Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "inn"

Ballup’s Hole was a terrible name for a community for any number of reasons. It was, sadly, an accurate description. The seaside town was built along a river that flooded often and had recently begun to silt up. Homeowners were busy shoveling mud out of their homes and dumping it on the streets. Humidity was so high that moisture dripped off every structure and tree. A dense fog was rolling in and blotted out what little daylight remained. And the town smelled like manure, salt water and rotting fish.

Brody the goblin stared at the revolting town. “This looks shockingly like a goblin settlement.”

“It has seen better days,” Julius Craton admitted. Julius was the most famous member of the Guild of Heroes, and also their longest serving. Word was that gamblers were taking bets on how much longer the poor man would last. Tall, handsome, well armed with a magic short sword called Sworn Doom, and wearing chain armor and a steel breastplate, he was a sight to intimidate or inspire. “There’s too much moisture. Wood structures decay, are rebuilt, and decay again.”

“How long ago were these better days?” Brody asked. The short goblin had blue skin and darker blue hair. His features were boyish, so much so that some people refused to believe he was a goblin. He had two blue antenna-like growths growing from his forehead and four longer ones sprouting from his back. They served no purpose he’d been able to figure out. Brody wore blue swimming shorts and carried paddles to strap to his feet and hands when swimming, but nothing else. He’d learned the hard way that an armed goblin was a threat to too many people.

“Fifteen years ago.” Julius walked down a rotting wood staircase set into the hillside as he descended to the town. “My first assignment with the guild was in this kingdom. Brigands were raiding settlements in the middle of winter to steal their food, and Ballup’s Hole was the next target. The town was physically better then, but I wouldn’t call those good times.”

“You think we can hire a ship here?”

“It’s the closest town with a harbor. Whether or not the fishermen are willing to take paying passengers is questionable. I’m hoping my history with these people might open doors for us.”

They met a man going up the stairs, and Julius stepped aside to let him pass. This meant stepping in sodding mud with weedy grasses growing out of it. The man tipped his cap, but instead of moving on he stopped and stared. “My word. It’s Julius Craton! Saints and angels, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Julius smiled. “My friend and I are passing through, and—”

“Hey!” The man waved his arms and shouted to men and women in the streets below. “Hey! Julius Craton is back!”

A cheer went up among the citizens of the slovenly town. Humans ran up to greet him and thankfully overlooked Brody. They laughed and smiled, shook his hand, patted him on the back and offered him food and drink. It took the fast growing crowd ten minutes to calm down enough for him to speak.

“It’s a pleasure to have such a warm welcome. I’m glad to see your town is prosperous,” he said without apparent irony. Julius put a hand on Brody’s shoulder and said, “My friend and I are on our way to Oceanview Kingdom. I was hoping that one of your fishermen would be willing to provide us transportation there in return for fair pay.”

“Surely you can stay a few days,” a man asked.

A woman glared balefully at Brody. “Why is he with a goblin?”

“I’m afraid the people of Oceanview need my help as you once did,” he told the crowd. “As much as I would like to spend time with you, I can’t without leaving others in dangers. I hope you’ll forgive my poor manners in refusing your generous offer.”

A man in muddy leather clothes pointed at the approaching fog. “Much as we’d love to help, no boats are leaving harbor until the fog clears. Sir, our town still exists because of you and your brother warriors in the guild. Allow us to open our doors to you at least until the weather improves.”

Julius frowned at being delayed. “I suppose a day lost won’t affect my mission. Is the Wind’s Whim Inn still in business?”

A portly man in the crowd laughed and waved for him to come further. “We’re open and happy to have you!”

Brody and Julius were escorted through the sloppy settlement. Up close it was even more depressing, with garbage thrown out windows onto the street, rats scampering in the alleys and loose dogs yapping at children. Brody saw signs of goblins, including graffiti like ‘Goblin Builders! Watch it rot while we build it!’ He also spotted a few goblins slinking through the shadows.

They were brought to a two story tall building with mushrooms sprouting out of the walls. The portly man opened the doors to show the interior a bit better off, with dry floors, sturdy tables and chairs, and a staircase leading to a second floor. That floor was more like a large balcony overlooking the first floor, and had a bar and five tables with plenty of stools. Some enterprising goblin had scratched, ‘An apple a day only keeps the doctor away if your aim is good.’ on a wall. There were large windows facing the ocean that showed the approaching fog. Brody saw three patrons, but fifteen men and women from the crowd joined them inside. To their credit, only five of them looked like they would like to kill the goblin.

“Please, take a seat at the bar and I’ll get you a drink,” the portly man said. He climbed the stairs ahead of Julius and said, “You probably don’t remember me after so many years. I’m Iggy Wilvet. Back when the brigands attacked, you handed me a spear and we held the main barricade with the menfolk. Someone go fetch the sheriff. He’ll want to meet you, what with you saving his father’s life back then.”

Most of the crowd peeled off. Some begged forgiveness for doing so and swore they had work they couldn’t avoid. Others promised to return and bring friends with them. A middle-aged woman vowed to bring her son, who she’d named after Julius. This left them with a smaller crowd of admirers determined to stay.

“I’m glad to see you well,” Julius told him. “Has it been peaceful?”

“No real trouble,” Iggy told him. He got behind the bar and poured Julius a drink. “There’s the occasional thief, and we had a strange beast come up from the sea and attack the fish market. Lost a lot of the catch before we drove it off. Goblins cause trouble now and again. Your, ah goblin, he’s tame?”

Julius respected Brody for reasons the goblin never understood, and as always came to his defense. “I know Brody and saw him risk his life for the good of others. He has my respect and he deserves yours.”

“A tame goblin, that’s a first,” a boorish woman said. Julius frowned at her, and the woman had the decency to look ashamed.

Brody was used to that kind of talk. Goblins were the lowest of the low, and it was partially earned given their reputation for setting traps and causing chaos. Everyone he met (except Julius) assumed Brody was seconds away from doing something stupid. From time to time he was tempted to live up to their expectations, but there was something about Julius that changed you. The more time a person spent around him, the more you wanted to be like him, to make him like you. Brody had never acted much like a goblin, and after months with Julius he was considered civilized by those who met him.

A younger woman smiled and ran her fingers through Brody’s hair. “I think he’s cute. If all goblins were this nice they’d be welcome more places.”

“If we were welcome more places we’d be nicer,” Brody replied. He walked up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Aren’t most bars on the ground floor?”

“Most bars don’t have to worry about flooding,” Iggy countered. “I keep the casks up here or they’d mold. Tarnation, the town wasn’t this wet in my daddy’s day.”

Iggy handed Julius a leather cup of ale. “If you vouch for the goblin then he’s welcome. Say, I’d heard you haven’t married yet.”

The drink stopped before it reached Julius’ lips. “No, I haven’t. My job leaves no time for family.”

Iggy waved for a serving boy. “Don’t just stand there, get him a plate. It’s a pity, sir, truly a pity. A man shouldn’t be alone. My oldest, Helga, she’s marrying age, you know.” Julius nearly choked on his drink, which Iggy didn’t notice. Instead he continued his sales pitch, saying, “She’s learned good manners and is handy with a needle and thread, and you couldn’t ask for a better cook.”

One of the men punched Iggy in the arm. “Can you stop trying to palm off your daughter to every passerby?”

“What? She’d be a good match for him.”

Julius regained his breath and set down the cup. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me that you’d have me as a son-in-law. I’m sorry to say that wouldn’t be a good move. Life in the guild is dangerous and I’d hate to leave her a widow. You should know that some of my enemies have threated to kill the people I love. Your daughter would be in danger as my wife.”

Brody stifled a laugh and asked Julius, “Is that the fourth or fifth proposal this year?”

“Eighth,” Julius said under his breath. “You weren’t around for the more private ones.”

It was a certainty that Julius received offers of marriage, some of them rather indecent, at every town or city he visited. His reputation for valor, honesty and success in battle drew a steady stream of admirers. Many left when they learned he was nearly broke (saving kingdoms not being a well paying job when those kingdoms were broke), but some women weren’t deterred by his relative poverty.

Julius honestly didn’t know how to react to such offers. Brody had seen time and again that Julius was calm and decisive on the battlefield, almost supernaturally so. Put him in a social situation, however, and he floundered. He couldn’t relate to people outside of a conflict, and at parties would inevitably retreat to a quiet corner until the confusion was over.

“What sort of problems is Oceanview having that they’d need you?” a young man asked. “I’d heard they were happy as could be over there.”

“Their king is organizing a raid against pirates,” Julius lied. “He believes they’re survivors of the old Pirate Lords trying to make a comeback after their masters were defeated.”

The townspeople flinched at the news. One managed to say, “Mercy, I thought that scourge was long gone.”

Hunting pirates was the cover story for Julius’ trip to Oceanview. Their king was really interested in wiping out a criminal gang hundreds strong that had taken root in his capital, Sunset City, and he hoped to make the attack a surprise. Heroes like Julius Craton, Hammerhand Loudlungs the ogre and the nameless elf were heading for Oceanview from different locations, and together with the king’s men would rout the gang. It promised to be difficult, bloody and not that profitable given Oceanview was deep in debt. Nonetheless, the Guild of Heroes had promised help because they knew such problems grew if left unchecked.

Iggy slapped Julius on the back. “Ah, what’s a man like you got to worry about some pirates, eh? I heard how you showed that loser the Fallen King what for, and after that a snake cult.”

“It was a secret society, not a cult,” Julius corrected him. A serving boy brought Julius a plate of broiled fish and toasted bread. “Thank you. You can’t underestimate your enemies. I’ve seen too many surprises to take a foe for granted.”

“I’m glad you’re here if there’s pirates about,” Iggy told him. “Mercy, it seems every time you turn your back there’s another problem. Monsters, bandits, wars, pirates, lawyer infestations, it never ends. You ever hear of the philosopher Loopy Joe?”

Julius dug into his meal and passed the fish bones to Brody, who gobbled them up. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.”

“He doesn’t live far from here.” Iggy whistled. “Poor man used to be a university professor with all kinds of awards. His king had Joe fired for criticizing him and then confiscated his house. Joe went to live in the wilderness outside Kenton, and ended up smack dab in the path of the Eternal Army. He lost another house to those immortal loonies. Now he’s holed up in a cave by the seaside. We offered to let him live with us, but Joe said he’s safer where he’s at.”

The younger woman next to Brody looked sad. “The poor man did everything right and lost it all again and again. It makes you wonder how safe any of us really are.”

A man to Julius’ right tugged on his arm. “Hey, there’s this elf who comes by all the time trying to get us to buy tree seeds. He calls them living houses, and says they’ll grow fast and have hollowed out rooms we could live in. It sounded like bull plop to us, but after replacing my roof three times in ten years, I’m wondering if there’s something to it. Have you heard about these trees?”

Julius looked up from his meal. “It’s funny you should mention that. I’ve heard the same story in four other towns, but never seen these house trees. I assume it’s some sort of magic…”

Bop! Brody got hit in the head with an acorn. He looked around and saw a goblin climbing into the inn from a window. The other goblin had long black hair, green skin, a short tail and wore rags. No one else had seen him, and the new goblin waved for Brody to join him. Brody slipped away while Julius was talking to the humans and went to see the newcomer.

“Hi there.” Brody tossed him the acorn. Hitting someone in the head to get their attention was considered acceptable among goblins, provided you threw light objects.

“You have to go. There are crazy men about.”

Brody pointed at Julius. “He’s a bit off in the head, but he’s okay once you get to know him.”

“Not him. Crazy men are coming in with the fog. They’ve got weapons and are heading for the inn. Follow me and I’ll get you to safety.”

The other goblin tried to take Brody by the arm, but he took off like a shot and ran over to Julius. He tugged on the hero’s leg and said, “We’ve got armed men coming this way.”

“Fool goblin, you heard me call for the sheriff,” Iggy scoffed.

Julius stood up and pushed his plate away. “Why would he come armed to meet me, and with backup?”

The crowd’s jubilant mood died, and they turned toward the inn’s entrance. Men wearing dark cloaks and black clothes knocked the door open and poured into the first floor. They were armed, some with swords and the rest with a mix of axes, spears, and one man had a bow. They spread out and one of them pointed a sword at Julius.

“It’s Julius Craton all right,” the stranger snarled. “Kill him.”

Black clad men charged up the stairs with two spearmen in front. Townspeople screamed and tried to flee. Their panic doubled once they realized the only exit was blocked. The goblin with the tail climbed out a window and shouted, “Come on, let’s go!”

“I’m very sorry about the mess I’m going to make,” Julius told Iggy. He ran to the staircase, and on the way he grabbed a table by the leg. He was still running when he threw it at the spearmen. The table hit a man in the chest and bowled him over, then knocked over two more men behind him.

The enemy archer notched an arrow and fired. Julius lifted another table and the arrow struck it. The enemies on the stairs recovered and pushed on while Julius blocked a second arrow. He lifted the table over his head and hurled it onto the men below, striking the archer and knocking him to the floor.

Two spearmen reached the second floor and went after Julius. Brody grabbed a bar stool and went after the one on the right. He slid the stool on its side and placed it in front of the man. The spearman was so focused on Julius that he didn’t notice the obstacle until his foot came down between the seat and crossbars. Brody then shoved the stool as hard as he could, toppling the spearman.

The second spearman lunged at Julius. Julius stepped aside and grabbed the spear with his right hand and the spearman’s arm with his left. Instead of pushing him back, Julius pulled the man forward, sending him into and then through a window. The spearman screamed as he fell to the muddy ground below.

Brody saw the spearman he’d trip scowl and climb to his hands and knees. He got no farther as Julius ran over and kicked him with enough force to lift the man in the air and spin him onto his back. The man was already howling in pain when Julius swung his fists like hammers and struck at the base of the man’s ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Wounded and gasping for breath, he was a threat to no one.

Three more men reached the second floor while Julius and Brody dealt with the first two. Two men attacked Julius from the front while the third tried to get behind him. Like the spearmen, they ignored Brody, and they paid for it. The little goblin grabbed a tankard of ale off a still standing table and threw it in the face of a swordsman. Julius grabbed the temporarily blinded man and shoved him into a second one, toppling both.

Brody saw the third man veer off to attack him, and the little goblin scooted under a table. Thunk! The man’s sword lopped off a table leg and the table tipped over. He raised his sword for another swing when Julius grabbed him from behind, spun him around and shoved him off the second floor.

Below them, the archer looked up in time to see the swordsman falling onto him, and had just enough time to scream, “Not again!”

The rest of the gang was trying to get up the stairs to join the fight when Brody saw Iggy roll a twenty-gallon barrel across the floor. The barrel sloshed as he pushed it to the stairs, and rolled down them with a series of bangs as it hit each step. The foes on the stairs ran back down or dove off to avoid the awkward weapon. The barrel went on rolling and actually went out he front door. Bizarre as the scene was, it bought Julius and Brody precious seconds.

The remaining swordsmen facing Julius scrambled to their feet and found the hero charging them. He was on top of them before they could attack, so close they couldn’t use their swords effectively. He drove his fist into one man’s gut and doubled him over, leaving Brody to clobber the man over the head with a stool. The second man backed up, careful to stay away from the stairs and edge of the second floor. His caution spared him only for a moment.

Julius pulled the sword off his belt, taking it scabbard and all. The last of the three swordsmen tried an overhead swing, which Julius blocked. This left him open as the swordsman drew a dagger from his belt and tried to stab Julius in the gut. The blade hit his chest plate and skidded off it. Julius stepped forward and jammed the butt of his sword into the man’s gut. The swordsman gasped and was pushed back, where Brody waited with the stool he’d grabbed. He struck the man in the back of the knees, knocking him over backwards. Julius kicked him off the second floor to the growing pile of men below.

“They really need railings in this place,” Brody said.

Iggy ran up to them with a pitcher full of ale. “We used to have them. Termites, they’re devils on six legs.”

The rest of the gang forced their way up the stairs. Brody couldn’t figure out why they were so determined. So far they’d lost six men with nothing to show for it. It should have been enough to make them flee. Regardless of their losses, four axmen joined the battle, followed by their leader with a sword.

“The town sheriff is on his way,” Julius said as they advanced. “Townspeople will rally to him and overwhelm you. You can only find death here. I give my word that if you surrender you’ll face justice but not execution.”

“Your word means nothing!” the enemy leader yelled. “Your ways are slavery, your honor a lie and your name is poison! Your death is freedom to the people! Kill him!”

The axmen formed a line and charged. Iggy splashed ale in their faces, but they’d expected this and all but one turned away in time. The enemies chopped apart or knocked over furniture in their way. Julius kept his sword sheathed but held it tight. He gripped the handle hard and prepared to draw his blade.

That was when the inn’s patrons ran screaming into the enemy’s rear, armed with bottles, stools, kitchen knives and their fists. Seeing Julius face these foes and win had replaced their fear with courage and then rage. The axmen cried out in shock as eighteen men and women swarmed over them, grappling them, striking them, even biting them. Numbers and surprise was enough to bring the four men to their knees and then the floor.

An older man put an axman in a headlock and punched him in the face. “We stood strong once, and we’ll do it a thousand times more!”

“You fools, we’re doing this for you!” the axman screamed. That earned him another punch to the face.

Alone and facing a man better armed, better armored and battle hardened, the enemy leader should have run for his life. Instead he ran screaming into the fight and went straight for Julius. He slashed at Julius’ exposed face, and Julius barely raised his sword in time to block the swings. The man kept screaming, droplets of spit spraying from his mouth, sweat pouring off him as he attacked.

Brody jumped onto the pile of outraged citizens and defeated axmen. He ran across the struggling men and women before jumping onto the enemy leader’s back and wrapped both arms around his face. The man swung wildly with his sword while he grabbed Brody with his free hand and pulled. Brody grunted under the strain but held on. Julius batted aside the enemy leader’s sword and punched him hard. The blow staggered the leader and was followed by four more punches. The leader screamed in outrage and pain before two more hits brought him to his knees. One last punch to the gut dropped him alongside his men.

The fight was over less than five minutes after it started. There was no cheering the victory or toasting, just exhausted men and women glad to be alive. Their enemies were so battered that few could stand and none could offer battle.

Julius helped Brody up. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll heal.” Brody pointed at the man at Julius’ feet. “This seemed personal. Do you know him?”

Julius took the man by the shoulders and set him against a wall. He took off his hood to reveal a young man barely old enough to shave. “No. He hasn’t got scars or tattoos. Iggy, have you seen him before?”

Iggy left his patrons holding the last four men prisoners and headed over. He stopped in front of the leader and frowned. “Not in my whole life.”

Battered and broken, the youth spat at Julius. “You killed my father!”

Julius stared at the youth. “I’ve fought for fifteen years. I imaging that I’ve killed quite a few men’s fathers.”

“You don’t even remember him!” the youth screamed. “I was a child when my father joined the rebellion against the king. I was four when I heard you’d killed him and all the others. Our movement died, our hope died, our chance for a future died at your hands! You called us brigands when we were trying to save these people!”

“Save us?” Iggy spat. “You robbed others and would have done the same to us, leaving whole families to starve. Help like that we don’t need!”

“We needed food for the revolution! We could have overthrown the king and recast the kingdom. Taxes would be lower, punishments lighter.”

Brody picked through the belongings of the defeated men. There was some nifty loot here. “And the few who survived would have appreciated it.”

One of the axmen stared in horror at Julius. “We trained for month. You, you beat us and didn’t even draw your sword.”

Julius unsheathed his short sword and held it up. The magic blade glowed like a lantern, lighting up the entire inn. He swung it at an enemy’s sword on the floor and hacked through it as if it were made of balsa wood. “I wanted to question you after the fight. Sworn Doom tends to leave enemies in pieces.”

“It’s one of my strong points,” the sword said. People gasped and Julius sheathed his blade.

Armed men raced into the inn, led by a black and gold clad man with a shield and saber. Iggy pointed to the man in black and gold and said, “Sheriff, the inn was attacked. These vermin were after Mr. Craton.”

The sheriff nodded to Julius. “You’re a blessing wherever you go, sir. We’ll put these dogs in chains and turn them over to the king’s men the first chance we get.”

Men with the sheriff took change of the defeated revolutionaries and dragged them away. Their leader had to be carried out after the injuries he’d taken. He stared balefully at Julius, screaming, “My men and I are lost, but hundreds more stand ready to strike. You can’t resist the future!”

Brody watched the men until they were gone and then glanced at Julius. “You think he’s bluffing?”

“No. Those men were determined and already inside the town. Their weapons were in good condition and worth over a hundred guilders. This has the hallmarks of an organized and well-financed movement. We’re going to have to deal with this before we move onto Oceanview.”

Iggy neared Julius. “Sir, ah, what you said to the fool boy about his father…”

Julius looked down. “Villains have family the same as the good. I’ve tried to fight for honorable causes, but there’s no denying that I’ve left wives widowed and children orphaned. Iggy, I appreciated your help and that of the others here, but you should have left me to handle this. I’m the only one here with armor! You could have been killed.”

The older man in the crowd spat. “I fought beside you once, and I’ll be a goblin’s uncle before I let you stand alone. No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Brody told him.

Iggy pointed his empty pitcher at Brody. “If he can help then so should we, and it looks like you’re going to need us again sooner rather than later.”

Sore and tired, Brody sat down in a corner. Hundreds of armed men? Mercy! Things were about to get crazy in Ballop’s Hollow. He saw the green goblin climbed back into the inn and give him a pitying look.

“I tried to get you out in time,” the other goblin said. “Why wouldn’t you come?”

It was a good question, one which Brody had trouble answering. In the end he pointed at Julius, who was already speaking with the townspeople about how many weapons they had and which towns were close enough to turn to for help. Julius had been in fights as bad or worse than this since he was fifteen. Chances were good he’d die in battle long before he got white hair.

“Julius saves people,” Brody finally said, and went to help his friend. “Someone’s got to save him.”

Fenton smiled at The Weary Traveler II, and the gray skinned goblin said, “Now that is one fine looking trap.”

“That it is,” Pug agreed. The thin green goblin added, “It took a lot of time and lumber, but the old girl is back in action, and in a prime location.”

Fenton, Pug and their mob of forty goblins were as proud as new parents as they stood before The Weary Traveler II inn. The building was two stories tall and 10,000 square feet, every inch a nightmare of interconnected traps. You wouldn’t guess it by looking, as the goblins had outdone themselves making the inn appear normal. They’d even planted flowers and slapped on a coat of whitewash. The inn was on a crossroad between two villages, a town and a mining camp, sure to bring in travelers who’d find out the hard way how frustrating a stay at The Weary Traveler II could be.

Fenton tipped his floppy hat back and said, “I was worried after that loony with the magic gauntlet smashed up the old place, but it was a blessing in disguise. We’d worn out our welcome at that location. Too many people knew to avoid us. But we’re on fresh ground here with plenty of rubes coming in fat and happy. You mark my words, Pug, Oceanview Kingdom is going to be the promised land for pie traps.”

“And isn’t that what life is all about?” Pug nudged his fellow goblin and added, “That old coot was crazy, but you stole some good stuff off him.”

“That I did,” Fenton said, and glanced at the oversized magic gauntlet covering his left hand. The fight with the crazy man had been weird even by goblin standards. The lunatic had attacked his own son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter, a horror no goblin could have imagined possible. The goblins had stopped the madman, and Fenton had seized the fool’s magic gauntlet. It was rare for a goblin to be so well armed, and Fenton was enjoying being the exception to the rule.

It was getting late and the sun was setting, and the late hour would encourage passing travelers to stay at their inn and run afoul of the goblins’ twisted traps. So far few people had come by, and all had left when they saw the inn still half finished. The goblins had hid when those earlier visitors had come to avoid giving away their presence, but that grace period was over now, and The Weary Traveler II was open for its first victims.

“Hello?”

The goblins spun around to see fifteen humans coming up the road. Fenton slapped his right hand over his face at the timing. Here were all the victims he could ask for, and they’d seen him, ruining the surprise.

An older man was leading the group while the rest pushed a handcart loaded with clothes, farm tools and food. The man took a hat off and added, “We’re looking for a place to stay for the night. Does the owner of this inn accept work in exchange for beds?”

“Someone was supposed to be watching the road!” Fenton yelled.

A lanky goblin who’d been assigned that task hurried out of the bushes while adjusting his belt. “Sorry. Nature called.”

Fenton waved his right hand at the humans. “That’s just lovely. Here we have what should have been our first victims for our new inn, except they know to expect trouble after seeing us. This is why we rehearse, people.”

Pug shrugged and said, “We might still be able to make this work. Hey, old-timer, can you pretend to be surprised? Yeah, that expression says no.”

Goblins grumbled at the lost prospect for mayhem. Fenton studied the approaching humans and waved for the goblins to shut up. “Guys, cool it, they’ve got kiddies.”

That made the goblins hurry over to inspect their guests. Sure enough, the group included three small children riding on top of the packed handcart. Pug smiled at a little boy, who tried to grab the goblin’s nose. Goblins liked children of all races, and having little ones prevented most goblin related stupidity.

“There isn’t an owner to talk to,” Fenton explained. “We built the inn to catch people in traps.”

The old man looked puzzled. “Why would you do that?”

“Boredom, poor upbringing, possible madness,” Fenton answered. “The jury’s still out. If it helps, we feel the victims have it coming.”

“And they generally do,” Pug said.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in all my days!” the old man shouted. He pointed at the inn and demanded, “Why build such a nice house if not to live in it?”

“You caught us at a bad time,” Fenton continued. “The inn is finished and most of our traps are done, but it’s kind of pointless letting you inside when you know what’s coming. Would you mind leaving and not telling anyone about us?”

An old woman tugged on the man’s arm. “Father, it’s late, and the children need rest. Can’t you bargain with them?”

The old man looked at the woman before turning back to Fenton. “A deal: I tell no one about your silly inn if you let us stay the night without trouble.”

Fenton glanced at the other goblins, who shrugged or held up empty hands to show their indifference. The decision was up to him. “Fine, but if you spoil our fun, we’ll find you and make more mischief than you can handle.”

“That I already have,” the old man told them, and waved for the others to follow him. The humans unloaded their handcart and followed the goblins inside the inn. “Come on, we have a dry place to sleep tonight. Make sure a goblin goes in ahead of you in case they forget where and what they’ve trapped.”

Pug clapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Having official guests was a new experience for Fenton. He’d tolerated visitors in the past when they’d had kids he didn’t want to catch in his traps, but to actively let someone come in? Unheard of. Maybe he could go through their belongings during the night and find some good stuff.

“Someone shut off the traps in the common room, bathroom and kitchen,” Fenton said as he entered the inn. “And this time I want someone watching the road.”

“This is a nice place, father,” the old woman said when she went in. “The floors are varnished and swept clean, the boards are tightly fit together with no cracks, and the furniture looks new. Why, you’d never think goblins made it.”

“Goblins work hard when they’re making trouble, mother,” the old man replied.

Pug rolled his eyes. “I’m standing right here.”

The humans settled down in the common room and dumped their belongings in a corner. Fenton lit a lantern and got a better look at his guests. Their clothes were worn and patched, their leather shoes were cracked, and their money pouches were so flat they might be empty. With the exception of the young children, all of them had calloused hands, and most had scars.

Pug smiled and opened a secret door. “As long as we’re friends, I think I’ll slip into something more comfortable.”

“Not the clown costume,” Fenton told him.

“Why not?” Pug demanded.

Fenton waved his gauntleted hand at the humans. “I said we wouldn’t bother them, and you traipsing around in that plaid nightmare goes way beyond bothering.”

Pug folded his arms. “You and your anti-clown bias.”

A small boy looked at the old woman and asked, “Grandma, why don’t these people make sense?”

The old woman patted the boy’s hand. “The can’t help themselves, dear.”

An older girl pointed at Fenton’s magic gauntlet. “What’s that?”

Fenton held the gauntlet up for the humans to see. “It’s magic.”

The old man took off his shoes and rubbed his feet. “A goblin with magic. It makes as much sense as the rest of this place.”

These people looked odd to Fenton. Plenty of humans, elves and dwarfs had fallen prey to the first Weary Traveler inn, and they’d been fairly prosperous people. They’d almost have to be considering how expensive and risky travel could be, with road tolls, taxes, bandits and monsters. But these people were so poor they’d asked goblins for help. Plus farmers rarely left their land since crops and livestock need constant tending.

Curious, Fenton asked, “So what’s your story, grandpa?”

The old man slid into a chair and let his shoulders slouch. “We’ve been walking fifteen days since we fled Duke Kramer’s realm in the Land of the Nine Dukes. Taxes, taxes, they’re a tax on everything you do, everything you eat, everything you touch, all on account of a dead man.”

That got the goblins’ attention, and they leaned in eagerly for more. When the old man said nothing further, Pug demanded, “You can’t just leave it at that.”

“My family’s suffering amuses you?” The old man rubbed his eyes. “You’ve given us a place to sleep out of the cold, so I suppose I should entertain you. Last year the Fallen King rampaged across the Land of the Nine Dukes. He led an army of thieves, bandits, deserters and worse across the land, burning what they didn’t eat or steal.”

“He took your stuff?” Pug asked.

The old man laughed. “An amateur like him? He was killed long before reaching us, but he still did a lot of damage. Our illustrious duke lost towns, farms, livestock. He had to make up the loss somehow, so why not raise taxes? And as long as he’s doing it once, why not again? The Fallen King, ha! A beginner like him couldn’t hope to do as much damage as our own leaders.”

“So,” Fenton began, “you ran off to avoid paying your taxes.”

“I know a goblin who hunts tax collectors,” Pug said.

“I’d like to meet this fellow,” the old man said. “Yes, I ran. Duke Kramer said any family that can’t pay their taxes in gold or grain can pay it in children. Slavery is forbidden in the Land of the Nine Dukes, but you can indenture a person for five years, making them a slave in all but name. Duke Kramer said any man that couldn’t cover his debts would have a son indentured to work the duke’s fields, or more than one son if they owed a lot. I owed more than any man could pay, so I gathered my children and grandchildren, and I ran.”

Goblins stared at him in horror. Monstrous as the tale was, worse was how he told it in such a conversational tone, as if it was bad, but not unusual.

“Nothing to say, eh?” the old man asked.

“Nothing that can match that,” Fenton replied. “Goblins set traps, we steal things, now and then we fight, but we’d never do that.”

“I know.” The old man looked at them for a moment before he spoke again. “When I saw you on the road, I said to myself, ‘goblins cause much trouble,’ and I wondered if I should pass you by. I came because no goblin has done as much to me as my own kind. What traps can you build that match Duke Kramer’s cruelty?”

Fenton started counting off fingers. “We’ve got tripwires, deadfalls, pie throwers, a stuffed bull on wheels, and my personal favorite the catapulting toilet, patent pending. But you’re right, we’re not in the same league as this Kramer guy.”

“Where are you headed?” Pug asked. He’d gotten too close to the small boy, who now had a firm grip on Pug’s nose.

The old man pried the little boy’s fingers off. “My eldest son heard from traveling peddlers that there’s work in Oceanview Kingdom. My family and I have been farmers, loggers, and we can build houses and barns. If it puts food on the table, we can do it.”

Fenton cheered up at the news. “You heard right, old fella. Local goblins told us there were jerks called the Pirate Lords active a while ago. They did a lot of damage, like that Fallen King, and chased off lots of people. Merchants, landowners, nobles, church officials, they all need help. We’ve got paperwork to prove it.”

“Paperwork?” the old man asked.

Pug ran off into the secret door and came back with a sheet of paper covered in blue writing. “See, it says it here. Peasants from the Land of the Nine Dukes are being hired across Oceanview Kingdom.”

The old man stared at the paper. “Huh. That’s what those marks mean?”

Puzzled, Pug asked, “You can’t read?”

“Duke Kramer discourages reading with whippings,” the old man replied. “Most of the dukes do. They say reading gives us bad ideas. I hear Duke Warwick teaches his people to read, but he’s always been odd.”

“I guess these papers must not get much attention in your kingdom,” Fenton said.

The old man shrugged. “They don’t get attention because we don’t have them.”

“Wait a minute.” Fenton took the paper and held it up for all the humans to see. “We built this inn in the last month, and we’ve scrapped ten of these off the outside walls. We’ve spoken to hundreds of goblins living nearby, and they say these weird papers are all over the place, hundreds every week, thousands every month. With so many papers plastered on walls, wagons, trees, rocks and a few cows, you’ve never seen one?”

The old man stood up and clapped his right hand over his chest. “I solemnly swear that I have never seen such a thing in all my days or heard about them, and may I be torn limb from limb if I tell a lie.”

“That’s, um, that’s a disturbing oath,” Pug said.

“It’s used a lot in Duke Kramer’s territory,” the old man replied.

Fenton frowned. “Which says a lot about Duke Kramer.”

The old man sat down again. “That it does. Your paper confirms what we heard. We can settle here, earn our keep and keep our children. Whatever hardships we face are unimportant so long as my family is together.”

The old woman stared at the paper. “What else do those marks say?”

“Oh, lots,” Fenton told her. “It’s embarrassing stuff that happened far away, even in other kingdoms. You know, government officials cheating on their wives or running up gambling debts, kings plotting against their neighbors and what dwarf corporations are up to in the area.”

“Most of it is boring,” Pug interrupted. “We’ve learned some of this stuff is true, but so what? It’s about people who never helped us, never hurt us and we’ll never meet.”

“Yes, yes, but the paper said families from the Land of the Nine Dukes are coming here for work,” the old woman said. “Why is that embarrassing?”

Fenton and Pug looked to one another and frowned. Fenton said, “Now that you mention it, that doesn’t fit the trend.

The old man perked up at this change in the conversation. “How many of our people have come to Oceanview?”

Pug went into the secret door and came back with more papers. “Let’s see…this one from last week says there were dozens, and the most recent one says hundreds of men have left the Land of the Nine Dukes. So the answer is lots of them, and it looks like the numbers are on the rise.”

“You’ll feel right at home with so many of your countrymen,” Fenton added.

Pug looked like he was about to agree when the little boy toddled over and made another grab for the green goblin’s nose. The boy’s mother hurried over and scooped him up before he got a solid grip. “That kid is fascinated with my nostrils for reasons I’m not clear on. Mind you, I’m not complaining.”

Safe in his mother’s arms, the boy saw Fenton’s gauntlet and reached for it. Fenton took a step back to make sure the boy didn’t come close. “It’s not a toy, little guy.”

The old man put his shoes back on and pointed at the gauntlet. “Where did you get that?”

“I stole it from a crazy human who wanted to kill people with it.”

“That doesn’t narrow down the possibilities much,” the old man replied.

A goblin standing by a window looked out and said, “More people coming. Humans, I think.”

Pug smiled at Fenton and said, “You were right. This is prime victim territory.”

“Humans with torches,” the goblin at the window clarified. “And pitchforks.”

“This is an unusual time to be farming,” Pug said.

Fenton hurried to the window and peered out. The approaching crowd numbered over fifty men strong, all armed with makeshift weapons and heading straight for the inn. “It’s an angry mob.”

“But we haven’t done anything yet,” Pug protested. “We didn’t even do anything yesterday or last week, as if that counted. Why are they here?”

The old man came to the window with his family behind him. “You’re sure they’re not mad at you?”

The mob approached at a steady pace and stopped outside the inn by the empty pushcart the old man’s family had come with. There was a grumbled discussion before the mob seized the pushcart, overturned it and battered it to pieces.

The old man’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped in shock. “What are you doing?”

The mob wasn’t done. They set the broken pushcart on fire and then descended on the inn. Some men covered the front door and rear exit while the rest picked up loose stones. They hurled the stones at the inn, sending them through windows and forcing humans and goblins to duck for cover.

“You in the inn,” a voice in the mob said. “We saw a bunch of dirty foreigners go in there. Send them out.”

The old man wore a look of confusion as he peaked his head up to the edge of the window. “I don’t understand. We haven’t done anything to you. We’ve never even seen you before.”

A rock sailed through the window, barely missing the old man. “We don’t want to see you! Any of you! You stinking, no good outsiders are taking our jobs!”

“You told me there was plenty of work,” the old man said to Fenton.

“There is!” Fenton waved to the north and west. “I know a dozen guys desperate for workers, and fifty who could use a few more.”

More rocks flew through the window. “Those jobs belong to people here! You come in to our land, hat in hand, begging! Landowners hire you instead of us because you’ll take slave wages. We’ve had enough. Go back wherever you came from!”

“We can’t go back!” the old man shouted. “The punishment for fleeing the Land of the Nine Dukes is death!”

The mob’s answer was as swift as it was cold blooded. “Then die.”

Another man in the mob held up a sheet of paper. Fenton could see it by the light of the torches and burning pushcart, and even at this distance could see words written in blue ink. “Whoever owns this inn, listen up. We found out where these parasites are coming from, even which road they’re taking into the kingdom. If you take in one more, we’ll burn this place to the ground with you in it. Now send out those foreign dogs!”

Fenton stared at the mob. He was fairly stable by goblin standards, almost intelligent. But Fenton had limits, and sending children into the arms of that hateful mob crossed them all. His eyes narrowed and his lips twitched before he looked at Pug and the other goblins. He saw loathing in their eyes, a rage rare among goblins, and a potent force on those rare occasions when it arose.

“Back me up?” he asked.

“All the way,” Pug told him.

“You want them, come and get them,” called out to the mob. More softly, he asked, “Have been in many fights, old timer?”

The old man shook with fear as the mob charged the inn. “Never. The dukes don’t let peasants even touch weapons.”

Fenton grabbed the nearest goblin and pushed him closer to the old man. “This guy is going to take your family to an emergency exit tunnel in the broom closet. Follow him and do what he says. Everybody else, rearm the traps and pull back. The Weary Traveler II has its first official visitors, and we’re going to show them goblin hospitality.”

Goblins scattered across the inn, flicking concealed switches and pulling levers. They finished reactivating the inn’s traps as the angry mob slammed into the front door. It was thick and barred from the inside, but someone in the mob had brought an ax. Thwack! Thwack! The door splintered as blow after blow cut into it. Goblins went into hiding as the door was chopped apart and men poured in.

The first man got five feet in when he stepped on a loose board. The board swung up, hitting him in the face. A neighboring man tried to help him and was rewarded with a blow to the crotch when a board swung out from the wall. Rage filled shouts degenerated into confusion and then panic as the common room seemed to come alive with traps.

Most mobs have a leader, a person who brought the group together and fueled their rage with his spite, pettiness and intolerance. This mob was no exception. A tall, older man with long sideburns and a perpetual scowl pushed to the front and broke one of the swinging board traps with his club. He walked by men writhing in pain and pointed his club at the nearest door.

“You won’t stop us that easily!” the mob’s leader shouted. His scowl deepened as he ordered, “Fan out! Bust the place up, and do the same to anyone you find! Take anything worth having!”

Fenton and Pug watched the display through peepholes. They’d taken refuge in hidden passages running through the inn, where they had access to even more switches and levers for their arsenal of traps. Pug asked, “Are we going with any particular routine, or just hit them hard and often?”

“It’s too late to surprise them,” Fenton replied. “Let’s give the inn a real workout.”

Men charged through the inn, looting and smashing as they went. Fenton was surprised to see them take furniture. Their choice of loot didn’t save them. Chairs came apart in their arms. Beds folded in two over men trying to carry them. A table swung up on hidden rails to slap a man trying to take it, sending him into a nearby wall.

The mob went further into the inn, setting off still more traps. Springboards hidden in the floor sent men screaming into walls. Doors slammed shut, hitting men from behind, and the ceiling opened again and again to drop live spiders and buckets of mud. Secret doors opened to release marbles on the floor, sending men skidding about.

Finding no one to hit, the mob’s leader stalked through the inn, shouting, “Where are you!”

Fenton smiled and opened a secret door. Pug tried to stop him, but Fenton went out anyway, saying, “Trust me. This is going to be the cherry on top.”

Fearlessly, Fenton stepped out into a hallway to face the mob’s leader, who had five more men behind him, a formidable threat to a lone and relatively small goblin. Outnumbered, Fenton smiled at them.

“Hi there. Yeah, that’s right, you and your boys got pushed around by goblins, a new low for you, I’m sure. Now we’ve been gentle so far—”

A man with both hands over his bruised crotch asked, “Gentle?”

“But you crossed the line,” Fenton continued. He pointed his gauntleted hand at the mob as he addressed them again. “You boys test our patience again and we won’t be so gentle for round two.”

“We can negotiate,” the man with the bruised crotch offered.

“Like blazes we will!” the mob’s leader bellowed. “I won’t be pushed around by a goblin with a fancy glove! You—”

The hallway attacked them as fifteen traps swung clubs, boards and mud pies at the mob. Half went down under the furious attacks, and the rest fell when a door opened to reveal a taxidermy bull on wooden rails. The bull ‘charged’ down the hallway, knocking men to the floor. The mob’s leader had nearly gotten to his feet when Fenton ran in and swung his gauntlet.

Wham! The gauntlet glowed when the blow struck home, sending the foolish man flying. His fellow men looked shocked and backed away. One offered, “We’ll leave.”

Fenton was about to congratulate the man on his common sense when they were interrupted by a voice calling from outside the inn. “Burn the place down!”

“Wait, we’re still in here!” a man in the mob cried out.

The warning either came to late or was ignored entirely as men in the mob hurled lit torches into the inn. Some landed on the wood floor and began to char the wood, but more hit beds with straw mattresses and set them ablaze. Those larger fires spread rapidly. Men inside The Weary Traveler II panicked and ran, and goblins broke from cover to flee.

Fenton shouted, “Bug out! Did the kiddies get out?”

“They’re gone,” Pug told him as he ran for the broom closet and its escape tunnel. “Come on, let’s go!”

Running for your life was an ancient goblin tradition, one Fenton was all to happy to participate in, but the opportunity was lost when the mob’s leader regained his footing. The shocked look on his face was priceless, proof that he’d overestimated his control over the mob if they’d set fire to a building he was standing in, but shock was replaced with rage when he saw Fenton. He gathered up his men and charged.

Fenton was momentarily shocked. Running was the only way the men could survive the spreading flames. Heedless of their own survival, they came at Fenton in numbers he couldn’t beat even with his magic gauntlet.

Surprising even himself, Fenton didn’t panic. Instead he ran to the broom closet as Pug headed down the escape tunnel. Letting these men follow the goblins, much less the children and their family, was unthinkable. Fenton slammed the door shut and smashed off the doorknob with his gauntlet, then ran for the bathroom. He was mere steps ahead of his pursuers when he ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door in their faces. The room had a toilet, cabinet and tin bathtub, all trapped, and that was why Fenton had come.

Locking the door, he raced to the window and opened it. Outside, a large dung heap waited for anyone foolish enough to sit on the catapulting toilet trap, except the catapulting toilet could throw 155 pounds. Fenton weighed only 65 pounds.

Angry men beat on the door. Fenton yelled back, “Occupied!”

Smoke wafted up from under the closed door as Fenton ran to the toilet. He reached it as the door splintered and came apart. The mob’s leader and four men burst into the bathroom to find Fenton standing in front of the toilet.

Fenton smiled at them. “Sorry, guys, I gotta go.”

With that he jumped onto the seat of the toilet. Sproing! The catapulting toilet hurled Fenton through the open window, where he sailed over the dung heap and rolled across the grassy ground. He got up and ran for his life, stopping only when he was hidden by the near total darkness of night. He turned to see The Weary Traveler II burning so hard that it lit up the sky. Terrified men fled the building and ran off like frightened deer.

Helpless to stop the fire, Fenton snuck off to where the inn’s escape tunnel exited onto the surface. He found his fellow goblins huddled together watching the distant flames consume their home, and beside them were the old man and his family.

“You went all heroic again,” Pug chided his friend.

“Had to be done.” Fenton studied the fire before turning to Pug. “I want to know where those papers are coming from.”

“More heroism?” a goblin asked.

Fenton scowled. “This is revenge through and through. Whoever wrote that stuff cost us our house, and could have cost these people their lives. There’s got to be payback for that.”