Ollie tugged the ropes securing the goblin to the tree. A little bit of give, enough for the grunt to think it could escape. But not enough for it to break free with Ollie standing two feet away. He nodded in satisfaction, put everything back in his bag, and then smacked the sleeping goblin across the face. It stirred, barely, so Ollie did it again. It opened its overly large eyes, blinked a few times, then immediately focused on Ollie.
“Howdy.”
The goblin stared for a moment, taking in its new environment. Once clarity set in, it struggled against the ropes, pushing and pulling. It tried to lunge forward, straining against the bindings. Ollie took a step back, his shotgun in hand.
“Let’s not get riled up. You aren’t getting out of those ropes, and even if you did, you wouldn’t get far thanks to good old Remi here.” He patted the barrel. “Now let’s take a moment, catch our breaths, and maybe get to know each other. We can talk about where we’re from, how many kids we have, the new endcap displays at the grocery store, and problems with our neighbors. Speaking of neighbors,” he aimed Remi at the goblin’s head, “where are your friends?”
The goblin fumed for a moment, having given up the struggle. It growled at Ollie, who cocked his head.
“Now that’s not nice. Especially when I’ve gone pretty easy on you up to now. I don’t know how much you know about my kind of people, but we can get nasty when we need to. Some of us wouldn’t even bother tying you up and asking questions. We’d just cut off your head and use it to divine our way back to your cave. How would you like that? Cutting your head off?” Ollie patted the machete hanging at his side. “Cuz we can skip all the negotiating and go straight to the messy part.”
Guttural sounds emanated from the goblin’s mouth as it eyed the machete.
“Nothing to say?” he asked. “Fine.”
He set the shotgun down and pulled his machete free. He made a show of running his fingers along the edge of the blade, checking the sharpness. The goblin watched every movement carefully, probably debating whether Ollie would carry through with his threat. Once Ollie took a menacing step forward, all traces of disobedience disappeared.
“No!” it said.
Ollie stopped. “What’s that?”
The goblin lowered its eyes. “No. Friends.”
The words were low and gravelly, permeated by a sense of defeat.
Ollie leaned in closer. “Say that again.”
The goblin flicked its eyes up at Ollie.
“No friends.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No friends!” it shouted at him, one last burst of insolence before its shoulders slumped and it sagged against the ropes. Ollie grunted, then lowered his blade, unnerved by this one’s lack of insubordination. Most goblins bucked like wild mustangs when he reached this point. They seethed, and spat, and cursed him and his entire family. They fought to the bitter end. This one seemed broken. Like one of those beaten, mistreated dogs locked up in a cage in some hick’s backyard. He almost pitied the stupid creature.
Almost.
“Someone’s going around killing people, leaving pieces of their bodies scattered all around the riverbed. Are you sure that isn’t your boss?”
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The goblin stared at the ground, subdued.
“No boss.”
Ollie furrowed his brow. “You’re alone?”
The goblin nodded.
“You expect me to believe that?” Ollie leaned in and lowered his voice. “See, I know the secret about goblins. There aren’t enough of you left to cast off a willing grunt like you. Clans go around sucking in as many new members as they can, any way they can. They don’t send you out to pasture unless you did something really bad.”
The goblin turned away, and Ollie nearly laughed. He hadn’t met one like this in a while. Oh well, it was time to get this charade moving. He slipped the machete back into his belt.
“I’m gonna give you some time to think about your answers. When I come back, I expect you to be a lot more talkative. If not, well,” he patted the machete again, “it’s gonna get messy out here.”
Ollie picked up his gun and left, casting a quick glance upward. He caught sight of a tiny figure hiding in the branches. He left the clearing, a content smirk on his face.
*
Grika watched the goblin from his hiding spot in the trees a short distance away. He sat on a thick branch, his legs swaying over the side, his back resting against the trunk. He’d watched the whole conversation between Ollie and the goblin with some little bit of satisfaction. Part of him regretted that he wouldn’t get to see any actual maiming. At least not yet.
It was in his nature to hate just about all other types of goblins. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because they were all so much bigger. That didn’t seem fair. Pygmies and gnomes were small and weak compared to the vast majority of goblin stock. What was their purpose? Were they gremlins, designed to sneak into small places and wreak havoc? That’s what some of them did. And it was a tolerably noble purpose. Far more noble than being small and picked on by any dumb gobbie with a pulse. Gnomes at least banded together and used their magic to stay out of sight. Pygmies weren’t so smart. They were solitary creatures, making them easily picked off by the goons. Except for Grika. He’d found his own way out.
He watched as the goblin shuffled around in the ropes, testing its limits. Ollie had deliberately left one of the knots loose, so it could wriggle free eventually, but this goblin decided to skip that part. It shimmied one of the loops of rope higher up around its shoulders, then bent over and bit into it with its strong jaw. It chewed on the rope for a minute before it finally snapped through. The ropes went slack and fell to the ground. A moment later the goblin was on its way, running through the forest.
Grika waited for it to gain a little distance before emerging from his hiding spot. He hurried up the length of the branch until it bowed under his meager weight, then jumped to the next one, and then the next one. When the branches thinned, he climbed down to the ground and followed the goblin on foot, staying far enough away that his nose could do all the work.
Eventually, the chase led to a cave.
He listened at the entrance, hearing the soft footsteps of a barefoot goblin wandering around its home. He only smelled the one goblin, but that kind of assumption could get him killed. Others could be lurking deeper in the cave, in parts where the air didn’t carry as well. Not that magic actually carried around on air, but it was a worthy metaphor. What it really meant was that he didn’t have to go in to check.
Grika pulled out a handful of small beads wrapped in reflective tape. They wouldn’t stand out on their own, but they’d shine up like a beacon when a flashlight hit them. He hurried back to the path, leaving the beads as a trail. A short time later, he emerged from the darkness of the forest to find Ollie and Kimmie waiting in the clearing not far from her house. A greasy, brown paper bag sat on the ground next to them. They both looked up as he wandered over toward the bag.
“Well?” Ollie asked.
“Found him.”
“His lair?”
“Yep.”
Ollie stood and gathered his things, including his pack, and a large, metal gas can he’d taken from Kimmie’s work shed. “Just him?”
Grika winced. “I didn’t go in! That’s your job.” He pointed a stubby finger at Ollie.
“Where is it?”
Grika hooked his thumb back the direction he’d come from. “About half an hour’s walk that way, my speed, not yours. There’s a tree with a split trunk, shaped like a big V, on the side of the path. Take a left, go another few minutes, and you’ll be close. Look for the beads once you turn off the trail.”
“Adequate work.” Ollie tossed the brown bag at Grika’s feet. “Don’t eat it all at once.” He turned to Kimmie, who’d moved up next to him. “Ready?”
They left, and Grika opened the bag and pulled out a giant hamburger. He settled into the seat cushion Kimmie had brought to sit on to eat his prize. How many other pygmies were sitting in comfort, eating like a king?
None of them, Grika decided. Not a single one.