“I didn’t do it,” he muttered.
“Just when I thought you were growing up.” Shaman Otik shook his head. “When you made me that pot doodad, I was right pleased. I said, Gortok ain’t always wandering through eating my spell somethings any more. I even told Nogarf you had smarts, but then you went and got stomach stupid again.”
“But I didn’t,” Gortok said.
Shaman Otik only shook his head. “I can’t trust your word, Gortok. Not after all the things you’ve eaten of mine.”
“Sir,” Malagach said, drawing Otik’s notice for the first time. “Please, think about it. Gortok has always been tempted by tasty treats in the past. Like drying berries, and...”
“And honey-crunchy spiders,” Gortok said, “and apple-core custard, and, oh, the baked lizard tongues you set out to sun-dry that one day, and—”
“My lizard tongues!” Shaman Otik blurted. “That was you? I thought crows filched ‘em!”
Glaring at his brother, Malagach tapped his finger to his lips. “Don’t help.” He turned back to Otik. “What I’m saying is that Gortok wouldn’t take hot peppers. They’re too spicy to snack on.”
“That’s right,” Gortok said. “They’ll make you tear up faster than Zakrog punching you in the nose.”
“You’re not helping, remember?” Malagach said.
“Sorry.” Gortok prodded a crack between the stones in the floor.
“Peppers are only good in little amounts,” Malagach said, “like in the pepper slime punch, which my brother loves, and which he would never deprive the village of enjoying.”
“Enough of this.” Shaman Otik had been glaring at Gortok since the lizard-tongue admission and did not seem to have heard Malagach’s argument. “I need to find something spicy for the punch, or the Plenty-Picked will be ruined.
“What should I do?” Nogarf asked, bouncing a bit on his toes.
Malagach watched him through slitted eyes. Nogarf sure looked pleased with himself.
“Don’t let him go,” Otik told Nogarf and stalked toward the door flap. He paused to jerk a thumb at Malagach. “And you get out of here. Sure ‘nough you got chores that need doing, and your brother’s being punished, so he don’t need you entertaining him with yarns.”
Malagach plodded outside and dropped his chin in his palm. Nogarf was too pleased about this whole situation. He ought to be annoyed at the idea of babysitting Gortok for the day. Why wasn’t he? Because he was responsible, that was why. Malagach was willing to bet all of his books on it. Well, maybe half of his books. All right, Gortok’s books.
If Nogarf had taken the peppers, he’d probably hidden them somewhere. If Malagach could find them and return them, then Gortok need not be punished and miss the festival. And—a smile tugged at Malagach’s lips—he could be the one to rescue his little brother from trouble for a change. Gortok was always building some contraption or another to help in their adventures, and, more times than Malagach could count, his brother had planned some ingenious scheme to get Malagach out of trouble. Yes, now it would be his turn.
His step lighter, Malagach headed to Aunt Migga’s hut. Nogarf was staying with her and her two young whelps for the summer.
“Hullo, Aunt Migga,” Malagach greeted when she let him inside. “Ma is making chinquapin pie for tonight, and I think she could use more nut flour for the crust.” The former was true, and while she had made no mention of the latter, Malagach did not think it too much of a stretch.
“Sure, Malagach,” Aunt Migga said. “Reckon I’ve got plenty.”
While she rummaged through her cooking area, Malagach settled on Nogarf’s sleeping furs. He subtly poked through the beaver and bear pelts, but did not find any hidden food. Nor did the two personal baskets hold anything other than clothing, shamanic trinkets, and a couple of wooden puzzle games.
“Here you are.” Aunt Migga handed him the flour.
“Thank you.”
Malagach left with a bowl of flour but nothing he had wanted. Well, he hadn’t expected rescuing Gortok would be easy.
Intending to give Ma the flour, Malagach headed home. While he walked, he contemplated hiding places Nogarf may have chosen. Junco birds trilled from the evergreens, reminding him that an entire forest surrounded the village. Not only could Nogarf have stashed the peppers anywhere, but he was a critter caller too. That meant he could have convinced some innocent squirrel to stash the peppers in a tree, well out of a goblin’s reach.
Someone bumped Malagach’s arm, and the bowl flew out of his hands. Beige flour clouded the air.
“Oops!” Zakrog trotted past, his delighted grin proving the shove had been no accident.
For a moment, Malagach stood still amongst the raining flour and wondered if he was laying traps in the wrong fishing hole. What if Nogarf had nothing to do with the peppers, and Zakrog had indeed been the one to swipe them?
Shaking his head, Malagach returned to Shaman Otik’s hut. He had to trust his original hunch. Besides, that jolt had surprised an idea into his head. Maybe he could get Nogarf to show Malagach where the peppers were hidden.
He thrust the door flap aside, and hopped into the hut, feigning cheerfulness. “I know where the peppers are!”
He pretended to look only at Gortok, but watched Nogarf out of the corners of his eyes. Yes, that was a startled expression that flickered across the other goblin’s face.
Gortok’s pointed ears perked. “Yeah?”
“Yes, but I need help getting to them.” Malagach hoped that was true. He guessed Nogarf would have put the peppers somewhere tricky so a foraging goblin wouldn’t stumble upon them. “I’m going to the tree hut to get that one thing you made last week.”
The beginning of a perplexed expression started on Gortok’s face. Malagach widened his eyes a bit, willing his brother to understand—and play along with—the ruse.
“Sure, that’ll do the job,” Gortok said, a slight smile tugging his lips. “It’s in the crate under the rock launcher.”
“Thanks!” Malagach waved and ran outside again.
There was, of course, no ‘one thing’ that Malagach had in mind. Instead of trotting off to the tree hut, he slipped into an elderberry bush beside Shaman Otik’s hut. Sure enough, Nogarf jogged out a couple moments later. He made a beeline for the river.
Malagach clenched his fist in triumph and followed. Keeping to the undergrowth bordering the pebbly beach, he trailed at a distance. The couple times Nogarf glanced back, Malagach froze, and his green skin and tan buckskins helped him blend into the background.
The river dropped away, roaring as it entered a canyon. Trees and brambles choked the ground here, and staying out of sight was no problem. Keeping up with his target became tougher, though, and more than once Malagach feared he would lose Nogarf. Fortunately there was only one trail running through the dense foliage. To stray to the left would be to walk off a cliff and to go right would mean fighting through dense blackberry brambles.
Then Malagach spotted the other goblin. A few meters ahead, Nogarf stood, gazing up at an ancient blue spruce that towered above other trees on the cliff tops. An eagle’s nest was anchored in the tallest boughs.
Malagach stifled a groan, guessing where the peppers were hidden even before the great bird soared out of the canyon. Eagles would be migrating south soon, but for now, they remained in the area, repairing their nests for the next spring.
Malagach eased behind a lightning-scarred log. Only his eyes remained above the top as he watched.
Eyes closed, Nogarf stretched his arms toward the sky. The eagle flapped to the top of the spruce and alighted in its nest. One yellow talon reached in and lifted a beautiful red chili pepper.
Malagach held his breath. If Nogarf believed his hiding spot had been found and some contraption could be used to retrieve the peppers, maybe he would move them. If he didn’t... Malagach had no idea how he would climb to the top of that tree to get them. The branches might support an eagle, but goblins were heavier—an
d not particularly adroit at feats of agility.
Nogarf’s fingers twitched. The eagle tossed the pepper like it might the bones of a fish. It landed in Nogarf’s cupped hands. Five more peppers followed, the extent of the crop that had ripened in time for the Plenty-Picked. Its task complete, the eagle launched into the air, tilting a wing toward Nogarf before sailing away.
Still as a rock, Malagach waited in his hiding place. For a moment, he thought about tackling the other goblin, but what of Nogarf could call that eagle back to help? Or some other creature from the forest? Better to wait, see where Nogarf stashed the peppers next, and fetch them once he was gone.
But Nogarf turned around and looked right at Malagach’s log.
Too late, Malagach ducked his head.
“The eagle saw you Malagach,” Nogarf said, “and she shared the vision with me.”
Malagach stood up, smoothed his buckskin shirt, and straightened the fringes while he groped for a new plan. “That’s a first for me. I’ve been foiled by bullies and grownups before, but rarely wildlife.”
Nogarf looked down at the peppers in his hands. He was close to the cliff. Malagach hoped the other goblin wouldn’t throw them in the river or something drastic. Surely, if he’d meant to destroy them, he wouldn’t have hidden them to start with. Though that argument sounded reasonable to Malagach, he eased out from behind the log and took a couple steps forward.
Seeing his movement, Nogarf leaped sideways and held the peppers over the edge.
Malagach froze. He was going to have to talk those peppers to safety.
“Why’d you do it?” he asked.
“I knew it’d get your brother in trouble,” Nogarf said.
“I see,” Malagach said, though he didn’t see at all. The bullies usually picked on him, not Gortok, who—despite being just as much an oddity among goblins as Malagach—was amiable enough that he rarely rubbed folks the wrong way. “So, why’d you do it?”
Nogarf snorted. “Shaman Otik kept talking about him, praising him after he made that stupid pot stirrer. Said how maybe he’d misjudged Gortok, how he was brighter than he acted. How he’d probably even be a good shaman. And then I couldn’t get my potion to work, and...”
Now, Malagach started to see where this was going. “I bet you’re a good critter caller, huh?” There wasn’t one in their village and he didn’t know a lot about them, except that the gift was rare among goblins.
“Since I was three.” Nogarf lifted his chin. “Youngest ever goblin on the mountain to show the talent.”
“You’re kind of a genius then,” Malagach said, “and you’re probably used to being treated like one. So it’s pretty annoying when the attention you’re used to getting starts going to someone else.”
“Gortok isn’t even... I mean, who needs a gadget to stir pots?” Betrayal and anguish contorted Nogarf’s face.
“Nobody,” Malagach said. “Gor makes a lot of creative but useless stuff because...well, he’s ten. But he makes some handy contraptions too. And he’s saved me from trolls and cranky wizards and bullies—usually bullies—more times than I can count with his inventiveness. You should come visit our tree hut sometime. He designed it and built the whole thing from scratch. It’s great, too. He even made an elevator for it this spring.”
“Yeah? What’d you do?”
“I, ah, carried things,” Malagach said. “I held things, and, oh, I handed him things.”
Nogarf snorted. It might have been a short laugh.
Encouraged, Malagach added, “See, I’m used to being the less gifted one. Gortok grasps everything first. While I’m still trying to define the problem, he’s already built the solution. While I have to read something again and again to understand, he starts skimming because it’s too simple. Everything he cares about comes easily for him. And, yes, being around someone like that can be frustrating.” Malagach grimaced. “Really frustrating.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to help me toss the peppers into the river?” Nogarf asked. “We could go to the Plenty-Picked together while your brother spends the night in a corner of Shaman Otik’s hut.”
Malagach chuckled. “No, tossing the peppers would ruin the night for everyone, including me. Pepper slime punch is so delicious.” His mouth started salivating, and he had to remind himself to finish talking those peppers to safety. “Look, everyone knows cougars are powerful, graceful, agile hunters that can take a buck down alone, right? And, sure, we goblins could be envious, but we’re not. Because we know how to forage like nothing else in the forest, and we hardly ever go hungry. There’s plenty of food for everyone, regardless of their talents.”
“Just to be clear, you’re saying Gortok is like a cougar?”
“Well...it’s not a perfect analogy.”
Nogarf snorted, but he withdrew his arm, which had to be getting tired from holding those peppers over the cliff. “I talked to a cougar once and even commanded it not to eat me.”
“Really? It must have worked, since you’re here today in an uneaten state.”
“I’ll tell you more about the critters I’ve called if you show me your tree hut.”
“Deal,” Malagach said. “But let’s get those peppers back to Shaman Otik first, all right?”
* * * * *
Otik was back in the hut when Malagach and Nogarf entered. His eyes widened, and his whole face radiated pleasure when he spotted the peppers.
“You found them,” Shaman Otik said. “Where were they?”
“Uhm,” Nogarf started.
“A raccoon took them,” Malagach said.
Shaman Otik and Nogarf looked at Malagach in disbelief. Gortok, who was tinkering with something in the corner, raised his eyebrows.
“Yes,” Malagach said. “You know how those darned ‘coons are always filching things. It must have sneaked in last night and taken these. Fortunately, Nogarf used his critter caller powers and told that raccoon to bring the peppers out of its tree and give them to us.”
“Hunh.” Otik took the chilies from Nogarf’s hands and peered at them. “Well, look at that, they even have little claw marks on them.”
They did? Malagach stared blankly, but then realized the eagle must have scratched them with its talons.
Nogarf mouthed, “Thanks,” while Otik was busy looking at the peppers.
Malagach returned a you’re-welcome nod.
A grin split the old goblin’s weathered face. “I reckon it’s time to finish off that pepper slime punch, my young whelps.”
“Does that mean I can go to the Plenty-Picked?” Gortok popped to his feet.
“Yes.” Otik walked over, an apologetic hand extended. “I should’ve believed you. It’s just that—what did you do to my medicine basket!”
“I just improved it a bit,” Gortok said. “See that handle. When you press down on it with your foot, the lid will come up and—”
“Get out!” Shaman Otik roared.
Gortok scooted between Malagach and Nogarf and darted through the door flap.
At a more leisurely pace, Malagach and Nogarf walked outside. Gortok was skidding out of sight behind the next hut.
“Hard to believe I was envious of him, isn’t it?” Nogarf shook his head.
Malagach grinned. “His genius—and his favor with Shaman Otik—does come and go.”
The Goblin Brothers and the Pet Cat Dilemma
Arrows and musket balls riddled the wagons trundling down the muddy backwoods road. Bandaged and grim-faced humans bearing swords and muskets marched alongside. In the driver’s seats, merchants flicked crops at weary horses.
“This is it.” Malagach pointed a green finger at the approaching caravan.
“Hunh?” His brother, Gortok, was winding up a mechanical rat he had made. When he released it, the creature skittered between the tools laid out on their blanket. It whirred toward the campfire, where a pot of pitch glue burbled, its sweet musky scent filling the air.
Gortok reached out to save the rat before it coul
d toast its gears, but Malagach grabbed it first.
“Pay attention.”
“I am.” Gortok pushed back his tangled mess of white hair from his eyes and peered up the road. “Looks like they almost got orc et.”
“Eaten,” Malagach corrected. “Eaten by orcs. And, yes, they could use our help. Look at the singe marks on that wagon, and the cracked wheel on the lead one. They won’t make it the four days to Harborview without some repair work. And since they appear to have staved off their attackers, they should still have all their goods. They could afford to pay us, maybe even in books, for our help.”
“My help.” Gortok picked up a wrench and twirled it. “You’re just decorative.”
“I am not. I speak elven and dwarven, so I’m the deal-maker and translator.”
“These fellers are human. They speak Kingdom, same as us. I don’t need a translator.”
“Oh, please, you think ‘et’ is a word,” Malagach said, “Now, let me do my part.”
He straightened his buckskin tunic, making sure none of the fringes were tangled, and combed his fingers through his short white hair. He ensured the sign they had made that morning was properly displayed.
EXPERIENCED REPAIR GOBLINS
We fix any problem.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Malagach said as the first guards came even with the blanket. “We have tools and raw materials, and we’d like to help you repair your wagons, for a modest price. We accept books as well as coin.”
“We prefer books,” Gortok said. “And non-rusty tools are good too.”
Malagach glared at his brother.
“All right, rusty tools are good too,” Gortok said. “I can de-rust ‘em with some bear grease.”
The guards trundled past without responding.
“That didn’t work well,” Gortok said. “Have you started your ‘part’ yet, or was that a warm-up?”
“Just wait. I’ll get them. I have to. We haven’t had anything new to read in months. We’ll have to start raiding dragon lairs for ancient tomes if we can’t earn coin to buy new books.”