By Richie Billing
“How much gold did you say they had, Bert?” Brains whispered.
The guttural sounds of goblins echoed up from the valley below. Berty gazed down at the glowing campfires, sucking in air through the gap in his front teeth.
“Enough to gorge yourself to death with pies, but only if you stop acting the goat,” Berty muttered, “so pack in the questions. If we’re caught…”
Brains nodded, and a bead of sweat flew off of his forehead and into Berty’s mouth, much to the mustachioed man’s disgust.
“Quiet as a dead mouse. I remember, Bert.”
Even with Brains’ dispersing sweat to distract him, Berty couldn’t quite banish the memory of Sly Mycal’s shredded and broken body from his mind. Mess with the goblins and that’s what happened.
But it’ll be worth it.
Berty did his best to shove the thought away and led on, waddling along the goat trail that cut down the side of the valley while spitting out any essence of Brains. Bushes and sharp grasses sprouted from the dry earth on either side. Sharp rocks rose up from the path and threatened to trip them both. Stones crunched beneath their feet, putting Berty on edge.
“Ah, ya bastard!”
Berty spun round to find Brains in the midst of a thorn bush at the side of the path. “Shut it will ya,” Berty said, doing his best not to shout while waving his arms to try and calm his oaf of a cousin. Berty hauled him up.
“What did you do?”
“I tripped over that gods damn rock and fell into the bush.” Clenching his jaw, he held up a hand with three or four spikes sticking from it. Berty took his hand and removed them with ease while Brains blew through his mouth, trying to expel the pain.
“Better?”
Brains nodded.
“Good.”
“Bert. One last question.”
Berty sighed and nodded.
“What do you reckon they’ll do if they catch us?”
“They ain’t gonna catch us.”
“Yeah, but what if they do?”
Berty turned to face his cousin, brow furrowed in frustration. “Why don’t you have any faith in me?”
“It’s just that we usually get caught, and them goblins are nasty bastards.”
“We run then. Is that a good enough plan for you?”
Brains shrugged.
They reached the base of the valley with a few more stubbed toes and near falls.
“How much further?” Brains asked, a tremble in his voice.
“I can see huts up ahead. Stay close and keep your trap shut.”
A goblin stepped onto the trail ahead. Berty dragged Brains into a bush. Berty kept his footing, but Brains hit the ground with a huff.
“What you do-”
Berty cut Brains off with a kick in the leg. He looked like a forlorn figure in the mud, like a mutt that loved its owner too much but never received enough in return. It tugged at Berty’s heartstrings. The pair were a few months apart in age and not dissimilar in appearance, though Berty was quick to dispute this fact. Berty enjoyed his ale, and his sagging gut proved it. His dark moustache, speckled grey, drooped over the corners of his mouth, and his thinning, scraggly hair had receded far beyond his forehead. What remained swept down to his shoulders. Despite claiming to be taller than Brains— both men were barely a few inches taller than a fence post— Berty had short legs, giving him a waddling gait. Brains, on the other hand, had a fuller head of dark hair, though it was shorter and greying around his ears. Round brown eyes dominated his face, and a bushy beard covered his chin. A scar ran across his forehead where a mule had kicked him as a kid, the result of a prank by Berty that had seemed much funnier at the time. Since then, Brains had developed a reputation for being a little dim, earning his nickname. His actual name was Brian.
Those who knew Brains didn’t see him as a complete dullard. His eyes saw things others didn’t, especially food—pies cooling on windowsills in particular. He was the bane of many a baker’s existence. But while Brains was content with a humble apple pie at the end of the day, it wasn’t enough for Berty. He yearned for more, for the riches and luxuries he saw others enjoy—food in his belly, a warm bed, a cozy house with a big hearth, a loving woman, and maybe a child or two.
Life was a struggle. They’d tried every trade, every scheme to make some coin, but none had succeeded. Yet that didn’t stop Berty. When he’d heard of piles of gold in the nearby goblin village, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.
Berty chanced a look down the path and saw no sign of the goblin. He exhaled. The village lay just ahead. It sat on scrubland at the base of a valley, surrounded by trees twisted and bent by the persistent winds that swept over the hills. The sun had fallen now, and in the gloom, shadows from fires danced across tents made from animal hide and furs.
The tents were arranged in a large circle, with more behind them like the layers of an onion. About sixty in all. A much larger communal fire crackled away in the center, with a broad pathway cutting through the tents and leading into the rocky cliff face that stood to the north of the village. The goblins were miners by trade— hardworking, determined, skilled in their craft, and fearless when it came to burrowing holes and exploring caves. It was said they had the eyes for the job, able to see in the dark, and could withstand the toxic gases that lingered below ground.
Goblins were a secretive people who interacted little beyond their world. Berty knew from the tales that they were fierce and without reason. Sly Mycal was evidence enough of that, and Mycal was just one of a bunch of stories.
“You sure this is worth it, Bert?”
“Do you wanna eat pea pottage for the rest of your life?”
“I hate pea pottage.”
“I know you do. But if we can pull this off, you’ll be eating cream cakes and apple pies. And you’ll have a servant bring them to you on a golden plate.”
Brains nodded, a toothy grin spreading across his face. “You had me at cream cakes.”
“Come on, I think I’ve got an idea where it’s at,” he lied.
At a crouch, they moved toward the tree line. Goblins were tall folk, a good head taller than humans, or in Berty and Brains’ cases, two heads. Their yurt-like homes loomed high above the pair. Beside the first tent, they heard the deep rumble of voices. Berty waddled to the next tent, hurrying Brains along with sharp hand signals and a stern expression.
“Stay close,” he whispered.
“I was just lookin’. Never seen a goblin before.”
“They’ll be the last things you see if you’re not careful.”
An alien cry rang out a few paces away. A scratchy bark answered it, echoing through the camp.
Berty’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The shout rang out again, further away this time. He huffed a sigh of relief. “Thought they had us for a moment.”
With his heart throbbing in his ears, Berty peered around the tent and, seeing that the path was clear, scampered on. He made it to the shadows of the next tent when sounds of metal clanging filled the night. Berty spun to find Brains on the ground, pots and pans strewn around him. Brains groaned in pain.
Berty looked around in fear and anticipation, waiting for a goblin to appear.
“We’re doomed,” he muttered, pulling at his hair in frustration. He scampered over to Brains and dragged him by his legs into the shadow of a tent.
“Who the hell left those there?” Brains said.
“You hurt?”
“Just my toe. That damn cauldron was heavy.”
“Not as heavy as your thick skull. We need to move. Can you walk?”
“Think so.”
“You ain’t got much choice.”
The goblin tongue was harsh, and they spoke so fast you’d think it was their final day on Tervia. But without a doubt, questions were being asked. The voices closed in on them. Berty grabbed Brains and pushed him onwards.
They hurried between tents, skirting the edge of the camp and inching closer to the rock face of the hill. More voices ahead. Berty led them to a bunch of crates, and they hunkered down behind them. A goblin walked by, tall and slender with his neck stooped. His nose was as pointed as his ears, and a shock of earth-brown hair curled down the back of his neck. Brains, wide-eyed, clutched Berty’s arm.
“Just stay quiet,” Berty hissed. The deep thuds of the goblin’s footsteps moved away from them.
Berty checked up and down before they set off once more. In truth, he didn’t know where to go. That information hadn’t been shared with him, only that there was gold in the camp. He’d gambled on the idea that he’d puzzle it out, but now, with the stench of unwashed goblin bodies filling his nose, it was hard to think of where that gold could be. He could feel a chill of panic descending upon him, so he stopped in the shadows of a large tent so they could catch their breath and take stock. Brains had his eye on the tent.
“What you lookin’ at?” Berty asked between deep breaths.
Brains didn’t reply. Instead, he craned his neck closer to the hide cover, squinting. Berty followed his gaze and found him looking through a little tear in the material. He shouldered Brains aside and looked too.
“Fuck me,” he muttered in disbelief.
From wall to wall, all he could see in the light of a torch was glittering gold. There were barrels and crates full of it— a mix of ingots and amulets, necklaces and headbands, even crude chunks of ore.
“There’s more gold in there than in all the Kingdom of Bizan,” Berty said. He drew his knife and jammed it into the hole in the hide. With a bit of force, he pushed it down to the ground and cut a flap in the tent. The pair of them ducked inside.
Neither of them had seen so much gold before. For a good few moments, they stood observing it all in awe, mouths agape.
“Why would they just leave all this here, Bert? Anyone could walk in and take it.”
“Well lucky for us, they didn’t. Get your bag open.”
The pair of them unshouldered their leather bags and started shoving in as much as they could— crude amulets and headbands, rings and bracelets, great chunks of ore flecked with gold. Berty’s mind flooded with excited thoughts. At last, he could have coin enough to buy the food he wanted, the clothes he wanted, a horse instead of a donkey, the warm touch of a woman— he’d be so wealthy that some women wouldn’t find him repulsive. He could get his own house, maybe even servants. He could boss people around for once, and others would show him respect. They wouldn’t mock his height, his waddle, his thinning hair, or his fat nose. They’d invite him to their parties and functions, buy him drinks at the tavern, wave and say hello when they passed him on the street, hoping for his acknowledgement. Everyone would want to be his friend.
“Bert. Bert. Er, Berty,” Brains said, tugging at his shirt. With reluctance, Berty came out of his reverie. The little mustachioed man turned to face his cousin, then followed Brains’s gaze to the main threshold of the tent.
“Shit. Run, Brains!”
Berty barged into his cousin and made for their makeshift flap. They took two steps before they collided with a body and stumbled back onto their arses.
A pair of goblins loomed over them. They were a good two or three feet taller than Berty and Brains, and their lichen-green skin was covered in coarse, boar-like hair. They had huge hands and feet disproportionate to their bodies, with elongated fingers and toes that made them excellent climbers and diggers. Thin necks supported block-like heads. Their ears were pointed and angled outward. Their brows protruded a good inch over their eyes, and their noses were narrow and hooked. They had wide mouths with teeth that looked like they could grind stone. Berty had only seen goblins once before as a kid, having watched their crooked frames ambling across the hills from a mile away. Seeing them back then had sent a cold shudder down his spine, and as he looked up into the deep-set amber eyes of the goblins, he felt it again.
The goblin on the right, who had three golden rings pierced into one of his nostrils, looked down at them with disdain and irritation. He muttered something to his companion, who had long grey hair tied back in a ponytail and gold bands on his arms. Ponytail said nothing, irking his companion enough to talk louder.
“I don’t see why they had to tear a hole when they could have used the door. Fucking humans. Thick as goat shit,” Nose Rings said.
Ponytail gave him a withering look.
Nose Rings sighed and shook his head. “You deal with them then. I don’t have the headspace for this after the day I’ve had.” With that, he turned and left the tent. Ponytail’s eyes returned to the pair, giving them an appraising look, like a siege master eyeing a castle’s defenses. Brains whimpered and held back a sob.
“He’s not happy you ruined the tent.” The goblin nodded at the hole they’d cut open. “And I’m not happy when people steal from me.” He took a step toward them. His voice was deep and gravelly, as if he lived on a diet of rocks.
“We weren’t stealing, sir,” Brains pleaded.
“What were you doing then?” The goblin’s tone was cool and even.
Brains floundered.
“We were just looking,” Berty interjected.
“Looking? Do humans look with their hands and not their eyes? What of the bags full of my stuff? Were you taking them home for closer inspection?”
“It’s just… we got a bit excited. We’re poor fuckers, just trying to get by. When we saw the gold all shiny in here we just… our hearts got the better of us.”
The goblin growled. “Why were you here in the first place?”
“We were rambling over the fells and got lost.”
“Humans looking to goblins for help. That’d be a first.” Ponytail gave them a hard look before uttering a sigh. He picked up a wooden stool, set it down before them, and took a seat. From inside his cloak, he pulled out a pipe, stuffed it with a green leaf which he pulled out of another pocket, and sparked a light on a piece of flint. He inhaled and breathed out slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“I should kill you two for what you’ve done. Maybe rip open your stomachs, pull out your guts, leave you for the crows. Something like that anyway.” He inhaled again, the smoke sweet and thick enough to wrinkle the nose. “But I’ve been thinking about something recently, and it’s not an idea my companion likes much. Nor will it go down well with the rest of the clan. They hate humans. Really fucking hate them. If they found out you two were here on the take, well the crows would be the least of your concerns.”
“Why do you hate us so much, sir?” Brains asked with the innocence of a child.
“You have no clue?” Ponytail puffed his pipe and eyed Brains, as if trying to work out if he was taking the piss. “When humans first arrived in these lands, they saw us goblins and thought us a threat, so they hunted us down. We fought for years until at last peace was agreed upon, and we never fought again. But we do not forget the scars you left. We once lived down in the meadows where we farmed the land, but you chased us into these craggy hills where nothing grows. We see the trees and woods we once loved and tended to, but you hung our ancestors from those boughs and chopped them down. You took our home and spoiled it so that we could never return, and instead, we live up in these hills, out of sight. That is why we dislike humans.”
He took another deep puff on his pipe and looked at the pair thoughtfully. “I want to give you both a chance to save your guts, ‘cause I’m sure you like having them inside your body.”
Brains and Berty both nodded.
Ponytail puffed on his pipe. His amber eyes seemed to glow, while Berty’s eyes watered from the thickening cloud of smoke hanging in the air.
“I want you to take everything you’ve stashed away in your bags and sell it in your human town. Whatever money you make, you get half, we get half.”
Blinking with the smoke, Berty frowned in confusion. “What, like business partners?”
“If that’s what you want to call it. But remember, if you fuck me over I’ll kill you, and there’ll be goblin kids kicking your heads around the village for sport. Got it?”
Berty and Brains both nodded like children who’d been promised sweets for good behavior.
“When you’ve sold it, come back here and ask for Naza.”
“Is that you?” Brains asked.
“Yes.” He shook his head, stunned by the simplicity. “If you’re not back here this time tomorrow with some coin, well, those kids will be playing kickball after all. And don’t even think of taking off either. We’ve got eyes and ears all over these valleys, and our wolves will track you down. Besides, we love us a good human hunt. Not that two little fellas like you could stray far. Now go, get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
Berty bristled at the reference to his height but said nothing. Instead, they scampered home, thanking Naza for his mercy as they went, and returned to their hovel on a farm just outside the town of Horris Green. You’d do well to swing a rabbit inside it, let alone a cat. Two straw cots stood in two corners, a table and a couple of stools on the other side, with a crude hearth in the middle of the wall. A single-paned window let in a modest square of light, and a leaky roof let in most of the rain.
There was no john—just a shovel for digging holes in the surrounding fields when nature called, ideally away from the stream. Brains had to be told often—his argument was that it was too far and he was too desperate. “Turtling” was the word he used.
The pair had lived in many places over the years, and this wasn’t one of the worst. Besides, it was all they could afford. The rent was simply to help the old farmer, Byllo, collect the eggs from his chickens, tend his vegetable patch, and clean up around the place. They got a few eggs out of it, too.
“That was a damn close one,” Berty said as he collapsed onto his straw bed. “I thought we were goners. Did you see how big his claws were?”
“I was looking at the gold,” Brains said, turning a golden bracelet around in his hands.
“Even with a massive goblin threatening to kill you? You’re a mad bastard, Brains.”
“Aye, but we’re here now.”
“Aye. That we are.” A smile emerged from the gloom of Berty’s mood. His hands still shook from the adrenaline of what had just happened. It could have gone a different direction, but somehow it had turned out even better than he could have hoped. Going into business with the goblins. He’d be the talk of the town.
“What are you gonna spend your money on, Bert?”
Berty sat up, smile broadening. “First, I’m gonna get myself the biggest steak you can get. It’s gonna have lots of crispy roasted taters around it, and a fine gravy that glistens in the candlelight.”
“Damn, Bert, you’re making my belly growl.”
“Then I’m gonna find me a tailor and get him to make me a nice suit, all out of velvet. Purple, like a king.” He laughed and took a swig from his skin of bitter wine. “What about you?”
Brains bit his lip as he thought. “I’m definitely gonna get a steak like yours. And then maybe buy some goats. I like goats. They’re funny.”
“I know you do. Where you gonna keep them though?”
“Oh yeah.” He looked down at the ground, disappointed.
“How about we buy a nice big farm, and then you can put them there?”
A broad grin erupted on his face. “Can we get some chickens too, Bert?”
“Sure, we can get some chickens. Byllo might sell us some of his. They lay good eggs.”
“Can we get a cat too, Bert? They’re real nice and friendly, and they catch rats.”
“Sure thing, Brains. Once we’re rich, you can get anything you like. Why don’t you think on that while you sleep? We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
Brains was soon snoring in his straw cot, but Berty’s mind raced between plans for selling the gold— what he’d say, his pitch, his price points, his negotiation tactics, how he’d feign disgust— and the potential future that lay ahead for him and his cousin. All he ever wanted was to be comfortable and to have the simple things that others had, things that forever seemed beyond his grasp. That was all. Not a castle with a massive fucking moat. Life, it seemed, conspired against him. How else could a herd of sheep foil their plan to rob a wagon of grain, or Brains getting bitten by a poisonous spider while they staked out a merchant’s shop, leaving him with a head like a balloon? And even when they did manage to pull something off, money was repulsed being in their possession. If it wasn’t gambling, mead or a prostitute lifting their coin purse it was bigger, tougher men taking it off of them on the highways. And then there was their own simple stupidity, like the time Berty dropped his coin purse down a well. Brains liked to bring that one up, which always left them rolling around on the floor, fighting.
Berty was determined that this time would be different. They would succeed. Nobody would laugh or mock them. They would come out on top and, for once, make no mistakes.
Until the rooster crowed at dawn, Berty practiced his sales pitch, opening lines, and special offers. He planned out who he’d speak to and in what order. As the sun drove off the cool spring mist that hung over the land, Berty gave Brains a kick.
“Wakey, wakey.”
He grumbled and groaned, eyes half closed. “Feels like I hardly slept.”
“You sleep more than a fat cat. Maybe you sleep too much.”
Brains shrugged. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Bread. Watch your teeth— it’s a bit hard.”
“We got any of those apples left?”
Berty looked about their tiny shed of a home and shook his head. A part of Berty found himself content with his lot here. He had the company of his best friend, some food in his belly, the beautiful flowers of the countryside, and the songs of the birds serenading him each day. But a voice within screamed for more, a pressure willing him to chase what he had always wanted. And today, he might finally get it.
***
There was no need for walls in this part of Tervia. Peace reigned over Horris Green and had done so for as long as anyone could remember. This was a land of farmers, sheep, goats, chickens, and, up in the hills, the occasional clan of goblins, though many people here pretended they didn’t exist. Berty and Brains lugged their heavy sacks along the main road into the town. Blackbirds and robins swooped from the hedgerows, singing their songs as they went. A pair of magpies watched the pair from a wooden fence and took off as they neared.
“Good sign,” Brains said.
“What’s that?”
“Two magpies together is good luck.”
“Says who?”
Brains shrugged. “It’s just what they say.”
“Yeah, but who?”
“I dunno. The magpie people.”
“Magpie people?” Berty said, exasperated. Brains had a thing for magpies. He was always saluting or waving at them. Berty wrote it off as one of his quirks.
“So, you remember the plan? Keep quiet and let me do the talking. I’ve got it all worked out, so you gotta trust me. We’ll go see the merchant first ‘cos he’s a rich bastard and will pay the most. If we’ve got any left, we’ll work our way through the craft shops, then maybe hit the market.”
“Sounds good, Bert.”
The largest shop in Horris Green was Jagari’s General Store. It was also the most distinctive with its lopsided frontage. One of the front corners of the single-storey stone structure was subsiding, but it somehow remained solid, maybe propped up by the jumble of contents within. Inside, a rectangular space opened up before them, split into messy rows by wooden furniture like wardrobes, chests, stools, chairs of all shapes and sizes, and tables— all for sale, if you can price them free. Upon those sat trinkets of every size and description: copper pots and pans, brass thimbles, bone picks, little boxes. It was a hoarder’s paradise, the product of a mind that saw value in everything even when none was to be found.
The sweet smell of lavender came to Berty’s nose. He looked up to find sheaths of the herb hanging from the ceiling. More burned in an iron incense holder nearby. The smoke twisted among the motes of dust that danced in the beams of light shining in through shutters in the roof. Brains was always taken by the sheer number of objects on display, and he wandered off toward a cabinet holding shelves packed with old and weathered jewelry. Berty had one thing alone on his mind.
“Hullo,” he called.
“Hey,” a deep voice called back from somewhere in the rows. The source of that voice soon appeared—a tall man with a complexion as deep and rich as midnight, contrasting pleasingly against his vibrant, flowing robe of red and purple. Jagari was a popular figure in Horris Green. A travelling merchant by trade, he passed through the town one day and fell in love, with the people and a woman, his story went. The woman ran off with a bard, but the people never abandoned him, so he made it his home. Jagari would buy and sell anything, would give loans against possessions, and didn’t rip people off. Berty was hopeful.
“Berty, what brings you to my lair?” He gave the little man a toothy grin.
Berty matched it. “It’s your lucky day, my Iskedian friend.”
“I’m not from Iskedia. I’m from Morcon.”
“No? I always thought you were Iskedian. Forget that, I’ve got something here that’s gonna get you fired up.”
“How do you know what turns me on?”
Berty opened up his bag. Gold lit up in the candlelight. He pulled out a circlet.
“Maybe you do know…” Jagari said.
“Look at this.” Berty held it up as if it were the rarest and most precious gem in all of Tervia. “How amazing would it look upon the head of any woman, even the cruelest of sows? And this…”
He pulled out a golden band.
“What man wouldn’t want this on his arm? He could tell many a tale about how he won it in battle from some gallant knight.”
Jagari’s, eyebrows raised thoughtfully, took the circlet. He inspected it as Berty continued his presentation.
“This is but a drop in the ocean. We have scores more pieces like this: candlesticks, goblets, plates, bowls, forks.”
“Gold forks? Where did you get all this? No disrespect, but you aren’t known for being flush with cash. Miscal was in here the other day looking for you over some coin you owe him.”
“I paid him back from the coin I made selling these amazing wares.” He stretched out his arm, gesturing to his goods.
Jagari gave him a hard stare, trying to detect any reason for doubt. He grumbled and picked up a golden goblet. He walked over to a window and held it up to the light. He tapped it with his knuckle. He sniffed it, bit it, twirled it in his hands, examining every inch.
“So what you think, Jags? Got a deal?”
“Depends what kinda deal you’re talking about.”
“Make me an offer.”
“For what?”
“For the lot.”
Jagari harrumphed. He passed the goblet back to Berty. “I can swap you for some things you see in the store, but I ain’t flush with cash right now. Not enough for gold anyway, so that’s the best offer I can make. You might have more luck in Durboyne or Halpool.”
Hot pitch washed over Berty’s heart. “Jags, I can see in your eyes you want them, so why not work something out? How about a downpayment now and then pay us off in installments? Once you start flogging these, you’ll have the coin in no time.”
Jagari’s lips pursed. “I’ll pass, fellas.”
“How about a special price, just for you Jags? You can have this here circlet for just five silvers. That’s better than half price. You could flog it for thrice the amount! Just you see Jags, just you see. Do it out of curiosity if anything.”
“My friend, no is a no. Now please, if you do not wish to buy anything, I have lots I must do, and time is precious.” He bowed and left Berty open-mouthed. Berty had tried every line he’d prepared, every potential angle to make the sale. Heck, he didn’t even think he needed to use most of those lines; he thought once Jagari saw what was on offer he’d snap them up. What fool doesn’t want gold?
“Can I get this with our new money, Bert?” Brains asked, wandering over wearing a conical helmet, complete with faceguard. It was way too big for him, eyes covered by the iron.
“Come on, daft arse. Help me with the bags.”
“No luck, Bert?”
“No.”
“Never mind. The blacksmith next?”
“Aye,” Berty grumbled.
***
“Did you get it from the goblins?”
Berty frowned. “Yeah.”
“Not interested.”
“But why not? Just look at how the light of your furnace brings the gold to life.”
Ube the blacksmith shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Is it because they’re goblins? That doesn’t mean they can’t make incredible wares. You’re looking at it all wrong, Ube.”
Ube gave a belly laugh, his blue eyes lighting up with his smile. “You’re the one looking at it wrong, big man. There ain’t nothing pure about that gold.”
The bald-headed smithy turned back to the horseshoe he was shaping, chuckling away still.
“Impure? How can you fake something as beautiful as this?” Berty held up the amulet, glittering in the light of the fire.
The smithy stopped his hammering and sighed. “Pass me that bar.”
Berty, skeptical, obliged, taking out a bar of gold the size of his hand.
Ube threw it in a bucket of water. An apoplectic Berty almost dived into the bucket after it.
“What you do that for?!” Berty said.
“Look. Ever seen gold float like that?”
Berty had no answer to that.
“Damn Berty, ain’t you ever seen real gold before? It’s heavy. The purest metal you can find. That’s why it costs so much. A real gold bar would sink. The goblins, they found this thing that looks like gold, and you can make these crappy bits of jewelry out of it, but it’s shite. It’s like a mineral or something, no hardness to it at all. It just has the color and look of gold. See?” The smithy picked out a bracelet and bent it straight as if it was hot iron fresh from the furnace. “Real gold don’t do that. Them goblins, they come down here every now and then and try and sell it. Only a fool would buy it.”
“So you saying it’s all worthless?” Berty asked.
“I ain’t saying it’s worthless, but it ain’t worth anything to me.”
“Who would want it?”
“Fuck knows. You could try going to people who know no better in the cities and bigger towns. The river folk might take it for real gold too, but then you ain’t gonna get gold prices from them. You didn’t pay for it, did you?”
Berty shook his head.
“Good. Them goblins are robbing bastards. They’d polish turds and flog them as diamonds. And they’re rude too. You ever spoken to one? So ugly n’ all. Them big horrible mouths…” He shuddered. “Thank fuck they keep to themselves, and I told them as much when they were last here. I said ‘Don’t be bringing any more of your shite down here, not unless it’s legit. Otherwise, I’ll serve you up.’ I told them good, ‘cos they ain’t been back since.”
“What do you mean serve them up? Like food?” Brains asked, wiping his brow with the heat of the forge.
“What? No. Like do them in. Fuck them up.”
“I don’t know about that. They’re pretty big and tough. Me and Berty saw one yesterday. He said he could kill us if he wanted. I thought he was nice,” Brains said.
“Is he alright?” Ube said to Berty with a frown. “Anyway, I ain’t buying so fuck off and tell your goblin mates to do the same.”
The pair were glad to be free of the heat of the smithy. The squat stone building had just one door and no windows. No wonder Ube was such a miserable bastard, Berty thought.
“What now, Bert? Shall we try the tailor?”
“Good shout, Brains. I think we should pay that lying crank a visit.”
***
The tailor’s shop was a two-roomed wooden shack. Dusty windows obscured the view inside, and a fine film clung to everything within—the racks of clothes, the cabinets of materials, spools, threads, needles and offcuts. It spoke much of the tailor herself, Matylda, a woman well into her sixties. She had beady, uneven eyes set back in a wrinkled face. Berty couldn’t fathom how she saw the needles and threads. By this stage in her life, he guessed it was all second nature. He felt a stab of envy at the thought that even old Matylda was skilled at something.
“Is that you Berty?”
“You know it is, Matylda.”
“I could tell from the height. Where’s your dopey brother?”
“He’s my cousin, and he’s here too.” Brains stepped out from behind Berty.
“Got some more trousers that need fixing?” she asked.
“No, I ain’t,” Berty said, allowing his anger to rise to the surface. He approached the old mahogany desk she stood behind.
“Oh dear, well how can I help you?”
“The goblins. You said they had gold.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“And who told you that?”
“I think it was Belinda, down at the inn. Yes, she was talking about how her husband had seen the goblins with lots of gold.”
“Well, it turns out it ain’t gold.”
She laughed in a kindly, innocent way, unable to see the scowl on Berty’s face. “Oh yes, he found that out too.”
“What? Why didn’t you say that bit too?”
“You were out the door before I could get to it. For someone with such little legs, you move so fast.”
“Dammit to hell!” Berty shouted.
Matylda yelped at the outburst.
“Come on, Brains.”
“You know, Berty, if you packed in all these money-making schemes and focused your mind on something, you’d do alright,” Matylda said as Berty slammed the door behind them.
***
Berty refused to give up. From the tailor’s shop, he and Brains trudged through the rain and sticking mud of the roads to the tannery. By this point, word had gotten around that the pair were selling goblin gold. The tanner, a wiry man named Anca, tore into the goblins, branding them swindlers, cheats, and the most dishonest creatures in all of Tervia.
The banker at the coin house, Mira, said the same. The crafty older woman with her iron-grey hair had laughed and called them idiots for trusting that such “foul creatures as goblins would ever tell the truth.” She branded their goods worthless and threatened to shout for her security guards if they didn’t leave.
Berty wasn’t sure how all of these opinions of goblins had formed. From what he knew, few people had met them, yet they all held such ardent views. People had told stories, and those who’d heard them took them as gospel. It was easier to hate than it was to try and find common ground. He realized then that he was one of the gullible lot too—he’d believed that damn tailor. And now here they were, trekking through the pouring rain with two sacks of worthless junk making their backs ache.
The rain made a loud, persistent patter against the leaves, trees, and the squat buildings of Horris Green. Berty couldn’t be bothered to find shelter, and they trudged out of the town a forlorn pair. After a little while, Berty’s back ached too much to go on. He dropped his sack to a chorus of rattles and clangs and sat down against a tree. A shivering Brains sidled up to him, seeking cover under the branches.
“Why do we even bother, Brains?”
“With what?”
“Trying to make some coin. Trying to make a proper life for ourselves. I mean, just look at our ma’s and pa’s. They both had farms, both were married. They had us. Why is it so difficult for us to have a happy life?”
“I’m happy, Bert. I spend every day with my best mate.”
That lifted Berty’s mood enough to smile. “You know what I mean though, Brains? It’s great we get to spend time together, but look at us. Soaked through without a pot to piss in. I don’t want to be a failure my whole life. I want us to make something of ourselves.”
Brains shrugged. “If you say so, Bert.”
Brains never understood. He didn’t have that drive, that determination that Berty had—not that it got him far. Sometimes he wondered whether he’d have been better off getting kicked in the head by that donkey, that to live a life without the pursuit of coin forever on his mind would be a happier, calmer, less stressful one. Maybe it was all a waste of time. Why not live like Brains and enjoy the simple things? His cousin was right after all—they had each other. While they were penniless all these years, they’d had each other. They’d gotten through it together. He smiled.
“Come on, cuz. Let’s get these bags of shite back to the goblins.”
“Do you think Naza will hurt us, Bert?”
“I don’t know, Brains, and I don’t really care anymore.”
“Why do you always get us into these messes, Bert?”
The question stumped Berty at first—his cousin never challenged him. And the fact he had annoyed him.
“Maybe because I’m the only one willing to do something,” Berty shot back. Brains had no reply.
The rain had stopped by the time they’d made it to the goblin camp. The sun was setting too, casting the distant sky in a brilliant orange and purple hue, a fine sight after the glumness of the rainclouds. A few goblins were out and about in the puddle-strewn camp and turned to look at the little humans splashing toward them.
“We’re here to see Naza,” Berty said to one of the women, who were taller than the men, and fiercer-looking too with their face tattoos and piercings. She grunted and nodded for them to follow her.
They moved through the camp of hide and fur huts. Campfires burned outside, and around them goblins sat, cooked, talked, laughed, and worked away, sewing and crafting. That all fell away when they saw the little humans. A few goblins got up and followed, and soon a crowd trailed behind. They stopped, at last, in the center of the goblin camp, outside a tent that was bigger than most houses in Horris Green. The goblin woman shouted Naza’s name, and a few moments later, the fur curtain parted, and Naza stepped out.
“Ah, you return so soon. And with coins in your pocket, I hope.”
Berty dropped his bag of goblin gold before him.
“We couldn’t sell it.”
Naza’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“They’re not interested in buying it. They said they want real gold, not something that looks like it.”
“But it is gold.”
“That’s what we thought, but they showed us it ain’t.”
“Crafty humans. They lie. How did they show this?” Naza turned to one of his kin. “Fetch Lyzi for me,” he said, before turning back to the pair.
“Brains, grab that bucket of water,” Berty said, pointing to a nearby cookfire. “I ain’t never seen real gold before, and apparently it’s heavy.” Berty dropped a necklace into the water. It hovered at the surface. “It should sink, not float.”
Naza grumbled and spat on the ground. “What difference does it make? It looks like gold. It’s what you humans love. Golden things, shiny things. That’s all they want. You do not know what beauty is. Beauty is in the hands that dug this metal, that forged it into what it is. What you have in your bags are things of beauty.”
“I agree, but the people in the town, they weren’t buying it. And I tried hard, I swears I did.”
“He did, sir,” Brains added.
“These humans, what did they say about our wares?”
“Not nice things, sir, stuff you don’t want to hear,” Berty said. At that point the goblin who Naza had sent off on a message returned.
“She won’t come, Naza.”
The goblin chieftain growled, the sound rumbling in his chest. He stormed over to Berty and Brains, looming over them with the threat of harm in his eyes.
“Tell me what they said or I’ll kill you both.”
“I thought we were business partners,” Berty protested.
“It’s not a business if you can’t sell anything. Tell me what they said. Three. Two. One…”
Brains’ mouth burst open, his cheeks red with panic. For one so slow, he relayed every word said, down to Anca branding goblins “swindlers, cheats, and the most dishonest creatures in all of Tervia.” With every word Brains spoke, Berty’s head sank deeper into his hands.
Fury rose up like a bubbling volcano in Naza. By the time Brains had stopped talking, his fists were clenched, brows angled downwards. Berty looked at Brains, open-mouthed.
Naza turned his back on them. He signaled to another goblin, a man with arms bigger than a tree trunk. Quiet words were exchanged, and the bulky goblin ran off. Moments later, the blast of a horn rang out. The camp leapt into a flurry of activity as goblins emerged from tents. Some of them brought forth swords, axes, and shields. A few wore armor—crude helmets of jagged iron and chest plates in a similar fashion. Naza turned to Berty and Brains.
“For too long you humans have offended my people. You have turned your back on us when we have tried to show friendship. Today, we teach you a lesson and claim revenge for our ancestors.”
The horn rang out again, two quick blasts this time. It pricked Naza’s attention. In goblin tongue, he muttered instructions to one of his comrades.
“I’ll deal with you both later. I have something special in mind.”
And he was off at a run, heading for the edge of camp where a force of goblins swelled.
“What did you say all that for?” Berty said, punching Brains in the arm.
“He said he was gonna kill us.”
“Yeah, well he’s gonna kill us and everyone in Horris Green now. You should have made something up. Anything but that. You’ve just started a fucking war.”
Brains looked down at the ground, trying to process it all. Berty, meanwhile, looked around, seeking an escape. A goblin warrior watched them both like a hawk. He approached them and issued his orders. “Move. Now.” He made a point of grabbing the hilt of his curved sword. The pair nodded their agreement and began to move through the tents.
Goblins headed for the mustering point at the edge of the village, men and women both. Berty could only imagine the havoc they’d wreak on Horris Green. The town Guardsmen spent most of their time down the tavern, and there were no walls to keep attackers at bay.
Berty and Brains stepped into a junction between tents when they got caught up among a group of onrushing goblins. Berty took a whack to the forehead and found himself on the ground, in a thicket of long grass.
“Where did they go?” Berty could hear one of the goblins say over the ringing in his ears.
“Did that lot take them?”
“Why would they do that?”
“Beats me, but I can’t see ‘em anywhere. Let’s go look.”
Berty rubbed his head as he sat up and looked around. No sign of his cousin.
“Brains, you there?”
No answer. He got to his knees and crawled through the long grass. “Brains, it’s safe, come out.”
No reply again.
“It’s okay, no need to hide now. They’ve gone. We can get out of here.”
When he heard nothing again, he stood up, panic building in his chest. He wanted to shout, to call out for his best friend, but fear choked it out of him. Where could he have gone?
There was no sign of him anywhere in the grass. Could those goblins have taken him? Round and round he spun, searching, scanning, and pulling the grass aside. It was like he’d vanished, suddenly snuffed out by the gods.
“Bert.”
“Where the fuck have you been? I thought you were gone,” Bert punched his cousin’s arm.
“Gone where? I got knocked into them tents over there.” He pointed.
“It don’t matter. Come on, let’s go before they see us.”
They moved through the huts, their little frames well hidden by the growing shadows of dusk. With all attention focused on the goblin force that had begun its march out of the camp and toward Horris Green, they managed to get to the trees. After another half mile of waddle-sprinting, they stopped for a breather.
“You know what, Brains?” Berty said, hands on his knees, taking in gulps of air. “This day has taught me one thing: I’m done with this shit. And this time I mean it. First, we nearly get gutted by goblins, then we become their servants, then we get laughed out of town, and nearly get killed at the end of it all. Not to mention starting a war in a place that hasn’t known anything like it for over a century. We’re cursed! There’s no point in even trying. Let’s just find a place where people don’t know us, where we can find a job and work for an honest wage till we end up in the dirt. And I promise I won’t complain. I’m done with it all—robbing, scheming, lying, all of it. Done.”
“Hey Bert, look at this.”
Berty turned his body before he turned his head, expecting to see some sort of insect sitting on Brains’ hand. Instead, Brains held a glimmering diamond the size of his fist.
“Where in Tervia did you get that?”
“It was in the tent I got pushed into.”
Berty’s smile split his face in two. “We’re gonna be rich!” He jumped and hopped on the spot, embracing his cousin.
But a breeze blew away that elation, and a more sober feeling took hold.
“Maybe it ain’t a good thing, Brains. Once Naza sees it’s missing, what do you think he’s gonna do? They’ll be out hunting us down for sure. Wolves, he said.”
The smile fell from Brains’ face. His eyes welled up with tears. “You want me to take it back?”
Berty didn’t answer. In truth, he didn’t know what to do. Something in him really had changed. It broke on the way back to the goblin village. Maybe the humiliation and rejection had pushed him too far. The hope had lifted him up so high, and the fall had crushed the fight out of him. No more chasing. He sighed.
“Do you mind if I try and sell it, Bert, before we take it back? I’ll give you half.”
Berty looked at his cousin, at the hope in his eyes, at the glittering diamond in his grubby hands.
“Sure, Brains, you can try selling it. Then we can get some apple pies. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like a good plan to me, Bert.”
Richie Billing’s short stories have been published by, amongst others, Kzine, Liquid Imagination, and Bewildering Stories, with one story adapted for BBC radio. More recently, his fiction has featured in Gaslamp Pulp Zine.