Chapter 53 - Negotiating Tactics

“You want to go into the bog?” asked Ringo. He raised one fuzzy eyebrow and leered down from his chair, center of gravity dangerously forward as the boglins struggled to keep it level. “I told you I want fire. I want towers. I want flight!”

“Yes, o’ king,” I said. "The answer to those is in the bog. Fire lives in the water. I saw it as I flew over. I can give you fire, I can give you flight. But I won’t give them to you for free.”

The king shared a look with his advisor. “You wish to trade safe passage through the swamp for these secrets?”

I shook my head. “No, sire. I’ve decided to stay with the tribe voluntarily. I wish for us to grow closer. As… friends.”

The advisor boglin, George stood on his toes to whisper into Ringo’s ear, but there was still so much distance between them due to the lofted throne that he had to whisper extra loudly and I could hear him quite clearly.

“Sire, he’s clearly planning to get close only to assassinate you!”

“I know that, fool! We will keep a close eye on him. Find out what he wants.”

The advisor cleared his throat. “We are pleased you have finally decided to recognize the greatness of King Ringo. An exchange between kings ought be a give and snatch. So what is it that you want from my gracious king?”

I bowed. “I wish to know how it is our king has kept his people safe from the dangers of the bog. My tribe is weak, and we have fallen victim to the aggression of the croc-knockers. How is it that you’ve kept them at bay? I’m sure that information is much, much too valuable a secret to trade, but I must try.”

Ringo snorted a laugh. “Simple. So simple even a forest goblin could grasp it!” He held out his hand, and a pair of goblins came forward carrying a longer version of the bog spear. He grasped it, and then thrust the tip down towards me. I flinched back, which greatly amused him. He chortled and chuckled. But while he did, I examined the tip.

The wood at the end of the spear had been split, and pinched between the bound tines was one of the tesla wasps! The two electric prongs stuck out several centimeters from the end of the rod. They were shock spears.

I had assumed the spear that hit me must have had some sort of fast-acting venom powerful enough to knock out even a goblin, despite our resistance to toxins and poisons. But this was an ingenious application. When I’d first encountered the crocs in the bog during my initial recon with Chuck, the only thing that had managed to deter the croc had been the enraged wasps. Well, a dozen goblins with wasps on the ends of sticks was almost as good as an angry swarm.

“How did you capture the wasps?” I asked.

“You don’t capture them, fool,” said the advisor. “You raid the nest from under the water and steal their eggs. You hatch them in the spear.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Genius. Maybe I hadn’t given the boglins enough credit.

“Now, being as we’re friends, now,” the king and advisor shared a look. “Tell me how fire lives in the swamp.”

I cleared my throat. “Very well. O’ king. As I was passing overhead, I dropped my own fire in the bog. But instead of the water dousing the flame, it caught and spread. I thought little of it at the time, until I saw that!” I pointed at the king’s head.

He probed his face with his fingers. “My face?”

“Your hair. You’ve matted it with a black, greasy fluid from the swamp, yes?”

King Ringo dropped his fingers. “Indeed, a dark spring spurts forth a wonderful liquid. I find it gives my fur a dignified sheen. You seek the sheen? It’s very kingly.”

“King Ringo, I believe that spring holds the secret to swamp fire. If I teach you to trap it, then we can bring fire back to the village.”

Ringo ran a hand through his hair. “Intriguing. What would you need to trap the fire?”

“Simply the help of my scrapper and a device I can fashion from simple hides and wooden poles.” I patted my little leather shorts. “I had one with me when I fell, which would speed the process. But I’m afraid I lost it. I suppose I’ll just have to enjoy your food and hospitality for a week while I fashion another from your generous supplies.”

The advisor whispered up to the king.

“Sire, he’s clearly trying to stall his side of the bargain while he mooches food and materials. We recovered the device he dropped!”

Ringo turned to me. “My advisor says we can provide your capturing device. We will proceed without delay. Unless you think there is some reason we should not make haste?”

“Well, we should consider all approaches to this. One should never be—”

“Without delay!” decreed Ringo. He gestured with his rod, and the boglin guards grabbed me.

It took the king a few minutes to gather his personal guard, which consisted of 20 or so boglins dedicated completely to his own safety. At least half the tribe, actually, from what I could tell. Ringo rolled deep. Honestly, I could learn a thing or to from ol’ Ringo. I’d been a bit cavalier in life—between sports, riding motorcycles, and flying. Always looking for the next thrill, the next challenge, until I could experience the ultimate one: walking on the moon. My pop had always said his heart would give out watching me bungee jump or white-water raft. And then his heart had given out at a steak restaurant as he tried to eat a 30 oz t-bone in 20 minutes to get it 50% off. He’d been looking to put one foot in the grave ever since my mom had passed in 4th grade. Maybe I get my risk-taking from him.

But now, with a tribe to take care of, I had to acknowledge that my risky behavior had put me in compromising positions multiple times. In the interest of delegation and efficient application of resources and lack of delegation I’d eschewed my own personal safety repeatedly. For the sake of my new friends, I had to take into consideration that mitigations had to be put in place—even if those mitigations were other goblins giving their lives to protect the good of the tribe by not allowing enemies to kill me over and over.

The scrapper was brought out of the cage and joined us, stretching his considerable muscles. “Thanks for springin’ me, boss,” he said. He leaned in. “I got a confession. The tunnel weren’t shite.”

His cage hadn’t even been locked. “I’ve got a plan,” I whispered back. “But I don’t know if I can get us both out. Are you with me?”

“I’m wiv’ ye, boss!” said the scrapper, nodding.

King Ringo hissed. “Stop that whispering! Conspiracy!”

I bowed. “Good king, you’ve caught me. I had thought to avoid your noticing. But your eyes see all.”

“And don’t forget it!” Ringo settled back into his chair. “Now. We go to this spring of the sheen-fur water with all haste.”

I had thought the boglins slow and plodding, but once they hit the water it was like watching a school of tetras. These guys had a lot of maneuverability thanks to webbing between their fingers and toes, and all the energy in the water that their forest-born cousins did on land. The king’s chair cut little white-water wakes as he struggled to keep his seat, and my boglin supervisors pushed me so quickly that my prosthetics rode up on the water like waterskis.

Hmm… System?

Hell yeah.