Cyrion Page 12

  Jon would’ve spent a few moments admiring the view, if not for his state of frozen misery.

  G’hanjl seemed simply pleased to be almost home. He kept pointing out what must be important landmarks. Brambly bushes with leaves of dark green, covered in patches of bright-orange salmon berries. A half-frozen lake, frequented by flocks of harlequin ducks. He even pointed out a few known willow grouse ptarmigan nesting sites, and then smacked his lips as he talked about the different ways his family prepared the delectable goblin delicacy.

  Jon tuned G’hanjl out long ago. It started to snow halfway through their hike, and freezing water kept finding its way—dripping from the narrow brim of his hat into the collar of his coat, from the tops of his boots—to his skin. He just wanted to get somewhere dry and warm, to get off his feet, when something G’hanjl said cut through his haze of self-pity.

  “We is here. This be the Ha’ran Quarter.”

  Jon snapped his head up and spotted…snow-speckled mounds of dirt. He sensed a similar disbelief from Anya. He rubbed his eyes and squinted to get a better look.

  Okay, so not just mounds of dirt. Smoking mounds of dirt.

  He turned to Saul and saw similar expression of confusion on his face.

  “Come. Come see.” G’hanjl led them to what was presumably the center of the Quarter.

  There were about two dozen or so smoking piles of earth built along the icy, grimy dirt path they took to get to the center of the Square. The earth structures all had small openings facing out to muddy, unpaved paths. Everything was covered in icy slush, grained with dirt. A crude wooden footbridge teetered over a deep canal of stinking, slow-moving muck, which cut right through the middle of the square.

  The inhabitants of the Ha’ran Quarter seemed very much like G’hanjl. They all wore rags, seemed ill-fed and much smaller than the goblin troopers the trio had previously encountered.

  Compared to the rest of the Ha’rani, G’hanjl actually seemed dapper. More robust. He was the biggest goblin in the Quarter.

  The Ha’rani scurried about their unnamed business, unwilling to meet Jon’s eyes. Or anyone’s, for that matter. They all kept their heads down, or on the tasks they were currently performing. Even the goblin children. Bands of goblin children lined both banks of the canal, holding long poles with hooks attached at the protruding end. They studied the refuse floating along the canal with a sustained intensity Jon had never seen in children. Periodically, one or more of them would reach out with the pole and snag a piece of debris as it bobbed past.

  From the corner of his eye, Jon spotted an incongruous splash of color. A tangle of fuchsia in a never-ending sea of grayish brown. The begrimed remains of a white and black Papillion pup floated along the canal, a long, jaunty pink ribbon still twined around its neck. The goblin children gave squeals of excited delight. The bands on opposite banks of the canal competed to snag the prize. Jon’s ears popped as Anya shifted back into her human form.

  “G’hanjl,” Anya said. “Please tell me they are planning to give it a proper burial?”

  “That is to be shameful waste of good food.”

  Saul gasped.

  “Good meat on dog. Bones and marrow, good for soup and stew. The hide, mittens for little ones.” G’hanjl led them across the footbridge. “The hair, we spin to yarn. The rest we use to cure hide, for medicine, or toys for little ones.”

  Jon jerked his head back in shock. Anya’s nail-bitten fingers flew to her face, covering her lips. Saul’s eyes widened as he sputtered inarticulate words.

  “Come. We here.”

  The three of them ducked their heads as they entered one of the smoking mounds of earth. Jon could make out three goblins huddled in the gloomy interior of the mound.

  One of the goblins broke away from the other two, and embraced G’hanjl. She chittered and twittered in what was, presumably, goblin language. Jon looked at Saul and Anya, his sense of dismay mirrored in the expressions on their faces.

  This might complicate things.

  The other two goblins backed away from them, as though they were rabid animals. Their wide, yellowed eyes stayed trained on them, unblinking. G’hanjl turned to face the trio, his arm around the other goblin’s bony shoulders.

  “This be Sa’atha, my sister.” G’hanjl turned to Sa’atha and the other two goblins then chittered something.

  “What did you say to them?” Saul asked.

  “G’hanjl is to be telling them no traditional goblin welcome necessary. You is warm enough.”

  “Thank you, G’hanjl,” Anya said, the epitome of courtesy. “No goblin spit is needed. We are warm.”

  “MataPerak and fat Watchers is to be sitting. Come. Sit.” G’hanjl motioned to the fur-covered area around the smoking stone-lined pit. A small fire belched clouds of greasy, stinking smoke, up towards the opening at the roof of the earth-walled structure. Saul wrinkled his nose and hesitated for a split-second. Jon shot his friend a stern glance, and then gave him a nod.

  It’s G’hanjl’s home. Anya’s right—we shouldn’t be rude.

  Saul stifled a sigh and sat down. Jon took the spot beside him.

  G’hanjl said something to Sa’atha, and she hurried out of the mound. The other two goblins, still watching them with obvious fear and suspicion, sat across from them, on the other side of the fire pit.

  “This be J’hatk.” G’hanjl motioned to the older of the two goblins. The flickering flames highlighted J’hatk’s pinched, weatherworn face, lined with worry. He sat across from them, leaning forward, his elbows resting on knobby knees. J’hatk’s hunched thin shoulders almost covered his pointy ears, and his calloused hands compulsively twitched. Noting Jon’s eyes on him, J’hatk ducked his head and clasped his hands tightly together, stilling them. Jon’s eyes widened with shock when the fire illuminated welts of thick, raised scar tissue trailing down the elderly goblin’s bared neck, shoulders, and arms.

  “This to be D’huri.” G’hanjl motioned to a younger-looking goblin. He sat, leaning back against the dirt wall, away from the fire, his stubby legs outstretched. D’huri’s posture cast much of his face in shadow, with only his yellowed eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. D’huri was looking directly at Jon. There seemed to be something other than just fear and suspicion in his eyes. Jon thought he saw a hint of defiance.

  “They is to represent the Ha’ran working in the other Quarters. Please to be patient. G’hanjl is to be needings to talk with them.” G’hanjl turned away from them and conversed with the other two goblins.

  The conversation had been going on for a while when Sa’atha re-entered the dwelling, bearing a tray with three mismatched bowls brimming with steaming stew. She handed a bowl to each of the children. “Please, to eat,” she said in a soft voice. She tapped her brother on the shoulder and gave him a nod. G’hanjl looked pleased and then returned to his conversation with the other two goblins.

  Jon peered at his bowl and its contents. The bowl had an odd, irregular shape, and appeared to be carved from bone of some kind. He stopped his wondering mind right there. G’hanjl’s words explaining how the Ha’rani tended to waste nothing echoed in his ears. Jon preferred not to speculate what the bone—bowl, I meant bowl—came from. Unidentified morsels of meat swam in a thick, pungent broth. He turned when he heard appreciative, lip-smacking sounds, and noted that Saul already almost emptied his bowl.

  Here goes.

  He placed his first spoonful into his mouth, and was pleasantly surprised at the fragrant, rich, meaty flavor that flooded his senses. G’hanjl and Sa’atha leaned forward as they waited for his reaction to the stew.

  “Is good, yes? Meat from rat, not two weeks dead. Meat hardly green at all.”

  Jon’s eyes widened.

  Spit or swallow?

  Sa’atha chittered.

  “Sa’atha, you should to be practicing your Common Tongue,” G’hanjl said, scolding his sister. He turned back to them. “Sa’atha is to be saying she left wiggly white worms in. Add flavor and fa
tness, no?”

  Jon forced a smile. Saul’s face paled as he stared, wide-eyed, at his now empty bowl.

  Okay. Spit, swallow, or hurl?

  Jon felt a wave of disapproval and flicked a glance at Anya. She gave him a quick frown as she continued to sip from her stew.

  Right. We’re their guests and they don’t have much. This is probably the best thing they have. Swallow it is.

  Jon steeled his nerves and forced himself to swallow.

  “It’s good,” he choked.

  G’hanjl patted Sa’atha’s shoulders, his wizened face brightened with evident pride, his grin stretching from one pointy ear to the other. “Sa’atha is good cook.” Then his expression turned serious. “J’hatk and D’huri say we talk to other Ha’rani in other quarters. Then we meet and make plan.” He nodded at the bowl on Jon’s lap. “You finish, then we go?”

  “No, no. This is important,” Jon said, glad for the excuse. He set his bowl on the dirt floor. He felt a tickle of amusement from Anya. “Saul and Anya are done. And I’m not that hungry anyway.”

  G’hanjl nodded at Sa’atha, and she left the mound again. She returned in short order with an armful of fabric. After a few minutes, three much-mended, heavy cloaks covered the trio from head to foot. The hemline of Anya’s cloak puddled at her feet.

  “Is biggest ones we have. All other ones too short for MataPerak and Fat Watchers,” G’hanjl said as the trio adjusted the fit of their cloaks. Shaking his head furiously, G’hanjl rose from his seat and stopped Anya when she tried to lift the hem of her cloak to avoid stepping on it. “No, MataPerak. We is pretending to be Ha’rani, and Ha’rani no wear boots. No one must see your boots.”

  Jon felt a trace of Anya’s annoyance as she let the fabric slip through her fingers back to puddle at her feet. Just because she understands, and agrees with G’hanjl’s rationale, does not mean she likes it.

  G’hanjl scrutinized the trio, to make sure every telltale sign was covered. He nodded his head with satisfaction and then headed for the door of the structure. “Come. We go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE OTHER QUARTERS

  Jon kept his head down when they passed through a shabby side gate, littered with refuse, into the goblin Citadel proper. Huddled in their hooded cloaks, and Anya cussing when she tripped over hers, they followed D’huri into what G’hanjl called the T’hany quarter, a clearly more prosperous part of the Citadel.

  Where the Ha’ran Quarter was marked by dirt tracks and smoking mounds of dirt, the T’hany Quarter was characterized by twisting cobbled streets and neat, compact cottages. Jon observed how the goblins attempted to scratch a living by cultivating the poor, half-frozen soil.

  Still, patches of cultivated plots glowed a beautiful emerald green against the stark white, snow-covered landscape.

  The Ha’rani carted and spread processed manure in irregular fields. The T’hanii, equipped with whips, stood on wooden platforms and barked orders. They would sometimes step down from the platforms to apply the whip on random laboring Ha’rani, for no reason Jon could discern.

  Not that there’s ever a good reason to whip anyone. Anya’s growing outrage roiled under her unspoken words.

  He shot a glance at her. I know. But we need to be inconspicuous. Anya shrugged, and her outrage, mingled with reluctance, faded from his head.

  “Jon, come on,” Saul said. Jon hurried towards his friend. They hid in a shadowed alley and waited for D’huri’s contact to arrive. G’hanjl asked Anya to slip the hood from her head for a moment when the contact arrived. The other goblin gasped. G’hanjl asked Anya to pull her hood back on, and three goblins went into a huddle. Jon’s attention wandered as furious whispers ensued from the three.

  The T’hanii goblin children looked both better fed and dressed. They still hurried about their chores, fetching water, weeding their garden plots and feeding some hardy species of chicken. Not one of them showed the slightest interest in the canal running through their Quarter, except when they needed to throw away what looked like trash. The wooden bridge over the canal seemed solidly built and elaborately carved.

  G’hanjl’s voice broke into his reverie. “Is done. Come. We go to D’hadhu Quarter.”

  “G’hanjl, is this the same canal as the one in the Ha’ran Quarter?”

  “Same canal in all Quarters.” G’hanjl quickly scanned the area, as though ensuring they had not caught the notice of any T’hanii.

  “What are the T’hanii?” Jon said.

  “T’hanii is to be makings and growing things.”

  They continued to hurry along twisty, shadowed alleys.

  “And the D’hadhu?” Saul asked.

  G’hanjl spat into the frost-rimmed cobblestones. “D’hadhu is be D’hibuk’s caste. Officer class ptuh. We is needings to be more careful.”

  Jon kept his head down when they passed through another gateway built of dressed stone with a door of solid oak.

  The cobbled streets of the D’hadhu Quarter seemed to be organized in a strict grid pattern. Gone were the neat cottages. In their place stood stone buildings, which, if not for a few odd architectural touches, could have belonged along the any of the wealthier residential streets of Linwood.

  Jon took a quick peek into the canal that ran through the D’hadhu Quarter as they walked along its banks. The water was still relatively clear, free of refuse, and did not smell. Jon even spotted a few wilted flower blossoms bobbing on the water surface. The spartan bridge they crossed when making their way over the canal was constructed of slabs of polished granite and completely devoid of ornamentation.

  The goblins wandering on the streets of the D’hadhu Quarter resembled the goblins Jon first encountered. They were taller, of bigger build, and dressed in what looked like variants of the same uniform. Unlike the other two Quarters, Jon could not see a single goblin child from the moment they stepped into the D’hadhu Quarter. They were approaching an ornate brass gate when G’hanjl thrust them into a side alley.

  “G’hanjl, what—?” Saul said.

  “Shh.” His head ducked low, G’hanjl’s gaze darted around in alarm. He hunched his scrawny shoulders and stooped his back, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. “Also to be keeping head down.”

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Jon peeked around the corner. A Ha’rani, polishing the brass gate they were approaching, had his cleaning supplies scattered around him. A pair of D’hadhii, deep in conversation, was coming towards them and the working Ha’rani. One of the D’hadhii accidentally kicked the Ha’rani’s pot of polish, spilling its contents all over his boots. Hissing in fury, the D’hadhii pulled a steel stiletto, and casually plunged it into the Ha’rani’s exposed neck.

  The Ha’rani slumped without a sound.

  Both D’hadhii chatted and continued on their way, stepping over the goblin who was dying in a growing pool of his own blood. They clucked at the stained, still dripping stiletto, presumably for being irretrievably ruined by the blood of a Ha’rani. The D’hadhii casually tossed the blade. It clattered into the gutter, staining the pristine granite bright orange. Jon felt an alien surge of fury and outrage. He turned and noted Anya’s clenched jaws and fists.

  “He should’ve kept out of way,” G’hanjl said in a toneless voice.

  “G’hanjl,” Anya said, “how could you say that?” Her silver eyes glittered with fury.

  G’hanjl shrugged. “We in D’hadhu Quarter. He knew rules.”

  Despite his nonchalance, Jon thought he heard a note of bitterness in the little goblin’s voice.

  “But those are bad rules,” Jon said.

  “Is why we need MataPerak and Fat Watchers. Is why we have to leave.” G’hanjl waited until the pair of D’hadhii turned the corner. “Come, we go.”

  “Shouldn’t we help him?” Anya asked as they approached the dying Ha’rani.

  “Is too late for him,” G’hanjl said.

  They skirted around the limp form.

  His voi
ce grew hard. “But not too late for others.”

  G’hanjl’s face darkened as he picked up the discarded, bloodstained stiletto, glittering in the gutter. He tucked it into his belt, and then turned to the children. “Come.”

  The five of them entered a cemetery, and ducked into a marble mausoleum. Various Ha’rani were inside, dusting and cleaning in the gloom.

  “G’hanjl,” Jon said, “are Ha’rani not allowed to be in this Quarter?”

  “No. Ha’rani must always do work. Ha’rani must all work in all Quarters. But Ha’rani must do work unseen and unheard.”

  When D’huri’s contact came, G’hanjl asked Anya to show her face yet again. The goblins then conversed in terse voices, before leaving yet again.

  “Come. Now we go to G’hur Quarter, meet J’hatk.”

  According to G’hanjl, the G’hur Quarter housed the teachers and members of the religious orders in goblin society. Often, the teachers and priests were one and the same. The gateway leading to the Quarter was of flawless white marble. The door itself was constructed of solid dark mahogany.

  They entered the gate into the G’hur Quarter.

  After Anya showed her face to the contact and the goblins huddled to talk, Jon settled to observing the G’hur Quarter. The streets were also laid in a strict grid pattern, and covered with dressed paving stones.

  This section of the goblin settlement was a city of carved marble and granite. The voices of goblin children rang out of schools as they chanted aloud. Jon understood a few snatches of the Common Tongue, and made out two or three more languages he couldn’t recognize. A whispered consultation with Anya revealed she could only identify a few more, and she was not fluent enough in any of these languages to make out what the children were actually chanting.