The cottage was now considerably more cramped. There were three other people besides Henna and Sir Cadoc.

One was a younger human dressed in the same armor as the blonde knight, only its plate armor’s gold filigree was thinner and more gracefully lined.

The other two humans sat around the table. Both were black-haired and clad in slim-fitting, gray tunics that crossed over their front like bathroom robes. Tryle guessed they were a boy and a girl, since one’s hair was pulled in a long ponytail down her back.

Their cloaks were eggshell white with embroidered gold bands around the borders. The color of their clothes was strange and hard to pin down. The closest Tryle could come up with was a cloud caught in the transition between white and stormy. Whatever color they were, they looked supple and expensive.

And startlingly, unusually spotless. Tryle racked his brains for an explanation. These humans had been riding long enough distances to require horses, and yet their clothes looked as clean as if they had just been taken off the clothesline. Tryle supposed they could have changed outfits. But that didn’t explain why the bottom edges of their cloaks, which hung closer to the ground, were untainted by mud or grass stains.

The two of them stared at Tryle as he ambled in. The boy had a haughty, irritable expression on his face. The girl simply looked bemused. Tryle stared back, perplexed but thoroughly unimpressed.

“Okay, grandma,” said the girl. “When I said you seemed to have embraced the country lifestyle, I didn’t mean this.”

“This?” Grandma Henna gestured to Tryle. “My newest friend, Tryle Bodkin?”

“Is he lost?” said the girl, puzzled. “How did you two meet?”

“His tribe tried to rob me in the middle of the night a few weeks ago. Since then, we’ve gotten along quite splendidly.”

“They what?” said Sir Cadoc sharply. The boy at the table raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I had to knock a few heads around,” said Henna breezily. “But no harm came of it. Bodkin here took a nasty bump to his noggin, so I kept him and one of his comrades here to recover before the other one ran off.”

“Your Majesty, the fact that you had to defend yourself out here, exposed without royal protection, is absolutely unacceptable.”

“Don’t worry so much. You’ve seen me in action, Sir Cadoc.” Henna nodded at the hefty shields hanging on the wall. With his newfound knowledge of Henna’s social status, Tryle thought their intricate designs took on an extra significance. “I’ve fought far worse monsters than a little troop of Woodland goblins in the Big War! Besides, he’s a good one, this Bodkin.”

“How do you know this creature of the forest is a ‘he’?” interjected the boy.

“By the tusks, of course,” said the pony-tailed girl knowingly. “Though judging by their size, he must be on the younger side. I’d say he’s just a baby in goblin years, no more than ten years old.”

“I am not a baby!” protested Tryle. “And I’m fifteen!”

“Anyway — Bodkin, these are my two grandchildren, Connor and Gabriela Wei. And you’ve already met Sir Cadoc Gustalf.”

“He speaks the human language,” commented Gabriela. “Fascinating. I wonder where he learned it from.”

The boy smirked. “And rough-sounding English at that. Grandma, why do you allow this tongue — one more suited for licking the layers off shale — to instead befoul our own?”

“Connor, why do you insist on such hostility?” said Henna. “Bodkin is my guest, and you must treat him accordingly. Don’t tell me that on your long trek from the castle you’ve lost your manners along the way.”

“It seems I’m not the only one to have lost something in my faculties in these rustic lands,” muttered Connor.

Cadoc frowned disapprovingly. “Your Majesty has requested courtesy, Your Highness. To ignore her is hardly befitting of a prince.”

“You’re right,” said the girl good-naturedly. In response to Connor’s dark look, she added indignantly, “What? He is.”

She approached Tryle and held out a hand. “Grandma said your name is Tryle, right? I’m Gabriela Wei. Well, technically Princess Gabriela Wei, Level 1 Mage. A pleasure to meet you.”

Tryle looked at her warily. Her bright, dark-brown eyes were guileless and frank. He took her hand and firmly shook it.

“Likewise, Gabriela,” he said.

“Indeed, it is a pleasure to have known you, Gawr-beela,” said Connor dryly, mimicking Tryle’s truncated pronunciation.

“Don’t be mean, Connor. He’s not speaking his first language.”

“One would be hard-pressed to surmise it was even his second.”

Gabriela pointedly ignored him. “So what kind of goblin are you? Tree-dwelling? Plains-goblin? Subterranean?”

Tryle was unsure how to answer. “Uhh…none of the above? We live in the Woodlands, but sometimes we go out foraging in the pockets of meadowland in our area.”

“There are meadows in the Woodlands?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons of them. Not as big as what’s out here — these seem endless — but fairly large. Big clearings, more like.”

“So you spend most of your time on the ground? You don’t venture into the trees at all.”

“We climb,” said Tryle. “Well, some more than others. My friend Anok is afraid of heights, but my other friend Opal is much better at climbing than I am. We race sometimes, but she always wins.”

Gabriela ignored him. “Wow, so interesting. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real goblin before. One that was alive, I mean.”

Tryle blinked. “Alive?”

Connor snorted with laughter, and Gabriela cleared her throat uncomfortably.

Just then, Henna clapped her hands. “Right! Now that we’ve all gotten to know one another, who wants a tour of my humble abode?”

Cadoc bowed. “The children can accompany you, Your Majesty. If we may, Knight Reya and I will set up our collective furnishings and get some rest.”

“Of course, dear. I imagine you’d need it after taking night watches these past few days. Take one of the guest rooms. Connor and Bodkin can surely fit in the other.”

“You’re very kind, but we can make do outside. With the prince and princess indoors, Reya and I will have a tent each.”

In the corner, the other knight-guard nodded demurely but said nothing, its face hidden in the shadow of her cowl. By the name, Tryle guessed it was female.

“Sir Cadoc, there’s no need —”

“If I may, Your Majesty, I insist. It is only proper.”

Henna sighed. “Very well, then. I have extra blankets in the bathroom cupboard, if you need some.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Cadoc and Reya strode out the door with a swish of their white cloaks.

“Unaware as you may be of my preferences, Grandma,” said Connor. “I would rather not take residence or bed in the same vicinity as a goblin.”

“Oh, don’t worry a hair on your little head, baobei. Bodkin’s not as stinky as you might expect.”

Connor reddened. “I am not a baby anymore. My standards gird my character.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Your what girds your what?” said Tryle.

“Don’t mind him, Tryle,” said Gabriela. “After taking one Ancient Literature class, my little brother now believes the best way to communicate is to utterly confuse everyone around him.”

Before Connor could retort, Henna clapped her hands again. “That’s enough of that! Come on, you two. Let me show you where you’ll be doing your washing up. I’m sure you’ll want to scrub off the grime of your travels.”

Gabriela smoothed the edges of her cloak proudly. “Actually, it hasn’t been too bad. I invented a new spell to expel all dirt and sweat off my clothes. I won’t need to wash for another couple days.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Connor. “I am in much need of rejuvenation. Lacking such spells affords me the opportunity of cleansing both body and mind.”

“If you’d just asked me plainly and like a normal human being, I could have cleaned your clothes, too. Cadoc and Reya definitely appreciated it.”

“What makes you think I aspire to your sweaty visage, unwashed hag? You can shirk the soil of your raiment to your heart’s desire, yet your odorous skin still lingers…”

“Who’re you calling a hag…?”

Their voice faded down the hallway, leaving Tryle to sit in the main room’s rocking chair. While she showed her grandchildren around the rest of the cottage’s premises, he tried reading one of Henna’s books to pass the time. But he had received so much new information in the past fifteen minutes that his eyes slid over the lines of text without registering a single word.

Grandma Henna, royal queen. Tryle wasn’t too concerned about that. From his perspective, the most royal human carried as much importance as the most royal hedgehog. Her granddaughter was the one piquing his interest. She had called herself a first-class mage, implying she was a member of some kind of educational ranking system. Which meant the studies she undertook also fell under a tiered hierarchy of knowledge.

All of which meaning that the information she gained in the course of her schooling supposedly. Meaning there were secrets yet to be learned, and knowledge that would have been inaccessible to him had he not met Gabriela. The girl could yet become a valuable adviser to his experiments.

The boy, Connor, returned to the cottage alone. Apparently, Henna was still showing Gabriela around the barn where the sheep were kept, and later they planned to take a walk along the outskirts of the Woodlands, scenery which she had only read about in her textbooks. Tryle made a mental note to ask the girl if he could borrow a few before he returned to the village.

With the book he was reading no longer holding his attention, he followed Connor outside. Overhead, the sky was tinged with purple hue, the waning sun casting a bronze glow over the rippling grass and turning it into a liquid sheet of gold. Vaguely, Tryle could hear the faint sounds of Cadoc and Reya talking by their tents.

Connor cast him a sideways glance from where he reclined in one of the wooden porch chairs by the entryway.

“Away with your sticky claws, goblin. The money on my person is of no utility to you.”

“I wasn’t going to steal from you,” said Tryle irritably. “Why would you think that?”

“Your kind’s tendency towards irrepressible kleptomania is common knowledge.”

“I don’t represent my whole kind.”

Connor held up a finger. “Yes, but you are a goblin. Tell me — what brings you here, truly? Did my grandmother take pity on you? Offer you sanctuary even after you tried to rob her? She does have a predisposition for strays.”

Tryle bristled at the way Connor referred to him, like that of a dog begging for scraps. “I was against the raid from the start. I’m not human, but I’m not any less than human, either.”

“Do goblins not partake in the raw flesh of their hunt?”

Tryle thought about the bloody boar strips the village served in the winter months. “Only sometimes, and we season the meat pretty good!”

Connor chuckled. “I only jest, goblin. You do what any creature of the Woodlands does to survive and resist the mortal coil that faces us all, as barbaric as it may be. Why else would you stay in my grandmother’s cottage beyond your welcome?”

“I stayed because Grandma Henna talked about her granddaughter — Gabriela, I mean. She said we might have common interests.”

“Really.”

Tryle shrugged. “I was planning to go back to my village eventually. But in the meantime, I get to enjoy the benefits of running water. Some impressive engineering, that is.”

Connor scoffed. “Engineering? What wild supposition is this? Grandma sustains her miracles through the good graces of the water sprite over yonder.”

“The what?”

“Open your ears, goblin. The water sprite in the river. She makes communion with the fairy and in return, obtains its blessings for the swift passage of its lifeblood. Grandma has always nurtured an affinity for spirit harnessing. Part of the appeal of this location, I’ll wager, though I struggle to understand her reasoning for choosing to live here at all.”

So that’s what she’s been doing, thought Tryle, remembering the times he saw Henna on the river embankment talking to empty air.

“Water sprites have the ability to form spirit pearls,” he mused. “They’re said to have wonderfully unique conductive properties. I wonder if I could ask it to donate one for scientific research.”

“Best of luck,” said Connor dismissively. “Such entities guard those treasures with great care, never mind entrust them to some goblin.”

Tryle got to his feet angrily. “Maybe I’ll ask for it nicely.”

“Oh, you will, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I will!”

“Then leave or let us cease this dialogue, goblin.” Connor leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I am attempting to drink in the bounty of this heavenly breeze.”

Tryle stalked out the gate. Just as he was about to turn the corner of the cottage, Connor called out: “Actually, linger for a moment, Bodkin!”

“What?” said Tryle irritably.

“My apologies, I spoke bluntly. Let me offer a piece of advice. Water sprites feast on the small pleasures of life: sunlight, fresh air, the vitality of life’s movement. Perhaps if you give a…display of some sort, they will abide to greater lengths at your request.”

“What kind of display?”

“Art, music, dance — avail yourself of that which you fancy. Though in your case, I would wager the last choice is your path of least resistance.”

“So I just need to do a little jig for the sprite, is that it?” said Tryle suspiciously. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Connor put a hand over heart and shrugged. “My sister gave passing mention to my education. It is an unproven credential. Yet what I’ve just bequeathed to you is what I know to be true. Simply say ‘O guardian of the river, accept my offering’ and perform the act, clothed or unclothed. This clade of river fairy might show more favor towards the latter.”

Tryle mulled over his words as he walked away. He didn’t entirely like the mocking glint in the human’s eye. But how often would he stumble upon a water sprite like this? He could add the spirit pearl to his small but precious trove of magical supplies. It was worth a try.

Tryle approached the riverbank. Long yellow grass waved and dipped in the rushing water. The embankment sagged from the moisture of last night’s rain. He secured his footing in the muddy ground and called: “O guardian of the river, accept my humble offering!”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Tryle began to be sure he had just been pranked. Then, a bubbling pillar of water rose out the middle of the stream, on top of which materialized a female, elfin figure with pointy ears; thick hair as green as algae; and gossamer, baby-blue wings with three tips on either side. Her eyes were a light sapphire and her skin emanated the same gentle glow as the Tudor fairies Tryle had encountered before.

The water sprite uncrossed her arms and made a quick, impatient gesture, as if to say: Go on, then.

Tryle didn’t waste any time. He bobbed his head and flapped his arms rhythmically like a chicken, trying to remember dance moves he’d seen at the few village dances Opal had dragged him to. He clumsily kicked and slid his feet about in the mud, using the slickness to add a stylish flair to his movements.

None of it impressed the water sprite; its eyebrows were drawn together in disdainful bewilderment. Tryle sighed inwardly. Connor did say he might have to do this nude. He pulled his tunic off and yanked his trousers down, determined to finish this as soon as possible. He increased the speed of his dancing, gyrating his hips wildly and swinging closed fists around like he was punching imaginary nails into the air.

He didn’t know what he expected. Some positive reaction, sure. Maybe a smile of encouragement. But instead, the water sprite’s expression turned even more dour. She wrinkled her nose and shielded her eyes.

A spout of water flew out the churning pillar and hit Tryle square in the face. Sputtering, Tryle slipped in the mud and fell flat on his back. When his vision cleared, his feet were in the water and the water sprite had disappeared.

Someone was giggling loudly. Tryle turned. Two triangular-looking structures made of taut, heavy cloth were tacked down behind the cottage. Standing in front of them was Reya the female knight-guard. She was holding a blanket roll under one arm and a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter.

Beside her was Cadoc, still dressed in full armor, looking equal parts scandalized and confused. “Goblin, what the devil are you doing?”

Tryle wordlessly gathered up his clothes, stone-faced. As he walked past them, he said, “I was just trying to get a spirit pearl.”

Then he continued marching to the front of the cottage, Reya’s laughter trailing after him.

--

For dinner, Henna whipped up a batch of fluffy omelets crammed with olives, cheese, preserved tomatoes, and curly wild mushrooms. She confessed it was a rushed job, and promised to go all-out for their next dinner. Nobody complained; their mouths were bulging with steaming egg and dripping strands of cheese.

Tryle would have liked to ask Gabriela more about what she had been learning in her school of magical science, but she and the rest of the traveling party were visibly tired from their long journey. Talk during the meal was lively but short, and soon, it was time for bed. Gabriela took one guest-room and the knight-guards retired to their tents outside.

Tryle was banished to the main living room so Connor could have a room to himself, despite Henna’s obvious disapproval. The feeling of ostracization was nothing new. Connor’s dismissiveness held the same flavor of scorn Tryle endured from most of Lundy village.

Henna fluffed up a feather pillow at the head of sturdy sleeping pad she’d constructed out of several layers of thick blankets.

“I’m sorry, Bodkin,” she explained. “This will just be for tonight. For thirteen years, Connor has been coddled by maids and butlers and knight-guards, groomed to one day rule as king. He was always a sickly child and required more attention than the other noble children his age. Perhaps because of that, he felt he needed something to prove. Sooner or later, I intend to make him grow up —”she cracked her knuckles moodily “— never mind the royal procedures. But right now it would be too much of a fuss to change his mind.”

Tryle laid his head back against his pillow. Even though he was lying on the floor, the makeshift mattress felt quite comfortable. “It’s all right, Grandma Henna. You don’t have to apologize for your hospitality.”

“Are you warm enough? Do you need more blankets?”

“No, I’m fine. Really, thank you.”

She smiled wanly. “Pleasant dreams, Bodkin.”

As her door clicked shut, Tryle settled back and stared at the ceiling. At least he would finally a chance for an in-depth chat with Gabriela. Maybe he’d learn something useful at the end of this long and strange field trip outside the Woodlands. With that hopeful thought in mind, he drifted off to sleep.