The Goblin Gate (20 page)

Cogswhallop was shaking his head. “I was afraid you’d be wanting that. Then I noticed your clothes, and I thought you might be sensible.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Jeriah asked, gazing down at his plain dark tunic.

“Nothing, if you’re sneaking up on an enemy camp. But no one who sees you is going to believe you just got up to go to the privy.”

Jeriah’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. “If I put on a night robe, can I watch the corridor? If anyone comes I can greet them, which will warn you.”

“Is the privy in this corridor?”

“Well, not the nearest one. But I’ll go mad shut up in my room all night! I have to be here.”

“I can’t stop you,” Cogswhallop admitted. “But if someone gets suspicious when you yawn all day, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“I’ll be back,” Jeriah promised.

He hurried down the corridor praying he wouldn’t meet anyone. Cogswhallop was right—these clothes were suspicious in the palace this time of night. He reached his rooms unseen, pulled on his night robe, and had just emerged onto the terrace when a shriek shattered the night—but the shouts that followed came from the other side of the palace by the main staircase. Had someone caught one of Daroo’s searchers? Daroo himself? Jeriah ran.

Several people clustered at the top of the third-level steps. The guards’ torches covered the scene with flickering light.

“I swear I saw it,” a bony woman in nightclothes protested as Jeriah joined them. “It ran into those flowers. Right there!”

Two guards were searching the flower bed. Jeriah tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He should have realized that others might visit the privy!

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“This lady—”

“I saw a goblin!” she insisted. “It darted into those bushes when I screamed, but I saw it!”

“But that’s im…”
Careful, don’t protest too much.
“…incredible. Would they dare come into the palace?”

“Didn’t your brother get rid of all the goblins, Jeriah?”

Master Zachiros was standing behind him.
Careful
.

“He got rid of the ones in the Goblin Wood, but there might be others. I just find it hard to believe they’d be here.”

“I know what I saw.” Even in the torchlight, Jeriah could see the stubborn anger in her expression.

“I’m sure you did, mistress,” Jeriah said politely. “Though sometimes the moonlight plays tricks. Could it have been a rat?”

“Impossible,” Master Goserian’s frigid voice declared. “Rats aren’t allowed in the palace.” He was dressed in his night robe, like the rest of the growing crowd. Thank St. Cerwyn Cogswhallop had sent Jeriah to change—he’d have been horribly conspicuous in his tunic.

“Come now, Goserian,” Master Zachiros murmured. “You know we’ve had rats before. I admit you dispose of them quickly, but…”

The Master of Household stiffened. “There are no rats in
my
palace. She must have imagined it.”

“I saw something scuttle into those flowers,” the woman
insisted. “If it was a rat, it was a cursed big one.”

“A
big
rat, mistress?” Goserian huffed. “Was it pink, perhaps?”

The crowd snickered. The guards had stopped searching the flower bed to listen to the quarrel. Jeriah’s racing pulse began to slow.

Koryn hobbled up to the crowd, panting, her uncle clearly having outpaced her.

But while everyone else’s eyes were on the altercation, her gaze went straight to Jeriah and stayed there.

She suspected him. She couldn’t know what he was doing, but she suspected him all the same. Jeriah hoped his face showed only the excited curiosity that everyone else was expressing, and turned his attention back to the argument.

“They’ll put out traps in the morning,” Master Zachiros murmured. “But Goserian will never admit it, even when they catch the thing.”

Jeriah needed to get back to the library. He murmured good night to the secretary and departed—still feeling Mistress Koryn’s gaze on his back.

Creeping down the corridor, he jumped at Cogswhallop’s whispered greeting.

“Do you know what happened? Someone saw—”

“I know. Some woman caught a glimpse of Konno, but thanks to you they think it was a rat. Not bad, hero.”

Ordinarily the praise would have pleased Jeriah—he knew
the goblin didn’t offer it lightly—but now he was too anxious.

“If your people get caught, Master Lazur might figure out that I’m involved. And then—”

“Ah, hero. Go to bed.”

“But—”

“If anyone else sees you wandering about, they’ll know you’re up to something, and what will your priest think of that? You’re about to twist out of your skin. Do us all a favor. Please.”

“But…” The goblin was right. The guards would be suspicious if they found him up a second time. He was doing no good here, his stomach was in knots, and his nerves were tight as lute strings. He wasn’t cut out for this. Jeriah went to bed.

He surprised himself by falling asleep after only a few hours of tossing. The small hand shaking his foot barely roused him, but the jolt that shot though him at the sight of the rolled-up paper in Cogswhallop’s hands brought him wide awake. Jeriah blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light; the goblin had kindled the lamp without waking him.

“Is that it? Did you…?”

The goblin was shaking his head. “Sorry, lad, they’re not in the library.”

Disappointment clawed at Jeriah. But even through it…“Lad?”

Cogswhallop scowled. “Do you want to see what they found, human, or chat till sunrise?”

“What did they find?” Jeriah pulled himself up to sit with his back against the headboard. If it wasn’t the spell notes, he didn’t care.

“Something that’ll make our job easier.” The goblin unrolled the paper across Jeriah’s lap. It was upside down, but…

“A map of the palace?”

“Not a map, want-wit! A builder’s plan, complete with heat and water tunnels. The place crawls with ’em, too. For folk our size those are like private corridors; they’ll make the search a lot safer.”

“Tunnels…. Is there a secret tunnel from the wine cellar to the outside?”

Cogswhallop looked down. “Aye, it’s marked right here. Humph. Some secret.”

“If you didn’t live in the palace, you wouldn’t have access to the plan. Are there any secret rooms or compartments near the priests’ quarters?”

Cogswhallop peered at the paper for several moments. “None that I can see.”

“I suppose it was too much to ask.” Staring at the drawing, he found the thought of searching that complex maze overwhelming. Jeriah hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped the notes were in the library until those hopes were crushed.

“Well, hero? Where next?”

“They could be
anywhere
.” How could he find the notes in time? Despair closed like a fist around his heart.

The goblin let the papers roll closed. “Are you giving up?” His voice was surprisingly mild.

“No,”
said Jeriah. “I can’t give up. Not while there’s any chance Tobin’s alive. Though the Bright Gods know what I’m going to do next, because even if you find those accursed notes, I can’t get anyone to cast the gate! But I’m not giving up—and neither are you, goblin. You owe me a search of the whole palace. And you owe me for saving your friend tonight, too!”

“Maybe Konno owes you, but…Oh, keep your skin on, we’ll do it. But you shouldn’t have given those pen pushers permission; they want to spend part of each night copying in the library. They say that after the record room and offices have been searched, anyone can do the rest of the place and only call the Bookeries if they’ve got papers to look through.”

“I still say you’re indebted for what happened tonight, but as long as the search is completed as quickly as possible I don’t care who does it. And I don’t care what the Bookeries…copy?”

“Aye. That’s how they take what they want, they copy the books. I’ll admit they’re quick about it. It’s part of their gift. They’ve even got some sort of fast-drying ink. “

“Then this”—Jeriah gestured to the builder’s plan—“is a copy?”

“Of course. How else could we keep it without a search being raised? And speaking of searching, where do we look next?”

“The record room and public offices, just as your Bookeries said. After that…what do you think?”

“That they could be anywhere,” said Cogswhallop. “Including outside the palace. That priest’s crafty. Once the offices have been searched, we’ll start at the top and work our way down. If it’s in this building, we’ll find it.”

“How long will that take?” Jeriah demanded.

“Four days to a week, depending on how it goes.”

“Tobin is probably ill right now—he might be dead in a week! And we still have to open the gate, and then find him in the Otherworld. That’s not good enough.”

“It takes the time it takes. Unless you’ve got some idea where the notes are hidden?”

Even if you find them, you couldn’t…

“No.” Jeriah rubbed his face wearily. “And even after we find Tobin, and your sorceress casts the spells to keep him alive, we still have to get back, which means she’ll have to make another gate, which she probably doesn’t have the power to do. Gods, what a mess.”

“Don’t worry too far ahead. If you can get that first gate cast, you can have others cast as well. Once we’ve found them, we can bring them back to the gate site and wait…” He noticed Jeriah’s expression and his voice trailed off.

“I guess I forgot to tell you. The gates come out in different
places in the Otherworld. You can open two gates here, in the same spot, and they’ll come out miles, maybe hundreds of miles apart in the Otherworld. At least, that’s what Master Lazur said. That’s another reason we need his notes.”

“So if we get in, we may not be able to get out?”

“Not for a while, at least. That’s why we need the notes about keeping people who don’t have magic alive, in case it takes a while to figure out…” His voice faded under the weight of the goblin’s glare.

“Oh, that’s fine. Any other little thing you forgot to mention?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Jeriah glared back. “You owe me, goblin. You’re not quitting and neither am I. We
will
get them out.”

“You’re a hero, all right.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm. I know perfectly well that all I am so far is a failure. Failed conspirator, failed burglar. But Dark One take me if I’m going to be a failed brother!”

“Aye, that’s what I meant. It’s not entirely blather. You’re reckless, you think fast on your feet—if nowhere else—and you’re stubborn as a pig. What more does a hero need?”

“How about succeeding?” Jeriah asked bitterly. “Instead of having everything go wrong, every time I try.”

Lightweight
. And this time, Tobin’s life was in his hands.

“You know”—the goblin’s voice was oddly gentle—“even the gen’ral didn’t always get it right the first time. It’s a matter of trying again and again till you find a way to make it work.
I’ll be back on and off, to tell you how the search is going.” Cogswhallop rolled up the plan and went to the door.

“Can I help?”

“You can be thinking of a way to get that gate cast once we have the notes.” Cogswhallop’s grin held all its old malice. “Not to mention the rest of it. Sleep well, hero.” And he was gone.

Jeriah arrived early to attend the Hierarch, for he couldn’t go back to sleep after the goblin had left.

The spell notes could be anywhere in the palace. They could be
outside
the palace, and Tobin’s time was running out.
Even if you found them, you couldn’t…
What? It wouldn’t matter, if he couldn’t find the cursed notes in the first place. Jeriah sighed and tried to force his mind off the circling dilemma as he approached the Hierarch.

“Good morning, my lord.”

The old man gazed blankly at him. “Good morning, ah…ah…”

“Jeriah, my lord.” Curse it, he’d
had
his medicine last night! Yesterday he’d been…

Jeriah’s breath caught. The idea swelled slowly, like an enormous bubble. When it burst, the implications left him shaking.

Twice Jeriah had forgotten to give the Hierarch his medicine, and each morning after that the Hierarch had
remembered
. He’d been better, more alert, more conscious of
the world around him.

“Sir?” The menservants were staring at him.

“Ah, sorry. Let’s get him dressed.”

Jeriah barely managed the robing, handing the Hierarch the wrong garments twice. He couldn’t imagine what the servants thought of his performance. He didn’t care.

Could it be true? The Sunlord wore enchanted jewelry to protect him from evil magic and was surrounded by guards to protect him from violence—had no one thought to protect him from plain, nonmagical drugs? His menu was approved by Master Kerratis and prepared in the palace kitchen. Surely there were a thousand precautions and safeguards…if the drug came from outside. What if it came from inside the palace? The guards’ attention was directed outward, so if the drug came from within…But who would do such a thing? And why? Careful. He had to be absolutely certain before he spoke of this.

Jeriah fumbled through the morning. Master Zachiros looked sharply at him when he forgot part of a petition and had to go back and have it repeated. It didn’t matter.

One of the jars that held the Hierarch’s medicinal tea was almost empty. When he was finally free to leave for the afternoon, Jeriah took it with him.

T
HE FOOTPRINT WAS LIKE NOTHING
Tobin had ever seen, resembling the imprint left by a twig broom more than anything else. All the scouting they’d done and now, in the sand of the new stream’s bed not a hundred yards from camp, he’d found what he’d been searching for. He’d have to find other tracks. If he hadn’t been looking for this, almost from the moment he set foot in the Otherworld, Tobin wouldn’t have recognized this scraggly imprint for what it was. But whether he found more tracks or not, Tobin knew, with the certainty of a hunter and a soldier, that their enemy had finally made a mistake.

He’d decided to keep watch himself, confiding in no one, not even Makenna. The headache that had plagued him on and off for several days was back, and he was so tired he could have lain down under the bushes where he was concealed and gone to sleep. But the moon was nearly full tonight—there would never be a better chance.

The goblins had looked at him like he was crazy when he’d insisted they use the last of the straight lumber to build a storage shed for their food supplies. What food supplies? They wouldn’t need a storage shed till the harvest was in.

It was Makenna who had settled the matter, casting a long look at Tobin and then curtly ordering them to “Do it.”

All the Bright Gods bless her—she hadn’t even asked him why.

She was sleeping now, in the tent her goblins had pieced together, sacrificing precious bits of leather and canvas from the old world, materials that wouldn’t rot within days. Looking across the meadow at the sturdy shed the Makers had built so swiftly, Tobin wondered if everything in this world wasn’t rotten at the core. He couldn’t blame the goblins for not wanting to build it. Either the wood would warp or someone would plunk another mountain down on—

He heard it before he saw it, though the rustling in the grove on the far side of the clearing was softer than the great, shambling shape that stepped out of the shadowy trees should have produced. It looked rather like a tree itself, with twiggy protuberances sprouting in all directions, but it waddled over to the carry carts on two legs…or maybe three legs…and began running twiglike fingers over the wood.

His brother Jeriah would have drawn his sword and tried to capture the thing. Or at least have sneaked off to bring back some witnesses. But the fact that it had moved slowly
didn’t prove it couldn’t move quickly, and the creature was a lot bigger than Tobin was.

Jeriah was crazy.

Tobin stayed still in the bushes and watched until the creature had run its hands over all the straight timber. He had no doubt that it would be warping by morning. He was even more interested, and worried, when the thing walked backward into the grove, using its twig-broom hands to sweep away its own tracks.

At least that settled the question of intelligence. And Tobin thought Makenna would accept his wild story, even without proof. Which was good, because he didn’t feel up to arguing.

She came awake all at once, the minute he shook her foot, and her voice held the professional calm of a battlefield commander when she spoke.

“What is it? The stream?”

Tobin understood her concern—having another stream die would terrify the goblins. Though he knew they half expected it, just as he did.

“No, it’s the wood,” he said hazily. “I’m sorry, I mean—”

“Sprung your trap, did they?”

She didn’t seem surprised, but Tobin’s headache was too fierce for him to care.

“It’s big. It looks like a tree, but it walks like a man. And it brushed out its own tracks.”

“Intelligent, then. Though a brute beast would hardly have come up with the idea of cutting off our stream, and I don’t know how even a walking tree can be moving the hills about. But we’d best set a watch, at least. Come with me.” She laid a hand on his arm. “We’ll wake Miggy. And I think…”

The hand left his arm and pressed against his forehead, then his throat.

“You’re burning up! How long have you been feverish?”

“I don’t know,” Tobin admitted. “The headache comes and goes.” He felt pleasantly distant from the question.

Makenna scrambled out of her bedroll, a pale shadow in the dim light. “Dark One curse this place—sickness is the only thing it hadn’t thrown at us! You lie down—yes, on my bed, want-wit. Where else? Charba is the one who nurses me when I fall ill. I’m going to fetch her. And then we’ll set a watch against the tree boggles.”

She was gone before Tobin could reply—though he had no idea what he’d have said. He lay down on her bedroll. He wasn’t sure he should, because he wasn’t sure he could get up again. He’d feel better when this headache passed.

But even through the pounding in his temples, and the sluggishness of his thoughts, he realized one thing: she hadn’t been surprised by the existence of their enemy.