Chapter 40
Contracts
The only sound came from my deep, slow breaths. My eyes pulsed. My spirits were returning more and more after my successful hunt.
Goblins cowered under tables, in corners, behind stools, in the shadow of shelves, and in clusters behind Green-fin’s bar. The only goblins not cowering were Barnacle-eyes and Green-fin’s proprietor, Shelly-Shelly. Her fingernails were seashell wavy. She wore a burlap apron with one front pocket. Chimeric colors were spread out in the bar from the bright ethereal forged label of one of Hawkin’s barrels. It was clear to see that the goblins wrestled between awe at the light and fear of me. Every pair of goblin eyes peered over shielding surfaces.
I unplugged the bunghole and filled a tankard with a draft of the goblin spit beer. I passed the tankard to Shelly-Shelly.
Shelly-Shelly took a sip and shifted on her stool. She brought her knees up and curled her toes. Her eyes widened and her sip turned to a glug.
“Impectastible!” she said. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever had before. But better doesn’t always mean better, especially since better usually means more expensive.” And she eyed me through slitted lids.
[Merchant Options:]
[Bribe Shelly-Shelly.]
[Counter ‘better usually means more expensive’.]
[Flatter Shelly-Shelly]
[Begin price bargaining at 50 silver per 15.5 gallon barrel.]
[More Merchant Options…]
“Maybe when you’re dealing with humans,” I said. “I’m not human.”
“Yeah, what are you?”
“I’m Thrush. How much do you pay right now for your spit beer?”
“A Thrush, you say—that’s a new type around here. Twenty silver per barrel. The big barrels. I hardly make a profit. There’s not a whole lot of work for goblins to do in this city. Odds and ends. I have most greens give me something like this.”
Shelly-Shelly reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a handful of torn pieces of paper. She held the crumple up to my face. Several variations of “I owe you” were misspelled on each shred.
She continued. “Got this idea from a human. The profit we make is from visiting Captains and some of their snots. They pay in coin. But mostly from monsters! Lots of orcs. Occasional paper-fins—those shark looking people. A bunch of other non-humans. Make enough to keep the roof on the walls. Sometimes even for food, but honestly, I’d hate for goblins to have a no-place to go to. Lot’s of ships sink around here.”
Barnacle-eyes sighed and leaned forward. She put her chin in her palm and stared with starry eyes at Shelly-Shelly. “Lots of ships!” she said. “You’re like a grandmother making a home for goblins.”
Profit was a problem for Shelly-Shelly. I carefully chose my Merchant prompts.
“How about we turn things upside down?” I said.
“Oh no! Storm already did that once and it took a month to right-side-up everything. Except for the shack. Had to leave that upside down. Why do you think the shelves go so high, all the way to the ceiling? Why do you think that one window is shaped like a door?”
Better usually meant more expensive to Shelly-Shelly. And if my climb to gold rank Merchant taught me anything, it was to listen and listen well.
“If better usually means more expensive, let’s put a stop to that. Let’s make better mean cheaper.”
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“I don’t think you can beat Moody-booty’s prices.”
“How about nineteen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel?”
“Nineteen? How long can you supply me for? Moody-booty has been serving me for years.”
“For as long as Barnacle-eyes and Hawkin want.”
Shelly-Shelly took a swig of her beer. “Saving one silver per barrel sounds nice, but you’re asking me to risk trusting you. I’m sorry.”
“Eighteen silver.”
“Eighteen silver? What am I supposed to tell Moody-booty?”
“Tell them you’re taking an offer for seventeen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel for better goblin spit beer.”
“Seventeen? Even if you could afford that, I doubt you have enough beer to supply me. I’ve seen your ketch, Barnacle-eyes. Filled with flowers and plants, but I hear there are no barrels of beer on there. I’m beginning to think you’re out to swindle me.”
I withdrew another barrel from my inventory. Then another. Another, and then another. I pulled out barrel after barrel of Hawkin’s goblin spit beers. Goblin eyes got wider and wider. Gasps increased in number. Chimeric colors made all of Green-fin look oil-slicked.
“I am like ship,” I said as I continued to pull out barrel after barrel. “Like big ship. I’ll sell all the goblin spit beer you need for fifteen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel.”
“Fifteen!” Shelly-Shelly said from somewhere behind the fortress of barrels. “Okay! Stop, stop! I can’t pass this up. I have to maintain my relationship with Moody-booty, so I’ll buy sixty barrels a month. How often can you sail here?”
“I can deliver beer once a month.”
Shelly-Shelly—it must have been her—let out a shrill whistle. “Let’s get these down to the warehouse! I’ll erase one ‘I Owe You’ per helper!” None of the goblins moved. They picked their ears, they avoided eye contact, and they grumbled to themselves. “None of you have an ‘I Owe You’?” Almost every goblin shrugged. “Every one of you has an ‘I Owe You’! Except for you Captain Limp-hip. The rest of you get to helping! Now!”
Whether it was her apron, or her voice, something cracked in the air. Every goblin rushed to help transport the chimeric colored barrels. They struggled to tip the barrels. One by one, the barrels were rolled down a ramp in a hallway. Hawkin’s branded name rolled over and over.
The bartender rolled a barrel against the flow and said to Shelly-Shelly as he passed her, “I’m grabbing one for the bar, Commodore.”
The bartender’s muscles bulged as they alone lifted the barrel onto a wooden saddle behind the counter. After a series of grunts and one sharp cry of pain, they successfully had the barrel in place. They drove a hollow iron tube through the forged label barrel head, and beer foamed out and splattered into what must probably have been a tankard set on the floor. Then a plunk of goblin earwax was shoved into the open tube to plug it up.
“Let’s put this in writing,” Shelly-Shelly said.
I drafted a Merchant’s Contract. Shelly-Shelly signed on the line after a brief skim.
[Quest Objective: Merkul’s Merchant Tent Evolution Stone.]
[1/5 New Merchant Contracts complete.]
Chasing Margaux had been so all-consuming, I’d forgotten about my most recent quest objective. Silver rank had brought about fewer quests than bronze, and gold rank had fewer still.
I withdrew more barrels from my inventory to satisfy the contract. Goblins that weren’t helping were helped to fresh draughts of goblin spit beer. It wasn’t long before Barnacle-eyes was overwhelmed by goblins with questions. They asked her if she was still hiring, if she was sailing to specific goblin colonies along the coast or across the sea, and if she would want to deliver such delicious spit beer to their homelands.
Happy with the contract, I left Green-fin. Goblins and humans parted as I made my way along the boardwalk to Barnacle-eyes’ ketch. Goblin boots pounded the boardwalk behind me. Barnacle-eyes caught up to me.
“A sale!” she said. “A sale at Green-fin! I love Green-fin! Did you know we’re behind schedule Thrush? But it all works out because now I’m making a home for goblins with garlic and onion and flowers and ships that don’t sink! I still have a lot of repairs to do before we can sail out; I want all my sunk-recovered sloops to come with me; I’ll need to promote at least eleven other goblins to Captain! Or hire already-Captains! We need to gather all my snots so we can get ready to sail out; round up Boggo too; Belut too; can I have more mana ale, please? Also some anti-drunk beer? I end up taking too many naps without it.”
“I don’t have any Drunk Defiance attribute beers. How about we go to an Alchemist shop and buy some mana potions? We’ll get you a big barrel with our new profits.”
“Are you going to sell beer to Hiccup too?”
“Through Abigail. I didn’t want to give Hiccup one of my dreambon ales. That’s only for those closest to me.”
“Well I have one.”
“You have a lot.’ I said.
We turned away from the docks and headed into the city for mana potions. Then Barnacle-eyes gasped like something had dawned on her.
“Does that mean I’m closest to you?” she said.
“That’s what it means.”
I donned my old cloak. Barnacle-eyes skipped and hummed a tune.
“Do you think my goblins could be closest to me one day?” she said.
“If you’re anything like Barnacle-eyes, of course.”
“That’s me! I feel so lucky being me!”