Page 28 of The Goblin and The Dancer
Paul suddenly wheeled around again. “Look,” he said roughly, “you’ve been fairly decent so far, and you’ve tried to help us.”
Tried?Grik stared at him and inhaled, on the verge of a complete explosion.
Paul kept talking, oblivious to Grik’s impending breakdown. “Promise me something. If anything happens to me, get Rosanna out of here, no matter what it takes.”
All of Grik’s indignation dissolved. What Paul was asking was more important than any resentment or sense of injury. It was the one thing they could both agree on with their whole hearts.
“I promise,” Grik whispered.
They went on. Grik padded along anxiously beside Paul, wringing his hands and jumping at every plink and scuttle. He tried humming a goblin drinking song under his breath to sooth his nerves until Paul told him to be quiet.
Paul insisted on carrying the map, even though he couldn’t understand a particle of it, so Grik had to either find his way by memory—recalling his glance of the map when it was first handed over—or stop and insist that Paul let him have a look.
Grik wished Rosanna were with them. Even though he didn’t want her anywhere near monsters, he couldn’t help yearning for her presence. He hadn’t realized until now how much braver he felt with Rosanna nearby—how much calmer, how much better in every way. She was the only one that kept them moving forward. Without her bright, delicate presence, they might as well not have lanterns to see by.
“All right.” Paul thrust the map down for Grik to get a look and hit him on the nose with it. “We’ve come to a crossroads. Which way?”
Grik peered at the map and then around at their surroundings, sniffing the air.
“It looks like a bunch of scribbles to me,” Paul said, holding the lanterns over Grik’s shoulder.
“That’s because you’re an elf,” Grik reminded him with what he thought was great patience. He pointed. “We go this way.”
They took the right turning and went on.
Finally, they were outside the entrance to the cave that Ratiga’s man had scribbled on the paper. There was a strange glow coming from the end of the tunnel, and Grik’s heart quailed within him as he looked at it. He hoped it wasn’t the reflection of some giant eye watching them.
Paul whispered, “Now, we must be as quiet as—”
“—goblins,” Grik supplied.
“I was going to saymice,” Paul responded with a quelling look.
Grik couldn’t help adding, “Goblins are quieter,” causing Paul to roll his eyes.
“Remember: you might know tunnels, but when it comes to anything else on this mission, I’m in charge and you listen to me.”
Grik goggled at him. Amission! Was that what Paul thought this was? Some army maneuver? A chance for glory?
Grik was on the verge of throwing himself at the elf and beating him with his fists in a flurry of frustration, but Paul had already walked away, heading towards the light at the end of the tunnel and the unknown, and all Grik could do was hurry after him and try not to be sick with fear.
He hunched his shoulders and squinched his eyes half-shut as he stepped after Paul into the cavern, but Grik’s eyes snapped open, along with his mouth, as he gaped at his surroundings.They didn’t need their lanterns here, for the cavern was full of a strange luminescence. Grik blinked in astonishment and reached out a cautious finger to stroke the wall beside him. Glittering veins of some silvery substance, a substance that not even Grik was familiar with, ran through all the rock of this place. It cast a cool brilliance all around.
The cavern seemed to be roughly circular. On the ground all along the sides of the chamber, there was fine, pale sand leading down to dark water. The underground lake stretched out into the darkness and was largely contained in a single pool, though a few stray streams of water snaked out in wiggling ribbons here and there.Stalactites and stalagmites formed columns at regular intervals throughout the water and, nearby, a narrow path of rock led across the narrowest end of the lake to a shallow grotto.
It was a treasure trove. There were at least five chests in the grotto, some of them flung open, revealing sparkling piles of gems, gilded statues, jewelry, and even coins. They sparkled like piles of fallen stars.A collection of urns crouched behind the chests, with long strings of pearls tumbling over their rims: pale and luminous strands of shimmery wealth.
Grik and Paul turned and looked at one another, and then they whipped around with silent whoops and raced forward towards the treasure.
Paul ran towards an urn and dipped a hand into it, scooping up a handful of gems and holding them up to the light, staring at their glow in the dim radiance of the lanterns.
Grik was not so dignified. He threw open a chest and shoved his arms into it. They disappeared up to the elbow in gems. He stuck his head in too, laughing with delight and then popping up again with a little rattle.
“Do you think those rebels Ratiga mentioned hid all of this here?” He shoved bracelets onto his arms and scooped up a handful of gems, admiring their many facets. “Or . . . do you think this belongs to . . . someone else?” Grik didn’t want to say the wordmonsteraloud.
“I don’t know,” Paul whispered. “I don’t suppose it matters.”
“It might.” Grik put a few jewels back. If the jewels belonged to some dead thieves, he didn’t mind taking it, but if it belonged to the monster, then he didn’t care to anger it by taking everything.
