Page 13 of The Goblin and The Dancer
“We missed a turning,” Grik said softly. “I can feel it, it’s not far. Only twenty feet or so.”
“Are you sure?” Rosanna sniffed.
“I’m sure,” Grik whispered, moving his hand along the wall to touch her sleeve. His big fingers caught in the dirty lace at the edge of it, and he accidentally pulled.
Rosanna’s broken sniff cut off, as if wiped away, and somehow he knew that she smiled at him.
Paul didn’t speak, and Grik guessed that meant he must have been on the verge of a breakdown. He was rather grateful for the soldier’s unusual silence. Leading the way was difficult enough without a confrontation.
“Come on,” he called.
They struggled back, away from the dead end, and retracing their way to the turning that Grik had first felt. He sensed the opening to his right and began to edge towards the left and into the new tunnel.
“There’s a ledge!” he said joyously. “It’s wide enough to walk along.” He felt around. “At least we won’t have to be in the water,” he continued stoutly, trying to be positive. He scrambled up onto the ledge. He would have to hug the wall and slide sideways like a crab to avoid tumbling back into the sewage again, but even that would be an improvement.
He turned awkwardly to try to help Rosanna up onto the ledge, and she in turn helped Paul. Grik realized with a fresh wave of wretchedness that Rosanna looked awful. The sight of his beloved crawling through muck, looking like, well, a goblin, made him writhe with unhappiness. The mud didn’t change his opinion of Rosanna one smidgeon—he still thought she was wonderful—but he hated to see her suffering like this. Guilt hammered at him again. She wouldn’t have been here in the first place if she hadn’t had to jump in after Paul. It was all Grik’s fault.
They edged painfully along. Once in a while, a piece of the ledge, no more than a sliver, would break away, and they would all freeze, their hearts racing as they listened to the bits of refuse sink with a soft sigh into the water.
Just when Grik felt on the verge of giving up and throwing himself into the sewage outright and letting himself sink to the bottom, he felt the change ahead of him, a sense of enlarged space. The air smelled different. His heart gave a jolt of relief as he blinked away moisture and finally spotted the stone arch ahead of them.
The passageway they were in had reached a main access tunnel with smaller tunnels branching out in four different directions. The tunnel that ran laterally before them had a raised bridge of wet cobbles, a maintenance workers’ walkway, allowing the drainage to run beneath it. The raised platform was a few feet above their heads, and the channel they were in ran beneath it.
Rosanna gave a cry of hysterical relief, and Paul mumbled under his breath. Grik didn’t say anything, but he beamed. He had never seen a more beautiful tunnel in his life.
Scrambling up onto the bridge was difficult. Grik went first, using his large goblin hands to get traction as he scampered up the wall and swung himself up onto the walkway. He got down on his stomach to help the others, and Paul insisted on Rosanna going up next, though it was clear he was flagging. Paul heaved Rosanna up by the waist, and Grik reached down and took her hands and pulled. The exertion distracted him from the wild fluttering of his heart at holding her hands. When she fell on top of him in a wet, heavy heap, that helped to take the edge off his ardor.
Rosanna lay down on the walkway beside him, and they both leaned out to help Paul. It wasn’t easy. Rosanna was the only one with arms long enough to reach him, but she wasn’t strong enough to pull him up, and Grik couldn’t reach him unless Paul was boosted from the rear. But the soldier was stronger and more resourceful than Grik had been willing to believe. He pulled himself out of the water with one arm, his fingers gripping the edge of the bridge as he swung his good leg around towards the side of the raised walkway. He stamped his foot against the rock and rubble with a force that sent him jerking upwards, close enough for even Grik to reach him and finally lend a hand. Nevertheless, Paul did much of the pulling and struggling, though Grik and Rosanna tried to help.
Finally, it was over, and they all lay on the walkway, panting and listening to the sound of the water flowing beneath the bridge.
Grik was the first to get up, and he turned slowly around in a circle, just for the relief of it. It felt wonderful to have room to stand and move.
Now that he finally had a hand to spare, he unclipped the glow stick from his belt. Fool that he was, Grik had forgotten to use it till now.
He gave the glass tube a good shake, causing the fistful of pebbles inside it to rattle. Shaking the glow stick caused friction between the pebbles and the concentrated dose of phosphorescent liquid inside the tube, activating the chemicals in the liquid and producing a glow stick’s signature pale pink light. The phosphorescent liquid was often used by the goblins in lighting their towns, despite its dangerous properties. But since it was only deadly if ingested, they considered it worth the risk.
It was lucky that goblins always carried their glow sticks with them; otherwise they would have been left in complete darkness. The very thought of being in the dark—of being trapped with two panicking elves—made Grik’s heart turn cold.
Unfortunately, the light only served to verify how wretched this place was.
Paul sat up, making a little squelching sound as he pulled himself off the pavement. The soldier didn’t look very dashing now; his scarlet uniform had turned a dreadful brown color. Even Rosanna looked awful. As for Grik, he glumly suspected that he looked even worse, since he had been ugly to begin with.
Grik peered at the ceiling and down each of the four passageways with a sinking feeling and a growing concern that he was afraid to share with the other two. Not before he shared his food at least. It was the least he could do.
Grik still had his lunch and water in the little metal box that was—mercifully—belted tight to his waist. He gave it to Rosanna, who divided the modest meal into three portions. It was the water they wanted the most, but there was precious little of it when it had been divided. Not enough to clean themselves, but enough to take the edge off their thirst and wash down the tiny meal of eel jerky sandwich.
“Ugh, awful stuff,” Paul complained. Naturally.
Grik chewed furiously, wishing he were biting Paul instead.
“I like it,” Rosanna said stoutly. “It has a good texture.”
Paul was quiet after that. At least for a few minutes.
“Now what?” Paul asked once they had finished their pathetic portions. “We’re trapped here with hardly any light, without warmth, without anything.” The brief detour down that brutally cramped tunnel seemed to have sucked all the confidence out of him and stripped away his brave front.
Grik knew he shouldn’t be pleased by that, but he was.
