Page 22 of The Goblin and The Dancer
Paul glowered at him. “You’re the goblin!”
“We’re not all the same, you know!” Grik snarled back.
“Quiet!” one of the guards barked.
Paul fell back, and Grik subsided into gloomy silence.
The prisoners were forced onwards again. The three of them were marched through endless tunnels. The goblins gibbered obnoxiously as they walked, occasionally poking at Paul with the butts of their clubs. They tried to pull at Rosanna’s hair and clothes to torment her, but when they tried, Paul shouted threats and Grik flew at them, and they turned their attention to scuffling with Grik until their leader called them off.
“Now, now, now,” he chided them, pulling them off of Grik a second time. “What do you mean by attacking a fellow brother? And the rest of you, leave the elves alone. There will be time enough for that later.” He gave an ugly snigger that was caught up by the rest of the goblins.
Grik rubbed the ear that had been badly pulled and caught Rosanna looking at him. She offered him a tiny smile and a nod of silent thanks. Grik’s heart gave a lurch.
Their march felt as if it stretched on for hours, but Grik’s goblin senses told him it had only been a half a mile. At last something changed. Light was shining somewhere ahead of them. The lanterns the goblins carried with them reached out to touch the light ahead and then merged together as the captives and their captors stepped from a tunnel and into sudden space.
They were in an immense cathedral of stone with vast arched ceilings lost to shadow with darker shadows moving across them—fluttering clouds of bats. The floor of the cave was lit by the red glare of various fire pits, as well as by flaring torches and lantern stands. A small waterfall at one end of the cavern tumbled down into a deep, gurgling pool, and all around it were rings of stalactites, until the formation looked like a gaping mouth and dripping teeth leading down a dark throat.
Rock columns formed a kind of aisle that led to the far end of the chamber and a rough-hewn dais. A low wooden seat covered in furs rested upon the dais. Sitting on the would-be throne, sipping from a chalice, was an elf.
She was much older than Paul. She had remnants of her race’s beauty, but she had obviously lived underground for a long time, resulting in a peculiar paleness. And, judging from her stomach, she didn’t heave herself out of her seat for much. The thinness of her face seemed at odds with the potbelly, and the combination of the long, pointed face and long, thin hands coupled with the thick body made Grik think of a rat.
Surrounding the dais, and standing at attention at various spots around the cavern, were a dizzying number of goblins and, to Grik’s surprise, elves; all of them wore rough uniforms of some sort and were armed to the teeth. They eyed the captives with a mixture of interest and hostility, moving closer as Grik, Paul, and Rosanna were shoved down the aisle towards the elf on the throne, thrust into the merciless illumination that surrounded the dais.
The woman on the throne leaned forward to examine them more deeply. The cavern was utterly silent, save for the tumble of the waterfall and the drip of torches.
“Who,” the woman said at last, “are these people?”
“Intruders,” one of the goblins offered helpfully.
The woman threw her cup at him, and the goblin dodged aside to avoid the missile. The goblin behind him was not so quick, and the goblet struck him in the nose and bowled him over like a ninepin.
“I can see they’re intruders!” she groused. She had a voice that sounded like a rusty sword being dragged against pavement, and Grik winced as her grumble turned to a screech. “What I want to know is,whoare they?”
Paul stumped forward, radiating indignation. “We would have gladly told these goblins who we were,” he said coldly. “But nobody asked us. We were just grabbed by these thugs as if we were criminals!”
The woman eyed him. “You are criminals, silly man. You have trespassed on my land.” She tapped her fingers together. “Well? Speak up. Did my enemies send you to infiltrate my territory? Are you government spies here to shut down my little private enterprise?”
Paul spluttered with indignation. “We’re not anything of the sort!”
“We didn’t even know you existed until now,” Grik added eagerly.
Ratiga considered Grik a moment, as if wondering whether to be insulted that she was not better known or pleased that she retained her anonymity.“Well, since you three are too stupid to realize who I am, allow me to enlighten you.” She straightened, sweeping a hand over her befeathered regalia with a grand gesture and tilting her chin. “I am Ratiga, queen of the black market, ruler of the underworld, and the mistress of all smuggling activities in Auverne.”
Grik blinked. Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one who had thought Ratiga looked like a rodent.
When her introduction was met by blank stares, Ratiga glowered at the three prisoners. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of me.”
“I’m afraid not,” Rosanna murmured.
“But how can you be a criminal? You’re anelf.” Paul looked as if he had been given a complex row of numbers that would not add up no matter how much he tallied them.
Ratiga rolled her eyes. “I can see your powers of observation are impressive.”
Paul shook his head, bewildered. “But elves are law abiding. And black marketing ishighlyillegal.”
Paul didn’t get to finish his tirade, because Ratiga and her men burst into hysterical laughter and didn’t stop for some time.
After a few minutes of being humiliated, even Paul seemed to be getting a better grasp on reality, and Grik could see him visibly coming to terms with the situation.
