After the Goblins
Edric was gone. In his place, he left only crushing silence and stillness.
The night, by then many hours old, had taken on a harsh chill. Hob shivered, unable to so much as cross his arms for warmth with them tied behind his back. Yet, his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t make sense of what had happened, couldn’t accept it. He felt sick, almost faint.
At some point, Captain Fist returned from the tower, stepping up to the battlements between Hob and the Spring Chicken. Lieutenant Buckler and the rest of the Royal Guards returned next, gathering behind her, anticipating her next command. But Fist said nothing. She just stood with her eyes fixed on the sea of shifting clouds below.
After a time, the city guards and townsfolk along the wall began to stir. The initial shock was wearing off, and they grew restless.
The Spring Chicken leaned out past the Captain to glower at Hob. Though he had enough sense to remain silent, his eyes spoke for him: This was YOUR fault!
Hob averted his gaze.
“How?” hissed Captain Fist, breaking her vigil at last.
She swept around to peer back into the guardroom. The broad archway at the front framed Edric’s empty chair perfectly, almost mockingly. It was the only thing you could see in the dim light within.
“I freed him.”
A figure stepped into the archway, facing Captain Fist. It was Lady Isobel! She had been hiding around the corner, just inside. In her hand was the knife she’d used to cut Edric’s ropes. She dropped it, and it rattled on the stonework at her feet.
“He asked me to,” Lady Isobel went on, stepping out onto the wall-walk. “I had to! For Valley Top! For my people! No more hiding up a tower. This city needs a leader.”
Instinctively, Lieutenant Buckler and the other Royal Guards moved to arrest her.
Captain Fist stood still. She stared at Isobel, seething, but was forced to swallow the better part of her rage. “Stop!” she said, before Isobel was arrested. “’Zis is ’ze Lady of Valley Top. We shall not lay a hand on her.”
Honor bound the Captain. She’d been up the tower; she knew who Isobel was. The Royal Guards had no clear authority to punish the Lady in her own city. It would have divided the Kingdom and done nothing to bring Edric back.
The Royal Guards retreated, forming a circle around Captain Fist, Hob, the Spring Chicken, and Lady Isobel.
Meanwhile, the voices of the townsfolk rose up:
“The Lady of Valley Top?”
“Can it be?”
“The curse is broken?”
Those within earshot were quick to abandon their posts along the wall. They squeezed in through the archways in the watchtowers above the gate, and gathered behind the perimeter set by the Royal Guards. All were eager to catch a glimpse of their mysterious Lady, suddenly free.
“The curse has been broken!” declared Lady Isobel, from the center of the crowd. “By that goblin!” She pointed to Hob.
This declaration caught Hob off guard. His instinct was to look away, as if he were being accused of something unpleasant. It took him a second to realize what she had said.
“Oh, yeah,” he admitted. “I guess it kind of was.”
Low gasps and hushed chatter emanated from the crowd.
“Foolish children,” growled the Captain, turning her back on the scene. “Reckless.”
Again, she stared out into the clouds where her Prince had disappeared. A change had come over her. She leaned forward, almost hunched, on the battlements. Though she remained proud and strong, she seemed deflated—like a stately flag on a windless day.
Hob wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he actually felt for her. After all, Hob too mourned Edric. The Prince had given his life to save the city—a heroic act. But Hob couldn’t see the glory in it, only the loss. Edric had spared Valley Top a single battle, but in the process had surrendered his life, his quest, and possibly the larger war. Fist was right; he had been reckless.
A disturbing thought entered Hob’s mind then, unwelcome and unbidden. Had Edric’s sacrifice actually been a desperate means of escape—a way to go out a hero, instead of a “screw up,” as he’d feared? Had it all been about the loss of the book? If so, then Hob deserved the Spring Chicken’s scornful glances—it had been his fault!
More secret doubts followed. Was Hob every bit the evil monster the humans thought him to be—and perhaps worse, for not recognizing it? In his selfishness, had he sent Edric straight into the clutches of the Sorcerer? Was there any way for him to set things right?
“You have to let me go!” Hob blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Roused from their chatter, all the humans turned to stare at him. By the looks on their faces, they seemed to think he was either rude for interrupting them—or completely insane. Hob didn’t care which. His words were meant for Captain Fist alone. It was to her he would have to plead his case.
“I don’t mean go go,” he said, rather unhelpfully. “I mean, go save Edric! I can do it. Or at least I can try. I’ll get closer than any of you. They’ll see you. They’ll smell you. You’ll never get anywhere near him. I’m the only chance he’s got!”
At first, Hob’s claims were met with silence. There seemed to be a collective holding of breath as everyone waited for the Captain’s reply. Fist straightened up, and stared down at Hob, once more the imposing figure he’d come to expect. Her dark eyes seemed to see everything and reveal nothing. Hob had no idea what she was thinking … but she wasn’t saying “no.”
“I’ll join the army,” he continued. “I can still catch up, if I leave now.” He paused, suddenly realizing the inherent, fatal risk involved. “I-I just need something to hide my face. If the other goblins recognize me, they’ll kill me.”
More silence. Captain Fist continued to stare. Hob met her gaze stubbornly. If he wavered at all, she wouldn’t believe him.
It was Fist who broke. She knelt, drew her knife, and cut the ropes that bound Hob’s hands. Then she stood and scanned the crowd. Her eyes stopped on a small, scrappy figure—a young man who had answered the call to arms in what were clearly a few pieces of hand-me-down armor. His helmet, breastplate, and shield were all ancient and beat-up, but they would suit a goblin nicely.
“You! Your armor, now!” Fist demanded. “Give it to him.”
The boy obeyed without question, stepping out of the crowd, through the ring of guards, and toward Hob. Off came his helmet, revealing shaggy brown hair and ruddy cheeks. By the looks of it, the boy was even younger than Prince Edric.
He dropped the helmet into Hob’s arms. It was basically a rusty bucket with the lower half of a visor still attached. The half-visor was rusted in place, permanently covering the wearer below the eyes. It would disguise Hob’s face well.
The boy then set down his shield, and began fumbling with the straps of his breastplate.
“Here, let me help you,” said Isobel, stepping in.
“Thanks,” mumbled the boy, obviously surprised to be receiving help from the legendary Lady of Valley Top.
“You can’t be serious!” snapped the Spring Chicken, looking on. “You’re not setting him free?” He raised his sword, and tried again to push past the Captain to get to Hob.
Fist held the Spring Chicken back with an outstretched arm, but Hob flinched just the same—nearly dropping his new helmet.
The Spring Chicken raged. “That creature’s not going to save the Prince! He’s going to run away! You’ll never see either of them, ever again!”
“It is possible,” admitted the Captain, her voice measured but forceful. “Still, it seems he did help Lady Isobel. And I fear he might be right. He’s now our only hope.”
“No, I won’t let you. He belongs to me!” The Spring Chicken tried desperately to force his way past the Captain.
The Captain grappled with him. “Not until I’m done with him!”
“Be done with him then!”
The Spring Chicken finally broke loose, lunging at Hob, and raising his sword for a killing blow.
Tonk! This time, Hob did drop his helmet.
A second later, it was all over. With a sharp kick to the back of his knee, Captain Fist took out the Spring Chicken’s leg. He stumbled before he could strike. In a flurry, he twisted around, and slashed at her. Her hand shot out and seized his arm at the wrist, arresting his sword mid-swing. Then with her other hand, she grabbed the feathers of his chicken suit, and flipped him over the battlements.
With a shriek, the Spring Chicken tumbled down the front of the city wall. Plop! He landed in a mound of horse manure piled beside the gate. He was lucky; the manure had broken his fall and spared him serious injury. But he was left stuck upside down in dung, with only his skinny chicken legs poking out, flailing up at the sky. Hob craned his head through his crenel for a better look. The Spring Chicken would bother him no more.
“Here,” said Lady Isobel.
Hob turned to see her approaching with her arms full of the boy’s donated gear. She strapped the breastplate around Hob’s torso, and looped the shield over his arm.
“You may also need ’zese,” said Captain Fist, turning to Hob with the items she’d confiscated from him in the castle yard. In one hand, she held his goggles. In the other hand, she held his little sword, wrapped in its scabbard and sword belt.
Lady Isobel took the items from the Captain one at a time, strapping the sword belt around Hob’s breastplate, so the sword and scabbard hung at his hip, and strapping the goggles around his head, leaving them flipped up on top. Finally, she picked up the rusty helmet, and tried to fit it on him. It slid neatly over his goggles, but became stuck on his large ears.
“Ooo! Ooo!” Hob squeaked.
“Sorry!” said Lady Isobel. “It just needs a bit of a twist.”
“Oooooo!”
As Isobel worked the helmet down the rest of the way, Captain Fist took charge.
“Prepare to ride, men!” she ordered the Royal Guards. “We follow ’ze high ridge road from here to ’ze Riven Gate. We must open ’ze Gate as soon as ’ze army crosses ’ze ravine. If Prince Edric is rescued, ’ze goblins may try doubling back to take revenge on ’ze city.”
At last, Lady Isobel had Hob’s helmet on him. She stepped back, nodding her approval. The helmet was too tight, leaving Hob’s ears folded down uncomfortably inside. Still, all that could be seen of his face were two big eyes peering out of the darkness between the visor and the brim. This, in conjunction with his breastplate—which hung like a giant bell from his shoulders to his knees—meant he was well covered, even if he didn’t look very inspiring.
Hob was ready to go.
Captain Fist turned her attention back to him. “Find him,” she commanded.
Finally, Lady Isobel knelt down, and kissed him on the forehead of his helmet. “Thanks again, nice goblin,” she said. “And good luck.”
