In moments, Rhode took a pillow to the body, and the corporal was struck in the leg by a wet loaf of bread. Harmless. Childish. But still a clear message:
We don’t take orders from you.
One of the carpenters whirled back behind cover as fast as she had appeared. Higher up, a cook vanished as a small, square panel of cabinet slammed shut on its hinge. But their jape was short lived – a few muffled rebukes shouted out, and nothing further was thrown.
Why oh why is it so hard to be excited about craftsmanship? To appreciate the contours of well made, practical objects? Building changes space. Construction redefines volumes. And the grand palace corridor was suddenly terminated by a fortress.
Rhode had hardly broken stride. He stepped over a solitary clod of mud that had been spattered over the tile underfoot, and decided the Carpenters’ Union had constructed something of a marvel. The high wall was built as two overlapping sheaves, one side staggered back to pinch a constricted entry corridor between them. The facade of it had the look of a homestead quilt, with mismatched panels and segments from stolen and salvaged woodwork. What was remarkable was how neatly each of the furnitures had been arranged and fitted to one other, creating smooth, flat faces – so that the whole thing was completely solid and vertical up to above the eye-line of goblins. The barrier was neatly flush to either side, with snug seams lined up in ruler-straight precision. Any material which had bars, grates, grilles, or wicker had been reserved for the top section of the barricade. Eyes were visible through those upper gaps, watching from an elevated position within.
Someone may have gone a little bit overboard.
Turning the corner was like reversing a shirt to uncover all the seams. The back sides of the walls were a chaotic mess of protruding legs, boards and boxes. Precariously on their tip-toes, servants in Malachite’s colors were standing or hanging from those protrusions at irregular heights. Harrowed, they looked outwards or down at Rhode.
“How’re you holding up.”
“How’s it going, I’m Rhode.”
“No worries, we’re going to get you guys sorted. Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh hey, I like your scarf. Heeeeeey, cook guy! You and your friend work things out?”
Bned and another g□b□■n followed Rhode in. Several of the servants flinched as the homunculus clapped them gently over the shoulder. One fell off the wall trying to shake his hand.
The carpenters were less impressed by his arrival. There was a loose circle of them collapsed onto an open area of the floor. A gray old gob was balanced on a stool, where a young woman stood at his side and held his hand for support. Most of the others were cross legged, or even sprawled out on the bare tile. Exhausted, sweaty, tattered and bruised, their faces turned towards Rhode and –
TAK. TAK. TAK.
“Come off it, Journeymiss!” groaned the gobs as Rhode approached. There was a woman still hammering desperately at a wall panel, her cheek was mashed up against the surface, and she dangled a hanging plumb from the other hand. The Union’s cooper pawed through a rubbish pile behind himself. He snatched up and threw an obscenely painted specimen of dishware, and it flew to crash by her elbow.
“I CAN’T!” she wailed in agony. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her nose was flared with her feverish wheezing. She tried to claw at her face, and nearly clocked herself with a finishing hammer. “It’s not PERFECT.”
Rhode scratched at his hairline to hide his grimace. The woman was bandaged and anemic, but he had recognized his would-be spinal beautician.
The Union boss’s face was swollen, even to the point it obstructed his speech. But he made a quiet gesture and a pair of gobs jogged over to seize Rhode’s least favorite wood-carver. They carried her away as she sobbed, and shoved a pillow into her arms so forcefully that she dropped her implements.
The boss winced and suppressed a noise. “So. Goodeman Irving. We’re stuck,” he glowered.
“I guess,” Rhode said. Concerned, he glanced towards the garden courtyard. The central green had been open, accessible to the palace through numerous entries – an dreadful vulnerability. But at least the nearest door had been jammed shut with a heavy braced frame.
The homunculus clenched and unclenched his fingers, then grabbed Bned’s arm for support (which pitched the young man nearly to fall over) and lowered himself slowly to the ground.
“But I think it’s wild how fast you threw that wall up. Really, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.”
[Three-Eye]d Captain Fent was grinning as he padded over to join the circle. He flicked a lazy half-salute with one finger: his helmet was under one arm and his spear had been left in his subordinates’ care.
“Oh, aye Ser Irving. It’s a right fine bit of wood,” Fent agreed. “Us uniforms would be hard-pressed to take it. But.”
The carpenters muttered and grumbled. Fent chewed on his words for a moment, his wry and lopsided smile cutting wider. Several other goblins were making their way over without speaking: a palace chef was representing the voice of the Malachite servants, a gardener was applying an herbal paste to injuries, a uniformed soldier with shadowed bags under his eyes collapsed beside Rhode, with his sharp sword across his own lap.
Rhode noted all of them. He waited for the mercenary to continue. The Union boss spoke instead.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“But…” the man croaked, pointing down the open hallway. Spousal hall was filling with gobs, many of which Rhode didn’t recognize. In particular, a good chunk of the remaining Malachite staff had found their way to the barricade. Stripped mattresses and padded cots were laid out on the floor, occupied by injured maids and archivists. The mercs of Maize-Well Fields held back here. They snuck narrow glances about, conspicuously withdrawn among themselves.
In the absence of spear-squad 2, the line of defense was surprisingly culinary. Kitchen staff stood guard with knives and heavy pots, side by side with deserters: a unfamiliar three-quarter squad of speargobs in dull brown jerkins and worn-out shoes. They had a little image of a stork stitched on their collars. Altogether, this group held behind and beside Rhode’s upturned couch-chariot, which had been laid out across the hall to constrict traffic. The blockage was short the breadth by more than half, leaving the artery (in the clock-wise, southward direction) as good as wide open. The defenders faced out and raised their weapons threateningly, even as an opposition of armsmen was forming.
Those soldiers held back, outnumbered but increasing. They assembled in the Prince’s, in Viper’s and Illuminance’s colors. They were the grains in the hourglass.
“Don’t tell me you forgot to build a second wall.” Rhode snorted. His face fell. “You forgot to build the other side.”
“Hey now. That is a sturdy piece of work,” a carpenter protested. Another one blotted at her forehead with a cloth. “You have to respect the craft,” she stammered.
Rhode waved away their excuses. A few of the nearby gobs flinched as the shadow of his hand crossed over them.
“It’s okay y’all. You still did good.”
The mood was curled by Corporal Bned. He’d been tactfully ignored, and had kept near Rhode’s side. Losing his patience, the gob sidled and tossed his chin. “At least this way, they only have to take down one wall.”
“Aye. Tell you what, my crew and I are right ready to put this behind us,” Captain Fent declared. “Ser Irving. Tell me ye’ve arranged the surrender.”
“Now, hold on!” protested the chef.
“Sorry, I just got here, but I have to say I don’t like the sound of the word surrender,” added a gardener.
“Shut up,” barked the carpenters.
Rhode raised a hand and nodded. “Okay. The good news is, I talked to management. I think we may have an agreement.”
Several of the palace gobs raised their voices again, but were shouted down.
“We want to know the terms,” sighed the old, wiry-haired carpenter. “Not that we don’t trust you.”
“No. We don’t trust him at all,” growled the Union boss. “Goodeman, we want a member of the Union at the table to negotiate with the Adjutant.”
“Uh. Don’t hold out on that. I think he’s been demoted,” Rhode said, twisting up his mouth. “Although maybe that’s still a little fluid? I’m not completely sure.”
Young Bned snarled at the carpenters. He stepped closer towards the veteran Fent. “If the Hero’s offering to keep you ingrates from the rope, the you’d think you’d have the sense to take your fortune and thank him for it.”
“Whoa, Bned! Temper it for a second! Seriously. Alright.” Rhode laid a hand on either side, pushing them gently away from each other.
The corporal flushed, hunching up his shoulders. “Ser, why are you entertaining them. Their safety is promised. They must remand themselves to us.”
“Hell no. Because that is one hundred percent stupid. Guys, you are not taking down that wall. Don’t you dare. ‘Cause we are gonna stall like heck and build the second one.”