HeartStar

The goblin Grad Grad the goblin chief left the antique stall and went to the stand next door to steal some pipe cleaners and a pipe. Stashing the stolen items in a pocket of his greasy tunic, he turned away, and saw a sylph coming towards him. He glared at the fop. So rich, so high and mighty smug they were. How he hated the Gentry. He heard Aeguz, his knocker master speaking in his mind. “See what the fop wants and await my instruction.” Yes, that’s what he would do. He would see what the fool wanted, and if he got the chance, he would steal his gold. He passed his thick blue tongue over his fangs in greedy anticipation. “Greetings,” Kilfannan said, stopping a few paces from the goblin chief. Grad regarded him with mocking eyes. “What do you want scum?” “I need some information. ’Tis said you miners have good memories.” “Gentry filth wants news from goblins,” he jeered to his cohorts. “Well, what I tell’ee, depends, on how much you’re going to pay for me information and me time.” Picking his nose Grad flicked a brown booger at Kilfannan. Caught by surprise, Kilfannan tried to dodge the ball of snot, but he wasn’t quick enough and it splattered on the sleeve of his frockcoat. The goblins cackled with laughter and closed in around their leader. Kilfannan felt the air rising inside him and it was all he could do to stay calm. He wanted to strike Grad—but he needed the information. Forcing himself to be polite, he said, “In the mortal realm, a few days past, a wee coach was stolen. Do you know who the thief is?” The goblin chief stared at the sylph. Why did the gentry scum come to him? Did the filth know he had been in on the burglary? He fingered the diamond pin on his neck tie that he had stolen from the craftsmen’s workshop, the night of the robbery. ‘Play a game with the fop,’ Aeguz commanded, ‘and see how much he knows’. “Do you know who the thief is and where he can be found,” Kilfannan asked again. “Maybe I does, and then again, maybe I doesn’t,” Grad hissed and stepping forward he spat a wad of tobacco juice on Kilfannan’s satin shoes. “What’s it worth and who wants to know?” “’Tis a private matter,” Kilfannan answered, waving his scented handkerchief and taking a step back. “Oh! Pretty little pumps. Pity! About the ugly stain. Let me adorn the other one for you,” he snarled as he hawked to spit again. “Faith! Do you have information on the thief, or not.” “What are you going to pay me?” Grad held out his palm. Kilfannan took out the money bag Trevelyan had given him from his waistcoat pocket, and taking out two golden doubloons dropped them in the goblin’s thick and calloused palm. “Doubloons,” Grad crooned. He sniffed the gold and rubbed them across his lips, then bit the coins to see if they were real. “I want two more! Your stinking kind is always trying to get something for nothing, robbing us poor folk. Look at you, all dressed up, fancy lace and scent. You’re nothing but toffs and twits, and I’m supposed to bow and scrape and tell you what you want to know. Why should I tell you about your wee coach from the mortal world? A curse on your loathsome Houses,” he hissed. Grad clawed at the snot that had accumulated on his nose ring and gathering it in a ball, flicked it at Kilfannan’s pantaloons. Kilfannan steeped swiftly aside. “One more gold piece is enough! You have ruined my shoe, and soiled my frockcoat. My patience is nearing its end. Tell me what you know,” Kilfannan ordered. “Before I tell’ee anything, I wants your name,” Grad growled, greedily eyeing the money bag in Kilfannan’s hand. “I likes to know who I’s doing business with.” “First, what be your name?” Kilfannan asked, knowing there was power in names and he would know instantly if the goblin was lying to him. “My name is Grad,” the goblin ran his thick blue tongue over his long fangs. “And all those around these parts know me and tremble when they hears me name.” “I am Kilfannan of the House of Kilfenoran.” Kilfannan stood tall and seemed to loom over the goblin. Grad stepped back. Aeguz had been listening. Kilfannan of the cursed House of Air, he thought. Word had been hammered through the mines by his kin in the west, that this piece of fluff had a rich price on his head. He must question the sylph before he had Grad rob him of his gold. Yes, then his magg would hack off the scum’s head and collect the reward. But for now, he must wait and see what he could learn to his advantage. “The man you seek is Patrick. And I said two gold bits, not one,” Grad snarled, fingering the bandolier of human finger bones that was slung across his chest. “A sylph’s bone would fit into this, real pretty like, don’t you think?” Grad’s provoking words angered Kilfannan. Striving to keep control of himself, he said in a strained voice, “Here is your gold. There are a million Patrick’s in Ireland. Now tell me, Patrick who? Where can I find him?” “O’ Shallihan,” Grad replied, and lunging forwards, he grabbed Kilfannan’s hat and threw it to his magg, and then ground his tipty nail boot into Kilfannan’s shoe, breaking the heel off his satin pump. Things were going from bad to worse. From the corner of his eye, Kilfannan saw the magg was spreading out in a circle. Keep your head, he thought, get the information and then get away. He’d make a dash for the Black Orchid pub across the road. The alehouse was owned by his friend, a fear dearg* called Gergle and he would find a refuge from the goblins there. “Where can Patrick O’ Shallihan be found?” Kilfannan demanded, his eyes flashing with temper. Before the goblin chief could answer, there was a rustling of dry robes and Grad was joined by his knocker. “My name is Aeguz,” he hissed. “Why do you want to know about the thief Patrick…and so desperately… that you have to entreat with the likes of me servant? What can be the nature of your business with Patrick?” Malice issued from him like a swarm of black and evil flies, livid with the ugly, hateful tints of Lower Faerie, eerily illuminating the knocker’s dead, cyanic flesh that passed as skin. “Must be very important business, eh. Heh, heh,” he chuckled evilly. “O’ Shallihan, is in Connemara, under the blue mountain by Lake Carn,” Aeguz said in a dry reedy voice. “But the information isn’t going to do you any good, sweetmeat. After I have collected the reward upon your head, I’ve a mind to dine upon your tender parts.” The knocker threw back his hood. “Your green blood will feed a brood of little monsters far wickeder than my servant Grad …that is, after I have supped.” He licked his thin lips hungrily. The knocker’s words meant nothing to Kilfannan. His eyes were drawn to a glittering emerald the knocker was wearing around his neck. Shock was followed by fear and then by fury. By the intense brilliance, he knew it was a stone most prized from Gorias in High Faerie. Any manner of self-control left him, so enraged was he to see this token of his House adorning the neck of this devil spawn. Consumed by the inbreath and spiralling upwards, Kilfannan gathered the power of Air from six directions. Bringing the charges to his heart, he formed a sylph arrow and hurled it at the knocker. The bolt of energy hit Aeguz in the chest. With a piercing cry the knocker fell over landing on his back several feet away. Whirling with fury, Kilfannan flew at him. “Filth! Vile scum!” he screamed, and snatched the emerald from the demon’s neck. Kilfannan shook the stone in Aeguz’s face. “Tell me how you came by this?” The sun peeped out from behind the clouds and for a moment the market was flooded with light. As the shaft of light hit him, Aeguz gave a long, thin wail, his form faded and slid away. “Kill the gentry scum!” Grad bawled to the magg, and drawing his knife lunged at Kilfannan. As the goblin charged forwards, Kilfannan whacked him in the face with his cane. Grad fell over sideways and struggling up from the ground,