“The… what? The – okay, that’s a real room. Sure Tuv, why not.”
So Rhode stooped after Btiobhan through a side door into a poorly lit, minuscule kitchen. His head scraped against the low ceiling. High cabinets pinned him in. A central preparatory island took up the room’s middle, and his legs were pinched between that middle countertop and the ones that wrapped around the room’s perimeter. Whenever he moved he risked banging against the dozens of gleaming, well maintained pots which hung from hooks above. Every flat surface was immaculately clean.
Mimai slipped past Btiobhan and vaulted up to perch on the table. Her shoes kicked with nervous energy, and occasionally she startled herself as she bumped heels against the drawers underneath her.
Btiobhan slipped off a heavy shoulder bag and set it down. He reached over to adjust the wick of a dim lantern and moved it to better light their conversation. Then he stopped Tinc before the gardener could follow in after them.
“With respect, both to you, and to everything that’s happened tonight, I honestly don’t know whether you are allowed to hear this part,” he spoke.
The gardener froze, his hand resting on the frame. “Let’s say for example: would his physician, the Ward Noffet of the guileful Knight Order of Vipers be authorized to attend him now?”
The elf snorted. “Fuck no,” he laughed before he caught himself. “Apologies,” he dipped his head seriously, “I meant to say that no: under normal circumstances, he would not be. Since everything’s gone cock-eyed, I’m not as sure. There are a lot of people who’ve met Rhode now, and that really shouldn’t have been permitted. So I guess I’d say, use your judgement,” Btiobhan sighed. “About Ward Noffet,” he clarified.
Slowly, reluctantly, Tinc stepped back and shut the door closed with a glacial creak.
The two acolytes fished through the bag: at ease, but getting in each other’s way. Mimai set aside a weathered, canvas-bound journal. Btiobhan found a ball-shaped ceramic jar. The elf found a paring knife in a drawer, then broke the jar’s wax seal and pulled out a fat-bodied slug. He slapped it against the door, where it stuck wetly and began to cry.
The noise was subdued, mildly annoying. But it served as a reliable [Muffle].
“Gods,” the goblin wilted. She slumped and folded under the high cabinet to lay across the counter and against the wall. She curled her body tight and hugged her knees.
The elf slid down dramatically until his knees bumped across the narrow aisle and supported him squatly pinned in place. “I don’t mean to complain, Rhode, but this past day’s been utter shit, my gob.”
The homunculus shifted. It would not be possible to sit down. He shuffled to turn sideways and fit better. “Yea. Kind of been a mess,” he said. “Ah, so on a sliding scale from getting hit in the face to being a casual participant in human rights violations, uh, what’d you say you’d rate yours as?”
“Your world’s expressions are so complicated,” Mimai groaned.
Btiobhan puzzled for a moment. Then, “probably either a here,” he demonstrated, leveling his palm at chest level. Then he raised his hand high over his head and knocked a pot to clang against its neighbor. “Or here? I guess it depends on what you count as a ‘ubiquitous person-dignity desecration.”
“Okay,” Rhode nodded. He lost control of a wispy smile. “It does sound kind of stupid in Goblin, doesn’t it.”
“Cant. Yea. I understand what you’re saying. It’s just an unusual phrase.”
“Sorry, slang what?”
“Oh. Not slang. Cant. It’s what the language is called.”
“Huh. As in, liar’s code?”
“Yes! It’s actually quite strange, for some reason not a lot of people ever make that connection. But from a historical context it makes a lot of sense once you–”
Mimai twisted her body just far enough, and then kicked Btiobhan lightly in the shoulder. She began to slip precariously off the counter, barely catching herself with a scrabble. “We’re gonna get in trouble,” she huffed.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Right.” Btiobhan stood. “Right. I’ll give you the short version. Yesterday, we performed the [Hero Summon] ritual again. I assume you know that.”
“For the third time,” Rhode nodded.
“Successfully. Sort of. Sure,” Btiobhan tugged absently at his manacles. He frowned and looked away. “Even after you made it, we… well, we were all overjoyed. But we weren’t sure if you were a fluke or not. It wasn’t until we brought Ser Santos through that we felt confident that we’d gotten things right.”
“Okay,” Rhode encouraged him to continue.
“But management wanted to push for a third Hero,” Mimai whispered. “Which is fine. But we shouldn’t have had to rush.”
“I think we all would have preferred to take it slow. But we’re also so far behind schedule, so maybe… well, anyway the you-know-who insisted. I don’t know if –”
Mimai jolted up straight. “I don’t think we messed up,” she blurted out.
“Maybe. We had to have, though. Or missed something. The process went fine-”
“The summon went totally fine. It should have been fine!”
The elf winced. “Well, we had to have missed something. I’m not sure if you… recall how it works, Rhode. But we sort-of expect that a Hero will be a little bit agitated when we first pull you through.”
The homunculus’ fingers gripped the table top behind him. The acolytes shrunk under his expression.
“So everything seemed right at first. But then he wouldn’t calm down. Just kept getting worse.”
“Just freaked out,” Mimai hugged herself tighter.
“For all we know, maybe it’s just a personality thing. Rhode, you’re sort of a calm guy. And Ser Santos is Ser Santos. So I don’t know.”
“Sure,” Rhode pressed. “But this guy is alive, right?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, sorry. He’s locked up right across the hall. The soldiers have got him cornered in the family rooms. Here, and then posted at all the other exits.”
“Just there?” Rhode pointed toward the wall.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” the monster considered, “but you need me specifically. Nobody else could stop him?”
“Not without endangering him,” Btiobhan explained. “I should be clear. He went berserk. Scholar Yagget – I mean, you know Goodeman Yagget. The Hero broke his arm fairly badly. And then of course Hrogg,” Btiobhan indicated back and forth from himself to Mimai.
“Hrogg. I don’t remember him as well.”
“You two don’t get along,“ Mimai shrugged. “It’s okay. Hrogg’s prickly sometimes.”
“Sorry, I guess. He’s okay though?”
“No. He’s not in great shape, but he’s tough. He’ll be alright. I probably shouldn’t ask, but is the…”
“Rhode met with him,” Mimai nodded.
“The Prince? Hard to tell, he seemed hurt. But strong still. Scary still. Is that what happened? He doesn’t have super strength or something, or invincible skin?”
“Rhode, SHHH! I’m not going to speculate. Don't even. That’s just a bad idea. Besides, it could have simply been surprise. We just didn’t expect the Hero to struggle that badly. So bad, he was hurting himself: no restraint. Fought through a whole bunch of soldiers. Got loose. Tore through the palace, but now he’s nearly killed himself to do it.”
“So you just what? Herded him somewhere?”
“Some of the uniforms did. Yes. That was hours ago.”
“Okay,” Rhode sighed. “You’ve got me. I’ll help. Of course I will. I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised in what way?”
“Surprised that the Prince would let me do this. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. But I don’t exactly see why he’d even let me close to another Hero if he doesn’t have to.”
Btiobhan grinned sadly. “Probably because you’re the only one who speaks the same language, big guy.”
Rhode laughed, pressing a hand against his chest as his ribs twinged. “No, man. I get how you might assume that. But you know, Ed and I don’t come from the same place. Urth is big. Really big. We might get lucky, but there’s no guarantee that –”
<
<
Rhode paled. A calm fluttering feeling burbled up and crowded out everything else.
“Sorry. We remember it from when you woke up. It was pretty stressful, and you repeated yourself a lot." the elfen felon shrugged. "So it was hard to forget.”