The Fortune of Goblins: Mesa-Tulsa Read online

  Part of the crowd broke away, and followed the goblin, who was too caught up in thoughts of his project to pay them any mind. When he did look behind him, as he was arriving at his shop, there was nothing to see but empty sidewalk. Gurgle climbed into the cart, and started it.

  With a roar the cart shot into traffic – causing only minor damages in the process. Gurgle drove north along Peoria, the sound of weaker cart horns baying behind him. The Arcane district was a little over a mile north, and somewhere within it was the local headquarters of the Alchemist Guild. He’d been to the Arcane district before, but he’d never actually been inside any of the Guild Halls. Goblins weren’t usually permitted.

  Road construction, a constant plague of the city, made the short distance seem like much further. It had Gurgle wondering why folks didn’t just walk everywhere; it might be faster. He had the excuse of needing his cart for cargo; though that was a flimsy pretense on a trip where he was only going for a small piece of paper. Perhaps everybody just liked driving as much as he did. People were odd like that.

  Gurgle stopped the cart, and jumped to the ground. He’d had to park at the edge of the district, as vehicles weren’t allowed within. The magical community disdained such forms of transportation. Not flashy enough.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the alchemist guild, but it was made longer by each person who ignored his requests for directions. After multitudes of silent replies, he was able to get the location out of a passing troll – who, despite his ominous robes and necklace of skulls, was really quite a nice fellow.

  The guild entrance presented a small dilemma. There were four tough looking fellows standing out front, and they were eyeing Gurgle like he’d just eaten the last slice of pie. They didn’t seem overly fond of goblins, but you never knew. Until you tried.

  Gurgle marched up to the guild doors like he belonged, offering the guards only the barest of nods as he passed. If he ignored them, then they might ignore him right back.

  “Hold it. What do you think you’re doing?”

  The goblin continued to ignore them, preferring to think that they were addressing someone behind him, but a heavy hand on his shoulder was making it difficult. Perhaps they could be reasoned with.

  “Hi there. I run a shop over in Merchant Lane, and I’m in need of an alchemist’s license. Is this not the place to get one?”

  There was a long pause from the thugs guarding the Guild.

  “Think he’s the one?”

  “Almost has to be.”

  “What should we do?”

  “You kidding? I’m not messing with that thing. Let him through. You heard what it’s done.”

  The guards were scared – their minds recalling fear-filled cries of pain and the blackened silhouette of a large dog. Gurgle wasn’t sure what they were going on about, but it sounded like good news for him. The hand released him, and before he could say a word of thanks the thugs had scattered.

  The hall within the Guild was filled with acrid smells, and the muffled chatter of researchers. Gurgle had learned alchemy from his grandparents. It was a useful skill, but he’d never figured on making a living of it. Not until he found himself the owner of a shop with nothing to sell. After that it seemed like a great career choice. Most alchemical shops were within the Arcane District and constantly busy. People looking for potions didn’t always want their purchases to be common knowledge. Gurgle offered a discrete alternative to the other shops.

  A series of open cupboards lined one side of the guild hall. Within were various tools and ingredients. Along the opposite wall was a series of workstations – open for use by any with a license. Near one end of the cupboards was an official looking desk. Seated at it was an elderly cyclops. Her milky-white eye was peering at a book held so close that it brushed her large eyelashes.

  “Excuse me. I’m in need of a license. My shop is certified, and paid up, but I need a personal license for the procurement of supplies. Are you the lady to speak with about this?”

  The cyclops slowly lowered her book. Martha peered towards Gurgle with her clouded eye. This was not an unusual problem, excepting the applicant’s height. Maybe it was a child. She couldn’t tell – her vision wasn’t what it used to be. She probably shouldn’t license a child, but it wouldn’t do any real harm; no shopkeeper was going to sell it anything dangerous, license or not. Besides; she’d been asking the Guild for years to cover an eye operation. The Guild head wasn’t having any of it, though. They had a strict stance on employee benefits, he said. Strict stance against them, she thought.

  “That’ll be fifty for the applicant fee, and another hundred for the license itself.”

  Gurgle pulled out his leather wallet, counted out the money, and slid it across the table. The cyclops found it on the third try, and held out his new alchemist license.

  Gurgle thanked the kind woman, pocketed the paper, and headed back to his cart.

  “You run along now, and tell your parents that they have a very polite child.”

  He wondered who she was talking to now. There’d been no one else nearby. Odd lady, but kind. A fine combination of characteristics in his opinion.

  The trip home was another hectic game of bumper cars through the obstacles of construction. When he pulled up to the shop Gurgle saw something alarming enough to dampen even his strong sense of optimism. The window of his shop had been shattered, and some murky substance had been smeared across the front wall.

  The neighbors that he had met had been so kind that he’d started to believe that they might all be that way. But clearly, some resented his presence here. The glares of the market crowd earlier had been a strong indication, but this drove it home. Gurgle tried not to let it bother him; he was sure that he would grow on them, with time.

  When Gurgle opened the door Kisses was waiting for him. The dog was sprawled across the entryway, deep asleep.

  “This is why I need to finish my new pet. You’re a terrible guard. Slept right through the commotion.”

  One of the dog’s lids peeled back to reveal the heated glare of an angry eye. It growled softly.

  “I’m only teasing. It’s not a replacement, you’re not going anywhere. Think of it as your new subordinate.”

  Kisses considered this. With a grumbling snort the dog conceded that this might be acceptable, and went back to sleep. He was full, and exhausted.

  Gurgle checked on the shopbot, and made sure his more valuable stock was securely hidden before going up the backstairs to his quarters. He didn’t look at the severed arm in the corner; with bites taken from it, and wearing a familiar bracelet.

  THE END

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Joshua Cox-Steib