog and—

  Sorry! Nin said as the vision ended. Wrong vision! That was dinner.

  “You ate a frog for dinner,” Roz said.

  Don’t worry, Nin told her. Still room for dessert!

  Ji gave a tiny piece of persimmon to an ant lion on his knee. “What did you hear about the queen, Nin? Just tell us what
you heard.”

  She is weak. Very weak. The ant lion climbed onto Ji’s fingertip. The Rite always weakens queens and kings, but this time far worse.

  “Because of Ji messing around?” Chibo asked.

  Yes! Terribleji! She ruins everything!

  “He,” Ji muttered. “He ruins everything.”

  He admits it, too! The ant lion on his finger roared faintly in laughter. We heard the queen is weak now, and cannot ring the blackbells to wake all the clayfighters.

  “Good,” Roz said.

  But she is strong enough to wake a few fighters without the bells.

  “Bad,” Chibo said.

  Then they’ll hunt nonhumans and hackslash them into blood pudding.

  “Even badder.” Chibo shivered. “Sprites don’t like being hackslashed into blood pudding.”

  Ji scowled at the ant lion on his fingertip. “I thought the queen couldn’t wake the terra-cotta warriors without ringing the bells.”

  We’re just tellsaying what we heard!

  “Apparently she can’t wake all of them,” Roz said. “Only a few.”

  “A few is still too many,” Ji said.

  “What about that nursery rhyme?” Sally asked. “‘Ring the bells once and wake the soldiers, ring the bells twice, they sleep like boulders.’”

  “That’s not entirely the rhyme,” Roz said.

  “Forget the stupid rhyme!” Ji lifted his finger to his face. “When is she going to wake them, Nin? Did you hear that?”

  We did! We extracareful heard that. We crept close as a sideways leaf to hear that.

  “So tell us!”

  As soon as possible. Right now. She’s weak, though. Can only wake a few on the topmountain. Is there any more persimmon?

  “The topmountain?” Chibo said. “Now? Terra-cotta warriors are after us now?”

  “I’ll kick their pottery bums,” Sally snarled.

  “They feel no pain,” Roz told her. “They’re stronger than . . . well, a troll. And they can sense nonhumans.”

  “They sense nonhumans?” Chibo groaned. “We’re nonhumans. And they’re coming from the mountaintop? We’re on the mountaintop!”

  Ji tossed the ant lion into the urn. “Time to move. Now!”

  37

  THE SETTING SUN cast long shadows across the Forbidden Palace, and darkness gathered in a quiet cobblestone street between the inner and outer walls. A zither strummed, streetlamps flickered, and a raccoon dog barked.

  Nothing moved . . . until a furry blur rose from a rectangular drain in the gutter. Sally scanned the street, then bounded away. A moment later, she perched atop the canal wall, her ears swiveling.

  “All clear,” she growled.

  Beneath her, Ji strained to pull Nin’s urn through the drain while Roz pushed from below. Ji rolled the urn a few feet, giving Roz privacy while she squeezed through—then Chibo soared into the street from the drain, giggling madly.

  “I’m flying!” he fluted. “Wa-hoo!”

  “Snuff your lights!” Ji hissed. “And shut your ricehole!”

  “Sorry!” Chibo’s wings darkened, and he landed beside Roz. “What now?”

  Ji’s neck prickled with nervous sweat. The street was quiet, but danger lurked around every corner. He frowned at the sunset, then considered the high steeple of a building in front of them.

  “Sal!” he said, pointing. “You want to climb that for a better look?”

  “I’ve got this,” she growled. “C’mon!” She led them behind the steepled building and through a courtyard, then bounded onto a low roof. “Follow me from down there.”

  We miss the toproofs, Nin said. We like chimneys.

  “There’s a word for that,” Ji said.

  You mean . . . “chimneyfond”?

  “No,” Ji said. “I mean ‘weird.’”

  Sally scampered along the eaves, as quick and confident as a gecko on a lumpy wall. Then she paused and raised one paw: stop. At her signal, Roz halted, hugging Nin’s urn while Ji squeezed Chibo’s arm.

  After a breathless minute, Sally lowered her paw. She leaped to the ground and loped into a park. She led them along a path past a pond covered with floating flowers. Lotus blossoms perfumed the air. Fireflies twirled and danced around three statues on a pedestal rising from the water.

  “We’re almost there,” Sally purred, landing on the branch of a plum blossom tree. “Two hundred yards to the outer wall, then we’ll hit the city streets.”

  “Can you find Ti-Lin-Su’s house?” Ji asked Roz.

  “Yes, I believe so,” Roz said. “Though two hundred yards is a problem.”

  “Two hundred yards is nothing,” Chibo said, in his piping voice. “I mean, because I can—”

  “Fly?” Sally knocked him on the bald head. “Can you fly? I had no idea you could fly, because you haven’t mentioned it a hundred times!”

  A rocky crrrrrrrrrt sounded from the pond.

  Ji spun toward the noise but didn’t see anything alarming; just fireflies swooping and water lapping. Then another crrrt sounded. A shadow moved across the statues on the pedestal in the pond, and Ji’s blood turned to ice.

  “War-warriors!” he stammered. “There!”

  “What?” Sally leaped protectively in front of him. “Where?”

  “There!” he said, pointing at the statues. “Pond, look!”

  Clay heads swiveled on clay necks with a scraping crrrrrt, and clay feet tore free of the pedestal. Clay arms lifted clay tomahawks, and then the three warriors turned toward the plum blossom tree.

  The statues were terra-cotta warriors . . . . and they were waking up.

  Shock gripped Ji’s heart. Terror chained his feet to the ground. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t look away.

  The warriors slow-marched from the pedestal—and splashed into the pond. All three disappeared underwater. Ripples spread, and the lotus flowers shivered and twirled, closer and closer to the shore.

  Then three jaguar-head helmets broke the surface.

  “Run, run!” Ji yelped, backpedaling. “Chibo, into the air. Sally, get us out of here!”

  The terra-cotta warriors trooped from the pond, shedding water. A lotus flower clung to one warrior’s expressionless face, but that didn’t make him any less scary.

  “Roz!” Ji glanced over his shoulder as he raced away. “If they get too close, smash them or—”

  The flower-faced warrior swiped at an avocado tree with its tomahawk, to clear a path. The trunk exploded into splinters, and the warrior didn’t even pause—it just stomped slowly onward.

  “Forget smashing!” Ji told Roz. “If they get too close, run faster!”

  The avocado tree crashed into a lamppost. Glass shattered and oil spilled and Sally glanced over her furry shoulder. “Fire,” she yowled. “They started a fire!”

  Fastrun! Nin urged. Fastrun faster!

  The thudding footsteps of the terra-cotta warriors sounded behind them. Chibo flew closely overhead, while Ji and Roz raced after Sally—who darted suddenly into an open doorway.

  “Ji!” she yelled, emerging with a spear and a sword. “Catch!”

  She tossed the sword to Ji. It chopped through the air like a meat cleaver aimed at a chicken’s neck.

  Ji dodged sideways and yelped. “Hey!”

  Roz caught the sword by the blade, a foot from Ji’s face. If it hadn’t been for her troll skin, she would’ve sliced her fingers off. She spun the sword, grabbed the hilt, and hefted Nin’s urn higher on her hip with her other hand.

  “What are we supposed to do with this, Sally?” she asked.

  “We need weapons!” Sally called over her shoulder, loping away from the terra-cotta warriors.

  “I prefer a teakettle.”

  “Don’t be doolally! What if—” Sally’s spear snagged in a bush. She tripped over the haft and tumbled onto her face. “Waaaa!”

  After she scrambled back to her feet and kicked the spear, they raced from the outbuildings toward a wooded
section of the Forbidden Palace. Roz tossed the sword aside, and nobody said anything about weapons again.

  A quiet moons-lit meadow stretched in front of them, with prayer flags fluttering. Ji didn’t see any peacocks this time—but he heard the terra-cotta warriors crashing through the trees. He and Chibo scrambled down a sage-covered hillside behind Sally, then blundered into a stony field dotted with mulberry bushes.

  Where two more terra-cotta warriors marched toward them. Weapons raised, faces blank. Unblinking, unbreathing.

  Roz froze. Chibo trembled. Ji gulped . . . and Sally bounded in front of the warriors.

  “You’ve got to get through me first,” she growled, raising her hackles.

  She looked like an angry hamster staring down wolves, but the terra-cotta warriors didn’t even glance at her. They stomped past, shedding dirt and leaves, and marched toward the hillside. Away from Sally. Away from everyone.

  “Nobody messes with the hobgoblin!” Sally crowed, and hopped around brandishing her fists.

  Oh, troublebig! Nin’s voices said. Troublebig badnews! They’re not after us.

  “That’s good news, Nin,” Ji told the urn.

  They sniffout nonhumans, Sneakyji. They’re hunting the goblins.

  “Oh, no,” Chibo gasped.

  Ji rubbed his face. “We don’t know they’re after the goblins,” he said, even though they probably were. “And we’re nonhuman, too. C’mon, let’s go.”

  “The goblins helped us,” Sally growled. “Abandoning them is dishonorable.”

  “They’re not hunting goblins,” Ji said, looking toward the retreating Warriors. “You know they’re going to turn around any second to stomp us.”

  “We’re only partly nonhuman,” Roz rumbled. “Goblins are fully nonhuman. I expect the terra-cotta warriors will exterminate them first, then return for us.”

  “Let’s not wait around to find out.”

  “Trouble,” Sally growled, her ears swiveling toward the sage-covered hillside.

  Ji peered through the dusk at the two terra-cotta warriors plodding uphill, tomahawks rising and falling. They were leaving, which was the opposite of trouble. Then he saw a third terra-cotta warrior—the one with flowers draped across its clay face—stomping downward, toward the stony field. Toward them.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Roz asked.

  “Which one?” Chibo asked. “What’s happening?”