If one might have been conditioned (by the poor habits and conventions of dramatization) to have expected a pointed and stunned silence at his words, they’d have been surprised by the overwhelming chorus of groans.

Several of the objections were practical. Every arm was tired. Bruises were turning ripe. Weary heads were nodding off.

“Well, maybe I can help a little bit,” argued Rhode. “Just to get you started –”

“Ser, I can’t allow you to strain yourself further,” Bned paled. “I’m under order to keep you resting, so that the damage does not maleficate.”

New to his rank, and surrounded by unfriendly faces, it should have been easy to bowl over the young officer’s concerns. Frustratingly, Captain Fent was proving to support Bned in every argument. If the corporal was brash, the mercenary captain was intractable and darkly intense. Rhode grudgingly withdrew his offer.

The dynamic changed again, as the chef stood up to sit next to Fent, who was slowly drifting together towards Bned. Rhode watched it and clawed at his brow to hide his frown. Factionalization.

“Guys, here’s the deal,” the homunculus coughed. He raised his strained voice to wrangle the course of the meeting back on point. “I’ve been promised we can sort this all out. Personally. Like as a favor. Which is kinda an unethical way to do Justice, but you know… we make do. BUT,” he forestalled them again by rapping his knuckles loudly on a nearby dismantled bloodwood panel. “I have a condition, a level. The next time I pass out, or go to sleep, I could be out for days. It’s something I can’t control. But I don’t want to get into a situation where you guys get the gavel, and I’m not here.”

A hand was raised. “For clarification, what’s the significance of a ‘tiny mallet’? Is that a metaphor?”

Rhode pressed on to avoid explaining metonymy and Yankee judicial traditions. “Part of the deal is that it’s going to take time for me to get you guys released. I’m going to have to clarify, but that’s how I understand it.”

“Yeh? Yeh? What happens to us in the meantime?” muttered a jointer stuffily through his broken nose.

Rhode hesitated, then respectfully reached over and flicked the carpenter in the ear. He was getting better at this. “That’s what I’m saying. I’d prefer it if y’all could keep in a way that’s safe, with some dignity until we get things sorted out.”

“Ser Irving,” Bned objected, “how is this to be taken except as an insult! These traitors have already been promised their safety. You’re spitting on the mercy of our betters.”

“Yea? Promised by who? Specifically?” Rhode glared side-eyed the goblin, whose mouth snapped shut angrily. “That’s right.”

“Doesn’t matter who it is, ye great wheezing hippo,” spat Fent dismissively, “just that they’re in charge.”

“Fent, listen man –”

“No Ser. My crew’s had plenty of fun running with ye tonight, and once we fence the loot we stole, I’ll be glad to buy ye a drink. But this is our career, and we’re on retainer.”

Rhode blinked. “Uh. Wait, I didn’t really ask…”

“No offense to any of ye. But we’re for Maize-Well, and we’re not risking our reputation just to spare the hangman some –”

At the word hangman, Rhode lurched to stand and didn’t quite make it. “Fent. Yo. Okay, fine. I get it.”

He slumped back onto his buttock, where a sudden cushion had appeared underneath him. A maid with a sling and an eyepatch skittered away, squeaking apologies.

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“We need to speak for ourselves,” interrupted the Union boss. “This… creature can’t speak for us. He’s going to cut us out of the negotiations and pick what’s best for us. What gives him the right?”

“Alright, everybody QUIT.” snarled the Dreadlung. ”Whatever you’ve got to say, you can stow it a second. Now I didn’t mean to get caught up in this. But I’m here. You guys want in on the negotiation? Good. Fine. Pick one person to represent you,” he coughed raggedly, “and I’ll bring you along every step of the way. Now you’ve got my sympathies. You do. But the truth is, a bunch of you guys also messed up bad tonight. People died.”

The homunculus laid his palms flat on the floor and heaved to his feet. He loomed over the others and jabbed a finger out accusingly.

“And you’re all saying you got hosed on your contract. Alright. If that’s true, let’s make it right. But guess what? I haven’t ever seen this contract. I’ve got to consider maybe you’re all the ones who are out of line.”

“Ser Irving,” attempted the carpenters.

“Naw, man. This is a tangle, and I’m not sorting you out until I figure out what’s going on. So everything’s on pause. You’re going to wall off that hallway, and set up rooms for your people. I’m going to get you set up with supplies, and get the army guys to hold off. In a couple of days, I’ll do my best to do right by you, as long as you guys deserve it. That’s the deal. That’s MY deal.”

Captain Fent was grinning. Bned was rotating through any number of facial expressions, as if to see which one fit. The carpenters grew dark, but restrained, while the malachite gobs melted into bright-faced relief.

That might have been the end of it. Except, there was one other group at hand, wasn’t there?

“I think we should strike now,” said the sergeant of Diving-Bird Lake. The soldier had been silent through the discussion, a man of middling age and a slightly receding hairline. He had the look of a ponce on a budget, with knee-high hose and horn buckled, pointed-toe shoes. His middle-section ballooned out in a poof, with that little stork symbol stitched at the collar of his leather jerkin. As Rhode met his gaze, the goblin had an intense, focused expression that was just off center; a fixation that was just crooked of direct.

Rhode choked and cleared his throat. “Strike who?” he rasped.

“This is our best chance. We have the numbers,” continued the deserter. He leaned forward eagerly. “The enemy is off balance and exhausted.”

“Sorry, who’s the enemy?” The homunculus had been herding cats. One had gotten loose. “Because enemy is a strong word –”

“Oh, Hero. Don’t worry. We already know. If you count the six of our fighters. Ten with the sell-spears. Add thirty or so of these gobs as fat for the grinder – we’ll punch through.”

The other gobs were starting to raise their voices. “Hold on now,” pleaded the chef.

“With you to lead us to the fishy, we can cut off the –”

Bned’s hand was at his sword. Fent had backed away and was motioning at his second to bring his spear. The carpenters were pulling tools out of their belts, or scraps of wood. One took off a shoe and brandished it.

“Shut the fuck up,” hissed the Union boss.

“I’m not with him, please, please! I don’t know him, it’s not my fault!” cried a steward.

The Diving-Bird Lake fellow ignored them all, stepping closer to the homunculus. The whites of his eyes showed. “We’ve been waiting, Hero. For a hundred years, we’ve been praying that you’d arrive, and now you’re here.”

“Fent?” Rhode called out. “I’m missing some context here.” He took a retreating step. “Yo man, hold off for a minute.”

“Cowards!” hissed the revolutionary. “The fishies are a rot. Wet and sodden, they cheapen us. They DEGRADE us! This is Sacred! We used to be glorious!”

“Treason,” spat Bned.

“Squad up!” barked Fent.

“Bud, I don’t know you. But it is clear to me you gotta lower your energy,” Rhode whispered.

“They’re just afraid,” rebuked the fanatic. “Cowed. They’ve knelt to foreigners so long don’t believe anymore.”

“Okay,” Rhode sighed, “I’m starting to catch up now. But I’m really not on board though, man. You’re coming at me hard, and I just don’t know your geopolitical situation –”

The Union boss cracked his knuckles, and tilted his head to pop his neck. “It’s always the ones from the boonies,” he muttered.

“Don’t you understand? This is why you’re here.” The soldier grabbed at Rhode, clawing at one arm to hold onto his bicep. “To restore the rightful ruler of our nation.”

Rhode scowled. “Naw, man.”

“Oh stuff it, you moron,” the white-haired carpenter groaned. “Rightful where? Pyrocaust was a eunuch, and the others all got their heirs purged. There’s nobody left.”

“Heere layes the Darke Lord, for whome dæth is naught the end. The Once and Future Tyrant!”

Every goblin present froze completely. Then all at once, they moved in a practiced, reverent gesture. They tapped their thumb to both eyes, and made a cross over their tongue. Rhode spun about his heel. It was all of them doing it, all except for the soldiers of Diving-Bird Lake.

“Glory to the Dark Lord. As Great as they are Dead,” chanted a chorus of nervous goblin voices. “May they never rise again.”

Then together, a mob surged up with sudden ferocity. With their fists and feet and anything that came to hand, they beat the sergeant of Diving-Bird Lake and his compatriots halfway dead before Rhode could stop them.