002 - MEN OF THE LAW
The boys left the Goblin Town Tavern, Frink leading the way. As they emerged from the undercity - where Goblin Town mingled with the sewer and the old city - the effects of the incoming retirement home became immediately obvious.
The three goblins stood for a moment, too shocked to say anything as they took in the sight.
“You see what they’ve done?” Frink said, sniffling a little, “Just look how they massacred my boy.”
It wasn’t often that the three ventured to this part of the surface - why go anywhere when the beer drains to you and trash and other knicknacks can be snatched right down from a few feet away from an alleyway sewer? But looking over what used to be a bustling, industrious downtown the changes were stark - and disturbing.
Whole sections of shacks and roadside stalls had been cleared out to make way for… plants? Bars that had served human sailors, ogrish laborers, and goblin miscreants alike - even providing a complimentary rope to hang over if getting home was too laborious or the night still too young - had been replaced by what looked to be… small homes? With men and women sitting out front drinking steaming drinks and being served cake.
What had been streets full to bursting with soot covered boys and men hawking newspapers, shoeshines, and the kind of coffee that was as likely to boost your energy as it was to clean out your pipes, were now gently patrolled by dandies of a class of denizen that screamed out in their opulence that they had never once done an honest day’s toil in their lives!
“The monsters,” Denty said, then noticed Chumbles wandering off toward one of the cake houses, “Chum! What the hell?”
Chumbles stopped halfway across the road and pointed, “Saw one of the humans carrying off a black bag behind this one. Treasure hunting this-a-way!” he said with a chuckle.
“Get back here,” Dinty said, impatient, “We’re treasure hunting not dumpster diving. I swear we’re up here for six seconds and you’re already making me feel like the humans have a point when they look down on us.”
“Who’s looking down on us?” Frink said, suddenly concerned.
“I’m trying to serve a purpose here, Dint, you know, like you said, bottom feeders clearing the way, and you wanna take that away?”
“Take what away?” Dinty asked, perplexed, “Garbage?”
“Somebody lookin’ down on us, Dint?” Frink asked, fists clenching.
Chumbles began, “Just taking the chance to toil a little and you wanna step in-”
“Whoa whoa whoa, boys!” Dinty said, shaking his hands in agitation, “Try to show a little class, okay? We’re guests up here, strangers in a strange land and all that - I mean, just imagine if one of these humans brought their grandparents down to Goblin Town.”
Frink vomited right on the pavement, glitzy chunks piling up and scattering with what had to be eight beers worth of brown liquid.
“OH for… Frink!” Denty said backing away.
“Olds! In Goblin Town…!” Frink gurgled before spewing all over the pavement again.
Chumbles tutted, “See, Dint? You can’t go scaring the old guy, he’s got a delicate constitution.”
“Had nothing to do with the half keg he drank before coming out here, I’m sure,” Dinty said sardonically.
“You can’t expect me to come see all this,” Frink said, shirtfront and face stained and gesturing at the surrounding area, “and do it sober.”
Diny and Chumbles stared at him in silence a few seconds before he added, “I got a delicate constitution! But would you look at that!”
He drew the boys’ attention to what looked like a much larger house with wood framing and bright, clean brickwork siding. It looked to be about three floors and the grounds around it were sprawling - for the area - and filled with benches, parasols, and gazebos in which sat… the olds.
“Gods above,” Dinty breathed, “Frink… There’s just so many.”
“Shyeah,” Chumbles chuckled, looking at the other two once again transfixed by the sight of something and completely not understanding why.
“I’m gonna vomit again,” Frink said, cheeks puffing slightly as he breathed through his nausea.
But Dinty paid him no attention as he stroked his chin, “All those people… all that treasure. Boys this is going to be like taking candy from… well taking stuff from old people. Too decrepit and useless to do anything about it.”
Frink brushed past him.
“Hey hold up, Frink! We need a plan before we go barging in there,” Dinty called out.
“Won’t stand for it, Dint! I’m goin’ in there and I’m getting ‘em out!”
Frink strode across the street, wagons stopping abruptly and horses whinnying as he walked in a perfectly straight line toward the retirement home. Surrounding the grounds was a tall fence of iron posts, easy enough to see through, and which funneled visitors through an entrance building.
With mutual shrugs, Dinty and Chumbles followed, path still clear as traffic found itself unable to cope with a rotund goblin with no regard or even sense for the concept of traffic striding straight through their well organized streets.
“Get the hell out of the road!” a human yelled from atop a carriage.
Dinty flipped him a rude gesture and Chumbles waved.
“Damn Goblins,” a woman grumbled, fully intending to be heard, “A danger to us all!”
“OH don’t worry,” Dinty called out, “Face like yours? You’re not in any danger.”
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“The nerve of it!’ she called back, aghast.
Chumbles clapped Dinty on the back, “Another successful interaction with a female!”
Dinty smirked and waved at the woman, “You gotta give respect to get respect, Chum. She’ll be back.”
They followed Frink onto the sidewalk and walked straight into the entrance building, above which read the words, “Chamelton City River District Retirement”.
Inside, directly across from the entrance was another set of double doors that opened onto the inner grounds of the retirement home in front of which stood a burly man in a blue uniform, to their right was a desk with slim human women, also in blue, and to the left a seating area where men in suits talked over pamphlets with young couples often accompanied by what had to be… their elderly parents.
Frink held a hand to his mouth, cheeks bulging, and swallowed hard. Dinty almost lost it watching him do it, and Chumbles just looked around the room in appreciative awe.
The boys strode up to the large man in front of the doorway to the inner grounds, who held out a warding hand.
“Listen here, doorman,” Frink said, “We’re going in there, and these olds are getting out. You’re not coming into my town and changing a thing!”
“No goblins,” The man said, and indicated the door they just came in, “Get out of here.”
“No gob…!” Frink’s face began to turn red.
“Let me handle this one, Frink,” Dinty said, smiling and modulating his tone for speaking to an underling, “My friend here got a little worked up, what he meant to say was, we’ll be taking a little tour of the grounds, see what kind of establishment you’ve got here.”
He added in a stage whisper to the other two, “You gotta coax the lower classes a little, play the game a bit and grease the wheels.”
“Ohhh,” Chumbles said, nodding, impressed, “Okay I see where you’re going with this.”
The man bent down to Dinty’s level and spoke slowly, “And I said, ‘no goblins’.”
Dinty tilted his head, “Maybe I’m not understanding because that sounds an awful lot like a doorman trying to tell me, an actually productive member of society, an owner of my own business, that I CAN’T COME INSIDE!”
The blue uniformed man scoffed and crossed his arms as Dinty began turning purple with anger. Just as he was about to explode Chumbles interjected, “Perhaps you’re not well familiar with the law, sir. I’m Chumbles R. Rigatoni, Attorney of Sewer Law - you’re familiar with the law, sir?”
“The hell?” The doorman said, unimpressed.
“Article 4B, section 7 clearly states that where a sewer runs, so too runs the jurisdiction of sewer enforcement, and as you and me are both familiar - being men whose work brings us in close contact with the application and interpretation of that same law -” he cleared his throat and took on a tone of memorized recitation, as if he were reading directly from the book of Sewer Law, “No person may be discriminated against by his race or species where both are in the provenance of the sewer.”
The man stared at chumbles, eyes squinting.
“Uhh, perhaps I can be of assistance?” A man in a dark suit stood from one of the tables and approached the group, now the focal point of all eyes in the entrance area of the retirement home, “Patrick Bateman, I’m the owner of the Chamelton City River District Retirement Home.”
“A person of authority!” Dinty said, waiving away the doorman and turning, “BE GONE, PEASANT!”
The doorman took a step forward and Dinty waived again forcefully, “I SAID BE GONE!”
“You see, Mr. Bateman,” Chumbles started in, “As a man of the law I can’t in good conscience allow my client to be bullied, hassled, or discriminated against by virtue of his goblin ancestry! Article 3H section 2 states, as you, also a man of the law, clearly know-”
Mr. Bateman shook his hands vigorously to interrupt Chumbles speech, “We don’t want any trouble with the law here, Mister.. Ah..”
“Chumbles R. Rigatoni,” Chumbles said, proudly, “Sewer Law Attorney.”
“Right, Mr. Rigatoni, what my colleague meant to say is that while of course we would never discriminate on the basis of race, the inner grounds are meant for residents and loved ones of residents only.”
“Perhaps,” he continued, “You know someone who makes their home here? Or has your friend here decided to live out his days in the comfort and luxury of our establishment?” He indicated Frink with an open hand.
Dinty started to laugh, “Oh hohoho! Your days are numbered, Frink! Even the humans can see it.”
“How about it, Frink?” Chumbles chuckled, “You wanna get signed up?”
“You’d have to kill me first!” Frink growled.
“Oh I think we can oblige,” Dinty said, looking interested, “Give me a chance to show this peasant what his overlord just saved him from.”
“You miserable little…” The big man in blue said, unfolding his arms, “I’m about to bust these gobbos up, Mr. Bateman, just say the word.”
“Calm down, boy,” Diny said, “Your betters are speaking.”
The man looked about ready to attack when Mr. Bateman interjected, holding out a pamphlet, “MAY I SUGGEST!” he said loudly over the escalating conflict, “That you review the brochure? Prospective guests usually like to take some time… outside, perhaps at one of the nearby cafes? To go over the broad strokes before coming back to iron out the details with me or my associates.”
“I’ll have to consult my attorney,” Frink said, back stiff with dignity.
Chumbles snatched the pamphlet and eyed Mr. Bateman like he might try to pull something before quickly glancing over the contents of the pamphlet.
“It’s on the level,” he said, handing the pamphlet to Frink, “Perhaps not to the spirit of the law, but to the letter.”
“Let us pull away, gentlemen,” Frink said, waiving the pamphlet, “But we’ll be back, Bateman! My detective instincts know a grift when I see it - twenty years I’ve worked this beat - and this place stinks to high heavens! When I uncover the skeletons in all the closets here… you’ll be hearing from my attorney!”
“Of sewer law,” Mr. Bateman said, bowing slightly.
“Exactly!” Frink said, “Let’s go boys.”
The three goblins filed out and Dinty quipped to Mr. Bateman, gesturing at the door man, “Discipline your boy.”
Outside they once again followed Frink across the street as all traffic swerved or stopped suddenly to accommodate the three goblins.
“That was brilliant, Chum!” Frink said, “I didn’t know you were a lawyer!”
“I haven’t bothered to keep up my bonafides,” Chumbles said humbly, “But I’ve won a case or two in my time.”
“In Sewer law,” Dinty said, unimpressed, “Chum, you can’t even read. And Frink what was all that about detective instincts and,” he put on a mock accent, “twenty years workin’ this beat?”
“I was riffing, Dint,” Frink said, “Let an artist work.”
“Fair enough, let’s head over to one of these cafes and look over this pamphlet. Getting in there and out with the treasure is going to require a little more work than just walking through the door.”
“Some good garbage out behind that one,” Chumbles said, pointing.
“So you did know it was garbage!” Dinty said, “No! No more garbage, no more ‘sewer law’ or beat cops! That guy offered us a way in and we’re going to take it.”
“What way in is that?” Frink said. They stepped up onto the curb opposite the retirement home, yells and curses following them while Dinty absent mindedly threw up rude gestures.
“Isn’t it obvious, Frink?” Dinty said, “You’re going to retire.”