We walked into the dining room with the caged goblins, the guard Gnolls and the platform encircling it above.
One of the Gnolls had these dark spots around both eyes, making him look almost raccoon like. He immediately reared up, but stayed on all fours, jaws snapping spittle and endless paranoia, barking like he was at the gates of hell.
The other seemed a bit more civilized, wore a dirty vest and a thick belt with a wicked knife strapped to it. He only barked once, as if by reflex, then stood up onto his reverse knee digitigrade legs, spotted fur bristling, eyeing us, black nostrils pulsing.
“Errrgh? Kitchen doesn't open til midnight.”
“That's alright!” I had to shout so he could hear me over his partner's frantic barking. “I'm here to see Grivonne!”
“WRROFF!” Knifer Gnoll barked himself, baring huge yellow fangs at the raccoon Gnoll. “Shat up! Rrrrgh—I'm talkin’ here!” Raccoon quieted down into a sustained growl. Knifer turned to me again. “Who the hells are you?”
“I’m Red, the stage magician. And this is my assistant. I’m just looking to entertain, hopefully impress is all.”
“Regh. Go back there and fetch em.” He motioned with his thick neck to Raccoon, who slinked up to the wooden door behind them, snuck one last bark at us before he pawed it open and slipped through.
Knifer squatted down onto his furred ass, one black leg sticking up like a burnt branch, eyeing us suspiciously.
K’matli and I stood in place, silent.
Glancing over to the caged goblins, I noticed one of them, a cactus green one. He slowly rose, chain on his neck clinking. He walked up to the bars, naked save for dirty circus pants, bright and motley, that came down to just below his knee. His ears were big and one of them bent. I couldn’t see the rest of his conya cus most of it was hidden behind this funky pigeon type mask with painted swirls on it, two small holes for eyes and a big one for the mouth. Attached to the mask was a chain that bound him to a post on the cage’s far side—wasn't on his neck at all but on the mask itself, which must have been stitched on or fastened somehow. He moved as far as his chain would let him, until it was taut. Holding onto the bars, he kept staring at us. I figured this was the gobbo that the old Wahira was making all this fuss about. Maybe he recognized her.
A man came into the room, not through the door but through the hallway in the corner.
This was a lanky humie in a canvas security outfit with a drivers cap on his conya and a toothpick in his mouth. To accessorize his outfit he had a double barrel shotgun slung on his shoulder. Its wood and metal swayed with the stride of his heavy boots: “What’s all the noise about?”
Knifer stood up on his hind legs, glazed eyes roaming like he was embarrassed to be caught in dog mode. He pointed at me with his snout. “Some magician. Errgh. Wants a job or something.”
“Oh yeah?” The human picked at his stubbled jaw, then hooked his veiny hand on his canvas pocket. “Show us some tricks, magic mal.”
“Sure. But not right now. In show business, timing is everything.”
“Heh, if you say so.”
The door swung open and Raccoon came out hunched and walking on his bowed dog legs. Behind him stomped an enormous shadow. As it stepped through the doorway the room’s torchlights revealed it to be a flamboyant troll.
Grivonne. Rotund didn't quite do him justice. This mal was a giant bag of flour with fat—albeit muscular—limbs. He wore a fuzzy top hat, poofy striped pants and a robe that was distended by his huge gut—the whole outfit composed of colors from a batcagg crazy femna’s makeup palette. This troll mal had boils all along his three chins and a nose that looked like a squarish rock plastered to his face, he carried a fancy baton in one hand and an enormous cooked thigh in the other.
Trailing through the door behind him was the Jackal security guard I met earlier.
The troll plodded toward me with his retinue, speaking in between bites of the thigh in his leathery hand. “What the hells all this about some hob granny and her son?”
“That’d be me, Mr. Grivonne.” I stepped forward, leaving the Wahira a step behind. “Well not the granny, but the son as you put it—no actual relation.”
“Hey that’s the guy I was telling you about,” Jackal security guard said.
“Ahhh the magician! Well he must not be as stupid as you made him sound. He made his way through the maze.”
“It’s practice, all those breakfasts staring at the back of cereal boxes.” I shrugged. “But you know I’m all grown so I've moved onto cig boxes for breakfast. I think they’re a little healthier than the cereal, but they sure make coin go fast.” I flipped a silver coin into the air and as it fell I waved my open palm, a little sleight of hand making it disappear in midair.
“Hahagh!” Grivonne laughed. “Toss this poor bastard a few coppers for effort.”
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The Jackal actually threw some copper coins at me, mouth parting in silent amusement. One of them caught me on the brow, forcing me to blink. The Gnolls laughed like the hyenas they were.
Grivonne tossed them the thigh bone—a foot long and thick as a sword pommel. Both Gnolls lunged, growling and yapping as they fought over it until they snapped the bone in two, Knifer getting the bigger piece.
“Now.” The troll wiped his greasy hand on his coat. He took out a cigar from his pocket, lit it and puffed, his eyes in the smoke looking like headlights of some haul truck. “Why the hell are you really here?”
“Eyyy. Ya got me. I meant no disrespect. It’s just you gotta bring some levity to this work. It’s a dreary business, no? Being a tax collector?”
“Collector? I see. Who sent you?”
“Lady Pearl.”
“That old squid hooer. Hagh.” He tapped some ash from his cigar, then tapped his baton into the ground, both huge hands on its orb head. “She’s gotta make those tentacles work if she wants my money.”
“Well that’s the thing. She only wants her money. 12 grand exactly.”
“Look, I don't know if you've figured it out but she didn't send you here to collect. She sent you here to die.”
“Die? The food here that bad?”
“You can hide behind your moron japes all ya like, but think about it. She sent you, a goblinoid, to a place where we’re cookin’ up them little gobbos easy as chickens in a pot. And she gave you this, what, old femna sidekick? Gahahaha!” His croneys joined in the laugh. “So I’m being generous letting you get the flog outta here with your conya still on your shoulders. Now quit wasting my time.”
“Don't worry, I’m not wasting your time—that's a miniature murder in my book, a true sin if there is one. In fact this visit isn't even about collecting. Not really.”
“Eh? What are you talking about?”
Wicked mirth curled my lips. “Well see an ah... entrepreneur like yourself, you know you're only as good as your team, your network. Now I’m still fairly new in the West Coast rogue scene, and so I’m looking to make one of my own. Contacts, associates. I’m not saying I’m looking to work for you or nothin’, but work with ya. If I can do a job for Pearl, do a job for you... A move here. A move there. I’ll make a name for myself, ya know?”
“A young go-getter crook huh? Hahaw!”
“Exactly! And I know you must think I have something against your operation here but here's the thing: just like you live for food I live for one thing: gold. And I got no room for gods or races or politics or any of that bull cagg. Hell you serve me a cup of that goblin stew you got cooking there and I'll chug it like it's my birthday.” Hyena squealing chuckles, a craggy finger rubbing triple pockmarked chins. “And what's more I'll prove it to you. See this little old wahira here?”
“Yeah. The hell is with her?”
“You tell me.” I shrugged, genuinely baffled. “I don't even know her. She came up to me saying how she's been reading the tea leaves and that I'm in her destiny—which was already creepy as flog. Then she starts preaching about us goblins sticking together and all that cagg, how we need to free the goblins from this place. I went along with her just so she'd show me around, give me the lay of the land. Useful ya know.”
“Free the goblins?” His piss colored eyes darkened.
“Yeah. She thinks I'm like some noble paladin.” The Wahira gazed up at me with searching eyes, her cracked lips parting and closing hesitantly. I cackled real deep. “What? Do I look like a flogging elf, ya old bag?”
She reached out, for a second her arm looking like a toddler's trying to steady itself. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“She must think I look like a stupid elf because she offered me her inheritance to help her. Can you imagine? She’s probably got 20 silver with a signed photo of Jooby Mack and thought that was worth more to me than 12,000 gold.” The troll and the human laughed, probably the only ones who got the reference.
The Wahira’s crow’s feet deepened as she grimaced. “Why are you doing this? This wasn't part of—SMACK!” I backhanded her and she stumbled with an old lady yelp.
The whole room hollered. The hyenas in an utter fit—EEeEeehhhEEeehEeHee.
She struggled to get up and I kicked her then, right in the ass, plastering her down on the dusty ground.
“See what I'm willing to put up with?” I shook my conya at the troll in shared exasperation. “Now she may look like a bag of bones with a diaper slapped on but see, being a Hob I can tell you she’s got some cards up her sleeve. This little fem, if you gave her a chance would slip in some real mean poison to your broth here, hex ya, sick some angry ghosts on ya, or pull some other nasty trick. Trust me, I know.” A shadow of hatred swept across my face. “A lot of Wahiras become... very happy widows, my darling mother one of them. So I leave her here for you to do as you wish. My gift to you. Now that's got to be a sign of being trustworthy. A sign that I'll take care of any job... for the right price.”
The troll rubbed his chins. “I gotta say, I've seen a lot of things but a hob turning in an old Wahira like this, this is some entertaining cagg heghhe. You know what, flog it.” His tophat swayed as he stomped over to a safe hidden in a cupboard, twisted the knob three times and grabbed a few stacks of bills fastened with wire clips, put them into a bag that Jackal security held open for him.
“Grivonne,” I said, “this is going to be one beautiful partnership. I'm telling you, wet works, swag, cat burglary, contraband, you just name it, and I'm in.”
“I’ve had a few mals annoying me in the city. I might get you to pay them a visit, see how good ya really are. For now, here.” As he talked his stomps brought him close until his shadow touched me. He smelled of old meat, smoke and honeyed cabbage. “Give this to that tentacle femna, but tell her I'm going to expect a favor real soon.”
“I knew you were swank, govnah.” I reached for the bag.
“But first—” He yanked it back. “Prove it. Prove you're the real deal, a stone cold heavy.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Off the old fem.”
My fingers spread like I was holding a loaf of bread to him. “I'm handing her over to you. She's your problem now. Uh... My hands are washed from whatever you wanna do.”
“I thought you didn't have no problems about no gods or races or nothing like that? That you'd do any job.”
“It's not that. I mean I will, but don't you want to get her ready first? You know, to cook her up or something?”
“Nawh. Too stringy. Too old.” He sniffed. “Now hurry the flog up. You said gold was all that mattered. Nothing else. That you were trustworthy.”
“I am.”
“Then do it. Now.”
My eyes roamed in thought.
Taking a few crunching paces back, I glanced down at the Wahira. She was trembling, stirring up from the ground to her knees.
A cold sweat ran through me.
I slipped my handcannon out from its holster beneath my jacket.
“No... please. What are you doing?”
My arm straightened, a beam on a gallows. Her own god’s sentence:
There is no good. There is no evil. There's only glory.
The gun rattled in my trembling hand.
“Stop!” She stood and took two paces back, quivering eyes locked on me.
My thumb clicked the safety off.
“You can’t! You're a Hobgabarrin! You're a—”
BANG—