Chapter Eleven

Tolver

Tolver found the gentle rocking of the prospector’s ship unsettling. He didn’t like thinking about the long span of air between the ship’s hull and the marshlands far below. But most of all, Tolver hated the food on The Declension. He missed his nana’s cooking.

Many goblin kitchens were well-run affairs—Tolver’s grandmother’s being no exception. From them came fine breads, tea, and delicious cakes.

The mess on a prospector ship was a different story.

After following his kobold cabinmate down the length of the ship that first evening, Tolver knew before he stepped into the mess hall that he was in trouble. The place smelled like stewed socks. And the sounds of so many goblins slurping the green slop from metal cups and chewing what looked like beef jerky slathered with peanut butter was nauseating.

“I’m not hungry,” Tolver whispered, his stomach churning. He was almost always hungry, but the ship seemed to have solved that problem.

“Come on, son!” A tall prospector missing several teeth and with breath that nearly knocked Tolver out clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Dig in!” He handed Tolver a bowl and spooned a gob of the gelatinous stew into it. Then he added a piece of jerky. “Everyone loves butter jerky!”

Tolver wobbled, and the bowl sloshed on his benefactor’s arm and shoes. The prospector’s cheerful face immediately transformed.

“You think that’s funny?” the goblin growled. “We don’t take kindly to waste around here.”

Tolver reeled. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry, sir!” the prospector snapped. “I’m your superior. Clean this up and then take yourself to the brig.”

Oh no. Tolver hadn’t thought things could possibly get worse. He’d been wrong.

“Wait! I know his grandmother,” someone shouted in the crowded mess. “That boy does not need to be punished. He merely needs to gain his air legs. I’ll look after him until he does!”

Tolver stood up from where he’d crouched to clean the floor. The voice sounded familiar.

Over the bent heads of eight hungry prospectors, he saw a lanky goblin wearing glasses and a big medallion around his neck. The goblin was obviously proud of it, given how he puffed his chest out to let it catch the last of the sunlight. The words “Ship’s Inventor” gleamed.

It was Julius, Nana’s friend. On The Declension. Tolver felt relief wash over him.

In sharp contrast to Tolver, whose skin was a miserable, mottled airsick green, Julius looked very well. His hair was slicked back. His brushed velvet jacket gleamed, just like the medallion, and Julius’s skin shone with a confidence he’d never had on Brightside. There, the boglins had trod carefully around him, never sure if he was doing magic or science. And always whispering that he was a little strange.

Tolver wondered for a moment what Julius had done to earn a clean shirt and the decorations on his jacket.

But then Julius smiled at him. “There now, we can’t have you telling Gwendoline that you’ve been treated poorly.” He gave the boglin a chocolate bar. That, Tolver had to agree, looked more appetizing than butter jerky. “This will help your stomach settle.”

The mess was silent, watching. When Tolver bit off the tiniest piece of chocolate, everyone began speaking again. The angry goblin shrugged and took a seat.

“That solves that,” Julius said. “Prospector ships are rough on newcomers. I’m sure your bunkmates have told you?”

“How long have you been here?” Tolver asked. “We came to Brightside, looking for you. Nana needed help fixing a converter. Did you really send me that compass?”

“I’ve been helping with their machines on and off for a year or so. But only recently moved here. And soon your nana won’t need my help—all of those problems will be quickly solved for everyone in the marshbogs!”

Tolver stared, another bite of chocolate halfway to his mouth. Julius continued brightly, although without really answering Tolver’s question. “When you meet the captain, you’ll understand—he’s got a great mind. One of the greatest. We’re going to make everything better. And yes, I did send you the compass, Tolver. You should be able to go out and have your own adventures. Gwendoline’s been holding you back.”

Julius’s voice was kind, and he’d stretched out a welcoming arm to Tolver. But Tolver hesitated. “So much went wrong because of that compass.”

The inventor caught his expression and grasped Tolver’s elbow. Julius whispered sharply, his kind voice gone. “One can’t blame a mere compass. Listen, you need to go along to get along here, got it? I’m just as much of a conscript as you are, Tolver. Smile, if your nana matters to you.”

Tolver swallowed a half-chewed mouthful of chocolate and coughed until Julius clapped him hard on the back “Got it!” he said, choking. But he smiled.

Julius’s voice smoothed. “Normally, you’d be assigned to a crew now, so you can start making a bit of your own back. But I’ll tell the captain I’d like to have you as my apprentice. So you can tell your nana when you see her next that I took care of you. Would you like that?” Julius smiled, showing all his teeth at once. When a goblin does this, it is fairly spectacular and also a bit frightening, even to other goblins.

Tolver nodded miserably. Julius hadn’t given him any choice in the matter.

As soon as Julius rose and walked from the mess, Tolver’s tormenter from before turned to him. “Who else do you know on the ship, bright eyes?”

“I didn’t know Julius would be here,” Tolver protested.

“You think you’re getting on a crew before I do?” The broad goblin bristled at him.

“No, I wouldn’t want that.” All Tolver wanted was to return to his berth and sleep. “I’m to be his assistant, anyway.”

“Good. We’ll get along fine, then. I’ve had my eye on a word-hog crew for weeks. I’m going to make enough to buy my own ship. Name’s Broen.” The goblin held out his hand and Tolver shook it. Everyone here seemed to want the same thing.

Tolver thought back to the dreams he’d been having. His own ship. Adventure.

Well, he’d gotten at least part of that: adventure.

Now he had to figure out how to get out of it in one piece.

The next day, the first mate called the entire crew of The Declension to attention.

Once they were assembled, the tallest goblin Tolver had ever seen paced the broad deck of the ship. All the prospectors aboard straightened when he passed, calling him captain. The goblin wore canvas pants and a vest over a white-and-blue striped shirt. His skin was the color of an unripe mango. His cheeks and hands were almost yellowish, and his silver hair curled down to his collar. He’d waxed his long mustache into silver commas that framed his mouth and cinched his belt so tight that everything looked squeezed.

The Declension too was bigger than any ship Tolver had seen. A giant gas bag held it aloft, while several big baffles at the back that opened and shut like accordions propelled it forward. On the sides, wide fins balanced the steering. The Declension moved through the air in sibilant curves. Its passage sounded like rippling water, as elegant as its well-heeled captain.

“You’ve all been called into service, in the interest of the marshbogs,” Captain Bellfont said. “New recruits will help The Declension gather fuel for the city and for our ships. When you earn enough, you’ll gain privileges and your right to disembark. Look around. Many onboard were once in your state and have risen through the ranks to great glory.”

The captain sounded as if he gave this speech often.

“Do you have any questions? NO? GOOD.” Captain Bell-font didn’t give anyone time to ask anything. “We’re approaching our next port of call, and you will pay attention and follow orders. Got it?”

Everyone on board replied yes, or aye, and Tolver rushed to do the same. The squeak of his voice hung in the air long after everyone else had stopped speaking.

As the giant ship turned in the air and began to chug its way toward a new floating city on the horizon, Tolver peeked over The Declension’s gunwales.

“The next port’s Serendipity,” said the goblin nearest him. The broad one from the night before, Tolver remembered: Broen. “Won’t be here long. Captain Bellfont doesn’t like to dawdle. Just don’t cross him, stay out of the brig, and avoid angering the inventor! You might wind up stuffed inside his next invention if he gets mad at you!”

“Get to stations, swabs!” The first mate yelled. All the goblins on deck straightened up. The ones in the rigging began to sing as they approached Serendipity.

As the ship turned once more, Tolver saw the floating city was bigger than Felicity, and it was very close. Goblins working on the other side of the glass windows in the buildings stared back, and he could see the kinds of clothing they wore: suits and ties, nice patterns too. Very different from the canvas and cotton of the marshbogs.

A few moments later, the city extended a metal dock alongside the ship, and the goblin crew began carrying big sacks to the dock and baskets of word ribbons aboard.

“You! Julius’s assistant! He’s busy, so you’ll help us for now.” Broen prodded Tolver to grab a sack and follow them.

The sacks weren’t heavy, but they were unwieldy. Tolver had to keep them from rising as much as falling as he walked down the gangway. Hot air. They were delivering hot air!

Even with all the excitement, Tolver worked very hard to keep his eyes off the big drop to the ground below the gangway. By the time he reached the deck of The Declension for the third time, carrying baskets, he was out of breath.

“You do this all the time?” he asked Broen.

The goblin nodded. “You get used to it. Not every city has their own prospectors. They’re always glad to see us.”

The Declension bustled as new items were stowed and as the goblins from the port—these wearing even nicer suits than the goblins Tolver had seen in the buildings—handed over sacks of tea and food in payment.

“Prices have gone up again,” one goblin murmured to the captain. Her voice had an edge to it.

“Can’t help it, so many need fuel,” the captain said, shaking his head sympathetically. “Have we shown you our newest equipment? You might be interested, for your own needs. It converts any word.”

She looked intrigued, so the captain beckoned Julius forward. The inventor winked at Tolver, and then he brought out a converter a bit more complicated than the one Nana had made for their island.

This machine was made of brass, with three cranks and a small trumpet for taking in word ribbons. The goblin touched it with a long fingernail. “I wouldn’t have to trade for better words?”

“You’d still get the same fuel efficiency from your current words, but you could use more kinds. Up to five different words per conversion.” The captain patted the machine and beamed at Julius.

The goblin whistled. “Even goblin words?”

Captain Bellfont shook his head. “Those still don’t convert.”

“But our researchers hope to do that someday! Meantime, this is a very flexible tool.” Julius patted the brass box.

The woman eyed Julius’s medallion and seemed convinced. “How much?”

The captain whispered the price in the goblin’s ear. She noted the long line of merchants behind her and sighed. “I’ll take it. At least it keeps this lot from having it.”

“Don’t—” Tolver whispered.

Julius glared at him quickly, and the kobold grabbed his arm. “Do you want to be put in the brig?”

Tolver quieted. But then the merchant asked, “Do you have anything else?”

Julius clapped his hands together. “We do! We tested our latest invention last week. Highly successful!” He looked to the goblins on deck. “Bring me a piglet!”

A crewmember scrambled for the hatch and returned moments later carrying a brass animal about the same size as one of Gilfillan’s piglets. It had bulbs for eyes, and its joints were round like baseballs. Its round belly gleamed metallically in the setting sun. The woman squinted. “What does it do?”

When Julius said, “Put it down, show her, show her,” Captain Bellfont sighed with delight, pulling on his long mustache with one hand and gesturing at the crew with the other. He was as proud of the inventions as Julius was.

The goblins put the piglet down and, with a tap from Julius, it walked forward, its head tilted. A corkscrew tail swayed in the wind.

“It’s very cute,” the woman said.

The pig sat by her feet and gave one loud, metallic oink.

Julius actually giggled. At this, the captain gave up on his mustache and strode over. “If you’d been human, that overused word of yours—cute—would have been mine.”

The merchant blanched. “I’ll take two. Do they also run on hot air?”

Captain Bellfont nodded. “Exclusively. No fuss. Generate it and capture it both.”

“We can also show you . . .” Julius began excitedly, but the captain cut him off with two sharp words.

“Nothing else.”

Tolver watched the exchange, wondering what else was in the hold. Had Julius made things that the captain didn’t want anyone else to see? Nana had said Julius was powerful. Tolver watched the inventor closely for the rest of the day, but he saw only metal piglets. No new inventions emerged.

By the time they pulled away from the gangway, The Declension sat low in the air from the goods it had taken aboard, and the goblin crew had to add more fuel to the airbags. They did this with funnels, pushing some of the baskets of words through a large converter that was much more complex than the one the merchant had purchased.

“Why didn’t the captain sell this machine in Serendipity?” Tolver asked aloud.

The captain twisted one half of his silver mustache with two fingers, pleased. “If we keep inventing new tools but only sell the small items, we gain power, my fellow prospectors. Progress!”

Tolver chewed on his lip, willing himself to stay quiet. “Permission to go below, sir?” he asked the inventor. Progress! didn’t help him get home. Or help Nana buy her island.

“Granted. There’s a lad,” Julius said, then turned to the captain. “He’d be an asset to any ship.”

Bellfont himself clapped Tolver on the shoulder so hard his teeth rattled. “Or perhaps someday he’ll have his own ship!”

Tolver looked up at the captain and realized he could see right into the goblin’s very hairy nose.

This was nothing like the adventures of his dreams.