Page 6 of The Goblin and The Dancer
Through the tumult of thoughts, he kept seeing Rosanna, smiling at him as if she cared about him . . . as if maybe she did like him, and might like him more, if he were only bold enough to try.
He knew it was pointless, knew he stood no chance, but he couldn’t help it. Last night had begun to feel as distant and unreal as a bad dream. He couldn’t give her up so easily. He had adored her for years, and that counted for something. It was time to fight for her.
He paused in the market long enough to purchase a box of fine rock candy from one of the most expensive booths in Stone Town. It was a terrible expense and far over his weekly budget, but he felt mightily the need to be rebellious and reckless that morning.
He took a goblinway and popped out into the world above, a block away from the Metropolitan.
It was storming that morning, and as black as Grik’s mood. Of course he had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Grik was soaking wet in a matter of moments.
He sloshed through the streets and thought moodily of Rosanna and Paul’s evening together and wondered what they had done and how they had gotten on. Maybe the evening had ended badly. There was always the chance that Paul had terrible table manners and had repulsed Rosanna last night. Perhaps he had been as rude to her as he had been to Grik. Perhaps Paul was clumsy and had accidentally shoved Rosanna into the gutter instead of helping her into the carriage.
Occupied with the pleasing images of Paul’s failure and Rosanna’s subsequent disgust, he almost walked right past the Metropolitan.
He hurried down the deep alleyway that led to the workers’ entrance and huddled under the relative dryness of the Metropolitan’s eave.
He jumped up and down in an attempt to dry himself off, running a blobby hand over his bristly hair in an attempt to tidy it. He jiggled the key in the lock, and it finally swung open, allowing him to squelch through. Some of his eagerness to see Rosanna was slithering away with the same swiftness of the rain slipping off his shoulders, leaving him standing in a puddle of water and uncertainty.
The bustle of the Metropolitan's constant activity pressed around him, echoing the rushing thoughts inside his head. He noticed an acquaintance scuttling by and waved a hand at Mij, a stagehand and fellow goblin.
“Hello, brother.” All goblins called each other “brother” and “sister” whether they were related or not, though Grik had rarely spoken to Mij. He had been too focused on getting close to Rosanna to make friends here.
“Hello, brother!” Mij said, shifting his pail of nails to his other arm, as he stopped to chat.
Grik twisted his hands together and cleared his throat. “Have you seen . . . Mistress Rosanna today?”
Mij looked at him sagely. “Why do you want to know, brother?”
Grik coughed. “I . . . need to give something to her.” His heart. Just like any other ordinary delivery.
Mij gave him a sympathetic look. “She went on a carriage ride with Lieutenant Paul Renault. Left fifteen minutes ago. Said they were going to have a picnic by the river.”
For a moment, Grik’s pulse seemed to stutter to a stop, and then suddenly it was back again, roaring—no, thundering—in his ears until he felt nearly sick.
Rosanna never took the day off. After a performance, she was always back in the studio the next day, practicing. What had caused her to do something so unheard of? Some very strong emotion indeed must have been at work to make her do such a thing. An emotion like infatuation . . . or love.
Mij rested a heavy hand on Grik’s shoulder in a rough pat. “Give it up, Grik. We all have dreams, and dreams are all well and good, but sooner or later we have to realize that dreaming don’t change the way things are. Goblins is goblins and elves is elves, and there ain’t no mixing between us. Remember who you are and be happy with what you’ve got.”
Mij shuffled off, and Grik stared after him, his mind squirming anxiously after possibilities. What if Rosanna had been taken against her will? That must be it. What if Paul was a wizard in disguise and had cast an enchantment over Rosanna? Grik had read about that sort of thing in fairy books. It could happen—it must have happened! That had to be it!
He couldn’t just leave them alone together. He had to save Rosanna. She was counting on him.
It was up to him to be her hero—not Paul.
Grik went scurrying out of the Metropolitan without letting anyone know that he would be late. What did a job matter when his Rosanna might be in danger?
He hurried out onto the street again, his pulse hammering. It had stopped raining at least, and that was some comfort, though the wind was still hard and bitter.
A sharp and sudden gust blew a bit of dirty paper into his face. He peeled it off his nose and looked at it. It was an old recruitment flyer for the army.Sign up to join Her Majesty’s army! Earn your officer’s stripes and become a soldier that makes mothers proud and ladies swoon. Every woman loves a man in uniform!
Grik tore the flyer in half, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. Then he spat on it for good measure.
He ran across the city’s main boulevard and towards a bakery. He circled around to the back alley behind the shop and scuttled towards a large, steel garbage container and used his strong goblin arms to shove it aside, revealing the drainage grate behind it. He pulled the container close to the wall again, until he could sidle between it and the bakery wall, then seized the grating and jumped. The force of his fall caused the grating to slap closed above him with a clang.
He hit the ground with a dull plop, splashing up to his knees in wet sewage. He wrinkled his nose but comforted himself that he would soon be out of it, and hurried on, his large, flat feet sending up little waves and eddies all about him in soft splatters. Never mind, it was only for a few moments.
He moved swiftly across the chamber and into the far corner, scrabbling for the small lever so lost in the shadows it was almost invisible.He found it and pulled, and the wall slid away a meter to reveal what looked a little like an enclosed dumbwaiter.
A goblinway.
