The young goblin left his hideaway, crawling through the low crevice that served as an entrance. He emerged into one of the rarely used side tunnels of the Gold Hat’s territory. Despite the low risk of discovery, Purse took the time to camouflage the entrance of his hideaway with old barrels, broken furniture, and the general detritus that accumulated on the fringes of Goblin settlement.

Purse let out a quite groan as he shoved his shoulder against a barrel slightly taller than him. It must have been of human make, carried down here by a hob after a raid. Mindful of the noise he was making, and not wanting to disturb the sleep of those he had left behind, he bit his lip and strained in silence.

Once the large barrel was in place, blocking sight of the hole, he added some smaller pieces of litter to blend it in with its surroundings. Purse tossed bits of rotting rope and broken utensils at the barrel to give their placement as much randomness as possible. If there was one thing Purse understood, it was hiding in plain sight. A small goblin didn’t last long, couldn’t protect anyone, if they didn’t know how to avoid trouble. With his job done, Purse let out a small sigh. It was time to head toward Old Market, toward trouble.

Leaving the rubbish strewn tunnel was also an exercise in patience for Purse. He could not afford to leave signs of regular passage that might tempt a curious goblin to investigate a dump tunnel for loot. Goblins loved to hide their possessions, especially from other goblins, and stash seeking was a favourite pastime among his kind. Of course, what Purse hid was of little interest to other goblins but they didn’t know that, and wouldn’t believe him if he told them so. Hence, he played the game as best he could, picking his way carefully to the end of the tunnel, he exited into a relatively clear hallway.

This was a path which he could follow all the way to Old Market. It curved around the outside edge a series of tunnels which were a mix of sleeping holes and mushroom farms. Depending on the mushroom, some served as both. He hurried along the high-ceilinged tunnel in the downhill direction.

After a while he reached the more inhabited region of the tunnels which had glowworm lamps hung at most intersections and he was able to stow his own small handheld lamp in a pocket. His night vision was good, even for a Goblin, but they needed at least a small amount of light see by.

Purse had to slow his hurry down to a leisurely and uncaring amble now that he was among other goblins. To be hurrying was a sign of desperation, and a desperate goblin could be extorted. That being said, he was in a hurry. When he saw glowlights in the distance he would slow for the intersection, blending in with the body language of the goblins loitering there. Between intersections he picked up the pace, at this rate it would probably take him another four hours to circle the settlement before reaching Old Market.

He considered cutting through the residential and then market district but quickly dismissed it, the risk was too high. You never enter the market district carrying anything you can’t afford to lose, unless you were desperate. And desperation makes you a target. Better to be safe, Whiskers would still be there, two days yet until the raid. Only the desperate would be coming to him two days out. Dragging his feet through another intersection under the glassy gaze of a worn out farmer, Purse continued on.

******

The Old Market was a huge circular room with the floor gently angled down toward a large hole in the centre, easily two hobs across. It had once been the main hub of trade between Gold Hat goblins as well as travelling traders from other clans. After a particularly costly raid from the Blood River clan the market had been moved to a more central location within their territory. Now Old Market was a meeting place for all kinds of unscrupulous goblins. Which is to say, most of them.

It was hours since he had left his hideaway, and well into sleeping-hours. Old Market was busy. Purse had come in through the less oft used back entrance and emerged amongst the tents and curtained partitions of the whorehouses. Most seemed to be occupied. Navigating his was out of the maze of tents and curtains he emerged close to the boarded-over hole in the centre of Old Market.

The whore tents filled out a wedge about a quarter of the circular cavern. To the left of the tents was an open area full of goblins, drinking grog, smoking wetleaf, and in several instances, brawling. Hobgoblins seemed to be overrepresented in this group with almost a third bearing the distinctive height and muscle of Purse’s larger brethren. Only one in twenty goblins turned out a hob.

Across from the whores was the smallest wedge in Old Market. The only vendors who weren’t selling grog, wetleaf, or themselves. Mostly, they sold goods that might appear a little too familiar to the more established merchants of New Market if they tried to sell there.

Finally, to the right of the whores’ tents and rivalling them in area, were the game tables. Dice, daggers, decks of cards, and dubiously sourced knucklebones were being thrown, shaken, cut and shuffled amongst the smoky haze of Old Market. Purse scanned the mess of tables, looking for one goblin in particular. Every table was occupied, some surrounded by spectators, themselves gambling on the outcomes of games. Purse ploughed into the crowded gaming section, once he reached the outer edge of the room he’d have a higher vantage point.

It was slow going. Purse shoved through a crowd of spectators, clutching tightly the pouch in his pocket. There was no way he was letting it get stolen, not when he was this close. He had to step over games of dice and knucklebones being played on the floor between tables. Grumbled curses and the occasional fist fight followed in his wake. With enterprising goblins taking the opportunity caused by his interruption to tamper with their dice rolls. All at once the press of bodies receded and Purse found himself in a small pocket of calm. He wouldn’t need the higher vantage point after all.

A small roughly carved stone table sat in front of him, presided over by an old and unusually hairy goblin. Wiry grey hair protruded from just about every orifice, though the top of his head remained bald. A pair of intelligent dark green eyes evaluated Purse.

Whiskers gestured to the empty chairs at his table, “Take a seat youngling.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Purse sat, drawing forth the pouch which contained everything he had saved from the last months of salvage and raids. It landed on the table with a disappointingly small thud.

“I see you know how this works. Though I do not know your name,” said Whiskers.

“I’m Purse.”

“You are young to be coming to me,” he gestured at the small bubble of empty space around them, “there is yet two days until the raid. You are the first to come to my table.”

“I need at least a full share. I drew copper. No one with a full share is going to trade down to Scrapper.”

Purse reached into his pouch and pulled out the first item. It was a copper disk, half a hand wide. Imprinted on both faces was the insignia of the Gold Hats, a plumed helmet of human design.

“I see,” Whiskers reached into his own pockets and produced a similarly sized disk, bearing the same insignia, though this one was made of a dark grey metal, flecked with red. He showed it to Purse before stuffing it back in his pocket. It was better to keep it hidden. “I myself drew the dusk iron. Four shares against your Scrapper’s token.”

Purse gulped. Reaching out to upend the rest of his pouch, a pit was already forming in his stomach. A couple of small but high-grade mana gems tipped out to land beside his copper token. It was vastly insufficient. He had brought enough value to gamble up to a silver token.

“Is this all of it?”

“Yes. I hoped to bet against a silver or bronze. I didn’t even know there was dark iron in this draw.”

“Yes well, it’s more exciting that way. The Chief does love her surprises,” he said with a grin.

Purse didn’t reply. Reaching forward he started to pack his belongings back into his pouch. As it was, he had a few options. He could sell the gems, that would keep them fed for a week or so, and then try to elevate his token the old fashion way. At best, he could probably hope to win a duel for an iron half-share. Carrying copper on the raid was the safest choice, maybe he would get lucky and find something to slip into his pocket. Then he’d have Goldsniff to worry about though. He moved to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Whiskers asked.

“You would risk four shares against this?” Purse replied, shaking the pouch.

“Not the gems alone. But that is not all you can offer me.”

That did not sound good. He sat back down.

“I can offer you this. Give me the gems immediately, as payment for entertaining this challenge. They are barely worth a tenth of the dusk iron and you know it. Then we will roll, you will stake your copper and swaps against my dark iron. Four shares for four future swaps. That is my offer.”

Purse’s mind reeled. Four future swaps were an immense amount of power over his life to give to the other goblin, too much. Any draw above iron would be at risk of being forcibly taken by Whiskers, should he receive a lower draw. And he was giving away the gems essentially for nothing. On the other hand, only the Chief and her lieutenants earn better on a raid than the goblin carrying dark iron. Four shares on even a moderately successful raid could keep Purse going for months, without having to rely on a good draw from raid to raid.

In the end, the caution that had kept him alive this long won out. Better to walk away with the gems that could buy him another week to figure something out. To lose the gems as well as the agency over his raid token was too much of a risk.

“I can’t.” Purse stood to leave.

Whiskers reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You can keep the gems. Regardless. Four swaps, against four shares. It’s a fantastic deal for you.” His eyes flashed with more than intelligence now, a glint of the desperate gambler was showing through.

Fantastic was a bit of a reach. It was still a deal for the desperate. But he wouldn’t here if he wasn’t, Whiskers knew that. He’d drawn copper for six of the last seven raids. The one time he’d thought his luck had turned and drawn silver he’d been immediately challenged by a hob who’d drawn copper. He’d given that one up without a fight, taking his customary place amongst the Scrappers. Purse sat sat back down at Whiskers’ table.

“Let’s dice. Torfin Hand rules?”

Whiskers grinned, green eyes lighting up. “Let’s go with Troll Horde. It only uses four dice. Seems appropriate.”

“I don’t know the rules.”

“It’s simple, like trolls. Four 6-tier dice. Four-like is the best, followed by three-like, pairs, and highest tier single. Nothing else matters, a troll couldn’t understand it see?” Whiskers laughed. He was excited now.

Purse clenched and unclenched his hands. He could feel sweat building on his palms. “Who goes first?”

“The challenger may roll first. We will use the same set of dice.”

Whiskers procured a set of five bone dice from his sleeve and set one aside. There were crudely carved images on each of the six sides. From lowest tier to highest they were, human, rat, spider, goblin, hob, and a Gold Hat insignia.

Purse reached for the dice, scooping them up and flicking them out in one motion. It was important when dicing with goblins that you are seen to touch the dice as little as possible, lest you be accused of invoking a Blessing of the Gambler.

One die spun across the table top. Coming to a stop in front of Whiskers. A rat. Two more settled in the centre of the table a human and Gold Hat. The final dice hadn’t travelled far and was more or less in front of Purse. Human.

“A pair of a humans. Not what I would want to be staking my swaps on,” Whiskers said with a chuckle.

Purse glowered. A pair of anything other than a human and he would lose. His palms were truly slick now and he gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.

“Well, no sense in waiting around.” Whiskers scooped the dice up in a single motion, and flicked them out onto the table.

Time seemed to slow for Purse as he watched them tumble. The first to come to a stop was a spider, followed by a Gold Hat and a hob. Whiskers and Purse stared at the final spinning dice, somehow spinning like a top, tension coiled them both like springs. One almost euphoric, one bitterly awaiting the result. At this point his chances were half either way. The dice came to a stop. Human.

Whiskers’ hands slammed down on the tabletop. He let out an explosive breath. Like a giant torchbug getting its thorax punctured by a spear.

“You feel that boy. That’s living,” he let out another deep breath. “A pair of humans, eh?”

He reached into his pocket and drew forth the pouch that hid the dusk iron token. Tossing it across the table he said, “Come again young Purse. Few take such risks with me these days.”

He did not seem particularly upset at the loss. Purse handed over the copper disk. Presumably, the old gambler was owed plenty of swaps and would be able to trade his copper away without having to fight. Purse had never seen him amongst the Scrappers before.

With slightly trembling hands Purse stuffed the dusk iron into his pocket and stood up. He was flustered. Four shares sat in his pocket. It was hours of travel back to his hideaway and now he was carrying more wealth than he had ever held in his life. More even than the time Legbreaker forced him to carry a sack of tammerite ore all the way back from their raid against the Stone Cleavers.

“Take a moment to settle lad,” Whiskers was eyeing him with amusement, “you ain’t gonna get far with your ears twitching like that”.

He was right, outward signs of nervousness would make him a target. Purse took a deep breath and schooled his body to obey, adopting the casual slouch of a goblin who didn’t have a dusk iron token burning a hole in his pocket.

“Maybe you’ll do alright,” Whiskers grunted. “I’ll see you again, young Purse.”

“Not if I can avoid it.”

Whiskers just laughed.

“Blessings of the Mighty, let me get home safe,” Purse muttered as he left the old goblin at his table and pushed back into the crowd.