Page 24 of The Goblin and The Dancer
Ratiga pulled a helmet off the goblin guard beside her and chucked it at the surly goblin who had dared to insult her.“Not that! What was the other word, the second one?”
“Shortsighted,” the elf repeated.
“That will do.” She turned back to Grik. “As I was saying, it would be shortsighted for me to let profit go. But it appears our choices are limited.”She began ticking off the options on her fingers. “You can be smart enough to provide valuable information. You can be my slaves forever. Or you could be hostages.” She eyed them, clearly unimpressed. “We’ll cross the first one off the list. That leaves options two and three. But those don’t look too good either, since you seem to have a strange aversion to serving me, and you don’t seem to be of any particular value to the world above.”
A collective flinch ran through them as Grik heard and felt himself and the others all suck in their breath as one. For one strange moment, they were all connected.
It was that wound again, that feeling of shared pain. But it wasn’t just Rosanna that Grik shared it with. This time, he sensed it from Paul too, and it startled him.
The same miserable thought seemed to run through them all, as clearly felt as if they had said it aloud.She’s right; we aren’t of any particular value to the world above. No one would really miss us if we never returned.
Paul had gone pale, as if someone were strangling him, and a tear trailed down Rosanna’s cheek.
Grik hung his head and moved away from the other two.
“Mmm,” Ratiga wiggled on her throne as if she had tasted something delicious. “Thatone hit home, didn’t it? Since your pathetic faces confirmed my suspicions, it would definitely seem that option four is not viable.” She sighed. “Besides, I’m too tired to think of a good hostage exchange. I think I’m catching a cold.”
One of the goblins guarding Ratiga moved surreptitiously away from her throne.
Ratiga continued. “It’s in your mutual interest to think of some way of proving your value to me.”
Grik, Paul, and Rosanna exchanged looks.
Ratiga traced an invisible pattern on the arm of her throne. “I would suggest thinking of something. Otherwise it might be decided that your only value is providing target practice for my men.”
Paul stepped forward. His indignation and foolishness had melted away, hardening into steel. Grik was startled by the transformation that had come over the elf.“All right, fine. You’re a businesswoman; let’s talk business. There must be something you want, something we could do for you, some service we could render.”
Grik opened his mouth to say that he would rather be Ratiga’s servant—they could always find a way to sneak away later if they were patient—but the impatient Paul had thrust back his shoulders and barked, “Since we can’t pay your toll with coin, give us a chance to make good with action.”
Ratiga studied him, tapped her fingers together, and suddenly smiled. “As it happens . . . a certain crown was stolen from me by an elf of mine that started getting grand ideas of his place in my network.” Ratiga scowled at the memory. “Needless to say, there was a heated argument, and this fool ran into a certain lair that is usually avoided and was promptly eaten by a monster. And because of this monster, my men haven’t been able to retrieve the crown that is rightfully mine.” She scratched her chin. “I do sometimes think he got himself eaten on purpose, just to spite me. Can you imagine anyone hating me so much? It boggles the imagination.”
“Terrible,” Rosanna murmured, and Grik was certain that only he detected the faint sarcasm in her voice.
“This crown belongs to me, and I want it back.” Ratiga looked at the threesome. “Those are my terms. Face the monster and bring back the crown, or be my slaves.”
Paul tipped his head to one side. “What kind of monster?”
Grik looked at the soldier in frustration. The elf said the word so calmly—as if he were used to facing monsters every day. But then, Grik supposed he was.
Ratiga waggled her fingers as if such details were unimportant. “It’s difficult to say.” She smirked. “Besides, we have to leave something up to the imagination, don’t we? There wouldn’t be any challenge in it for you if I told you everything.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “All right. But if we’re going to do this, we need a weapon.”
Ratiga snorted. “Oh please. How stupid do you think I am? We hand you a weapon and then you shoot me in the face. No, I don’t think so. You’ll have to use whatever brains you have to retrieve the crown.” She laughed, but her cackling broke off awkwardly as she realized that no one was laughing, and she glared at her men.
They broke into obedient chuckles that sounded as mechanical as a legion of wind-up toys, but it was enough to replace the smug expression on Ratiga's face.
“No weapons and not enough information,” Paul remarked, looking her up and down coolly. “Is there even a chance of succeeding?”
“My dear poppet, there’s always a chance if one has enough incentive.”
Grik swallowed. How were they supposed to face a monster without any weapons? It was all just some cruel way for Ratiga to get rid of them.
Paul, however, did not look overly dismayed.“Do we at least get a map to tell us where to find this crown of yours?”
Ratiga snapped her fingers. One of the elves behind her went to a corner and began rummaging around in a desk. He finally located parchment, pen, and ink and began drawing busily. A few goblins came over to give him advice and to jab at the paper with their fingers, obviously pointing out errors, but each time they did, the elf poked them with his pen in irritation and growled at them to leave him be.
Paul grunted. “I can tell already this is going to be a highly accurate map.”
