Page 14 of The Goblin and The Dancer
“We’re all still alive,” Rosanna managed to point out through the wild chattering of her teeth. She attempted a smile, which only made Grik feel worse.
Grik cocked his head back to look at the pipes that ran above their heads, noting their direction . . . and how badly they needed repairs. That growing concern was a full-fledged certainty now.
His heart sank a little when Paul said bitingly, “Which way now, master navigator?”
Grik cleared his throat. “There’s something you should know . . . This is a dead zone.”
“What does that mean?” Paul asked, radiating suspicion.
Grik swallowed hard. “It means sewage workers have . . . closed it off and no longer service this section.”
Rosanna’s voice reminded Grik of when one of the strings on a Metropolitan musician’s violin suddenly snapped. “Why would they do that?”
To close off a part of the sewers meant, at best, that it was starting to deteriorate. But it usually meant that it was dangerously unstable or . . . it had become home to hostile creatures.
But he couldn’t say that to the others without throwing them into a blind panic. He wasn’t feeling so happy himself.
“How typical of goblins!” Paul exclaimed with a spiteful snort. “Why would you seal off a perfectly good tunnel?”
Grik bristled. As if Paul was an expert or elves could build better! If they would even deign to get their hands dirty on such a menial job as sewage work.
“You and your superior sense of direction!” Paul ranted on. “Why did you lead us this way if this is a dead end?”
Grik held himself stiffly, and his tone was cold. “I did sense correctly. We don’t need the access tunnels—there’s another way out of here.”
Paul gave a bark of laughter. “A likely story!”
But Rosanna spoke over him, her voice urgent. “What way, Grik?”
Grik paused for a moment, torn. Goblins were not supposed to tell elves about goblinways, but what else could he do to gain their confidence? Could he simply say he had a good sense of direction and lead them to a goblinway, pretending it was sheer happenstance? Could he make them believe that the goblinways were no longer used and of no importance? And, if they did guess that they were being used, would they agree to being sworn to secrecy? He very much doubted it. Paul was just the sort of person that would use the tunnels and then betray Grik’s trust.
Grik would simply have to risk his own people’s ire when they realized their secret had been given away. Would they banish him, or would they simply hate him? It didn’t matter; it was merely one more consequence he had to face after what he had done.
“There are . . . secret tunnels,” he heard himself say softly. “Underground passages built by goblins that we use to travel around the city. I can get us to one of those tunnels, and then I can get us out of here easily.”
“Tunnels throughout the city?” Rosanna asked. “I never knew that.”
You weren’t supposed to, Grik thought glumly, but his heart buoyed as Rosanna continued.
“How very clever of you!” she smiled at him.
“Sounds more suspicious to me,” Paul remarked, shooting Grik a dark look. “How can we be sure it’s not a trap?”
Grik glared at him, his voice growing hoarser. “If I wanted to trap you, I wouldn’t—” He stopped, aghast. He had been about to say “I wouldn’t have jumped in to save you; I would have let you drown,” but he had mercifully caught himself just in time. He went on awkwardly. “If I wanted to trap you . . . I wouldn’t have told you about the goblinways. I could have left you here and found a way out on my own.”
Paul sneered. “I wouldn’t trust you to get us out of here if my life depended upon it.”
“It does,” Rosanna interjected, almost sarcastically, but Paul didn’t seem to hear her.
“You probably plan to lure us towards your pals for who knows what cause. I’ll lead the way out of here.”
Grik leaped towards him but stopped a few inches away, trembling with fury. “You stupid elf! I know you’re a soldier and braver and better than me in every way. But it’s still possible that I might know tunnels better than you do.”
They glared at one another, on the cusp of coming to blows, but Grik didn’t back down. He felt strangely reckless and more than ready to take on an elf twice his size.
Paul inhaled, either to lambaste Grik or as a precursor to breaking his neck, Grik had no idea. But then Rosanna rushed to stand between them.
“Please don’t fight!” she pleaded. “It won’t help. Paul, you must listen to Grik. Of course he knows the underground better than us. And you know he’s only trying to help. After all, he jumped into the river to save you! And you never even thanked him.”
