“Rumors abound saying that goblins eat humans for dessert. I don’t know why that is. I have met many goblins before, and not one has asked if he can sample me. Goblins do, however, enjoy a nice slathering of flies in bugwort salad. I believe they would be apt to befriend a consistent traveler if he can confirm he has bedbugs.”

— Guidebook to Gregar, page 394

It didn’t take long for Orer to get the bookshelf upright again and organize everything that had fallen off it. Sheesh was no help at all, but that hadn’t been a surprise. One look at those flabby arms had been enough of a hint that Orer was on his own in lifting the shelf.

At the current moment, the goblin had a finger hooked to his mouth again and was pulling down on his lip. A lone tooth protruded. He was a bit childish, Orer decided.

“I think,” said the goblin, “that tonight is not a good night to visit the king.”

Flaky, just like a normal person. Orer picked up the last few flyaway papers that had slipped under the couch. “Why not?”

“Aaaagh.” Sheesh sounded exasperated, although Orer couldn’t tell if the emotive came from not wanting to answer Orer’s questions or something else. “Just becaaaause.”

“Alright, then,” Orer replied, putting his hands on his hips and looking the goblin squarely on. “How are we going to hide you until we go see the king?”

The other problem, Orer realized, involved the fact that the key to the basement was either with Kena or Gram. It was going to be difficult getting it after the frosty conversation from yesterday’s tea party.

“Mmmmm, kitchen?” Sheesh offered, smiling sheepishly.

Bad, bad idea. Orer shook his head. “Sorry, can’t do.”

He could already imagine the food Sheesh would get into and the mayhem it would cause when someone found him. Besides, the kitchen was used too much by the staff and Gram to be a safe place, even if Sheesh weren’t tempted by the food.

With no better alternatives, he offered, “How about my room?”

The goblin looked up at him with wide eyes, making Orer wonder if another monologue about relatives was forthcoming.

“You know what? Nevermind, just forget it. The library should work.”

“No! Noooo,” Sheesh said, looking as though he were going to start hopping again. “The Room of Oro is best!”

“Alright, then, let’s get out of here.” Orer wasn’t too sure no one else had woken up from all the noise they had been making. And he wasn’t too confident Sheesh could make it all the way up the stairs without hopping. “Um, can I have you climb on my back? That way I’ll just be able to carry you upstairs.”

The goblin smiled and jumped onto the couch. “As you wish, Oro-brother.”

Orer bent down and the goblin got on him easily enough, linking spindly fingers around Orer’s neck.

“Where is your safe pouch?” Sheesh asked, his voice rumbling along Orer’s back.

“My what?” Orer began walking and realized that the goblin was much lighter than he would have expected.

Sheesh pinched his chin. “Not much room here for your safe pouch.”

Orer read between the lines and guessed he was talking about a beard. “Yeah, well, I think I need a few more years of maturity to gain a full one.” Last time he had tried, there had been bald spots near the corners of his lips–he wasn’t about to expose himself to that sort of embarrassment again anytime soon.

“Ahhh. That makes sense, much sense. You are very young?”

“Twenty-two.”

"Mmmm. That is young.”

Orer frowned as they went down the hall. He hadn’t turned the flashlight on. For some reason, he was a bit nervous he might see something else in the dark that would freak him out the way he had seen Sheesh downstairs. Wait, if it even had been Sheesh. He would have to ask when they got back to the room.

They went up the stairs, and Orer was thankful to realize that the stairs did not creak as he walked. Finally, they made it to the north wing. Sheesh slid down off his back and looked around.

“Your abode,” he said, “is very…agh.”

Orer took that to mean something akin to boring

“And what are the halls of Gregar like?” he replied, curious about what the guidebook had mentioned.

Sheesh stretched out his arms in the dark. “Big,” he said, “and made of stone. Jewelsies, sparkling jewelsies, are all around!”

“That’s wonderful,” Orer told him quickly–it looked as though Sheesh was ready to start jumping again. “Just wonderful. Perhaps we should…sit down.”

He sat down on his bed, still mangled and unkempt, with the sheets twisted around.

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Sheesh hopped on the bed, choosing to land directly on top of the mountain of covers at the end.

“Soft. I like iiiiit.”

“Why thank you.” Orer hesitated before continuing: “Sheesh, were you down in the basement today?”

Sheesh looked at him with round eyes. “Yessssss. Then I came upstairs after I saw sun-folk. Time to look for jewelsies, mmm.”

“But you wouldn’t have been able to get upstairs if we hadn’t left the door unlocked, would you?”

But Sheesh just smiled. “I have a key, Oro-brother.”

That was news. Perhaps the mystery lady was involved. “How so?”

The goblin merely folded his arms and looked away in a stubborn pose. It didn’t seem like Sheesh was willing to discuss the matter further. Orer guessed that Sheesh had managed to sneak a key from the lab’s headquarters and make off with it. But he could always find out another day. He bet that with some coaxing, Sheesh would eventually tell him the whole story. They were brothers, after all (according to Sheesh), and although Orer had never had one, he guessed that brothers didn’t keep secrets from each other. For now, however, it seemed best to change the subject before Sheesh got all toothy again.

“Alright, then,” Orer said. He grabbed the guidebook on the nightstand and opened it up to the Goblins section. There was a short section that caught his eye, and he skimmed over it before looking back up at Sheesh. “What, er, is your diet, Sheesh?”

Sheesh smiled that toothy grin of his. So much for avoiding that look. “Crunchy bones and bloody marrow!” His voice had risen a couple notches.

Orer put out a hand. “Oh, that’s nice,” he whispered. “Bones from what, exactly?”

A psychology class had once taught him that when you whisper to someone, they automatically bring their voice to the same whisper. A defense mechanism in times of danger, perhaps, or probably some of that “subconscious speak” the discipline liked to engage in. Either way, it worked.

“Bones from rodents,” Sheesh whispered back, raising his own hand like a claw as if to demonstrate reaching for a poor animal, “bones from lizards, bones from baby biiiiirds!”

“What about adult birds?”

“Blegh! Too big!” The tongue came out, dipping to his chin before disappearing again. The whisper had disappeared, too.

That was unfortunate. Orer had almost hoped he could entice Sheesh to take care of the midnight screeching problem for the both of them. At least they had kept him fed out here, even if it was with lab rats from other experiments.

“Well, Sheesh,” he said, keeping his voice low, “I hate to tell you, but you’re missing out. Ever heard of a cheeseburger before?”

Sheesh turned a large eye on him, craning his neck forward. “Does it have big bird bones?” he asked cautiously.

“No. It’s cow meat, with cheese, some condiments, and your choice of lettuce, onions, or tomatoes.”

“Onions?” Sheesh hopped in his place on the mountain of covers, causing the pile to deflate. “Bleeeeegh!”

At least Sheesh had recognized one of the constituents. Orer leaned back on his pillow and turned the lamp on. In the light, Sheesh’s shadow stretched long and thin toward the wall. “Trust me on this one, Sheesh. I’ll get you a cheeseburger as soon as there’s a chance.”

“Is it bloody?”

“I can get it rare, if you’d like.”

Sheesh smiled at this.

“Rare?” he said, bringing his voice back to a low pitch again. “It must be veeeeeery special!”

Orer smiled back. It seemed appropriate to show as much teeth as possible. “Very special, Sheesh. Now tell me more about yourself. You don’t like to eat onions or big birds. What else don’t you like?”

Sheesh scrunched up his face and let his long tongue roll out again. “Brownies. Blegh!”

At first, Orer assumed he was referring to the dessert. It took a couple seconds to readjust and realize that the goblin was talking about those other creatures the guidebook had described.

Sheesh put a fist in the air. “Brownies steal our jewelsies! Browniesssss,” he hissed.

“Steal? Not take?”

“No taking! Those thieving thieves thieve our jewelsies!”

The blood between brownies and goblins, it seemed, was bad indeed. Sheesh turned to Orer, a flame in his eyes.

“Next brownie I see…” he made a choking motion with his hands, “is deadsy!”

Orer put his hands behind his neck and leaned against the headboard. “Brutal, Sheesh, just brutal. Those poor brownies won’t stand a chance.”

“Of course they won’t! Never, ever, ever!” The pitch in his voice rose, and Sheesh now began to jump up and down on the large lump of covers. Orer debated egging him on.

Man, those crazy scientists really went overboard with the pretend-fantasy they make these people participate in, he thought to himself.

“At least we’ve got cinnamon,” Orer replied, playing along. He wasn’t going to be the one to break the truth to Sheesh, that much was certain.

Sheesh did a roll down the pile he was jumping on and landed next to Orer’s arm.

“You my Oro-brother,” he breathed, “have cinnamon?”

Orer shrugged. “Of course I do.”

Then he decided he’d best put his learned marketing skills to practice. “Let’s make a deal, Sheesh. If we reach the goblin king, return safely, and you tell me who wanted you to take our jewelsies here, I’ll get you some real cinnamon, as much as you want.”

The goblin’s eyes went wide. “You mean it?”

Orer nodded. “Of course I mean it. Here,” he said, holding out a pinky. “I’ll even do a pinky promise with you. I can’t break it then.”

Sheesh came near and stared at the pinky finger for a second. “Dealsy, dealsy,” he muttered cautiously.

Orer wiggled his finger. “Come on, Sheesh, a name and some safety is all I ask for.”

The goblin turned one eye on him and stared apprehensively, before looking back down at the finger and sticking out his bottom lip. The debate was clearly a heavy one for the goblin. Sheesh flattened his ears before letting them rise again. Then the goblin hobbled across the bedsheets and clasped his pinky with both spindly hands for a good five seconds. Orer could suddenly see a practical reason why handshakes only lasted the short time they were meant to be: anything longer than three seconds felt awkward.

“Ah,” Sheesh finally said in wonder. “An unbreakable promise. The king will be very glad to meet you, Oro-brother.”

Orer tilted his head and nodded. Might as well make the gesture a bit more formal. “And I will be glad to meet him. Now, should we try to get some sleep?”

The goblin heaved in that puglike way, before giving a slow blink. Orer took the small sign to mean “yes” and tossed Sheesh a pillow.

“You take that side,” he said, pointing to the other edge of the bed.

Sheesh lumbered over, pillow dragging behind him, before he plopped down where Orer had pointed him to and pulled the pillow over his belly. “Gahhhhh.”

It sounded like it was meant to be a sigh, and that’s how Orer chose to interpret it. There was not much else he could do under the strange circumstances.

“Night,” he said, and turned the lamplight off.