Chapter 70 - No Problem At All

“It strikes me as odd that you would trust human security, with your dislike of the newcomers,” I said. I glanced up at one of the humans walking beside a trundling cart. They gave no indication of having heard me. All of them were between level 25 and 30 according to the System, except for the leader, who was all the way up at 35. I wondered what had triggered the ability to be able to see that high a level now. When I’d been able to see the croc levels it was because we’d defeated the stone sloth alpha. But neither Rotte nor Hrott had been higher level. Was it because we’d defeated the javeline as an organization? Because I’d invented guns? Or was it simply at the System’s discretion?

So helpful.

The artifice on the back of the clifford beside me twisted, though it had no eyes that I could see. I wasn’t sure how creatures of smokeless fire interpreted visual animation, but clearly they could. “Herein lies the error of your assessment, o’ king. The paladin are not new to Lanclova. They are descendants of the first men to try to settle the land beneath Raphina’s watchful eye. All that is left of them, in fact. Their camps and ports and cities lay in ruins—taken by disaster, disease, and desertion. This land is not kind to outsiders. These humans have lived in the City of Brass for seven generations. Their loyalty to the King of the Ifrit is as unwavering as their bravery is resolute.”

“It would have to be, to willingly ascend and stay in a village of carnivorous goblins,” I said. “Why don’t they speak?”

“They remove their tongues as secondary sexual characteristics begin to appear.”

“That’s barbaric!” I said.

“Is it?” asked Taquoho. “I find that to be a crude and reductive description. They seem no worse for wear because of it, nor does it turn them to savages. I do not know why it is done, but they persist in the ritual.”

“They do it to themselves?”

“A keepsake of their previous culture—one of the few remaining traditions they observe that did not originate in the City of Brass. Along with their martial regimen and sword forms. But even without it, they could not speak to you. They do not learn the voice of the newcomers. Tabun is one of the few who take this leap.”

So those brass masks were hiding mutilated-mouthed life-long warriors. Even if I could get a word out of them, they were probably too loyal to the Ifrit to learn anything useful.

We reached the bottom of the bluff and Taquoho stretched his legs to their full extent. “The jungle has been pushed back. What are those towers at the corner of the fenced areas?”

“Stationary defenses,” I said. “We recently finished our war with the javeline. They attacked our livestock. It was the last time they’ll attack us.”

“Curious. It is fortuitous that they did not exterminate you.”

“I’d like to think so, too,” I said, sliding down off the clifford. “We have a freight elevator cleared to bring your wagons up.

“There is no need,” said Taquoho. “Observe.”

The walking wagons moved to the base of the bluff and put their spiked legs up, slowly transitioning to a vertical climb. Their security hooked small brass loops onto the sides of the wagons and allowed themselves to be lifted. The smaller spider-bot Ifrit shifted to the front of the cargo as the orientation shifted.

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I grunted. “Huh. That’s a lot of power in those walkers. Is it Ifrit moving them or are they getting energy from some other method?”

I moved over to the freight elevator with Taquoho and my goblin guards. A goblin counterweight of a half-dozen furry blue menaces descended, pulling us up level with the walkers. They had a drum built into the back of each one.

“The Ifrit only directs the movement, energy to move the limbs is stored in wound springs and must be re-wound periodically.”

“Clockwork, then. Is that how yours works, too?”

Taquoho lifted one of its legs. “This form is small enough that we can manipulate it at will. We are used to it.”

The elevator reached the top of the bluff and two of Buzz’ builders hooked us and pulled the boom over the ground. The first of the Ifrit walkers reached the top of the cliff and pulled itself over. The goblins started to take notice, and a rising tide of chittering brought a decent portion of the tribe running—until they saw the humans.

Their reaction was much the same as mine had been: visceral fear and panic, causing a surging tide of goblins to flee as far from the southern elevator as they could. In many cases, that meant flinging themselves from the top of the bluff.

“What an unfortunate degree of friction,” observed Taquoho.

“They’ll come around,” I said, hoping I was telling the truth. Still, it made me nervous having humans at Village Apollo. Part of me felt it was like inviting night haunts to roost in the eves of the buildings. I had wondered how I’d feel when I encountered humans here. Would I feel a sense of camaraderie? Maybe loss or longing? I hadn’t been long in this goblin body. Though the days ran together without my cell phone keeping the date for me, it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks? A month? Two? And unlike Ringo, who’d apparently gone native quite quickly, I still felt that my mind was mostly human. But this pint-sized perspective and innate fear of what were, ultimately, the apex predators of my old world, put into no uncertain terms that any vestiges of my humanity would most likely matter little to actual humans.

I was a blue, fuzzy goblin. Not a man. A level 1 nuisance at best. Humans were tall, strong, agile, and didn’t fall over if a predator looked at them funny. They had hands that could break as easily as build, and how many of my tribe could this handful of warriors cut down before they were stopped? More than a javeline mauler, or even a croc-knocker, I was sure.

“I wasn’t prepared to host humans,” I said. “I’ll have to have some larger quarters arranged. If you’d like to rest, we can carry on later.”

I whistled for some of Buzz’ builders, at least the ones who hadn’t flung themselves off the cliff. They returned with the taskmaster who took one look at the masked humans and shook so bad that his knees clacking together sounded like a woodpecker going to town on some pine.

“Buzz, they’re going to need somewhere to sleep,” I said. “Dry and warm. Presumably a latrine, as well, and maybe facilities to cook and wash.”

Buzz just stared at the humans. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, and when that didn’t work I gave him a solid smack. He squawked, and finally turned my direction.

“Buzz! They’re guests.”

My lead builder considered. “We could knock in a few walls what to make rooms longer. I’ll get the lads onnit, boss.”

Buzz beat a hasty retreat, casting the human warriors a fearful look over his shoulder. But a moment later, I saw several of his builders with flint saws and mallets.

“Buzz is the one to talk to if you need any kind of facilities managed or constructed.”

“We are humbled by your accommodation,” said Taquoho. “However, my kin are eager to see the village I’ve described—though it has changed much from my description. I believe, even, that I hear the ring of a steel hammer. And do not think I failed to observe that several of your tribe now carry metal tools.”

I grinned. “What can I say? We’ve been busy.”

Taquoho tried to keep his excitement under wraps, but apparently Ifrit get the tippy-taps and it wasn’t exactly subtle. “The speed at which you have progressed through the rudimentary sciences continues to impress. May we see the work area, and perhaps the artifice you’re working on?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I said. “We’ll get your people and gear situated soon enough. I—” I stopped as a group of shouts drew my attention to a building that had slumped over. It fell in on itself as a handful of builders scattered for cover.

I caught some of the paladins exchanging what I imagine were nervous glances underneath those masks.

“Not there, obviously. Someplace still standing. Shall we, Taquoho?”