At the same time that Claireholm Dundas, conductor of the Miracle Street Symphony Orchestra, was leading his brave band of freedom fighters in a righteous charge against power, the destruction of innocence, and predatory behaviour (which is to say he was staging a surprise concert), two of our heroes were crawling through a rather tight space.

One was a foul, noxious, utterly despicable being of unfathomable countenance, wearing an adorable elf Christmas sweater and pointy elf cap. The other was a cute and fuzzy doll. This was not the Doll: this was Caedes, to whom the Doll had taught the Cute and Fuzzy Disguise Technique.

(This was a great boon militarily - it meant that he could squeeze into teensy weensy places, thus rivalling even the Itsy Bitsy Spiders for waterspout infiltration abilities - but it was an even better boon personally. Cindy, Caedes knew, couldn’t resist cute and fuzzy things, and so he now had within his grasp a weapon that would let him win each and every argument they would ever have. Long would Cindy rue this day - but not all that much, because a cute and fuzzy doll is still a cute and fuzzy doll, even if it has won all the arguments.)

But returning to our story. Our two intrepid protagonists, one indescribably hideous, the other the epitome of all that is soft and cuddly, were currently climbing through the vents of Das Gleiche. They had entered minutes after the symphony orchestra began to set up, reasoning that the employees of Das Gleiche would be distracted by the gathering of classical musicians outside.

This was incorrect - it would take another ten minutes for Zara to even notice said musicians’ presence - but since the employees were equally ignorant of everything that went on inside the building anyways (they were too distracted by businessy things) our protagonists were nonetheless able to enter without being noticed.

The vents were cramped, and dinged, but clean. Das Gleiche had them cleaned regularly, to prevent the employees from developing respiratory illnesses. (An easy enough feat, for they owned all the air duct cleaning companies in town. The middle name of every demonic cultivator is ‘telemarketer’, after all.)

It was a warm and quiet journey, and one the two made in silence. The files they’d received from Cindy included complete schematics of Das Gleiche’s ventilation system, as well as various backrooms and side corridors, and Caedes silently thanked her matripotestal foresight with each crawl he made.

They were halfway up the building when they heard the first sounds of orchestral music, made tinny by having to move through so many vents. Immediately the two adjusted their internal clocks, consulting the plan they had made in their heads.

This is because Claireholm Dundas and his Miracle Street Symphony Orchestra were not simply acting as a convenient, if admittedly somewhat squishy, distraction, but were also helping time the others. Think of it as an entertaining metronome.

(This was also the third function of the Miracle Street Symphony Orchestra - to provide musical accompaniment to the elf’s feats of derring-do.)

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

And the orchestra beginning to play meant they had precisely half an hour until part two of the show started. They looked at each other, nodded as one, and continued to climb.

***

But Caedes and Yaaroghkh were not the only ones moving into position. Down, far underground, down in the deep of goblin town, something green and grotesque was stirring.

The goblins had begun to march. They poured in a glib, cacophonous mess down the sewers, shaking rattles and singing and shrieking. At their head came the goblin king, standing astride a unicorn, his backscratcher cane drawn from its sheath as he urged his troops ever onwards. (He didn’t hold with sword canes - they were crude, and more importantly, they were useless when you were feeling itchy.)

They had left from their mansion, descending down paths known only to their fantabulous selves, dripping in streams across ancient ways and long-forgotten, mazy tunnels. The other fey creatures gazed in shock at the verdigris rabble, marching erratically, equipped with all manner of arms and armour.

Scattered amidst the spears, swords, and guns were all sorts of broom handles, pole vault poles, cheese knives, and pop rockets, and the goblins carrying them treated them as if they were weapons no less deadly than those with laser chainsaws.

A handful of fey creatures, dwelling in those tunnels long hidden from man, stopped the marching goblins to inquire as to their purpose, and at the news of the grand gala they were marching for even the most minimifidian of them felt a strange enthusiasm sprouting in their hearts, whose gardens had long been in winter’s sleep.

Then the goblins passed beyond those silenced halls and into the sewers we know, and ambled, sauntered, and pranced down the paths and through the waters, singing nursery rhymes as they passed through the redbrick tunnels of the old part of the city into the concrete and plaster of the new part. At last, up ahead, they came to that part of the sewers which lay under Das Gleiche.

The handful of homunculi still in the sewers opened fire, streams of qi falling amidst the goblins, but the small and limber creatures danced around them easily. They circled around, feet kicking, arms linked, and sang in an out of tune croak:

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,

Jack went through the candlestick!

And with that they swarmed forwards, nimble and quick fingers grabbing at screws and plates as they dismantled the homunculi. (And, more importantly, accidentally informed the Author about what that epic poem means; at last Claireholm’s question has an answer.) They hurled their parts around in the turbid waters, and continued on their merry way.

They were not in any especial rush, and they started to dance in step as they went, spinning and weaving, occasionally doing the boogie. This they continued until they had reached the entrance to Das Gleiche’s basement. They could hear the music coming from up above, and from where they were in the concert knew how long they had until their entry on the stage.

It was soon - maybe twenty minutes at most. The goblin king raised his fist, making two gestures in the air. The goblins hooted and hollered, and ran for the basement dockyards.

A lone cultivator panicked as he saw them come. He’d been guarding the ships, and was rather sleepy (there being relatively few hordes of shrieking enemies coming out of the sewers), and the sight of a strange verdant blur rushing towards him caused to involuntarily cry, as he broke from his stupor, “blimey - the ecofreakos are onto us!”

There they were. A green wave, rushing towards the ships. Rushing, rushing, and as it hit the first of the dockyard’s arches it… disappeared.