Nobody forgets an earth shaking. The caves creak creak. The dirt shifts shifts. The tribe hollas and shouts as boulders tumble and rocks plunge. What a sound. That beautiful crunchy, crushy, smashy sound.

Used to love me an earth shaking. Best times of my youth.

Can’t forget that last earth shaking most of all, though. Remember that one for the wrong reasons.

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“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“The boys are at it again, Brood Doc,” Speak-speech said.

“The boys are always at it. Sod ‘em, I say.” I told him what what.

“Not like now, though, Brood Doc. It’s more than tumble tumble this time. I smell blood, boss. Maybe there’ll be a killing,” Speak-speech said, and I ain’t rightly sure he wasn’t happy about it.

Stupid unshaken. They’re always at it. Always tumbling and knocking at one another like we’ve got tunnels full of clan. Guess they don’t know no better. Guess they’ll learn soon enough.

“Alright. I’ll go talk to ‘em.”

“Maybe bash some sense into ‘em?” Speak-speech squeaked.

I gave him a grunt to show him what I thought of that. “You talk too much.”

“That’s why they call me what they call me.” The little-un shrugged.

I looked at the ropey little twist of meat. Might be he was sassing. Might be he’s speaking truth. Looks a bit small to be sassing me, even old as I am. Speak-speech is still young enough to be that frog green my first brood wife liked on me so much. Thin chest, not ribbed out yet. Ears barely even point, and his teeth still fit his mouth. Nah, Speak-speech isn’t smart, but he’s not so dumb as to sass me yet.

“Might be they called you right,” I told him. “Alright, take me to the boys.”

Bad thing to be taken away from busy work. These unshaken have no appreciation for a Brood Doctor’s time. They think I’m slow and dense. They think I chase whimsy and sleep on my feet. They think the moving and shaking of the earth is a myth that us old sorts keep alive as some sort of joke. They don’t know it’s life and death.

We found the boys roughing it out in eating chamber three. Big mess. Tables been cracked. That’s no good. Wood don’t grow down here. The Boys don’t think. Chairs a tumbling ain’t so bad. Can put right a chair. Wood don’t grow here though.

“What’s all this racket?” I hollered.

I’m losing my touch. Only the ones nearby and the smalls turned. Not even all the smalls. Need to bash some heads.

Speak-speech was looking at me with them weaselly rodent eyes. I think the runt feels sorry for me. The Brood Doctor ain’t nobody’s to pity. I’ll fix him first.

I clapped Speak-speech a soft one on the back of the head. “I thought you were the one made for hollering. Well? Holla!”

“I’m for speaking, Doc. You want Loud-mouth.” He laughed, knowing he was going to get a thumping.

Thump him I did. “It’s Brood Doctor, unless you want to be Crud-cleaner! Now I said holla, so holla!”

He was dazed good. Might be I thumped him a bit generously. Still managed a holla though.

“Oi-oi, scufflers! Brood Doctor’s here and he’s not for waiting on the likes of you!” Speak-speech shout-spoke.

Hmm, not good enough. In I go.

I pushed through the littlens to get at the scufflers. Smacked one or two of the snot-boys about as I went; you don’t ignore a Brood Doctor without a little dressing down to follow. Mostly just clouted them as a reminder, but one of the little squibs cursed me by the earth father for showing him what’s what. Him I cracked across the nose with my big knuckle. He won’t be smelling his brekkie this morning, and too right.

Got to the front soon enough. Could see right quick it was Big-boy scuffling. I’d swear he were made half orc, that one, if I hadn’t been there in the Moon Pond when Sharp-nose and Chest-beater rutted for him. He was giving Cook-fine a solid walloping. That’s no good. Big-boy had already ripped an arm off of Cook-fine and didn’t look set to stop. Can’t be losing fighters like this. Double shame to lose Cook-fine; he’s a fine cook, that one.

Watching the boys throw down at each other like we got goblins to spare made me right mad. Time to end this.

“I said knock it off!” I said with my big voice. It shut up them up properly this time. Good to see I’ve still got some left in me.

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The scufflers stopped alright, but I could smell they weren’t respecting properly. Big-boy had a mouth as big as a thousand-millipedes. He was all wide smile and attitude. That one thought himself the next Chief Boss. Might be he’s right, but he ain’t Chief Boss now.

I held my hand out for a cudgel, and one of the littles gave me the nastiest, knottiest root-club he could find. Annoying, that, but I couldn’t go soft now. Even more annoying that I knew Big-boy would kill the runt for it later.

I walloped Big-boy silly until the smile was gone. It took a good few bashes. Broke some bones too, if I heard rightly. Pity, but I knew he wouldn’t drop that smile easy. Got a temper on him has our Big-boy. Best he checks it now than Chief Boss is forced to cut him down later.

Cook-fine was wobbly. He looked almost as defiant as Big-boy, save he was wobbling a bit. The scuffle had cost him his right arm from the elbow. Snapped at the joint as I see it. Nasty little wound. No wonder he’s looking for revenge. Might be he thinks to poison Big-boy, but I hope not; we’ll lose two fighters that way, and good breeders too.

Cook-fine I gave just a quick one-two. Wouldn’t do to knock him out; his reputation will be hurting enough as is. He looked like he wanted more, but Cook-fine’s smarter than Big-boy. That one knows when to let drop.

“You bunch of fools act like a Brood Doctor ain’t got nothing better to do than to clean up your messes and smack some good sense into stupid scufflers! We’re in the cycle, you fool runts! We’ve got to be ready! Earth could shake any day now.”

“Ain’t been an earth shaking since before I was born,” Big-boy said. “Didn’t shake all them cycles before, won’t shake now.”

Some of the runts and littles yapped some silly agreement. Stupid fools.

“The earth will shake! The earth always shakes! It ain’t for goblins to wonder when Grater is ready, it’s for goblins to be fit to go when he says so,” I told them.

“Might be Grater ain’t looking up top no more,” Big-boy was saying, and more smalls were agreeing. “Might be we need to look ourselves.”

I gave him a good solid crack on the head for that one. Disrespecting a Brood Doctor is all kinds of bad, but disrespecting the earth father brings the halls crumbling down on all our heads. “Might be Grater ain’t pleased with all these youngster goblins not giving him the proper dues. Might be your attitude’s what keeps us from the pools.”

That got the smalls to thinking a bit. Should buy me some time before they all start listening to Big-boy and his big mouth.

Could be and should be I gave them a more proper talking to, but I had me some bigger worries. This hadn’t been no normal scuffle. This one was proper fierce. Never mind the arm — things like that happen in a scuffle — it was the blood that had me spooked. That blood was yellow. Yellow from both of them, if I could rightly tell. That was a problem. I’d need to speak to Chief Boss good and quick.

I left the scufflers and runts with my warning so they could think good and proper about what’s good for us goblins. Not many thinkers in that lot, so it won’t keep ‘em busy for long, but might be it buys me enough time before the shaking.

Time to see Chief Boss.

The corridors to Chief Boss’ place were nice and big. We’d had lots of time to make them big. Tribe was getting small, which meant not too many tunnels, but those we did have had time, which made ‘em big. Chief Boss likes the clean look. The tunnels to her place are carved neat-like. Smooth stone. No fungus, moss, greens. She likes that brought to her, she does. I think that’s our biggest difference, Chief Boss and me; I wanna see it. A Brood Doctor needs to know when.

Chief Boss’ hall is made up like a Chief Boss hall should be, only now it’s all getting old. She’s got the trophies on her wall from fighting the Talls. She’s got the weapons for drawing Tall blood. She’s got the loincloths from the goblin men that gave her brood. Only, it’s all old. Been a long time since we had an earth shaking. Everything down here is old, even Chief Boss. Maybe even me.

“Hail, Chief Boss,” I said right proper.

“Hail, Brood Doctor,” she said right back.

She was engaged with a half-runt. Not engaged in the proper way, mind — doesn’t do to mate within the clan; can’t get good brood that way. That’s why we wait.

“Pardon the interruption. Got a matter of discussion,” I told her.

“Job first,” she said. I always liked that about her.

Chief Boss sent her runt running with a fun smack rather than a walloping. Must be the runt did good. When the small was gone, I got down to business.

“Scuffles are becoming a problem,” I said.

“Scuffles are good, Brood Doctor. Scuffles keep the fighting spirit alive. We need fighting spirit for the Talls,” she said.

She was busy getting dressed, but not so quickly that I couldn’t tell her skin was going beyond the dark brown of maturity to full, old grey. Not good. I knew I’d see another Chief Boss in my time, but bad for all of us if it’s before the earth shakes.

“Scuffles were good.” I nodded that properly. “Now they’re bad. Got ourselves yellow blood from the boys.”

This made Chief Boss go slower than slow. “Yellow blood?”

“Yellow blood.”

She thought solid. “Scuffles are bad.”

Goblins bleed yellow when they’re fighting to kill. The Hunt Blood, we call it. It pumps in us when we’re ready to kill or die. The Hunt Blood is what you want when you go topside, but not before. If you get the Hunt Blood down here, a tribe can wipe itself out. It can wipe itself out before it gets a chance to mate.

Chief Boss sat down. She didn’t make herself big when she sat down these days. “I’ll see to it,” she said.

“Reckon we’ll need to see to it quick-like.” Had to make sure she knew that.

“I’ll see to it.”

Guess that’s the best I’m getting.

I made my way back to my den. Back to my workshop. Had to check and check again what I already knew.

My den is the best place in all the caverns. It’s the best place because it has them.

“Hello, my pretties,” I said.

Can’t help but smile at them. My beautiful, plentiful, glowing, gorgeous pretties — the brood mushrooms. They shine like the topsiders’ moon whenever the goblins are in cycle. They shine whenever the goblins are ready to mate.

The trouble is, it’s not safe to mate.

Used to be goblins could go topside whenever they needed to. They find a neighbouring clan, and they breed. That’s how it was meant to be.

Only, nowadays we’re hunted. Nowadays the Talls try to skewer us and beat us. Nowadays we can’t walk beneath the stars in safety, without some Long-one trying to do us in.

Now the only way we know it’s safe to mate is when the earth father, great Grater, shakes the earth for us. Then we know it’s time.

The earth’s not shaken for a while, though.

I’ve seen the brood mushrooms glow eight times since the last earth shaking. There’ve been eight cycles since we last welcomed new brood into our tribe. Eight times the mushrooms've been a shining but the earth's been still. This has only happened once before in all the great, long goblin history.

There’s never been a ninth.