Adria raised her shirt up, covering her head and snuck through the corridors of Saint Goblin’s Inn. Witless goblins flooded past her and down the stairs. Not one stopped to gawk at the odd human hurrying through their ranks. Neither did Adria pay any attention to the little green ones. But under any circumstances, she couldn't bump into La'Var or U'lis. Especially not into Saint Goblin.

Adria shuffled up the main stairwell, poking her head out of the shirt occasionally. She bumped into a pair of goblins. They bounced, tumbled on the floor, and cursed in their primal tongue.

She reached the floor of the living quarters and scuttled towards the end, where her room lay

Ahead, a door slammed open. Adria’s heart dropped. U’lis hurried out of her room, bagel in mouth. An apron, which refused to be tied around her waist, distracted the master chef. Adria put her back against the wall and stopped breathing. U’lis passed Adria and as the pressure began to fade, the master chef stopped. Adria slumped into a crouch and rolled into a ball within the shirt.

“I'd cut these fingers off like carrots if I could,” U'lis whispered. “Need more witless. Specifically witless to help me tie this device of the hell around my waist...”

As the master chef tapered off, Adria's heart sunk. Then a kick hit her shoulder.

“Come on, witless! The sun’s in the sky and the drunkards are yearning for their breakfast pint,” U’lis said. “Get up!”

Adria nodded and tried to imitate a witless goblin’s squeak of approval.

“You’re still going to sleep, aren’t you? U’lis asked, then answered herself. “Alright, sleep all you want, just help... You know what? It doesn’t matter – I have just the right witless in the kitchen for this job!”

And the master chef hurried down the stairs.

Adria waited, curled into the ball, for a minute. There was no way that she got past U'lis so easily. She must've been discovered and this had to be a prank for her to reveal herself. But another minute passed and nothing happened. Peeking through her shirt, Adria snuck into her room.

Without shutting the door, she pulled her shirt down and began searching for the Mask of Roguish Disguise. She checked on the floor, on the shelves, on the bed and under it, but the damned thing had disappeared.

The door of her chamber slammed shut.

She ignored the sound and pulled at her hair, scanning every surface in the room.

Twenty Gods, where is it?!

Despite Adria’s efforts, the mask didn’t appear. Hopelessness and frustration welled up inside. Sighing, she petted her plants.

“Have you seen my mask?

Ba’Gan wiggled out from under the sheets of her bed. He grinned and waved the mask.

“Looking for this?”

Adria’s jaw dropped.

“Yes! Thank you so much!” she said and hurried towards the waiter, then froze mid-step. “What are you doing in my bed? With my mask? Please don’t say that you…”

Even The Liar wouldn’t cross a line like that, she continued the thought in her head.

“Last night, when you ran off, I went to bed, but something was off. Too hard, too soft -- I just couldn’t fall asleep. A beautiful goblin like me isn’t built for beds like this. Thought maybe it was better in your chamber and I was right,” Ba’Gan explained, tossing the mask from one hand to another. “Then I saw this thing. I remembered that it’s what made you look like a goblin. And I remembered that this is... Well, we both know just how rare this is. Ten exist in the world, right? Also, they belong to some of the most powerful spellcasters in the land, yeah? I couldn’t help but wonder how you got it and for how many coins one of these would sell.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day, but now we’ve got to hurry -- the inn’s about to open.”

“Maybe you tell me now and I don’t mention to Saint Goblin about your little secret, huh?”

Adria grimaced, blood heating up. A few spells came to her mind, one that could get the mask from Ba’Gan’s little green hands and one that could give him a well-deserved magical slap. But she stopped herself from using them. What I learned in the Auditorium of Sorcery remains there.

“Give it back!”

Adria leaped forward, snatching the Mask of Roguish Disguise. It flew out of her hand and hovered in the air. Her and Ba’Gan’s eyes widened, and they stared in confused silence.

“That wasn’t me,” they uttered at once.

Adria spun on her heel. The backpack on the floors and the books on the shelves lifted up from their surfaces. The plants came alive, their leaves twisting and shifting.

“What happened in that forest?” Ba’Gan asked.

“I caught up with those kids. We had a little talk--they were ordered to vandalize the inn by the King of Dark Alleys--but I couldn’t get much out of them because… Well, they were trapped by spirits,” Adria said. “I distracted those spirits and they ran away, and then I escaped back to the inn.”

“And? That’s it?!” Ba’Gan threw his arms around. “Hah’Dria, by what’s happening around us, I don’t think that’s the only thing that happened.”

“I sort of tripped and the spirits sort of clawed at my chest and vanished…”

“Oh twenty gods, oh twenty gods…” Ba’Gan cursed, grabbing his head. “That’s very bad. Very, very bad. Straight to Saint Goblin. Now. You either get yourself exorcized or...”

“No need: after that, I made it to the inn and had a very strange… sneeze. They're gone now—”

Ba’Gan gasped.

“That’s worse! You let the spirits run wild and possess this place!”

“At least I’m fine and alive--”

“You won’t be once Saint Goblin finds out!”

The waiter goblin hopped out of Adria’s bed and paced around the room, dodging the floating objects.

“She doesn’t have to find out,” Adria said after a pause. “We can fix this before Saint Goblin finds out anything.”

Ba’Gan stopped and stared deeply at Adria. From the floors below, an unusual commotion sounded. It sounded like rush hour, but the bells hadn't rung yet. The barrier hadn’t even opened.

“It’s too late for that,” the waiter said. “And we are not fixing anything. You ran after those kids, you got yourself possessed by the ghosts of Gothsin Forest and you will fix it if Saint Goblin doesn’t banish you.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What if I pay you?” Adria asked.

Saint Goblin paid a measly weekly sum of coins to newcomers such as Adria. Not enough to bribe a goblin with a sparkle in his eye for coins like Ba'Gan. But Adria still had some leftovers from her escape from Black Ice Bastion. The smiths of the north had minted them--some southerners wouldn’t accept such payment--but by the way, Ba’Gan’s eyes widened at Adria’s words, she guessed northern money wouldn’t pose any problems.

Then the waiter, fighting against his principles, shook his head.

“No. I’m not dealing with spirits.”

Adria sighed and contemplated before snatching the Mask of Roguish Disguise from the air. It fought back against her pull. She had to slap it a few times for the spirits to let go, and she put the mask on.

For a moment, her skin burned, her muscles ached, the flow of magic in her blood became clear. The sensations stopped — she transformed into a goblin. Quickly, she dressed up into her maid outfit.

“Let’s go,” Adria said. “If we stay around much longer, everyone will suspect us of causing this haunting.”

“You worry. I'm fine,” Ba'Gan strolled for the door. “My beautiful face will get me out of any trouble. I'm very charming. Can't say the same about— huh?”

The door wouldn’t budge and the handle refused to move. It opened by itself. In the corridors, doors swung randomly, candles lit and went out, and their wax melted. Whispers--reminiscent of the otherworldly screams of the spirits of the night before--echoed deep within the walls.

Ba’Gan crossed his arms and moved in hasty little jumps, and flinched at everything. Adria trotted along him, an edge of anxiety stabbing at her as well. Entering the dining hall, she braced for the worst.

Tables and chairs moved on their own. The chandelier above the hall swung wildly. Witless ran around in a frenzy. A few of the green ones carried on with upkeeping the tavern like nothing was taking place around them. U’lis, La’Var stood frozen and stared with wide eyes. Saint Goblin held her crosses and spoke a prayer.

“What’s happening?” Ba’Gan walked up to La’Var and U’lis.

“Spirits. Damn spirits. Us and them, we were living just fine, not sharing any space. I guess they got bored. Decided to haunt us.” La'Var eyed Adria for a long moment, then continued. “To be fair, can’t blame them – if I had to choose what corner of the valley to possess, I'd absolutely go for an abandoned church from the First Age.”

“Do you think Saint Goblin needs some help?” U’lis asked, cracking her long fingers.

“What’s she even doing?” Adria’s brows furrowed. “Exorcizing the place?”

“Not really, but something similar,” U’lis said. “She’s casting a prayer to drive out the spirits from the dining hall. They’ll still be here, still will cause havoc all over the inn, but at least the patrons will dine in peace…” The master chef looked at Saint Goblin and added, “It’s a pretty complex prayer. I wonder if she needs magical assistance.”

“Of all the goblins in the world, Saint Goblin is the last one who needs help,” La’Var said. “You should round up your witless and get to cooking in the kitchen -- we’re opening in a minute.”

“Right, right,” U’lis muttered and ran off.

Saint Goblin finished her prayer. The tables and chairs that floated fell to the ground. Lanterns stopped swaying. Silence and peace came over the dining hall. The head of the inn turned around, approaching La’Var, Adria and Ba’Gan.

“As the Chronicles of the First Divine Pilgrimage state, the tendrils of evil slither into your home when you think that walls, without prayer, are enough to protect you,” she spoke. “I could feel it last evening… Terrible things approaching Gothsin… Evil making its way toward us… I thought the Twenty Gods looked favorably upon me and that my evening prayers would give us all the protection needed, but I was mistaken. From now on, when the inn closes, we all must gather for a song to the gods.”

Wordlessly, everyone nodded.

This will take a long time to get used to, Adria thought. She wasn’t in the company of humans anymore, where Saint Goblin’s words would’ve received sighs and protests.

“La’Var, today you will not hunt. You will be on the lookout -- if the evil forces break through the power of my prayer, you will fight them. I know you can.”

“Very well.” The hunter obeyed, yet his eyes sunk with disappointment.

The head of the inn turned to Ba’Gan.

“I have wonderful eyes, wonderful ears and I can really connect the dots. And everyone in my past life told me I should solve mysteries,” the waiter said. “So I’m the one who should search for the source of the haunting. The faster we find it, the faster the inn returns to normal. And with me, we’ll be back in half a day.”

Adria frowned. You’re… offering to do something? That isn’t like you.

“My child, your words have convinced me. Hah’Dria, you shall cover Ba’Gan’s duties.”

“Alright.” Adria sighed.

You’re doing this so you don’t have to wait tables. You’re absolutely going to mess around and do nothing, right?

Ba’Gan and La’Var scattered while Saint Goblin stepped to the middle of the dining hall. She grabbed the cross of the thirteenth god from her neck and uttered the prayer that unlocked the barrier to the inn.

“Let them pass through the walls beyond. Let them see what has been hidden for long, and let them touch and let them feel, and let them in!”

The bell atop Saint Goblin’s Inn rang thirteen times. A minute later, the inscribed steel doors of the tavern opened: explorers, adventurers and everyone in between arrived. Adria took the orders and brought them to the kitchen and assigned the witless waiters tables to serve.

The hefty, long-bearded regular Benedictus Lucanus hobbled into the inn. The poor goblin working as his shoe heaved and sweated, and groaned from the sorcerer’s immense weight. And the sorcerer arrived at the tavern after what seemed like a long, rough night: bruises and scratches covered his skin while bags hung beneath his eyes. Benedictus flung his hat onto his table by the entrance, reserving it, then fell into the seat. He took a long breath.

Adria approached the regular.

“Good morning,” she said. “What would you like?”

“Three pints of something that bites so hard it'll feel like thirteen.”

Adria noted the order, walked a few steps away from the table, then turned around and leaned in.

“Are you alright? Did the hounds from yesterday... Do anything?” she asked.

“Those little pups were nothing. The second I sensed that wicked northerner coming, I knew I’d leave. And I did before the dogs got rowdy. Even from Worship street, you could hear some nasty screams and people were running past me. I thought I’d saved myself a heap of trouble,” Benedictus croaked. “But something far more terrible awaited in Gothsin. I’ve seen evil and strangeness in my time, but… What happened last night in Gothsin… Twenty Gods, even the poor folk of Black Ice Bastion would get chills seeing it...” He trailed off into incoherent mumbling.

What… Is going on?

Adria didn’t push it: she headed for the mead dungeon, leaving the regular to collect himself.

As she passed the kitchen and neared the room, a powerful stench of beer dizzied her. Of course, a musky smell always lingered in the inn's air, but it hadn't ever overwhelmed her the way it did now.

Maybe the spirits gave me supernatural senses! Adria guessed and entered the mead dungeon and gasped. A current on the floor pulled her back – beer flowed from the opened chamber.

Adria stumbled and wavered. Once she found her balance, she trudged inside.

The spirits of Gothsin Forest haunted the shoes that had plugged the barrel: they had been torn out of the barrel and walked on their own, in circles, around the mead dungeon.

Well, all things considered, it was a good solution. I didn’t think it through, though. The part where the inn gets haunted, to be exact.

Adria grabbed the shoes. They pranced out of the way and quivered as if they laughed at her vain attempt to catch them. She tried once more, but the shoes ran out of the mead dungeon and disappeared in the corridors.

I am not chasing after them.

In a dark, dusty, cobweb-ridden corner of the mead dungeon, a broom and bucket rotted. Adria took those and began cleaning the place.

Adria swept and filled the bucket with the wasted beer. With a rag, she fell to her knees and cleaned out the tight corners. Once her gaze picked up from the floor, a bulky figure stood in the doorway.

La'Var.

In the hands of the hunter, whose muscular, wide build rivaled a human warrior, were a plethora of potions, bandages and scissors.

“Hah’Dria, I saw you cut yourself,” he said, approaching, pointing at Adria’s forearm. “If you can call that a cut. Looks like you fought in a war and lost. Or got mauled by a bear. Either way, how’d that happen?”

“I had to fix up the dining hall all by myself yesterday, worked into the night, tripped a little, shattered a pint and got cut on the glass. It’s nothing, really,” Adria weaved the tale. So much lying nagged at her, but she couldn't make herself sacrifice the easiest solution to most of her problems. “I don’t even need anything for it -- it’s healing well on its own.”

“I don’t think so.”

La’Var held Adria’s arm, then looked her in the eyes.

“See, little branches are growing out of your blood. Pretty interesting? Do you know what it means? You are turning into a berry tree, whose fruit will eventually end up atop our patrons' cakes. Cause it's clearly not glass you cut yourself on.” La’Var paused. “If I don’t cut those branches, clean the wound, then give you a few potions, you will become a tree too… For some reason last night, you were in the forest… And you brought the spirits upon the tavern…”