Emily shook her head. “Success brought us here, so there must be a reason.”
“I say we go.” Adam looked at Palustric, who nodded his agreement.
“You always agree with Adam.” Emily’s silver eyes blazed at the dwarf. “Even if we go, where do we go, eh?”
“Anywhere,” Adam said defiantly, “anything is better than wasting time here.”
“At least we’re comfortable, and as I said, I’m sure we’re here for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“We've got to get home, or have you forgotten?” Emily said angrily.
There was a long silence in which Adam felt that there was something wrong, but try as he might, he couldn’t think what it was. All three looked at Lar, who hadn’t said a word.
“Why do you look at me?” the pixy squeaked.
“You decide, Lar,” Emily’s voice was gentler.
The pixy’s slatted eyes squinted from one to the other. “Of course, pixies would never argue over something so obvious—”
“Obvious?” Emily said, just as Palustric growled, “What’s obvious?”
“It’s obvious…at least, we pixies believe that the wintering bird never flies into the teeth of the wind, is it not so?” He spread his hands and opened his eyes wider.
“The wind brought us, so we’ll let it take us too,” Emily latched onto the saying and looked straight at her brother.
Adam stood up and crossed over to the window and, looking out, bored, said, “Speaking of wind, I think we’re in the doldrums, but I suppose pixy lore must be right.” Secretly, he was thinking about Sapiens but chose not to mention the wizard’s advice for the moment.
After another couple of days, when Adam’s boredom and frustration were becoming unbearable, something happened. They were crossing the entrance hall to go out when one of the goblin waiters politely asked them into the owner’s office. Dimly lit, behind his dark, oak desk and dressed in his usual black velvet, the goblin looked like a crow in its nest.
“Oh, do come in! I'm so sorry,” he said, “so very sorry. I had no idea, of course!”
The four friends looked at each other.
“I’m mortified; if I’d known that such a famous person was gracing my poor hotel—” He stood up and, with an exaggerated bow towards Emily, addressed the luxurious carpet, “I’d certainly have offered our best suite!” He straightened up. “But how was I to know? I have so little time to read The Investor and Accumulator’s Gazette.”
“But we’re not famous,” Emily objected.
The goblin grinned wider with certainty. “You’re Emily Dragonfly, that’s who you are! And what’s more, the Archgoblin himself wants to see you.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone, “Modestly speaking, I, myself, personally showed your brooch to the Archgoblin, himself, in person! Now the brooch is his, I’m honoured to say,” although the goblin’s expression was more regretful than honoured. “Take this card. With this, you will be admitted into the Archgoblin’s presence.” He continued with a reverential explanation about the Archgoblin’s wealth, power and importance. Only after a long, patient wait were they given directions to arrive at his magnificent palace.
Nothing the goblin had said had prepared them for that place or the Archgoblin. Although entering through gates of wrought gold gave an idea of the wealth that lay within. They passed through an ornamental garden, where a heated waterfall splashed into an inviting pool, along an avenue where numerous goblin gardeners tended fruit trees laden with every kind of fruit and nut.
Green velvet uniformed servants admitted them through a hall into a visitors’ ante-chamber. A series of gilt-framed portraits hung on the wood-panelled walls. They were all of goblins: goblins wearing lace ruffs, goblins in silk dresses and goblins in armour. And all of them singularly ugly.
“Our host’s ancestors,” Palustric said.
Emily gazed along the walls. “Aren't they ugly?”
“Hush!” Adam looked anxiously towards the door at the silent, unmoving goblin footman.
When a bell rang on the wall above the door, the footman nodded towards them, gliding over to the double door, which he threw open with a white-gloved flourish. He stood aside and bowed, indicating the way with his right hand. Feeling smaller than usual, the four friends entered the Archgoblin’s reception chamber.
The Honourable Forty-Fourth Archgoblin stood, hands clasped behind him, in front of a marble fireplace where a log fire crackled cheerfully.
He was particularly ugly, even for a goblin, and stood out among Highland Goblins for his greater height and girth. The Archgoblin was nearly as tall as Adam and at least five times fatter. He stood out, moreover, for the richness of his well-tailored clothes. Under a red hunting jacket, the gold buttons of his yellow waistcoat fought a desperate battle to keep his stomach in check. Each button bore the family crest. A crest which was repeated on the hilt of his sword and on some of the fifteen heavy gold rings which crowded his fingers. I wonder how he ever manages to lift his hands with all that weight, thought the intrigued Emily.
Goblin eyes are always black, but the Archgoblin’s were also small and crafty, lost in a heavy face, where whiskers sprouted from the flat goblin nose above a wide mouth. The whole was made more grotesque by its permanently curled upper lip. Indeed, the Archgoblin’s wobbly jowls with their silver sideburn-tufts under a domed brow gave the idea of a boar without tusks.
The Archgoblin raised a hand in a golden arc of greeting, and his lip curled even more in an intended pleasant smile.
“Welcome, dearest friends. Welcome to my humble home. It doesn’t reflect my…” he coughed modestly— “…ahem…standing in society, but it’s been the family home for so long, I’m very fond of it. I hope you understand.”
“B-but it's lovely!” Emily gazed around the richly furnished room.
“You are far…infinitely…too kind, my dear.” The Archgoblin bowed.
Adam and Palustric exchanged a glance which said that they weren’t going to like their host. Emily, on the other hand, was charmed by the Archgoblin, and it showed in her smile.
The Archgoblin reached across to a bell-pull, and a servant entered at once. His master whispered something in his ear; the servant bowed out of the room.
“I’ve sent for my tailor,” the Archgoblin announced. He smiled at the little group. “A little lace, a little velvet…” his hand traced another golden arc, “…wouldn’t go amiss. I really can’t let you remain…” he sniffed, “…in that state.”
Adam's pride was hurt. “I don't need new clothes, thank you. These will do fine!”
“Oh, Adam!” Emily gasped.
The Archgoblin smiled an oily smile. “As you please, dear boy. But you must allow a gracious lady such as your sister to dress in style.”
The day passed in the Archgoblin’s company, during which time Adam lost his sister. The more Emily liked the Archgoblin, the more Adam’s dislike for him grew. Until, after what Adam took to be yet another insult, the boy stormed out of the house. He led Palustric and Lar right out of the Citadel to the goblin village outside the walls, where to their relief, they found a simple inn for their lodgings.
Emily was shocked and hurt by what she considered Adam’s boorish behaviour. Of course, she thought, I have always had superior manners. In reality, the Archgoblin’s promises had seduced her. Over a splendid dinner, they struck a deal. Her host agreed to set up Emily with the best workshop, forge and workers, with no expense spared. There she would make her dragonfly brooches. She would also have her own house, servants and coat-of-arms. In exchange, the Archgoblin would have the right to choose and take one in every three brooches created by Emily.
Emily returned to THE BULGING PURSE HOTEL and discovered that the others had gone. She wasn’t particularly upset because she had so much to think about. Tomorrow, she had an appointment to have elegant clothes fitted and another to choose her house and furnishings. It was all so exciting; she could have the best of everyth
ing that money could buy. She dreamt on for a while and distractedly thought how badly Adam had behaved. Just wait till she saw him again! He had nearly spoilt everything with his bad manners. She frowned and returned to her thoughts of wealth and power.
21
Emily and Adam used the next few months apart in very different ways.
“By my black blood!” cried Malrog the Goblin as he failed to parry Adam’s thrust. “If the sword hadn’t had a button, I would have had at least three inches of your blade in my chest. There’s no doubt at all, the student has surpassed his master! Now, I’ve nothing left to teach you.” Saluting his young adversary, the bow-legged goblin laid down his practice sword and sat on a rock to get his breath back.
Of course, it hadn’t been so easy at the start. Adam smiled wryly at the memory of his first few days. He was mortified time and again; he felt clumsy and leaden-footed, body mottled with bruises and ego badly mauled. Slowly, slowly, and then, ever faster, he’d improved until now he was excellent.
Malrog hadn’t exaggerated when he said that he had nothing left to teach Adam. In only a few months, the long-legged boy had become a really fearsome swordsman. For some time now, to tell the truth, Adam had continued practising and listening closely to his master, letting the goblin occasionally touch him with his sword not to hurt his feelings. Of course, before long, Malrog realised but wasn’t offended because he had grown fond of the boy.
Malrog stood up slowly and, shaking his long, goblin arm, picked up his sword once more. “Well, you almost know more than me. I’m sure you can rid yourself of any adversary, but just in case one proves more difficult, I’ll teach you a move that is my secret alone.”
“Your secret?” Adam repeated with great interest but didn’t have time to think about it.
“On guard!” Malrog shouted, crossing swords with a clash. For a while, they fenced as usual, but suddenly Malrog brought his sword from a high defensive position in a series of feints, then crossed swords from an angle which disarmed Adam and left Malrog’s sword at his throat. “Again!” the goblin cried, and once more, Adam’s sword hit the ground while Malrog’s pressed at his throat.
“Now I see!” Adam exclaimed and, to prove his words, repeated the move several times.
“Now I really have nothing left to teach you, Adam,” Malrog said, “except to tell you that you should only draw your sword in anger when you have no other choice. By the way, promise to keep our secret! You know, you’re the best student I’ve ever had the honour of teaching.”
During his apprenticeship as a swordsman, word occasionally reached Adam about his sister. Sometimes Lar or Palustric, chatting with goblins, heard something about Emily. It wasn’t so difficult because she was already the wonder of the Citadel. Her dragonfly brooches were more magnificent than ever. Thanks to the Archgoblin, Emily could use any material she desired, her tools were the best that money could buy, and the results were breathtakingly beautiful. Her prices were high, but there was no shortage of buyers, not just among the Highland Goblins, but now THE BULGING PURSE HOTEL was no longer the empty place they had stayed in some months ago. A new NO VACANCIES sign appeared in reception for the many wealthy would-be buyers arriving from the Elven lands, from Brownie hamlets and from the Dwarfish towns. Among the well-to-do, to pin an Emily Dragonfly brooch to one’s evening gown was not only desirable but also essential. Anyone of standing could not be seen without one.
From the village below, goblins had pointed out to Adam his sister’s golden-turreted house. This had not been necessary because the banner which fluttered there bore her coat-of-arms: a pale blue dragonfly on a silver ground. Adam shrugged on these occasions and thought bitterly how his sister had changed. She really seemed to fit perfectly into Citadel life. It just showed, no matter how well you thought you knew a person, you could always get a shock. Emily hadn’t even tried to get in touch with them, as if she had shut them out of her life.
The months dragged on in this way. The three friends only heard about Emily and her successes second-hand. One morning, things changed; the day began with frantic hammering on the inn door.
“What is it, what is it?” their landlord hurried to the door. “Anybody would think the Citadel’s about to fall on our heads!” he grumbled.
“Where’s Adam?” the agitated goblins demanded of the landlord as he opened the door. “Quick! Fetch him!”
Curious goblins began to gather outside the inn until, by the time Adam came downstairs, tucking in his shirt and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, quite a crowd had gathered.
“Come with us, quickly!” the goblins urged so that Adam found himself jostled in a procession, hurrying through the village towards the Citadel. When Adam asked questions, the goblins hurried him on, saying that there was no time to lose. They came to a little hut on the road to the Citadel, where they stopped and pushed Adam inside.
In the corner of the little hut, lying on a straw bed, was a uniformed goblin. At once, Adam saw that he was wounded. Black blood seeped from his chest, darkening the emblem there. He recognised the blood-stained dragonfly and hurried to kneel by the dying soldier’s side.
“My mistress—” the goblin croaked in a voice so weak that Adam had to put his ear near his sickly face.
“Ay? Tell me!”
“Taken…in prison—” the goblin groaned and closed his eyes.
“Who, why?”
“Arch…goblin—” the soldier gasped, opened his eyes while Adam watched them grow dull. With his dying breath, he sighed one word— “masterpiece.”
Adam stood up and gazed vaguely around him. “Masterpiece?” he muttered, then in a clear voice: “Bury him!” He pushed his way out of the hut. There was something in the boy’s face which warned the goblins not to speak to him. None of the goblins followed him.
Adam pondered as he hurried to the inn. Emily was in danger. He had never trusted the Archgoblin; that loathsome creature had thrown his sister in prison. But why? Her guard had said masterpiece with his dying breath. What did that mean?
Adam found Lar and Palustric up and dressed, waiting anxiously for him. He rushed his explanation and, seizing Lar by the arm, told him to speak to the horse. “Tell him Emily’s in danger,” Adam said, “and that I’ll need his help. I'm off upstairs for my sword.”
A few minutes later, from the saddle, he ordered the dwarf and the pixy to wait for him at the inn. Their protests were choked by a cloud of dust as Adam galloped Blitz towards the Citadel.
He was in luck because the drawbridge was down. The goblin guards only had time to cross their pikes to bar his way, but the black stallion leapt over them smoothly without any command from Adam. The horse was worried about his mistress; no guard was going to block his way. Two or three arrows flew past Adam’s head, but now Blitz was past the fountain and speeding up the hill towards the Archgoblin’s palace. Adam didn’t care a fig that animals were not allowed into the Citadel: his sister was in danger.
The wrought gold gates were closed, so Adam was just considering halting Blitz when the stallion increased his speed.
“Aw, no!” Adam dropped the reins and flung his arms around Blitz’s neck as the stallion took off into an impossible leap. Adam closed his eyes and they flew. When he opened them again, they were inside and speeding along the avenue towards the courtyard.
“Steady on, Blitz,” Adam begged in his ear, but the horse put his head forward and went even faster. His mistress was in danger, and there was no time to waste.
Blitz skidded to a halt in front of the ornamental steps leading to the main entrance. Nobody had ever dismounted a horse as quickly or with as much relief as Adam at that moment. Even so, as he drew his sword, he thanked the stallion. His words were lost in the loud clanging of the alarm bell.
Two guards with drawn swords ran towards him while others were coming. Adam took in the situation with the eye of an expert, if inexperienced-in-real-combat, swordsman. He would have to put these two out of action quickly so that h
e could hold the steps and avoid being surrounded.
Adam blessed Malrog for his secret as two swords went arcing through the air. The two guards ran to retrieve their swords, and Adam realised with regret that he would have to hurt them if he wanted to reach the Archgoblin.
There were about twenty goblin guards in the grounds, but only two at a time could attack him on the steps. Two at a time were therefore disarmed and wounded in the sword arm, always in the same place: in the upper-arm muscle so that they could fight no more.
Adam kicked open the door and strode into the Archgoblin’s palace. At the sight of his bloodied sword, the uniformed servants scattered in all directions. Adam kicked open the antechamber’s double door with a great crash and came face to face with a shocked footman who made the mistake of turning and reaching for a heavy candlestick. Adam pounced and hit him with his sword hilt between two spiky tufts at the back of his head.
“No need for candlelight when you’re asleep,” Adam muttered as the goblin fell unconscious at his feet.
Adam entered the Archgoblin’s chamber.
“I could give you a little push onto that fire,” Adam said as he placed the point of his sword under the Archgoblin’s double chin.
Even with the unpleasant feeling of cold steel at his throat, the Archgoblin’s small, black eyes shone with craftiness, not fear.
“My dear boy,” he forced a smile, “this is not the way to present oneself in another’s home.”
“What have you done with my sister? Where is she?”
The Archgoblin slowly spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “My dear boy, I don’t know.”
Adam pressed the sword just a little more. “Take me to her,” he ordered.
Beads of sweat appeared on the Archgoblin’s brow; he spoke very quickly, “The sword isn’t necessary. It’s not a civil way to converse at all!”
Adam was losing patience. “Tell that to Emily’s guards!” he snapped. “Now, lead the way.”
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