There was no great hallway, no sweeping staircases to greet us as we entered. Glass jars filled with glowing moths cast the only light upon the scene: an unsteady-looking ladder standing against the rocks, and a dark, uninviting hole descending steeply around a bend. Blofm led us downwards, rather than upwards, and the dank tunnels of earth into which we plunged were so low that even Jaroan had to stoop; I was forced to bend back at the waist, and before too long I was huffing and puffing at the exertion of trying to keep upright without falling after them. Radiant jars of various hues were embedded into the walls of soil here and there, just often-enough to prevent us being entirely eclipsed as we rounded sloping corners, going ever-deeper into the warren. Most of the time, the light emitted by the bugs was vibrant green – or perhaps it was due to the jars themselves – but at times the ethereal luminescence gave way to glass gleaming with a soft, sky-blue radiance, or warm amber… though I had misgivings as we turned at a junction, entering a demon-red zone. It was almost like being back in Henthae’s hell-hole.
We passed eight or nine of Blofm’s kin as we went – for all that they were low, the maze-like slopes were broad-enough to accommodate two men or three goblins abreast. They kept a wide berth from us, and as they pressed themselves into the soily side of the dirt tunnel while we passed them by, I saw fear on their faces when they looked upon me. The edges of my shields were no impediments to them. They bore me no ill-will.
Not yet, at any rate.
We passed through an earthen cave, and then another. By this point we were largely being ignored, too deep in the complex to be taken for a threat. The inhabitants of these places were busy. Goblins were scrawling notes on reams of parchments of dubious origin, parchment I could fancy in passing to be infinite in length as it trailed off a table… Some were drinking a slimy green beverage from assorted cups and conversing loudly, the hot topic appearing to be whether or not Zagagom would win the evening’s eating competition… One was standing on a shoddily-constructed bench, arms aloft with a jar of moths in his left hand and a cup of green froth in the other, crooning a disjointed poem:
… down the tube
Softer ‘an rain, it came comin’ down
A hiss o’ th’ mos’ fantabulous sound
We sat on our asses and what’ll it be
A score o’ them screamin’ kids, all in fer me
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I took ’em and one be one shoved ’em right in
They wails in me sack, a deligh’ful ol’ din
The last one, ‘e says, “Yer a bad ‘un, yer’ll know!
“Right inter th’ fires o’ Hell you shall go!”
I push ‘im right down, as deep as I can
I growl at ‘im, “Lissen, I’m ‘Ell’s biggest fan
“If takin’ yer’s all I can do to be free
“Of this stinkin’ ol’ palace, make room there, yer’ll see!”
I dragged ’em…
Jaid pretended not to notice the topic of the song, her mouth set in a resolute line. Jaroan, on the other hand, seemed to be coming to appreciate the perilousness of this environment. He slowed his pace to better accommodate my limp, and Blofm at the front slowed in turn.
“How much longer till we reach the dungeons?” I asked after another minute or more. My left hip was starting to tire from the continual twisting; my left knee was seriously aching, on the back where the thigh tendons stretched down to the calf.
“That where yer wanna go? You sure?”
Blofm stopped to let us catch her up, in a shadowed region between two of the glowing jars, and her shadowy eyes again twinkled green in the darkness.
“Well – I’m not going in there as a prisoner,” I clarified, suddenly realising the possible bent of her thoughts.
“Aww.” Jaroan’s bravado was barely masking his relief. “But it’d be just like Terrible Twostaff and the Black Jail of Jakarr!”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Terrible Twostaff was a fictional mage, not archmage, and his imprisonment had a sense of drama only offered my kind by Magicrux Zyger. “I don’t plan on being here for two weeks, and I don’t plan on recruiting an army of rats to escape!”
“Rats?” Blofm cocked her head, and her pale, rough-looking tongue darted out, sliding luxuriously across her lower lip.
“I really wonder why we haven’t seen any rats down here,” Jaid drawled.
I glanced at her sharply, noting the way she now seemed to be more alive than I’d seen her in ages. She wasn’t brimming with excitement, but at least her eyes were alert, and the corner of her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile.
She’s learned that from me, I realised. It troubled me, for some reason.
All the same, seeing her strength and hearing the levity in her voice served to bolster my resolve.
I turned my gaze back on my goblin.
“We’re riding out of here on the back of that unicorn,” I told her, then, realising there was absolutely no way a unicorn was fitting in these tunnels, added lamely, “metaphorically…”
“Well there’s ways an’ means.” Blofm shrugged at us. “Nobody’s gonna bother till we’re down there, but if yer wanna sneak in proper, yer gonna have to get invisibled. Real good, like.”
“Zab?” Jar suggested, looking smug at his own cunning.
“No.” I shook my finger at them, shook my head. “Some of them could have traits that let them see right through eldritch glamours, isn’t that correct, Flobm?”
She nodded sagely. “An’ more. Yer know me real good, don’t yer, Master?”
“And I’m done with sneaking,” I went on, ignoring her question; “I’m done with all the lies. I think we ought to have a word with your monarch. Flobofmy.”
Her tongue lolled out again, staring at me like a confused dog.
“Right…” I pointed onwards “… now.”
* * *