“Ling’ring around every corner,

Shadows lurk around the bend,

Pay no mind what ills they auger,

When you have no time to spend.”

— The Ballad of Sir Joe, by “Golden-Voiced” Garbeaux.

A skillful re-application of goblin disguise and we were set; once more unto the breach, as it were. There was a problem, of course; Joe. Aimee burned through most of her magic, restoring the rotter to what appeared to be completion. Now he stood, staring, groaning, as I looked him over, “There is just no way to sneak him into the Gobtropolis.”

This irked McGrue, “Really? So, what, you’re going to just smash in through the front gates? There’s a literal million goblins on the other side of that gate, Gabbo. Do you really want us to die hammering our way in through all of them?”

“Not us, him!” I pointed at Joe. With a groan, he turned his undead head to look at me, “Is that … is that normal?”

“No, dammit,” grunted Aimee, flicking the Black Baton of Ignus in different directions to direct the attention of Joe’s zombified corpse away from me, “He’s becoming more aware.”

“Aware?” Both McGrue and I blurted, and then we looked at one another, eyes huge.

McGrue was the first to snap back to reality, “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Aimee, “You’ll recall that walking dead are a special kind of zombie. Sort of a budget breed, with a demon spirit, almost like a soul, and it’s very temporary. I don’t know if a single corpse has ever been animated by one of these spirits for so long before.”

I couldn’t help but edge towards Joe, horrified, testing to see if his eyes followed my waving hand. They did, “But … but, Aimee, he’s never been animated for more than 24 hours. That’s as long as the spell lasts, right? And you usually recall it to preserve the scroll in less than that time.”

“Yes, less than a day, every time, but how many times?”

McGrue pulled me back, “Whoa, wait, it’s the same spirit every time? How? It isn’t Joe trying to come back is it? That son of a bitch had to be made a devil when he got to hell. Bet you anything!”

“I don’t know what it is, but no, it can’t be Joe. The spirit is supposed to be made by the scroll. Just a spark of consciousness, enough to drive the zombie so it can follow orders. Perhaps the spirit remembers each casting of the spell. It’s … uncharted territory.”

Aimee rubbed her eyes and McGrue put a hand on her shoulder, “She’s tired, Gabbo. We all are.” He looked at Aimee with a softness I hadn’t yet seen in this very hard man, “Maybe we should just take the day. It’s already dangerous to face so many goblins, we need to be at our full strength when we do it.”

The man was right. We’d been running since Grainfest, with little chance for rest, “I take your meaning. But we can’t stay out in the open like this. There’s a better base of operations just inside the walls of Gobtropolis. Let’s hide the wagon nearby, and sneak Joe inside.”

Aimee furrowed her brow, “He’s already animated. Why not get it over with?” Grunting, Aimee brushed McGrue’s hand away, took a step and immediately fell to one knee, “I’m fine.”

“Aimee,” cried McGrue, pulling her up before cradling her like a baby. Joe seemed to perk up, turning towards Aimee, who held the artifact that bound him, and McGrue, who recoiled in fear.

Thrusting the Black Baton toward Joe, Aimee stopped him dead, “Fine. Let’s just make camp and move on.”

Gathering the murderous plowhorse, Grizzly, and the carriage he pulled, we moved to the secret passage that Merkin the Magician had used to smuggle us out of Gobtropolis, “There,” I said, “We just need to get Joe through there, and we’ll be home free.”

Unfortunately, the effort to infiltrate Gobtropolis with our most powerful weapon, our win button, the secretly undead champion of the realm, turned to disappointment, with McGrue and I struggling to pull Joe back out of the hole, “How did he get stuck?” growled McGrue.

With an undead groan Joe kicked me in the face, “Oof! It’s the armor. It’s locked onto him, remember? He’s twice the size he should be. Why this shit didn’t fall off him when he died I’ll never know.”

“Your nose is bleeding. And he had it enchanted that way so nobody could use it when he was dead,” said McGrue, who then fell after an undead boot to the gut.

“Brains,” howled Joe as he popped free. He then moaned as he lay as still as the corpse he was.

“So much for that plan,” yawned Aimee as she reclined on the back of the carriage.

“Okay, okay, no problem,” I grasped at straws, admittedly stalking around in a dramatic fashion, “There’s surely another way to get him in,” I snapped my fingers, “Wheelbarrow!”

McGrue struggled to his feet, holding his gut, “Rake. There, we both named a farm tool. What are we talking about here?”

“We just need to get a wheelbarrow and roll Joe through the goblin bakery!”

“Oh, is that all? I thought maybe you had a really hard plan that was stupid.”

Aimee interjected, “No. No way. Come on. You’ll be caught. Killed.”

I blinked, continuing to grasp at those straws, “Okay, uh, fine, McGrue then. He’s a better fighter than me, I’ll admit that.”

“I can’t control Joe. He’d turn on me, and then I’d be killed. Gods, you really are a blond, aren’t you,” Said McGrue, causing Aimee to shoot him an evil look.

My gesticulations were becoming wild, “Fine! We’ll cancel the spell so he can’t.”

Aimee spoke weakly, “If he’s caught, he won’t be a match for all those goblins any more than you would, Gar. Shit. Maybe … maybe we should just give up. Move on. Maybe there’s no reward of gold from the king at the end of this.”

“No, Aimee, McGrue, come on! There is a massive horde on the other side of that wall over there, and the leader of that horde is promising to invade human lands. That goblin, Fleegle, the one who led me to the bakery, he said so. They could conquer everything that King Laurent holds!”

“Ah, so what?” Spat McGrue.

Hyperventilating, I held my breath for a moment, lost in arguing with someone who seemed beyond caring at this point. “Uh … Aimee would have to move back in with her sister?”

“Ah, so–” Aimee burst to her feet, shoving McGrue aside by his face.

“No!” She cried, grabbing my collar and hanging from it, “Take the baton. You can control Joe. If they catch you, he can smash them. We’ll … we’ll wait for you in the secret passage. Sleeping. We’ll be sleeping…”

***

No ballad is good ballad, and my mission to obtain a wheelbarrow and cart Joe to the goblin bakery cave was happily uneventful. Aimee handed me the Black Baton, which didn’t work because I needed both hands for the wheelbarrow, and so it was hung from my neck using a leather cord. The leather being dried skin, my mental commands were communicated through it to Joe, which, Aimee thought, should be enough to keep him still. Of course, being inexperienced, I had no hope of controlling him in combat, so the plan would be to simply unleash Joe and run. There were still over 20 hours left on the Walking Dead spell, and so losing Joe was unlikely; the zombie would seek out its master. Aimee was oddly dramatic about that point.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

And so Joe was rolled up in a tight metal ball, still too large for the wheelbarrow but the goblin workers never seemed to notice much, so I had high hopes as I entered the cave.

“What is this new scum?” said a mysterious voice.

“Hm? What? Just a goblin. A young goblin, born after the famine, which is the only reason I’m tall.”

My words hung in the air for a moment as I cast about, seeing nothing lurking in the shadows around me. Finally, “Oh, ye gods, you’re that idiot bard, aren’t you? The one that bitch elf is probably fucking.”

“What? No I’m not. That’s McGrue, he’s … wait, who’s there?” I looked all around, checking doubly behind me to make sure no workers heard me talking to myself.

Laughter, disembodied laughter, seemingly from everywhere, “Really? Really now? You’ve no idea. Well, I’m certainly happy to have you remain ignorant. No surprise, considering how little sleep you bumblers have had over this past week.”

A torch suddenly flared up over my head, “Wait … Ignus?”

“Ring the bell! The boy does have a thought in his head. Just one, but it’s a good one, because it’s about me. Now … how about you give me control and I’ll give you power and riches?”

Narrowing my eyes at nothing, I sighed, “Nice try. You’d just make me an undead thrall like all the monsters Joe had to kill before he got to you.” I started moving again.

“You can’t really blame me, can you? I’ve lacked corporeal form for … years. Why, there are prisoners in the king’s dungeon who have served less time for murdering nobles!”

This time I had to chuckle, “Because anyone who’s attacks a noble is executed within a month. Sometimes on the same day. The longer sentences are just so they can be tortured. Now be quiet,” the path broke out into the wide open space of the bakery with its vaulted ceiling and carved statue columns. We were quickly among the horde.

The voice in my head gave me a disapproving tut-tutting, “How dare you judge me, I am Ignus the Black! When your master caught up to me I was well on my way to godhood, you know.”

“He’s not my master,” I grumbled, under my breath.

“Oh yes, he most certainly is, even in death. Look at you doing his duty for him even now.”

“I’m my own man. Now be quiet, Joe is very, very heavy.”

“Oh he’s his own man? Fie! Oh, ye goblins, there’s a man in your midst,” Ignus screamed, “Get him! Kill him!” Sudden panic took over, and I started to hustle, horribly hampered by Joe’s bulk, “Stop him! He aims to kill your king.”

Slowly, I began to realize that no one was reacting, and then I stopped, panting, “You … you son of a bitch. You’re baiting me.”

“I am the master of baiting, yes sir. Little else for me to do given my condition. You know, unless you wish to accept possession and forge my return path into the world. I just need my soul jar.”

I coughed, burning, still barely able to breathe, “No. No, why would I do that?”

Ignus took visible shape in the shadows, flitting here and there among the goblins as I began again to roll on, “Why not? I never had any quarrel with you. I was going to ascend to my place among the pantheon … and then kill all of them to become the sole god of this world. Possibly more worlds. I haven’t really looked much into what they worship throughout the multiverse but I bet I could take those jokers. If only it weren’t for that cursed knight and his Mace of Annihilation. A vorpal bludgeon? I mean, really?”

I tried not to show it, but his presence in my vision were becoming bothersome. The glowing sockets in Ignus skull, like burning coals, seemed to pierce me, “You’d kill the gods we all worship, Ignus. Some of us like our gods.”

“Really? And when was the last time you paid tribute? Tithed? Prayed? Hells, I doubt you even know where the nearest temple is or who’s worshipped there.”

I set my jaw, “I’m not in my home territory, I haven’t been tithing because I haven’t had money, and they always want bloody money!”

In frustration, I slammed the feet of the wheelbarrow down, jostling Joe, who softly inquired, “Brains?” All was still for a moment as the goblins around me stopped their work and stared.

Joe started to move, “No,” I whispered, “Be still.” My will seemed insufficient, my words meaning nothing to a demon-possessed corpse.

“Losing control already? We’re not even outside yet,” minced Ignus, “It would be a shame if you drowned in an ocean of goblin blood because Joe emerged, letting them all know what you were. I say drowned because that seems more likely to me. Even dead he’s an engine of destruction. The goblins would get a few slaps in with their baking trays, but that would be it. Red. Everywhere.”

“No. No. No…” I closed my eyes, grabbed the Baton, the home of my tormenter and the only thing that could control Joe, for it was used to cast the spell. The spell I couldn’t turn off, because I didn’t have the scroll, and I wasn’t a hedge wizard, just a bard with no instrument!

But, slowly, Joe fell still, laying down, curled up like a fetus. Like a 400 pound fetus made mostly of steel, “Ah, drat. I thought I had you for a moment,” crowed Ignus, “If one of these goblins had me, I’d be a lich again within a fortnight.”

I lifted the wheelbarrow up again, the goblins went back to their work, and I stopped arguing aloud with a wraith in a wand, “I can’t hear you,” I thought.

“Ah, finally figured out that you don’t have to speak out loud for me to hear? Truly, I underestimated you. Still an idiot, yes, but you’re not completely worthless. Given time I’d possess you, but I expect I’m going back to that blonde bimbo. The female one, I mean, not you. The elf.”

“Yes,” I thought, doing my best to control my thoughts. Do not give him an inch. Sunlight spilled into the chamber as we neared the egress. Quickly, we broke out to the open roads of Gobtropolis. Breathing hard, my arms stretched from holding up the wheelbarrow, my legs dead from pushing, I struggled to make the last leg of this journey.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you? No doubt all too eager to be rid of me. You know who you should hand me off to? That orc. The elf was exhausted, after all. She won’t be ready to control … all this.” Off to the right, another shadowy manifestation of Ignus appeared, gesturing toward his bony crotch with both hands.

“Nobody wants a wraith’s bare pelvis, Ignus.” A nearby goblin looked where I was looking, looked at me, shrugged, then took a deep swig from the bottle he was carrying. At least that told me that I was the only one who could see Ignus.

“I’m not a wraith, damn you! Well, I am, but that’s only because my corporeal form was disintegrated. It’s not fair! And he took my library. I heard you people talking; he put my books on his shelves and they mouldered. Oh, how I wish I could have my revenge!”

The alley with the entrance hidden beneath an old shack was near the bakery tunnel, and I felt a second wind surge within me. My goal was within reach! However, as I rounded the corner, hidden from the eyes of Gobtropolis, I found myself confronted. An old goblin tough blocked my way, “Hey, tall boy. Give me your lunch money. I wanna buy a map in the bazaar.”

Sardonic chuckling reverberated in my mind, “In your condition this one and his partner will slay you for sure,” I flinched, then checked behind me. A second goblin tough, “Take me, friend. Take me, and send them to hell. Use the zombie, and the city will know. You’ll never get him back in the wheelbarrow.”

I knew this was true, for my will was sapped by lack of sleep, by exertion, and by Ignus hammering away at my mind. So, thoughtlessly, I grasped the Black Baton of Ignus, and was transformed.

“Yes,” I growled, but I wasn’t myself, but, rather, Ignus the Black exerted his will over mine.

“Hey, nobody wanted to see your skull, buddy,” said the front goblin.

Then, from the rear, “You heard the man. Lunch money, no skull. Chop-chop.”

Ignus manifested as a voice in my head yet again, “I feel you resisting. Don’t be a fool. Put your blade to these simpletons and you’ll lose control of your master’s corpse,” Then, out loud, as me, “Yes…”

The front goblin sneered and waved his dagger in a circle, “Glad we could make arrangements. Wait, what’s with the stick,” he asked, pointing it at the Baton in my hand.

“You get a death blast,” I shouted, pointing the baton, and the front goblin disappeared into dust, “And you get a death blast,” then the one behind me poofed out of existence as well.

Panic overtook me, I shook the Baton from my hand and raced forward, pushing the wheelbarrow toward the trap door, the zombie in the wheelbarrow stirring, “Brains.”

I cleared debris away, exposing the handle, but the hatch wouldn’t open, “Come on,” I growled, and jostled it violently. The cloth fell away from Joe; the undead bastard was awake and aware!

Suddenly, the hatch came free, and I nearly fell backwards from my fight with it. Standing on the ladder was McGrue, “What in the hells? Wait, Gabbo, you okay?”

“Take him. Hurry. I have to get the Baton to Aimee,” I scrambled over McGrue as Joe toppled the wheelbarrow, groaning.

Down in the hideout, Aimee caught me by the shoulders, “Gar? What in the world? What is it?”

“He’s in my head. Ye gods, he’s going to take me,” I shouted, pressing the Black Baton of Ignus into her hands.

“See you soon, Garbeaux…”

Behind me, Joe hit the stone with a clunk, and McGrue landed on Joe’s back with both feet, “Brains?” moaned Joe.

“Aimee! Quick,” shouted McGrue, “Mrs Mulfinger’s baby boy is getting feisty. Shit. Shit!” In spite of the devastating impacts, the undead Sir Joe the Bold quickly rolled over on McGrue, and immediately the orc thug was barely holding back its snapping jaws, “How’d his helmet get pulled up this time?”

But then Joe went stiff, fixating, as waves of magic cascaded off of him. Aimee waved the Baton in a counter-clockwise spiral, pulling it back into the scroll used to animate him in the first place. “There. I have it. He should just be dead again,” she said, wanly.

For the first time in perhaps 2 hours the only voice in my head was my own, and I grew dizzy. “I’ve done it. I’ve … I’ve,” Black. I saw nothing but black.