12 Seleszeni 10.076 Z.C., Morning
Mav tapped Splatz and slid to the right side of the cart, careful not to disturb the tarp. The warehouse’s dim lighting didn’t outline any shadows against the heavy canvas, nor did he hear any voices off this side of the cart. Deciding to risk it, he slipped out from under the tarp and over the side in one fluid motion, dropping onto the floor and staying low.
A quick glance revealed no witnesses, but he glimpsed feet approaching around the far end of the cart. With nowhere to hide, he laid flat and rolled underneath the cart. Ignoring the aching bruises from last night’s fights, he steeled his tired and sore muscles and grabbed onto the undercarriage. Wedging the worn tips of his boots into gaps in the chassis, he pulled himself up off the ground.
Above, he heard the tarp rustle, and the patter of shoe soles. A small cloud of ore dust swirled where the sound came from, and the bootprints of an invisible figure dashed toward the nearest stack of cates. Lilla, he guessed. Come on, Splatz!
The feet, Hob and Donner he guessed, approached the cart. They stripped off the tarp with a clamorous slither and tossed it to the ground.
“You! What are you doing in there?” the bellowing voice demanded from above. Rix take you.
“I- I’m-” Splatz stuttered. “I just take nap,” he lied, laying on a thick goblin accent. A resounding crack rang out; Mav’s fingers tightened on the cart as he recognized the sound of a whip striking flesh. Splatz didn’t whimper.
“Thought you could get away by sneaking into a cart, did you?” the overseer shouted, his voice echoing through the room. “Nothin’ makes me madder than seein’ a freeloader like you try an’ take advantage of the boss’ kindness! He takes you miserable rats off the streets, and this is how you repay him?” The whip cracked again, and Mav’s knuckles turned white.
“I’m onto you, gob. Next time I catch you slackin’, it’s off to Rigoleto with you. Now get back to work you worthless piece of shit, before you outlive your usefulness!”
Searing anger coursed through Mav’s veins. It should be me up there taking hits. Let him pick on someone his own size for a change... He clenched his jaw, muscles straining under the tension. No. I have to stay focused. Beating this prick up would feel great, but we’re here to stop this whole operation, he reminded himself.
“And you two!” the foreman shouted as Spaltz scampered out of the cart. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your pathetic excuses. One stowaway pipsqueak doesn’t weigh enough to account for your discrepancy. Get your sorry asses over here!”
The drivers climbed down the left side of the cart, and Mav watched their feet as they shuffled toward the overseer. He watched Splatz’ small, patched boots weave across the room, disappearing behind a mound of ore. Mav took the opportunity to lower himself back to the floor again, his muscles flooding with relief.
He poked his head out from under the cart; piles of ore and crates haphazardly filled the warehouse in rough rows, leading back from the bay doors to the rest of the facility. Keeping low and hoping the cart would block him from view, Mav slunk across the open space toward the nearest stack of crates.
Passing around the far corner of the crates, he bumped into an invisible Lilla, who jumped. Just as surprised, but somewhat expecting her, he made a quiet shushing sound and stayed crouched. On the far side of the cart, they listened as the overseer compared the manifest numbers with the now-correct scale, sounding a bit bewildered while the cart drivers stammered confirmation of their load.
Mav watched from the dark corner, obscured by crates as Splatz started toward the large doors on the far side of the warehouse, leading down into the forge. An elf man lounged there, leaning against the wall between the doors, his pointed ears laden with studded earrings. As Splatz walked past, the man put out a foot, deftly tripping the goblin.
“Wrong door, gob,” the elf snickered as Splatz picked himself up off the floor, frowning. The elf pointed to a makeshift tunnel about twenty feet away, rough and dug out of the side of the warehouse wall.
I could take out everyone in this room. They’re all complicit in Jakobsmann’s crimes. Mav felt pressure on his chest and drew back into himself; he looked down at Lilla’s hand. He also noticed his own fingers drumming his daggers. Meeting his gaze, she shook her head with obvious trepidation. He realized she must be trying to hold him back.
Forcing his hands off the hilts of his blades, he recoiled from the warmth of Lilla’s palm and focused again on the elf, who said something else Mav didn’t catch. Splatz looked at his shoulder and nodded before running to the tunnel and crawling inside.
Based on the rough map Tozinok sketched for them at the bar, Mav guessed this tunnel led to the mazelike warrens where the goblin workers lived. According to her, the tunnels collapsed often. Jakobsmann profited enough from the low housing costs of this arrangement to put up with the loss of workers when they collapsed, and the lag in production while other workers re-dug tunnels.
Mav motioned with his head toward a gap in the rows of ore which would get them to the tunnels without being seen. Lilla watched him with concern, and he realized his face must still be contorted with rage. Gathering himself, he dismissed the snarl and refocused on the mission.
They reached the end of the row, and crept through the shadows to the jagged hole in the wall with no problems. They found Splatz waiting for them just around the first bend.
“Took your sweet time,” he complained.
“This place stinks,” Lilla retorted, grimacing as she hunched over, white hair brushing against the ceiling.
“Let’s go,” Mav urged. “We don’t have much time.”
Splatz led the way through the winding tunnels. Every time the ceiling dipped and she and Mav dropped to their knees to crawl, Lilla muttered complaints about the dirt and smell. Mav and Splatz kept quiet, listening for other voices.
Before long, the tunnel opened into a forge workspace. Mav estimated they’d traveled down about two floors by now. Stopping shy of the threshold, the three hid behind a support archway’s reinforced columns. Goblins worked giant bellows in teams of three, while others piled fuel into the massive furnace. Most of the goblins bore scars from their work - Mav noted several missing fingers, toes, ear and nose tips, and even eyes.
Already steamed by the wet warmth of the tunnel, the blast of heat from the furnace overwhelmed him. Mav peeled off his shirt, starting with his back so the fabric didn’t stick to his now-perspiring skin. Dirt washed out easily enough, but sweat stains would ruin this shirt - his nicest one left. Can’t afford to buy any new clothes for a while. All the money from the mission for the Izzet went to paying off that old windbag, he thought, remembering the minister and the damaged vehicle Brutus insisted Mav recompense. Guess I should just be thankful Jamal gave me the family rate.
Underneath the furnace, an angry squeal caught his attention. At the edge of the inferno, workers scooped glowing coals into the furnace from large platters strapped to the worn, leathery backs of giant boars. Some of the coals slid off as a goblin shoveled, searing off patches of one of the boar’s coats, the fresh burns soon blending in with a patchwork of scars on the beast’s shoulders and sides. The nearby goblin workers fared no better as a cloud of embers rose and drifted over them, but continued working in silence.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Mav pitied the coalhauler swine, and the others like them in forges all across the Sixth, but today they came here to bring down Jakobsmann for the mistreatment of his workers. Perhaps one day, the Selesnyan Conclave would be courageous enough to convince other Ravnicans to respect beasts as sentient beings. But today, Mav wasn’t working for any guild’s agenda.
Splatz ambled out of the tunnel, speaking to a goblin worker nearby. They gave him a strange look, then pointed across the room and got back to work, muttering something. Splatz made a rude gesture behind them, then crept back to the others.
“The living quarters are connected through a tunnel on the far side of the room. Think you loafing giants can make it over there without the overseers spotting you?” he asked, pointing out the tunnel when he returned.
“I thought we were looking for his office, secret documents and stuff?” Lilla whispered, frustration written across her face.
“One thing at a time,” Mav consoled. “We need to find some workers who’ll tell the ‘jeks the truth about what Jakobsmann is doing here - and they’ll know how to get to the office unseen too.”
A sudden howl drew their attention to the furnace floor. A goblin fell from their perch and into the red-hot pile of coals on one of the boars’ backs, floundering in the bed of fire. They rolled off onto the ground with a heavy thump, screaming in pain and nursing blistering burns stretched across their stomach. The other workers paused for the briefest moment, before shoveling with renewed vigor.
“Looks like some-one decided to take their break early!” an overseer joked. Mav saw red as the other supervisors burst into a round of laughter.
“Get that one’s number and get ‘im off the floor! Slacker can work a double shift tomorrow to make up for it!” A lesser overseer conveyed the orders to two young forge-stokers, who hopped into the pit to carry off their injured, weeping comrade.
Blackened husks haunted Mav, their empty, soulless eyes staring back at him. That day in the warrens, when he went looking for Splatz after the fire of ‘63, he saw more than just burned buildings. Shriveled, scorched little corpses lay scattered throughout the broken down tenements. With everyone tending to the wounded, no one had time to clear out the dead yet. And the ones who did survive ... the burns, all over their bodies.
Sorrow constricted his throat as hot tears welled behind his eyes; thirteen years ago he swore those tears would never fall again.
“Hello?” Lilla seethed through clenched teeth, breaking him out of his stupor. “Rav to Mav, you there?”
“What are you waiting for, Rix to freeze over?” Splatz goaded. “Move your big asses while they’re distracted!”
Like the bolt of clarity that shot through him, Mav raced across the shady edge of the furnace floor, dodging the curious gazes of the workers he passed. He felt Lilla shadowing right behind him, which didn’t help appearances, but the sooner they crossed the room the better.
“Don’t stop!” she whispered with force as they approached the tunnel’s narrow entrance. He dove to his hands and knees and crawled inside without pausing to look back.
“We’re clear,” came Splatz’ confident report after about ten seconds. They kept moving, feeling the passage climb up a floor after it jerked right. Stale goblin sweat and body odor reached his nose. Must be near their quarters.
“Think we’re close. Splatz, you wanna be the first out?” His friend grunted in affirmation, squeezing under Lilla and then Mav to get out front.
“Hi, I’m Splatz,” he called out ahead of them. A chorus of disinterested murmurs and grumbles met his greeting. Mav climbed out of the tunnel, straightening up in the larger chamber. His head still scraped the ceiling, but he could stand.
Goblins gasped around him, and a few ran for cover. Holding his empty hands open in front of him, Mav hunched his shoulders, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
“’S ‘kay, friends,” he comforted with a goblin drawl. The workers watched him with distrust, unconvinced.
“He’s fresh, really. His name’s Mav. Couple months ago he saved a lil gob named Bump, lives outta the Sixth warrens. Wouldn’t shut up about it, I’m sure somebody’s heard?” Splatz tried. A young goblin stuck his head out of a cubby dug higher up the wall beside them, looking Mav over.
“From gettin’ squished by that crazy carriage?” he asked.
“That’s the one!” Splatz confirmed. “Mav’s green alright. You can trust him.”
The goblins murmured to each other in hushed tones. Mav shot Splatz an accusatory look - he didn’t save the boy so he could brag about it, or so anyone else could either. But if sharing his story would help these workers open up, he could endure the embarrassment.
Grumbling and brushing the dirt out of her hair, Lilla emerged from the tunnel behind him and the workers gasped anew.
“Eh, don’t worry about her,” Splatz commented in goblin. “She’s weird, but totally harmless. She can’t even hurt you. I mean, look at those arms!” Overeager to release their hatred of Rigoleto, the workers released a wave of cathartic laughter aimed at the vedalken.
Mav glanced at Lilla to see if she understood what Splatz said. With her unpredictable and fiery temperament, he could imagine her lashing out just to prove them wrong. He felt relief when she looked confused rather than offended, and he took a moment to examine her arms, too. She’s not nearly as scrawny as that first day of training. Still a bit shrimpy, but ya gotta give her some credit Splatz...
Before anything could go amiss, he crouched and turned back to the workers.
“We’re here to help. We know Tozinok, she escaped a few weeks ago. She’s safe now, but said Rigoleto killed her cousin.” He paused. “We’re here to get any information you can share so we can bring Jakobsmann and Rigoleto to justice.”
As one, the goblins turned to a wizened man sitting on a polished rock at the back of the chamber. He noticed the attention and stood with a sigh, limping forward.
“Name’s Zazmodius, friends call me Zazmo,” he introduced. “I can direct you to Jakobsmann’s office. If you can take him down, you do it with my blessings.” The old goblin began drawing in the dirt. Mav reached into his satchel, pulling out and unrolling the map from Tozinok, offering it. The goblin nodded, emotions clouding his eyes as he accepted the map and autoquill, marking a path as he continued.
“I work in Jakobsmann’s office. He keeps records on a lot, debts, blackmail, the works. You’ll find what you need in his hidden floor safe under his desk. Evil, evil man, and Rigoleto is even worse.” Zazmodius spat into the dirt.
With slow and careful motions, Mav retrieved a notepad from his bag. “We need witness accounts, too, folks who can talk to the wojeks about what they’ve seen.”
Ripples of nervousness spread through the goblins, and they exchanged wary looks. Zazmodius straightened, standing tall.
“I have it better than most, working in the office, but I’ve seen plenty. Speaking up is risky business.” He paused, waiting for Mav to get situated.
“Lilla, here,” Mav muttered, withdrawing a holo-capture device from his satchel and handing it to her. Splatz whistled.
“When did you get that?” he asked.
“Last night, found a good deal at the night markets,” he whispered with a nonchalant shrug. “The two of you see if you can get photos of injuries, bruises, missing limbs, alright?”
Splatz nodded and Lilla took the holo-capturer, examining the trigger mechanism. Hoping she wouldn’t need an explanation for how to use it, he turned back to Zazmo.
“Ready,” he confirmed, pen poised to take notes.
“First, I want to warn you. Jakobsmann and Rigoleto keep a lot of sensitive records in the office. Everything is under lock and key, but I assume you came prepared for that,” the old goblin wheezed, eying Mav with a knowing look. “He also keeps a private elite team of guards stationed there. Calls them the Storm Guard. They’re deadly, well-trained and well-armed.”
Mav nodded. “Thank you for the warning. We’ll be careful.”
Zazmo sighed. “I wish I could go with you, but I’m afraid these old bones would slow you down.”
“The others need your leadership,” Mav seconded quietly. Based on the initial reactions of the goblins, they all regarded Zazmodius as an informal leader. That kind of leadership would be essential when they reintegrated with Ravnican society once freed from this Rix-pit.
“Like I said, I’ve seen a lot.” Zazmodius paused again, swallowing hard. “I’ve been here for thirty years. About eight years ago, a friend was sentenced to death. I couldn’t stand it, so I helped her escape. Jakobsmann didn’t want to train a new goblin to run the office, so he and Rigoleto found … other ways to punish me.”
Zazmodius broke off, tears brimming in his stubborn eyes. A younger goblin stepped up behind him, putting an arm around his shoulders in a show of support.
“They killed my son, Zayne. Made an example of him. Rigoleto tortured him for days in the main forge, then displayed his body until there was nothing left but bones for his dogs.” Zazmodius trembled with pain and rage, his words carrying across the small room. Several other goblins wiped tears from their eyes as they remembered the horror, or similar losses in their own lives.
“We’ll bring him down,” Mav promised, heart beating with grim tenacity. Zazmodius nodded once, then called out to the rest of the room, his voice breaking with emotion.
“As I said before, speaking up is a risky proposition. Is anyone else willing to stand against Jakobsmann and Rigoleto?”
Most stared down at their feet, ashamed to meet their senior’s gaze. The goblin beside Zazmo patted his shoulder and straightened up as well.
“I’ll be a witness,” she announced, her voice strong and filled with conviction.