“That would be an interesting challenge,” Gortok said, a little too thoughtfully.
Since it usually took multiple tries to get a human to pay attention to a goblin, Malagach had intentionally laid their blanket out across from the only popular camping spot around. A pristine creek meandered through the firs, and fire rings with iron cooking grates waited in a clearing. The drivers directed their teams into the site and formed the wagons into a defensive circle.
As soon as the humans had settled a bit, Malagach nodded for his brother to follow, and they strolled across the road. A surly guard with a bandage around his large biceps headed them off. Though he did not do anything as threatening as aiming his musket at them, he did tap the saber at his waist meaningfully.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Malagach said. “May I speak with the merchant leader? It appears you could use someone mechanically talented to—” he flicked the white feathers of an arrow buried in the side of a wagon, “—assist with repairs.”
“You two are going to repair something?” the guard asked. “How old are you? Ten?”
“Of course, not. Because goblins are much shorter than humans, you folks always think we look young. We’re actually...” Malagach did not think announcing himself as eleven and three-quarters and his brother as ten and a half would inspire confidence in the man, “...much older than we look,” he finished.
The guard grunted noncommittally.
“Pardon, sir?” Malagach said to a merchant with a gray-flecked goatee. He was directing the camp setup. “Are you in charge? May I speak with you?”
Malagach sidled past the guard, who reached out a hand to stop him, but hesitated when the merchant responded.
“I’m busy, greenie.”
For the first time, Malagach noticed a human girl of six or seven. She sat on a driver’s bench, slumping over the sideboard, a glum expression on her pale freckled face.
“I can see that, sir.” Malagach turned his attention back to the merchant. “That’s why we’d like to alleviate some of your chores by handling your repairs. My brother has a talent for tools, and I’m good at—”
“Holding things,” Gortok said.
Malagach coughed. “Assisting him.”
The merchant leader unhitched a horse from the wagon. “We don’t need any help with repairs.”
At that moment, the cracked wheel broke all the way, and the wagon lurched, almost tossing the girl out of her seat. The leader lifted his arm to catch her if needed, but she was hanging on, and merely slumped lower on the bench with a profound sigh.
“No, I can see that your repairs are going just fine,” Malagach said.
“I’m no fool, kid,” the merchant said. “Goblins aren’t mechanics; you people hide in the forest and steal from others.”
“We don’t steal, we scavenge,” Malagach said stiffly. “We only take what others leave behind.”
“Whatever, go away.”
Malagach gritted his teeth, tempted to leave, but even in summer, this was not a busy road. They’d be lucky if anyone else came through that day, and certainly no one else was likely to need so many repairs. Malagach and Gortok had chores to do back home, so it was not as if they could camp out here every day. Right now, they were supposed to be foraging salmonberries for Aunt Lynok.
“Why not give us a chance?” Malagach tried again.
The merchant jerked his thumb, telling the guard to haul Malagach and Gortok away.
“If you’re not pleased, you don’t have to pay.” Malagach dodged the guard’s reach and ran through his legs. “Did I mention that payment in old books is perfectly fine?” He scrambled under a wagon to avoid another pair of reaching hands. “They can even be water-stained, have missing pages, notes scribbled in the margins, whatever! We can fix any problem!”
A guard finally caught him, pulling him from beneath the wagon by the back of his shirt.
“Wait.” The merchant tilted his head and considered the dangling Malagach. “Any problem?”
“Absolutely.”
“Mal,” Gortok warned. He too had been apprehended, though he was fortunate enough to have his bare feet touching the ground. “Any mechanical problem.”
“Any problem,” Malagach said firmly.
“If you can make my daughter smile, I’ll let you try your hand at repairs.” The merchant pointed at the glum girl in the wagon.
“No problem, sir,” Malagach said.
Gortok groaned.
The guards released them. This was not the sort of problem Malagach had anticipated, but how hard could it be to make a human child smile?
Setting his chin and thrusting his shoulders back, he marched over to the girl.
“Hello, I’m Malagach and this is my brother, Gortok. What’s your name?”
The girl said nothing.
“Did you have an adventure in the pass?” Malagach asked.
Silence.
“Why are you sad?” Malagach tried.
Just as he started fearing her deaf and mute, she mumbled, “Da won’t let me have another cat.”
“What happened to the last one?” Gortok asked.
“Orc et it.”
Gortok elbowed Malagach. “I’m not the only one who uses that word.”
“It’s not a word,” Malagach said out of the side of his mouth.
“She used it, and she’s a human.”
“She’s six.”
“Seven,” the girl muttered. “Old enough to have another cat, but Da says no. He says another one would just be orc bait, maybe even bring orcs to our camp. They like to eat cats.”
“Yeah, they’re partial to goblins, too,” Gortok said.
“And I miss Mimi,” she said. “I want another cat to talk to. There’s no one but grownups here, and they don’t hardly listen when you talk unless it’s to tell you to do chores.”
“Tell me about it,” Gortok said.
“Let me do the talking,” Malagach whispered. To the girl he said, “I’m sorry you can’t have a cat, but would you like to hear some jokes?” All they really had to do was make her smile, after all.
“No,” she said and slumped lower in the seat.
Gortok took a few steps back, plucking at a fringe on Malagach’s sleeve to get him to follow. “I reckon we hafta get her a cat.”
“Not if her father won’t allow it. Besides, you can’t find house cats up here, and I’m sure her pa wouldn’t allow it if we showed up with a cougar kit.”
“Well, maybe not, but you wouldn’t have to worry about a grown-up cougar being chomped down by an orc.”
“No, you’d just worry about it chomping the entire camp,” Malagach said. “You’re not helping here.”
“But how are you going to make her happy?” Gortok asked.
“The deal is we just have to make her smile, that’s it. I’ll jump around and act goofy or something. I’m sure I can get her to stretch her lips once, and then we’ll get hired, and then we’ll have some money for books.”
Gortok scratched at his tangled mess of white hair, causing a few tufts of moss to fall out. “That doesn’t sound good enough. I think we have to figure out how to make her happy. She wants a friend.”
“Look, Gor, that’s not in our power. Just go stir your pitch glue and get ready.”
Gortok shrugged and headed out of the camp, stopping to rummage through a pile of old trash left by previous campers. He poked through broken horse reins, tin food cans, and paused over a handful of rusty springs. A glint of appreciation entered his eyes, and with a bit of a bounce, he plucked up some of the cans as well.
“It’s no wonder people think goblins are thieves.” Malagach shook his head. His brother would probably waste the rest of the afternoon making worthless contraptions. Forcing a smile onto his face, Malagach turned back to the girl. “Want to hear a goblin joke?”
She sighed at him without showing any interest.
“Three goblins are tasked with getting some fish to feed the village. The firs
t one tries to use his hands. He reaches down and grabs an armful of water with a giant splash. Not only does he catch no fish, but he loses his balance and falls in.” Malagach acted this out, exaggerating the motions for—he hoped—comic affect. “The second goblin gets a sharpened stick and stabs fiercely at the shallows, but he doesn’t get any fish either. He only manages to poke himself in the foot.” That part Malagach had no trouble demonstrating, due to previous...experience. “The third goblin says this is too dangerous. I’m going to go steal fish from a troll.” He delivered that punch line with a broad grin.
The girl stared blankly at him.
“See, that’s funny because trolls are much more dangerous than fishing mishaps. And they eat our people when they catch us, and...” Malagach wilted under her unrelenting stare, “this joke is very popular among goblins.”
For the next half hour, Malagach tried his hardest to get around cultural differences and figure out what might make a human girl smile.
“Should I get rid of him, sir?” the guard asked at one point.
Malagach glanced back to where the merchant leader was grilling venison steaks over the fire.
“Don’t bother,” the merchant said. “Watching him is probably more interesting for Tilda than camp chores.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” the guard muttered.
Malagach’s ears drooped. This wasn’t working. Time to try another tactic.
He leaned closer to the girl. “If you smile for your pa, I’ll give you half of the money my brother and I make from the repair gig.”
She folded her arms and scowled at him. “I don’t want any money. I want a cat.”
“If you smile for him, I can go away and leave you alone.”
Her scowl only deepened. “No. Cat or nothing.”
Malagach found his own smile turning into a scowl in the face of this unlikely adversary. He had faced bullies, slavers, trolls, and even wizards. He could not let this girl beat him.
Then Gortok strolled back into camp with some new contraption tucked under his arm.
“Hullo.” He waved to both of them, but the motion slowed when he realized they were both scowling at each other. “Problem?”
“This—” Malagach thrust an accusing finger at the girl, “—is the most difficult creature I’ve ever met.”
“I want a cat!”
“Oh, good,” Gortok said, “then I’m just in time.”
He thrust his contraption out for their inspection. Once he turned it sideways, Malagach realized what it was supposed to be. A coffee can made the body, springs and strips of metal the legs, an artistic meld of junk the head, and arrowheads the two pointed ears. Malagach wasn’t sure what the kinked tail was made of, but Gortok smiled and cranked it in a circle a few times. When he set down the mechanical ‘cat,’ it strolled along on its springy legs.
“Hunh.” Malagach stole a glance at the girl.
Her blue eyes had widened, and for the first time, she looked interested.
“Watch.” Gortok grabbed the construct. “This is the best part.” He hurled it into the air above their heads.
Startled, Malagach stepped back, expecting the device to splatter into broken pieces in from of him. Instead the cat flipped in the air and landed on its springy feet, bouncing twice before settling down and resuming its walk.
A squeal and clapping startled him again. The girl clambered out of the wagon and knelt down to get a closer look. “Oh, look at it go! Can I touch it? Can I throw?”
“Sure, it’s yours.” Gortok proceeded to demonstrate how to work the contraption. “Guaranteed not to entice orcs into camp, and guaranteed to listen if you talk to it.”
Not only did the girl smile, but she laughed. Multiple times. Malagach tried not to glower with jealousy, at least not for too long. The arrival of the father restored some of his equanimity. For a moment, the merchant gaped at the spectacle of his laughing daughter, but his mouth broadened into a smile.
“You made this?” He asked Gortok, pointing to the cat.
“Yup,” Gortok said.
Other merchants and even a couple of the guards came over, wanting to throw the cat and watch it toddle around camp.
Malagach tugged on the leader’s arm. “So, do we have the job?”
An amused smile came to the man’s face. “It seems you’ve met the requirements, so you do indeed.”
“Excellent. While my brother gets started—Gor, stop playing, it’s time to work!—let’s discuss payment, shall we?”
* * * * *
By the time dusk came to the forest, Malagach had forgotten his jealousy. A pleased grin was camped on his face, thanks to the stack of books in his arms. For their work, they had been given two on languages, one on human culture of the Northern Kingdom—which Malagach hoped covered humor—two on engineering and mathematics for Gor, and perhaps the best, two novels on the adventures of Jamseth the Bold, which they would both enjoy.
“I reckon you learned a lesson today,” Gortok said, equally burdened by books and equally pleased to be so-burdened.
“Hm, I suppose,” Malagach said grudgingly. It was annoying to be shown up by his little brother, though he ought to be used to it by now. “To get what you want, sometimes you have to give other people what they want, and not just pretend you care about them to get what you want.”
“Nah, that’s a horrible lesson,” Gortok said. “Way too long and twisty.”
Malagach arched an eyebrow. “What lesson did you have in mind?”
“Machines make people happy.”
“Enh, I’d rather have a cat. Or a brother. Brothers are much more fun than mechanical contraptions.”
“No, they’re not,” Gortok said.
“Why not?”
“Brothers talk back, especially older ones.”
Gortok hustled down the path, just escaping before Malagach could hurl a book at him.
The Goblin Brothers and the Five-Finned Finger Fish
Malagach trotted down the forest trail, his bare green feet dancing over dried pine needles. The massive book clutched in his arms didn’t slow him down at all.
“Wait up!” called his brother Gortok.
“We’re almost there!” Malagach’s arms ached from toting Eels and Fish of the Northwest Mountains all the way from the tree hut, but it was worth it. Ahead of them, between the firs and pines, over the ferns and rhododendrons, the pond came into view.
Malagach stopped on a mossy bank overlooking the clear mountain pool. Aside from a limestone spur creating a rock wall on one end, there was nothing remarkable about the pond—except the number of goblins fishing it. At least one hundred grownups and whelps stood in the shallows with spears or lounged on the banks with poles. A few trawled the depths with canoes and nets. Malagach had never seen so many goblins fishing one area at once.
“This’ll do,” he said. “Get it out.”
Panting, Gortok lurched to a halt, the fringes on his buckskins flapping. He dropped his hide tool satchel and bent over to rummage inside. His wild white hair brushed the ground, collecting needles and leaves. Oblivious, he came up holding a contraption made from sticks and wire. He lifted it overhead with a triumphant smile.
“That’s it?” Malagach asked. “Isn’t that small for a fish trap?”
“Not when it’s a compact collapsible fish trap.” Gortok winked. “I just need a couple minutes to unfold it and set it up.”
“Quiet over there,” came a drowsy voice from behind a fern. “Fish don’t like noise.”
Malagach took a few steps and parted the fronds to find Uncle Meetop, a village elder, reclining on the mossy carpet. A fishing pole whittled from a branch was propped between his knees. A wide-brimmed grass hat hung low over his half-closed yellow eyes.
“Sorry, Uncle,” Malagach said, though he suspected Meetop cared more about noise than the fish.
“Hullo, Uncle!” Gortok waved, a pair of pliers in his hand.
The older goblin grunted.
&nb
sp; Despite Meetop’s lackadaisical fishing posture, the basket resting next to him was full.
“Oh!” Malagach hugged the book closer. “Are those the new fish? Can I look at them?”
Another grunt.
Taking it as a yes, Malagach slipped around the fern and peered into the basket.
Only a finger in length, the fish sported blood-red scales and five small fins.
“Huh, they’re even odder than folks were saying.” Malagach eyeballed the rest of the fish in the basket, thinking he might have plucked out an aberration, but they were all like that. “Come look at this, Gor. It must be a mutation.”
Uncle Meetop slid his gaze toward Malagach. “I’ve heard folks say that about you two.”
Malagach’s spine stiffened, and he lifted his chin. “We are not mutants, sir. We may have different interests than most, but we’re perfectly normal goblins.”
“What kind of normal goblin brings a book fishing?” Meetop asked.
“It’s a book on all the fish in this part of the Kingdom. I heard about the five-finners, and I looked them up. They’re not mentioned anywhere. That means a previously undiscovered species, or maybe a mutation has created a brand new species. Either way, I’m going to sketch them and write all about them, and send the information off to the human who wrote this book, Professor Eniolofol.” He tapped the author’s name on the cover. “Then he can come verify my findings, and we’ll have discovered a whole new fish. And I’ll get credit! And maybe they’ll even name it after me. My own fish. And I’m not even twelve yet!” Malagach bounced, unable to keep the grin from splitting his face.
“You’re right, Uncle Meetop.” Gortok sniggered. “My brother is definitely a mutant.”
Eyes narrowing, Malagach grabbed his brother’s tool satchel and tore open the flap. Before Gortok could pull away, Malagach probed past wrenches, wire cutters, and hammers to yank out a book.
“The Wonderful World of Metals, Minerals, and Chemical Reactions,” he read. “If I’m a mutant, you’re a super mutant.”