Next to the stone oven John found a small pile of wood. None of it was chopped or cut. It had been broken into logs roughly a foot and a half long. Whoever had broken that wood must have been very strong. He thought about using it to make the fire he needed for cooking but decided instead to use the wood he collected by the firepit in the forest. He opened the metal doors on the front of the rectangular stone appliance. The chamber behind the one on the left, below the six round plates of metal, had ashes in it from a past fire. Behind the metal door on the right was an open chamber with a crude metal rack in it. The metal rack stood on four stout legs. The chamber on the left connected to the chamber on the right through a few very large holes. He closed the metal door on the right and went back to the one on the left. Reaching into his pocket he thought of a large piece of charcoal with bits of brown wood still showing in it. One materialized in this hand and he put it in the firebox among the ashes. He repeated the process a few times until he had a tidy foundation built. The next step was to acquire some kindling.
“Hey Cattle Dog,” he called to Dingo Boy who opened his eyes and sleepily wagged his tail but didn’t rise. “You’re a sleepy boy. Mind if I look in your pouches?” The dog stretched out like a diver plunging into water. He yawned, his tongue sticking out and curling. His tail curled to match his tongue. Then he rolled onto his side and eyed John without lifting his head. “Well, hopefully I’ll find what I’m looking for in this pouch or you’ll have to flip over so I can get to the one you’re laying on.” A snort and a sneeze was the answer he got from the dog. John reached into the pouch and thought of twigs and small sticks. Several materialized in his hand. He pulled them out and made a small pile next to the Heeler under the table. He added to it until he had a generous pile. After the sticks he tried for dried leaves but got nothing. Then he put his hand into the pouch and thought of dried grass and nothing happened. He’d have to make due. He didn’t want to disturb his buddy’s nap further for items he was unlikely to have collected this early in summer. He took his pile of kindling to the firebox and realized he had no way to start the fire.
“Fire, fire, fire,” mumbled the man as he looked around the kitchen for something that might start a fire. It was clear the oven had been used recently. The pile of wood and the ash in the firebox was proof of that. There must be a way to start a fire somewhere in the kitchen.
“Hey John,” said the gun conspiratorily.
“What do you need, Nath-esh? I’m trying to find something to use to start a fire.”
“I might be able to help with that, John.”
“How?” asked the man skeptically.
“Well… I AM… a firearm…” Nath-esh said conspiratorily.
“Very funny but not helpful.”
“You’d be surprised. In fact I will surprise you. You want to set the charcoal and sticks on fire, right?” asked the Angelic Shard.
“Have you been ‘ghosting’ again?”
“Astral projecting? Always. As much as I can. I haunt you like it’s my job.” The revolver thought about it for a moment. “Wait a second. It IS my job!”
“I thought your job was to help me.”
“Sure, sure, just like I said. Anyway, point me at the charcoal and pull the trigger.”
“I don’t want to blow a hole in it! I want to set it on fire!” exclaimed the Warrior.
“Yep. Just trust me. I got this!” proclaimed the firearm.
Hesitantly John drew the .357 magnum from its holster noticing that the next cylinder to fire had a faint glow that was fading. He walked to the open firebox, crouched down, and pointed the gun at the charcoal. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Yep! Hold me at an angle, about thirty degrees should do.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect! Pull the trigger!” The gun sounded altogether too enthusiastic.
John winced as he pulled the trigger. A muffled ‘floomp’ sound issued from the gun and a spray of glowing red material scattered from its barrel into the coal. John stared at it in wonder.
“Quick, blow on it and add the sticks!” said Nath-esh.
John returned the revolver to his jacket and did as he was bid. The material from the gun glowed brighter as he blew on it and the charcoal started to glow. He continued to blow and small flames wafted among the embers. He added the twigs and small sticks and blew gently until they too caught fire. He tended the growing flames carefully and soon he was able to put the dry seasoned wood from his pocket onto them. With more careful tending he was able to get the wood burning. When the fire was strong enough he stoked it with more wood and closed the metal door.
“Thanks!” John said.
“You’re welcome,” the gun replied.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Me either. I’m glad it worked out.” the gun said thoughtfully.
“Me too,” said the man. “What did you do?”
“I dissolved the bullet and part of the powder from a round and replaced them with tiny bits of fat wood and pitch.”
“That was smart,” the man complimented. “Was it dangerous?”
“Only to the person holding the gun,” replied Nath-esh glibly.
John let it go and returned to the table and the rabbit in the pan. He contemplated it for a moment then went to the cupboard with the herbs and spices in it. He pulled out a bottle of oil and set it on the long table. Back at the cupboard he opened and sniffed at the contents of several containers until he found herbs that smelled like rosemary, sage, thyme, and basil. All of them were dried and crumbled so he couldn’t be sure of what they were. He decided that if they smelled right they would likely taste fine. He put them on the table as well as a container with salt in it. During his investigation he’d found a jar of some kind of pepper. It was a reddish brown, not black, but was unmistakably pepper. He got it from the cupboard and put it on the table as well. He tasted a small bit and it did, indeed, taste like black pepper but it was milder and a little fruity. He liked it quite a bit and found himself getting excited for the meal to come.
First oil went into the pan. John lightly coated the entire cooking surface. Next he used the knife to split the breastbone of the rabbit and he pulled it open so he could flatten the carcass in the pan. He poured a little oil over the rabbit, spread it evenly with his hands, and did the same for the heart, kidneys, and liver. He wiped the oil off his hands with the slightly damp towel he’d dried them off on earlier. He picked up one of the herb containers and sprinkled some of the contents evenly over the rabbit. As he returned it to the table he caught the green head in the archway out of the corner of his eye.
He did not react, startled though he was. He didn’t feel in danger from his unexpected visitor. The chair holding the kitchen door shut was still there. He was sure the diminutive person in the doorway wouldn’t be able to lift a chair, they’d have to drag it. The sound would have alerted Dingo Boy if not John himself. This being the case he was sure that the door in the adjoining room was still blocked as well. How did this little green person get into the other room? Certainly not through the secured door.
He felt no hostility from this figure peeking at him. There was no need to defend himself or harm it. Killing the giant rats was necessary, they’d obviously posed a threat. The one in the forest had attacked him and the one near the cave-in had attacked his buddy. This visitor was simply watching him. There was nothing hostile about that. Four chimes rang out, one after the other. They were very pleasant and seemed to come from all directions at once. John recognised the sounds and wondered which stats had just increased. He decided to check later and made a mental note to do so. His little visitor intrigued him so he chose to continue cooking and monitor the situation.
John picked up another herb container and sprinkled some of its contents over the rabbit, considered, then sprinkled some more. He continued the seasoning process with the rest of the containers including the ones holding the salt and the pepper in them. The rabbit looked good but he wished he had onions and garlic. He had an idea. He knelt down to check Dingo Boy’s pouches forgetting the visitor in the other room. The dog’s sleepy eyes cracked open, his nose twitched, and he was up. He looked around, grabbed his red ball from the kitchen floor, and trotted through the archway.
The little Cook stood frozen in fear. The dog was standing in front of her! He had some terrible, bloody thing in his mouth! He was watching her with a piercing stare! Then he took a step toward her and poked her with the red thing in his mouth. The goblin almost fainted. Then the voice of the man came from the archway.
“He want play. You play? Throw ball. He like.”
This strange man spoke Goblinese?!? She knew all those words but ‘play’ was rarely ever used. She looked up and there he was, looking back at her. He was so tall and not green and not ugly. She felt her cheeks get hot. “You say goblin words?”
“Goblin words? This goblin words? You goblin?”
She blinked at him, overwhelmed. A timid “Yes.” was all she could manage. How could he not know she was a goblin and be speaking the language of goblins?
The man was still looking at her. The dog was still staring at her. She wished she had run. He knelt down and she backed away. He held his hand in front of the dog and said a word. It wasn’t in her language. She mouthed it to herself, “drop.” The dog gave the red thing, the ball, in his mouth to the man who stood. The dog’s eyes followed the ball. The man threw it away and the dog raced after it. A moment later he was back, standing in front of her, staring at her with the ball in his mouth.
“That play. You want play?” he asked. The dog took a step toward her again and she backed against the wall. This time the ball was placed on the ground in front of her and he backed away wagging his tail. He looked at the ball, then at her, then at the ball again. Timidly she picked up the slightly wet toy and threw it into the tables room. The dog ran after it and brought it back to her. He put it on the ground at her feet and she smiled.
John watched the female goblin play with the dog. Goblin, she was a goblin, what did he know about goblins? In games and anime they were always evil. She didn’t seem evil. Sure, she looked the part, red eyes and all, but she didn’t act it. Dingo Boy liked her and he had to admit the dog was a better judge of character than he was. As they played she would occasionally glance up at him. Red suffused her cheeks. Was she blushing? The goblin reminded him of a child. How old was she? Was she a child? He cleared his throat and she looked up at him. “Me John. John my name. What you name?”
“No name! King have name. Only King.” she looked at him like he should know this already.
“You no have?” he asked. Only her King had a name? That was bizarre.
“No name. Me Cook!” She said proudly.
“You cook?” He asked. Were goblins addressed by their occupations? He tried to ask but the words wouldn’t come. Apparently his ability to speak any language was limited by the structure of the language itself. There was no good way to ask the question in the language they were speaking.
She threw the ball again for Dingo Boy and said, “John.” The name was strange for her. The language they were speaking was very guttural and the ‘hn’ sound gave her trouble.
“John.” He agreed, pointing at himself. Then he pointed at the Cattle Dog and said, “Dingo Boy.”
“Dinbo Goy.” She tried but slightly missed the mark.
“Dingo Boy.” He repeated.
“Dingo Boy,” she said very carefully. The dog, who was waiting for the ball to be thrown again, barked at the sound of his name. The goblin winced and said, “Shhhh. No yell. Quiet!”
“Why quiet? More goblins come?” John asked.
“Maybe. Goblins come. Maybe.” She threw the ball for the dog again. “Maybe. King come. Maybe. Eat dog. Maybe.” She looked sad at the thought.
“King eat dog?” John asked in shock.
“King eat,” she agreed solemnly. She brightened and asked, “You cook?”
“Me cook.” He agreed and this made her smile.
“You Cook?” she asked.
John’s translation ability caught the distinction and he said. “No. Me cook. Not Cook.”
She blinked up at him. “You cook. No Cook.” She was clearly mystified. “Me watch?”
“You watch.” John confirmed and he walked into the kitchen. She followed him and brought her basket which she put on the long table. Dingo Boy followed them panting. John knelt down and took the silver bowl from his pouch. He set it on the ground and it filled with clean fresh water. The dingo mix drank from it enthusiastically. The little goblin watched all of this and tilted her head this way and that as she did. John reached into the Heeler’s pouch again and pulled out a handful of the garlic mustard leaves. This caught the Cook’s attention and she watched as he set them on the table. The Cattle Dog finished drinking and returned to the spot where he’d been napping before the game of fetch. John retrieved the mystical bowl and took it to the sink. He dumped out the water, used it to rinse itself, and put it on the table. The goblin watched it fill and her head tilted again.
“How?” she asked and pointed at the bowl.
“Special.” John explained. In her language it was the only way he could explain.
“Lots special.” said the goblin holding up both hands with all of the clawed fingers spread.
The man washed the leaves in the bowl and began spreading them evenly over the prepared rabbit. The little Cook watched with amazement. He held one of them out to her and she looked at it but didn’t take it. “Good plant. Taste good. Make rabbit good.” He placed the last leaf on the rabbit and put it in the preheated oven. Then he added a few more pieces of wood to the firebox.
“Rabbit?” asked the goblin with wonder in her voice. “Eat rabbit?” she asked and the man nodded. She smiled a huge smile. Rabbits were very fast, hard to catch, and a rare delicacy reserved only for the King.
“We wait,” said John. With no way to keep track of time he’d simply keep the coal bed stoked and check on the rabbit when it smelled like it was done.
Nath-esh stood, astrally projected, next to the table watching the female goblin as she watched John prepare the rabbit. She glanced at the holy light, Shirak, now and again and the wonder in her eyes was obvious to the Angelic Shard. She could see the light and, therefore, was not evil. Though there were nearly countless races in Creation Nathanael had equipped him with information on many of the most common ones. Goblins were, by and large, spiteful, petty, cowardice, cruel, selfish, and malevolent. In one word, they were evil.
A faint sound in the wide hallway outside the kitchen door distracted Nath-esh from his consideration of the goblin Cook. He turned toward the door and walked across the room. As he did, he began to shrink. By the time he reached it he was three apples high. The Cattle Dog rolled over and watched him go for a moment then got up and followed. When he reached the little Virtue he sniffed him and then sniffed at the crack under the door. The Angelic Shard shrunk more and walked under the door, standing in the gap between it and the floor. In the corridor where the huge rat corpses had been stood a hobgoblin.
Nath-esh knew about hobgoblins as well. They were a mutation of goblins, the same creature but with gigantism traits. This one was clearly evil. The holy light under this door would be a beacon in the darkness to any creature in the hallway. Any creature able to see it at least. The hobgoblin in the corridor could not see the light and that was bad.
There was a touch on his mind and he glanced over his shoulder at the enormous muzzle of the Heeler. The dog was laying flat on the floor sniffing under the door. A mental connection opened in his mind. “Friend?” asked Dingo Boy. The smell of the hobgoblin in the corridor and an image of the female goblin came with the word.
It was clear that the Cattle Dog was asking if the hobgoblin was friendly like the little cook standing at the table with John. “No,” said the Angelic Shard to the Heeler. Then he returned to his anchor, the gun in its holster, once more. The Warrior might need him sooner than later.
The hobgoblin stood in the corridor, down from the doors leading to the female goblin’s cooking place and the room with the round tables. There was drying blood on the ground, a lot of it, and it had streaks in it that ran down the passage in the direction he’d come from. He’d seen those streaks on his way here but wanted to find the spot where the rats were killed. The female who cooked for the King said a man killed the rats with a loud sound. The hobgoblin guard had hoped to find the man and his dog. He would kill them and bring them back to the King. The King would eat the dog, he was sure of that, but maybe the hobgoblin guards would be allowed to eat the man. Drool ran from the side of his mouth. He had gotten a few bites of a woman the night they raided the farms. Would the man taste as good as that woman? He walked past the blood and continued down the wide hallway. He had come to see if a snake had eaten the dead rats and it looked like one did. Now he was hunting the man and the dog.
He found another place where a large rat had been killed but the body was gone. Only blood remained and the bloody smears that showed the passage of a giant snake. He continued on and found yet another puddle of blood. That great rat was also gone. The corridor turned a corner just ahead, going off to the left. In the wall in front of him near the ceiling was a hole large enough for him to climb into. Fresh air flowed through these holes and the snakes used them to move through the Stone Halls. They nested in a collapsed area of the tribe’s underground domain. The hole made the guard nervous so he drew the sword he wore on his hip. It was a very fine sword, one of many found by the tribe when they came here. He pointed it at the hole as he passed, rounding the corner.
When he found the dead giant rat where the wide hallway ended in a cave-in he was, at first, disappointed. The way was blocked and there was no man or dog here. His daydream of impressing Ragglenash and being rewarded with human flesh was over. He kicked the dead rat to express his frustration. It rolled across the floor and he watched it until it came to a stop. Now he’d have to drag this big rodent all the way back to the throne room. Being the smallest guard meant always getting the worst jobs. Maybe he should leave it here and make the three goblins come back for it. They were supposed to get the rats the man killed and bring them back to the King but the dumb snake had eaten them. No one even knew this rat was here and now he was responsible for it. All of these facts tumbled through the hobgoblin’s head. He looked at the dead rat, a rat no other goblin or hobgoblin knew about. He looked up the corridor at the corner which hid him from the view of anyone who might come to find him. He calculated how long he’d been gone as he took another bite of the dead rat he had apparently been eating since realizing that no one knew about it but him.
Joy Michaud sat at the table in the chair next to Timmon Legue with a mischievous grin on her face. She had the same red curls, green eyes, and freckles as her cousin Tannyah. They were gifts from their mothers. She did not share Tannyah’s height, that was a gift from her cousin’s father. Joy had other assets instead. Assets she was trying to bring to Timmon’s attention without her father noticing. Warren Michaud, the aforementioned father, was sitting at the end of the table next to her. He was of average height with weathered features and short cropped black hair. His build was similar to Sebastian’s and they shared the same occupation. There was a small piece of metal shaped like a mushroom on the table in front of the man. He eyed it and then he eyed the other Hunter at the far end of the table.
“What d’ ya think, Warren?” asked Sebastian.
“I figuhe ya’re tellin’ tales, boy,” the man responded, glancing at his daughter who was sitting as close to Timmon as possible without climbing into the young man’s lap.
Sebastian bristled at being called a boy. “If I was a boy I might be tellin’ tales. I’ve been a man for quite some time now. The truth is, I dug thet thing outta the ground right undeh thet great rat’s head theah.”
“When he turned thet rat oveh, I saw wheah it came out before it kept goin’ inta the ground,” Timmon said, supporting his cousin.
Joy reached over and took his pint of ale to steal the last drink from it. She rubbed against him when she did and it wasn’t with her shoulder. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Tim. I’m twenty now so I’m allowed t’ drink ale,” she said, putting the empty mug back on the table.
“Joy, go get us anotheh round,” her father said flatly.
“Aw, Dad Tannyah’ll be heah soon enough.”
“Now!” The Hunter barked, causing a few other patrons to glance at their table. He took a deep breath and in a softer voice said, “Please Hon, go get us anotheh round, an’ tell yar Uncle Owen t’ put it on Timmon Legue’s tab.”
“Awright, Dad,” said the Seamstress. Timmon opened his mouth to protest but a hard look from Warren stopped him. She stood and everyone at the table handed her their wooden mug. She held them by the handles, two in each hand. Timmon pretended not to watch her go.
The elder Hunter picked up the small piece of metal and stood up. He pulled out the chair next to Timmon and sat in it. The two men, young and old, made eye contact and the younger looked away quickly. Grumbling to himself Warren examined the object in his hand. After a moment he held it up and said, “Are them bits o’ rat in theah?”
“Theah’s no way they ain’t! Thet thing went clean through thet big ol’ rat’s head,” Gregory poked the top of the table to demonstrate.
“They are, Greg, they are bits o’ rat,” Timmon corrected.
“Ayuh, thet’s jest what I said, Tim!”
“I thought ya didn’t know what killed thet rat.” said a man with long blond hair and corded arms. He pulled out the chair at the end of the table where Warren had been sitting. He sat in the seat and gave Sebastian a pointed look.
“I don’t know what killed it, Raif,” the Hunter said to the Guardsman, “only thet his thing had a hand in it,”
“What is thet thing theah?” asked another man, this one had long dark hair and had a build nearly as large as Timmon’s. Griffon Fahrel was carrying two pints of ale, he handed one of them to Raif Rahlin. He sat in the last open chair at the table next to Gregory.
“Thet’s jest what we’re tryin’ t’ figuhe out,” the Tracker said to the Guardsman. “Eveh seen anythin’ thet fires somethin’ like thet, boys?”
The two newcomers took turns examining the strange piece of metal. “A weapon thet fires thet like a bow fires an arruh?” Griffon asked Gregory as he handed the object back to Warren.
Raif scrunched up his brows and said, “A sling is the only thing I can figuhe shoots little things like thet. It’s a tad small t’ fire from a sling though. I’ve neveh known anyone who could hit hard ‘nough with a sling t’ kill anythin’ as big as one of them great rats eitheh.”
“Hard ‘nough t’ hit one of them monstehs on top of the head an’ go right through the skull an’ inta the ground undah it?” Warren asked and returned the metal mushroom to the younger hunter. “Sure ya ain’t tellin’ tales, Sebastian?”
All three of the young men in the hunting party shook their heads no.
“Clean through?” asked Griffon aghast.
“Ayuh, clean through,” assured Timmon.
“Got any guess who shot thet?” Raif nodded at the bit of metal that now lay on the table in front of Sebastian.
“I spotted some tracks ’round thet dead rat,” Gregory said. He glanced at Sebastian who nodded. “Man’s tracks, judgin’ by the heft an’ step. He had fancy boots on an’ a dog trailin’ along.”
“Fancy boots?” asked Joy as she returned to the table with five pints. She looked at her dad who was now sitting next to Timmon, in her spot, and frowned at him. She put three of the pints in the middle of the table and walked around to stand behind the Packer. She handed him one of the two pints that she kept and took a drink from the other one. She placed it on the table in front of Timmon, next to his mug, leaning over him to do so.
“Ayuh,” said the Tracker who took a long drink from his wooden mug. “Them prints got a pattehn in them. I bet them boots grip the ground really good. I neveh seen nothin’ like thet before.”
“Anythin’…” Timmon started to correct Gregory but drifted off as Joy leaned over him to pick up her drink again. He turned his head to look at Warren who just sighed in resignation and took a long drink from his own pint.
“Wheah was thet man an’ his dog headin’?” Raif asked. “Seems like a fella who could kill one of them giant rats with a bit of metal like thet could be dangerous.
Gregory said, “They were comin’ this way,” Raif’s face hardened and Griffon’s eyebrows rose, “but afteh a while, they cut off onta a game trail.”
“Seemed like he was back trackin’ the way the rat had come.” said Sebastian.
“Back t’ thet place?” asked Warren with interest, “Figuhe he’s huntin’ theah?”
“If he is, I wish him good luck.” said the younger Hunter.
“Ayuh. He’ll need it.” said Griffon, draining his wooden mug.
The rabbit in the oven was starting to smell very good. John knew from experience that, when it smelled amazing, it was time to check it for doneness. He’d talked to the female goblin, the little Cook, while the rabbit baked. In her broken language, he’d learned that she and her tribe had come from a cave in the mountains that was many, many days walk away. He’d learned that she escaped being forced into her King’s harem when she cooked a forest rat over a campfire for him on that journey. He’d learned that her King was a hobgoblin, a goblin as big or bigger than him, and he wasn’t the only one in the tribe. He also learned that, in addition to the giant rats, there were giant snakes in this place. Finally he learned that she knew how to get out of here and that she had a secret way to do it.
The little Cook was very curious about John and he told her that he’d come from a long, long, way away. He told her that he was trying to find his wife who had been taken from him by a terrible foe. She didn’t understand what a wife was but seemed disappointed that his journey was motivated by a human female. She wanted to know about Dingo Boy and he told her about getting him from a farm and about how naughty he was as a puppy. The Cattle Dog had sniffed indignately and side-eyed the man with a vengeance during that part of their conversation. She wanted to know how he learned to cook and he told her about it being an activity that was shared in his family. She struggled with the concept of family living as a unit and that hurt John’s heart. She wanted to know how the silver bowl worked and he told her about God, miracles, and blessings. When he did he heard a beautiful chime ring out.
The conversation stalled and John pointed to the basket on the table and asked, “You get berries?”
“Good berries!” she responded. She looked through them, and handed him a large blueberry.
He popped it into his mouth and said, “Good berry! I make drink? Berry drink?”
She looked at him skeptically. She held up a berry and said, “No drink. Eat berry.”
“Me cook. Me show you,” he assured her.
She smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “You cook. Me watch!”
John went to the cupboards and chose two tall wooden cups, a wooden mug, and a metal spoon. He set them on the table and the female goblin looked over his selections. Next he took the silver bowl to the sink. He poured it out and let it refill, washed it with its own water, and then poured it out again. He brought it to the table and let it refill once more. While it did he knelt down and called Dingo Boy to him. The dog stood still and let John rummage in his pouches. He had to check both of them but found what he was looking for, small oval leaves with a strong fresh scent. He set them on the table next to the cups and the Cook picked one up and sniffed at it. She watched John with fascination. Then he returned to the cupboards and bought back a squat bottle made of pottery with a lid on it. He set it down on the table near the Cook.
The goblin took the lid off the bottle, sniffed at the contents, and asked, “Bee water?”
“Honey,” the man said in English.
“Hon-ee,” she said the strange word carefully.
John smiled and the goblin beamed. He took two handfuls of blueberries from the basket and put them in the mug. Then he put some water from the silver bowl in with them and used the spoon to carefully make a blueberry puree. He divided the puree evenly into the tall cups and poured a generous amount of honey in each one as well. Next came several of the small oval leaves. Before adding them John rolled each one in his fingers to bruise them. He handed the last leaf to the little Cook who rolled it between her fingers, imitating John. Her face brightened and she sniffed at the leaf and gave it a lick. A pleased surprise filled her face and she held it up to show the man. He laughed and smiled and the goblin blushed. He filled the cups the rest of the way with fresh water from the silver bowl and used the spoon to stir everything together. He slid one of the finished drinks to the Cook.
“Now?” asked the goblin.
“Now,” agreed John.
They both took a sip from their cups. The drink was sweet, refreshing, and delicious. The little Cook made a pleased sound and smacked her lips. She looked at John with admiration and respect. She took another drink from her cup and sighed with pleasure.
“Good?” He asked her.
“Many good,” she agreed. She had never tasted anything as wonderful as this drink. She raced off into the room with the chairs and returned with something clutched in her hand. She put the shiny yellow rock on the table between them. “You keep.” she told him.
John wanted to ask if it was a ‘thank you’ gift and discovered that Goblinese had no word for ‘gift’. Once again his heart ached for the little goblin Cook. The significance of the gesture struck him. Gifts didn’t exist in her tribe, maybe not to her people in general, but she’d just given him one. “You many good,” he said to her.
They stood at the table and enjoyed their drinks in silence, the goblin grinning the whole time. When they were done John put the dirty dishes in the sink and reverently put the ‘gift’ into his pocket. He rinsed everything using one of the buckets of water from the cupboard and brought the tall cups back to the table. When he filled them with water from the mystical silver bowl the Cook looked a little disappointed. Her disappointment was short-lived because John, using a couple of towels as hotpads, removed the rabbit from the oven and set it on the table. He used the knife to make a few cuts in the thickest areas and confirmed it was done. He cleaned the knife and resheathed it. Then turned around and found the goblin looking at the rabbit with wide, hungry eyes. A whine from the floor drew his attention to the Heeler who also had wide, hungry eyes.
“Now?” asked the goblin.
“Now,” said John and he went to the cupboard to get plates and forks. When he turned around with them he saw that she had a rabbit leg blowing on it and moving it from hand to hand because it was too hot to hold. He slid a plate in front of her and she looked at it while she continued to juggle the leg. He pulled a leg off for himself and put it on his own plate. She imitated him by putting the leg she was juggling down on her plate. He gave her a fork and she looked at it in confusion. He used his own to retrieve some tender meat from his rabbit leg and put it into his mouth. The rabbit tasted fantastic, he’d nailed the seasoning! The little goblin did as he had done. She smiled, closed her eyes, and did a little wiggling dance. She looked at him with a wide grin and round eyes while she chewed. A tear slid down her cheek.
“Good?” he asked her.
“Many good. Many many many,” she said through her tears of happiness. Still chewing she walked over to the shelves of pots and pans. She considered them for a moment and selected one. To John’s eye, it looked like a largish wok with a frying pan handle. She took it to the cupboards and put several towels in it. On the towels she placed an assortment of cooking utensils, eating utensils, a couple of plates and bowls, and a couple of mugs. Carrying her load with two hands she brought it to the long table and set it down. She eyed the sheathed knife for a moment then decisively placed it in the pan as well. “You keep.” she said. “You cook. You need.”
John thought about refusing the gift. Their conversation made it clear that cooking was this goblin’s life and lifeline. He smiled at her and whispered, “Each one must give as he has decided in his heart.” It was a quote from Corinthians, one of his grandmother’s favorites. The little goblin gave him a questioning look and tilted her head to the side. In Goblinese he said, “You many good. Many many many.” He held out both hands, fingers splayed when he said it. A chime rang from nowhere and everywhere.
She ran around the table and hugged the man around the waist. She looked up at him and blushed. Then she asked, “Eat more?”
“Eat lots,” said the man as he tossed the cooked rabbit heart to the Heeler who had been waiting with patience but occasionally whining lightly lest he be forgotten. John reached across the table and grabbed the copper wok. He started loading item after item into his jacket pockets. When the pan itself shrunk down and disappeared into his jacket the Cook made a surprised squeak.
“Lots special. Lots lots,” she said around a mouthful of rabbit.
The hobgoblin guard woke-up from his post feast nap when someone rudely, and very loudly, farted. He looked around grogily, the perpetrator was nowhere to be seen. He decided they must have run off after committing the act. A truly repugnant odor assailed his nose and he coughed, gaged, and jumped to his feet to leave. He realized he’d been on a short mission that was taking way too long to complete and he began to jog down the wide hallway with purpose.
An incredibly good smell poured over him as he approached the door to the Cook’s cooking place. Full as he was he immediately began to drool. With a vague plan to steal from the oven again he pushed on the door to the kitchen and found it stuck. He pushed hard with the same results. He turned and jogged back down the corridor and pushed on the door to the room with the tables. It too was stuck and would not budge. Goblins and hobgoblins weren’t allowed in the cooking place or the room with the round tables but the hobgoblin knew these doors worked. He’d used them himself before. He raised his clawed hand to pound on the door and heard the voice of the female goblin on the other side of it.
“We go here. We go this way. Then this way. Then this way. Fast. Easy. Safe”
Then the guard was shocked to hear another voice. It did not belong to a goblin nor a hobgoblin but it spoke in Goblinese.
“That good. Many good. We go this way? Then this way? Then this way? Then out?” asked the man’s voice.
“Big doors then out,” the Cook’s voice corrected.
The hobgoblin guard considered pounding on the door, then he realized the other voice he heard might belong to the man with the dog. He’d been hunting that man but should he have been doing that alone? A man who could easily kill many great rats, could kill one hobgoblin as well. He had to hurry, he needed to get more hobgoblins before the man and his dog left! He turned and started to run toward the throne room.
As he reached the intersection down the hall he turned to the left and bowled over three goblins who were chattering about dead rats, the snake that ate them, and how that snake must have eaten the hobgoblin sent to check on the situation. All four of them went down in a heap. The guard was hauled up from the tangle of flailing arms and legs by a very big, very angry, King.
The ruler of the Stone Hall shook the hobgoblin guard he was holding in one massive hand. “You take long time. Why!?! You smell like rat! Why!?!?!”
The hobgoblin began to babble and point back toward the cooking place. The King drew the sword on his hip to kill the guard when the smell of the roasted rabbit struck him. He tossed the rat eating hobgoblin across the corridor and into the wall. There was a sickening crunch and the body crumpled to the floor. The monarch followed the pleasant odor toward the cooking place, excited by the smell of cooked meat, drooling on the floor as he went.
When the King reached the door to the cooking place he pushed on it intending to barge in and immediately eat whatever the Cook was making for him. The door didn’t open and he collided with it facefirst bruising his lower lip. One of the hobgoblin guards following him snickered, then realizing what he’d just done, stepped away from Ragglenash in horror. The other two guards backed away from the one who snickered. One of the goblins fainted and the other two drug him to the side of the wide hallway by his feet, out of immediate danger. The King turned and held up a clenched fist toward the offending hobgoblin who immediately flinched. Instead of landing the blow on the guard the monarch spun and smashed his fist into the door. It exploded inward in several pieces and the chair that had been holding it was reduced to kindling.
Dingo Boy slept under a table not far from where John and the little goblin Cook were talking. He’d gotten the rabbit’s heat, liver, and kidneys as well as several bites of meat. He could eat more but he was content and ready for a nap. The female goblin pressed on a stone in the wall and part of it opened. The man was very surprised and obviously delighted. She was pleased that he was pleased and told him about the route they’d take to leave. While they were talking the Heeler heard footsteps in the corridor outside the door. He trotted over and sniffed at the crack under it. He smelled another goblin out there, one who had eaten a rat by the smell of it. He reached out with his mind-leash and made it solid, listening. A sensation of alarm came through the connection as well as a strong desire for the help of a group… the help of a pack? Then the creature on the other side of the door ran off and the connection severed.
Concerned, the dingo mix reached out to the female goblin with his mind-leash, made it solid, and realized that her mind was very different from the one that had been on the other side of the door. The previous mind was a puddle and hers was a lake. He sent her an impression of the smell he’d smelled under the door and she looked around in fear but seeing only them in the room she shrugged and went back to showing John how to open and close the secret entrance in the wall. He sent, “Goblin outside.” and she shook her head.
“Goblin outside?” she asked the man.
“Yes. You come,” he answered.
“Yes,” she said, looking slightly confused.
Dingo Boy was about to send her an image of the goblin outside the door then realized she was the only goblin he’d ever seen. Sending her an image of herself outside the door didn’t feel like the right answer. Then he had an epiphany. He cut the connection and reached out to Nath-esh in John’s jacket.
“Dinglito my pal! What’s up?” said the revolver.
He sent an image of a very small angelic figure standing in the crack under the door and a feeling of curiosity then an image of Nathanael’s eyes, then he said, “Show me.”
“Show you what I saw? Like a picture? Like you send pictures? I don’t know how to do that…”
The dog sent urgency. He wasn’t sure they were in danger but he felt urgency and he sent it.
“Okay, okay, let me try.” There was nothing for a few moments then an image formed in the Heeler’s mind. With it came the word ‘hobgoblin’. He sent gratitude and ended the connection.
He connected to the Cook again and sent the image Nath-esh had sent him. She froze, looked around, hit the side of her head with an open palm, and looked around again. She looked up at John, opened her mouth to speak, and the door in the kitchen crashed in.
“What!?!?!” roared a bigger, deeper version of the Cook’s voice from the kitchen.
Everyone looked in that direction and the baking pan as well as the rabbit bones in it sailed through the archway and clattered to the floor. Then the archway was filled with a huge hobgoblin, heads taller than John and so wide he had barely made it through the archway. He looked like the image Nath-esh had sent him but much bigger and wearing bits and pieces of leather and metal armor. Three more big hobgoblins followed the huge one through the archway and he could see three goblins cowering in the kitchen behind them.
“Man? Dog? Kill!” the lead hobgoblin pointed, drawing a sword he wore on his hip. The other three did the same and they all started advancing toward John.
“No! Mine!” cried the little goblin Cook as she ran at the intruders. She picked up the pan from the floor and swung it at the lead goblin who hit her casually with the back of his hand. She flew across the room and smashed the table that she landed on.
“No!” yelled John and he pulled Nath-esh from his jacket. One of the large hobgoblins stepped in front of the huge one protectively just as the gun barked. A hole appeared in his chest and the huge hobgoblin behind him staggered. The other two ran at the man, the gun barked again and one fell with a hole in his forehead. The other reached the man and punched him in the chest. The Cattle Dog heard bones break and the Warrior hit the hobgoblin under the chin with thunder and a .357 magnum sized uppercut. Blood, brains, and bone sprayed the ceiling and the hobgoblin toppled over. John aimed at the archway but the huge hobgoblin was gone and so were the three goblins.
Dingo Boy reached out to the female goblin with his mind-leash to check on her. Their minds connected and, as he made the leash solid, her mind faded and the connection failed. He sat down and let out a long mournful howl. John dropped to his knees, wheezing and struggled to breath.