Copyright © 2025 James Ghoul

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: CAP
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America

Previously in Silver Rank Brewer

Hawkin remained in his woods and continued brewing along his Brewer’s path. At the request of his god, Dellia, he began brewing ethereal planes, which are infinite realms that exist apart from the known world. Using the remains of loved ones, he crafted Libation ales that allow people to spend one more day with their deceased loved ones and loved pets. Hawkin’s Brewer’s Reputation rises after word spread of his ability to brew ethereal plane beers and libation ales.

Hawkin’s friendship with Thrush, a nightream monster, has endured. After incorporating Thrush’s dreambon fruit into an ale, the dreambon appeared in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients. The dreambon ale can be poured to summon Thrush from wherever he may be.

Hawkin won the title for Champion Brewer in the Oude Brewer’s Competitive in Lavenfauvish city when Hiccup, a gold rank Brewer, secretly entered his beer against Hawkin’s wishes. Meanwhile, monsters are devouring his clones of goblin spit beer. It’s with all this frenzy for his brews that Hawkin’s reputation moves ever closer to #1, and all sorts of adventurers begin to seek him out.

Despite the praise and recognition, Hawkin continues to seek out a humble, peaceful life with Abigail by his side. While the couple navigate their own growing relationship, their time is fulfilled by brewing beer together. Hawkin’s primary goal is to brew a golden chapter beer, but his chances of brewing one would be higher at gold rank, and he’s still stuck at the last level in silver rank at 1999.

Margaux, a diamond rank Brewer, becomes jealous of Hawkin. Beating Margaux at the Oude Brewer’s Competitive earned him her ire, and she wants to do something about it. In an attempt to find Hawkin, Margaux planted a Brewer’s Portal aboard the sloop of Barnacle-eyes, his goblin friend. While on the ship, Margaux became enraged at the sight of Boggo, a tiny blue bestie, and punted him into the sea.

Traumatic as it was, if it weren’t for getting the boot, Boggo might not have ever met Ella, a yellow bestie, nor the colony of red besties which reside beneath Lavenfauvish. Yet his most terrifying quest still lies ahead of him, as Boggo plans to tell Ella that he likes her once he returns from his sailing adventures with Barnacle-eyes.

Now a goblin Admiral, Barnacle-eyes hired her first goblin crewmate. When they arrived at Lavenfauvish, she hired more goblins at Green-fin on the pier where the local goblins congregate. She promised some of her new recruits that she’ll sail to their far-flung homes. After returning to Hawkin’s neck of the woods where Gloom-glower’s fleet still hugs the coast, Barnacle-eyes along with her goblins and Boggo sail out once more.

When Thrush found out that his best friend Boggo got kicked into the sea and sustained injuries, Thrush lost his appetite. His Satiation plummeted, and he acquired the Ravenous and Starvation stats. He learned that when he reaches Starvation, he loses control of himself and eats everything around him until his Satiation improves to Ravenous.

Thrush stuffed himself so full of ethereal ingredients that he became ethereal himself. That allowed the beast to cut through the fabric of the world which allowed him to transport himself anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye. Summoned by dreambon ales, Thrush helps to transport and sell Hawkin’s beer.

Beer trade doesn’t go according to plan for Ogo, an orc commander. Just when he attempted to establish his trade route of the northern sea by selling goblin spit beer to monsters, the hurlicorns tricked him into sailing southwest to Fiberthorn Cove to deliver beer there instead. Ogo instead relies on Barnacle-eyes to deliver the beer for him.

With monsters trading his beer and the brewing world seeking him out, Hawkin finds himself where Silver Rank Brewer ends and the story of Gold Rank Brewer begins.

Other notable characters:

Gloom-glower is king of the goblin freebooter fleet which is anchored on the coast beside Hawkin’s camp.

Slime-tooth works for Gloom-glower by managing the ptooey which goes straight to Hawkin. He is a father figure to Barnacle-eyes.

Chapter 1

The Human Woman

Boggo

Hawkin’s Mist Hidden wall wavered behind us. It moved in the air like slow clouds that were being shredded by slow winds. Stretches of the mist flared every now and then. They snaked in the sky like unspooling ribbons which lashed at the coast behind, at a land that stretched far away.

From atop the mast, I clutched rigging and waved at that land. Not at Hawkin, nor Abigail, nor the coast itself, nor Thrush, nor the trees. I waved at the colony—the blue besties! They were all underground, of course, and would never know that they were being waved goodbye to; but I did it nonetheless. Acquaintances were there. Perhaps friends, if time could make them that way. Then there was my family too—my siblings, and I worried about them.

Those worries were slowly being replaced with more imminent worries. When I moved about the masts, rigging, and crow’s nest, I held a death grip on everything. I was petrified that a sudden gale would wrench me from the ketch and bury me beneath the waves. And I also worried about storms and sharks and unsavory surprises that the surface of the world held for me. Those were the worries that began to churn in my mind.

After adjusting the sails, I returned to my crow’s nest which was overgrown with climbing trumpet flowers. The mast looked like a tower of green leaves and vines. There were so many leaves and flowers that I gathered them into the shape of a bowl on the roof of the crow’s nest. With a touch of blue fur here and there, the nest was packed solid. It was a promise of safety and security. I settled myself into that nest to relax after a hard day—a hard week!—of working nonstop to get the ketch up and ready for sailing. In the distance, the Mist Hidden wall was shrinking the farther we sailed.

Noise from below drew my attention. Barnacle-eyes jammed a rig at the helm. She and Remember-not ran between rows of flowers and then took the hatch below deck.

By myself, I turned to gaze back upon the coast. The wind crossed my face and ruffled my fur. I flattened my ears so that the wind wouldn’t lift me. I leaned back on the wall of the nest of trumpet flowers, leaves, and blue fur. I twirled the tassel of yellow fur with my fingers. I closed my eyes and lifted my snout to the sky. The sun warmed my wet nose.

There was no better day to begin sailing. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Dare I say there was even a peaceful tone to the world. Perhaps it was really the solitude which I found myself in that granted me a few moments of peace.

Another sound below caught my attention. I looked over the rim of the nest to find that a human woman was aboard near the prow. She crossed the rows of flowers and went port side to the taffrail. She leaned over and seemed to be looking for something upon the coast. She turned her gaze north, and a flash of the Mist Hidden wall flared in her eyes.

I recognized her boots. I froze. My hands panicked and searched for something—at least they tried to; all they really did was clutch and clutch again the vines of the trumpet flowers.

I gaped while the woman walked around and around. My mouth went dry. Thoughts and questions flooded my mind. At last, I scrambled out of the bowl of trumpet flowers and scurried down into the crow’s nest. I lunged for a dreambon ale in the corner. I ripped the cork from the chimeric-colored bottle and poured a libation over my feet.

I ran back to the threshold of the crow’s nest. The woman drank from a bottle of beer. She wiped her lips with the pad of two fingers and then leapt overboard. She landed firmly on the surface of the sea and then sprinted toward the Mist Hidden wall.

My heart raced. I trembled like an earthquake. I threw myself back into the corner of the crow’s nest and mangled a cry for help while I fumbled and shook another libation out of Thrush’s dreambon ale. Still nothing happened. Thrush did not appear. I dropped the bottle. It rolled into a wall and bounced.

I dove to the hollow of the mast in the floor of the crow’s nest and hollered, “Help! Help!”

I threw myself back to the pile of dreambon ales and pried the cork from another one. I dumped the whole thing on the floor. I furiously panted as I stared at the spilled beer and foam.

“Thrush! Where are you?”

I heard the hatch doors slam open on deck. Barnacle-eyes and Remember-not exploded from the hatch.

“Boggo? What’s wrong?” Barnacle-eyes said.

“Human lady!” I said. “She’s the one!...She kicked me! She’s here! She’s over there!”

The goblins gazed into the distance that I pointed to. Just then, a part of the Mist Hidden wall, not quite by the docks, flared high in a plume of bioluminescent mist. A gap formed only for a moment before the bioluminescent mist flooded that gap until it was filled again.

Thrush suddenly appeared beside me. The mast creaked beneath us.

“Sorry, Boggo. I was starving again. How are you?”

“Thrush! Thrush! The human woman is here.”

He looked at me for a moment. Then his eyes widened, and his nose twitched. He ducked out of the threshold and leapt down to the dock. Wood planks cracked under his weight. Thrush inhaled deeply. Several currents of wind and pollen flew into his mouth. A few butterflies were drawn in. His chest expanded. His snub nose nostrils flared. I imagined all the scents that he was possibly sucking in.

“That way!” I said and pointed at the Mist Hidden wall.

Chapter 2

Ravenous Satiation

Thrush

With but a thought, I opened an ethereal vista in the atmosphere. A slice of the air opened like a gash and offered a magnified view of the wilderness. The gash continued to grow, all around me, until it was an orb that covered me as though I were in the depths of a belly. I shoved my arms through the vista of the orb’s walls. I made swimming movements to magnify the distance between me and the world. I felt like a floating eyeball.

I saw a gang of turkeys 100 miles east of Hawkin’s clearing. I reduced the distance by nearly a hundred miles until I was offered a vista of the Mist Hidden barrier. I changed the distance as I scoured the coast until I found the woman sprinting through the wilderness. Because of her speed, I needed to keep magnifying the vista distance to keep up with her.

But I magnified the vista to several dozen paces ahead of her, and then I stepped through the orb to that location. I arrived just as she did amidst the rhododendron. She skidded to a halt.

She panted, wide eyed. She stank of malice. And her life was in my hands.

She brought a bottle of beer to her lips and drank a single sip.

The wind died. Leaves no longer rustled. The pervasive roar of the sea was swallowed away. In the sky, birds were frozen mid-flight. The foam that spilled from the bottle neck hovered in the air.

The woman took up a casual pace as if I weren’t there. When I blinked she froze. Her face wrinkled. She took a few steps back and withdrew two bottles of beer from her private inventory. We stared at each other. Her eyes darted all over me.

I smelled confusion. I smelled rushing blood. I smelled Boggo on her boots.

She drank from two different bottles, but nothing happened. She just stood there.

My Satiation fell to 35%. My jaw dropped, and the Ravenous notification blinked. I worried then that if my Satiation fell to 30%, I would reach Starvation, lose focus, and eat whatever I could get my hands on. In that state, I might eat the earth beneath me before I gave chase until my Satiation rose again. She might evade me then, so I had to eat her while I was still in control.

I rushed her as fast as rays of dawn that speared into the shadows of trees. I shredded the woman with a swipe of my claws, but she turned out to be made of nothing but wisps of colored smoke. The smoke dissipated.

I took a giant whiff and opened the ethereal orb. I swam through the magnifications of distance around the area, but I could not find her. I poked my head through the orb and took big whiffs. I smelled her! The scents were clear as streaks of pollen in the wind, and I had been studying that smell for weeks! I followed that scent through the wilderness until it was so strong that the scent of her put an image in my mind, like I was a bat with better nostrils than ears.

I stepped through the vista of the orb and smacked the air like a cat knocking an object. The woman materialized from a breeze—a current of aromas—horizontal like she had been flying. My paw hit her back and slammed her to the ground. She blew a hefty grunt before swiftly leaping back to her feet. She snapped her fingers and I heard the disembodied sound of a bottle breaking.

She was suddenly inches from me. A leg was extended in a high kick. Her boot smashed into my shoulder with an impact that made my entire being wiggle like congealed elodon fat. Forest debris blasted in a rising wave around our epicenter. The bones in my shoulder broke. But I stood. I purred, and the bones began to mend.

The woman, on the ground, looked up at me. She panted hard. Her hands shook. She peered up at me from between tresses.

I advanced on her with just one step. She scrambled back.

I had her focus. She saw me clearly. Her heart beat like a rabbit’s.

Then she was up on her feet with her hands spread out. Barley grew from the earth around her. Hop vines grew and whipped about in the blink of an eye. Yeast was collected from the atmosphere in a volley of dust. Water was wrestled from the air. She snapped her fingers, and I heard the disembodied sound of a bottle being corked.

Brewer’s Portal.

I leapt toward her and she took off at the exact same moment. Fingers snapped. A bottle broke. She burst ahead at twice my speed. I opened the ethereal orb and stepped through a magnified distance to cut her off. She skidded to a halt and changed directions. Fingers snapped. A bottle broke. She put on a burst of speed toward the south. I cut her off again and she evaded me once more.

This went on until I heard the sound of a disembodied bottle breaking again, and she disappeared. I cut through the world back to the location where she’d brewed the Brewer’s Portal, but she wasn’t there. I cut through to where Hawkin lay napping on the sand by the dock. She was not there. I cut through to the ketch where I startled Barnacle-eyes and Remember-not. She was not there. I cut back to the woods where I’d chased her.

I opened the ethereal orb once more and looked into more magnified distances. I poked my head through the orb’s walls into a thoroughfare of Omes Arbor. People screamed. I took big whiffs but did not catch the woman’s scent. I poked my head into the biggest mansion in Omes Arbor. Several dozen people were feasting at a banquet. They shrieked as I took big whiffs. I poked my head into the foyer of Hiccup’s mansion. A butler fainted. Another one sucked teeth. Though the woman’s scent was there, it was weak. Then I poked my head into the streets of Lavenfauvish. No scent there either.

I closed the orb and looked around. Then I caught her scent. She was still in the woods. Cutting through the world and following her scent, I found her once more and clawed her out of the air. I shredded her garb and drew red stripes over her ribs. She scampered away from me and put a hand to her bleeding side. With a snap of her fingers and the sound of a bottle breaking, her side began to heal.

I rushed toward her, but she was once more sprinting with a burst of magic speed.

I chased Margaux into the wilderness as my Satiation dropped to 33%.

Chapter 3

Endurance Hunting

I cut through the world to the brewery near Hawkin’s cabin. Margaux arrived a moment later. I lunged for her, claws first, but only clipped her. Blood dripped from my claws, and Margaux went sprawling through the flowers.

She ran. I chased.

Margaux was already breathing hard. That’s what all creatures did when they exerted themselves. They needed to breathe harder.

When Barnacle-eyes used to brew spit beer in Hawkin’s brewery, she often had to pause to catch her breath. Boggo often had to catch his breath while devouring a number of dreambons. Abigail too stopped to take slow and deep breaths after rummaging through freshly tilled soil. All humans needed to stop to catch their breath. Margaux would be no exception.

The moment she stopped to breathe, I would catch her.

Margaux sprinted east toward the maples. I cut through the world and cut her off once more. I snapped my jaw at her, but her hair slipped between my fangs.

And if Margaux gets the chance to breathe, then surely she would need to sleep. All creatures needed to.

Barnacle-eyes had gone two days without sleeping, last year, when I’d shared a beer-and-grounds with her. She was sleeping face down where the black cohosh grew the very next day. Boggo too had been desperately searching for a comfortable place to sleep since losing his home in the blue bestie colony. When he found himself warm and safe, that was the first thing he succumbed to. When Hawkin worked himself too hard, he often went to sleep early. And when Abigail spent too long reading, I often found her slumped over with her nose performing the role of a bookmark.

All humans had to sleep, and when Margaux stopped to sleep, I would slice her open.

I cut Margaux off where the maples met tall thin pines. I slammed into her body and sent her sprawling. She hit a tree hard enough to break dead branches from it. Debris fell around her. She was back on her feet the next moment and running south.

If she does get a chance to sleep, then surely she must stop to eat. Boggo could never function too long without eating. And though Abigail and Hawkin ate at their leisure, I could hear the protests of their stomachs, and I could sense their sour moods when they went without food for too many hours. I saw their energy wane. Barnacle-eyes was proof of that. After a couple of whole onions, she’d be back on her boots and bouncing through her next task. Food revived creatures. So when Margaux stopped to eat, I would catch her then and start chewing her up, legs first.

I cut through the world twice. For the second time, I arrived in the air above the canopy of the wilderness. Margaux arrived a moment later, propelled in flight by magic. I slashed her and she plummeted, followed by a rain of fat drops of blood.

But maybe she had supplies in her private inventory like I did. Maybe she had food and water and she could eat along the way. That’s what Hawkin and Abigail did. Not Boggo, but he still relied on an inventory—mine. Barnacle-eyes also kept a trove of garlic and onions in her own inventory, and she snacked on those at her whim. She had water and spit beer with her; even her own tankard and crude wooden bowl. Yes, supplies could sustain Margaux. But she wasn’t being chased by a monster or a vengeful god. She was being chased by me—Thrush! Her supplies were bound to run out. That would be when I caught her. Then I would swallow her enough so that she stands on mangled feet at the bottom of my belly. My tongue would press her to the roof of my mouth like she was cave-squeezed.

I cut through the world to one of Hawkin’s southern trails that wound through a marsh of cattails. I arrived right where Margaux was. I caught her by her hair. She sliced her hair apart with a glass knife and then put on a burst of speed after a snap of fingers and a break of glass.

Magic, yes…Hawkin had magic. I had magic. And magic could only make things easier as long as the mana was available. Hawkin brewed until he couldn’t. Abigail brewed until she couldn’t. Barnacle-eyes leveled her ketch until she couldn’t. I too used mana for Merchant skills, but I didn’t need mana to be Thrush.

And when Margaux runs out of magic, runs out of mana, runs out of supplies…when she cannot stop to eat, nor to sleep, nor to catch her breath… I will catch her then.

After I chew her torso and head, and her screams change colors, all that blood will become part of me.

She may be capable of enduring a chase, but how could her endurance ever match mine?

My Satiation fell to 30%. Starvation.

Chapter 4

North

Dellia Lucerne

The system takes. The system gives. Gods steer. Thus, some things were out of the hands of gods. The location of my temple was out of my hands. But Sweet Gale was a surprisingly thriving city for a collection of humans sequestered from a main road. The moss upon unkept thatched cottages was as glossy green as the leaves upon the myriad of magnolia trees.

One thatched building in particular did not yet have the opportunity to be ravaged by moss. Its thatch was new. Men and women crawled upon the roof and whacked at the thatch in a final pass before concluding construction. Farmland boulders delineated the property which was already a mile from city center. A mile that was filled with traveling humans.

Humans that were headed to the world’s first temple of Dellia Lucerne, the Planes Cutter. I flew among them—rather, over them—in a form that appeared as a wrinkle of air. I covered the distance of that mile with but a thought.

In the exact middle of the temple was a monument; upon it a basalt statue made in the imagined likeness of me. A carver stepped down from a ladder set against the monument. He tucked a polishing cloth into his pockets then gathered his tools. A loot chest appeared before the carver, and when he cracked the lid open, a smile of light came from the opening to match the carver’s smile.

After depositing the loot chest into his private inventory, the carver found Brien among the Dream Cutters who stood prepared to open my temple to the public. The carver was paid. He went on his way home.

Brien approached my statue.

“My lady,” he whispered. “It is finished.”

A loot chest appeared in front of him for a moment before it blinked away. Then all the other Dream Cutters received a loot chest of their own as well. They each took the time to engage smiles.

“It is time,” Brien said to the Dream Cutters.

They followed Brien to the temple entrance where a patient but eager crowd waited. Dream Cutters stood aside to let everyone stream in: adventurers, parents, children, the elderly. Each and every Dream Cutter was sought out by these arrivals. My temple was suddenly filled with a sea of hushed voices. Conversations crested with sobs, excitement, or awe.

An old woman, too slow to find a Dream Cutter, wandered with a raised hand shaped like a request. It was her raised hand, high as a wrinkled face, that caught Brien’s attention. The man navigated the crowd and took the old woman’s hand. He adopted her pace and led her deeper into the temple where there was a bench to sit on.

“Welcome to temple Dellia Lucerne,” Brien said.

“Oh, I thank you; I have been waiting, and I am patient…however impatient death is of my crossing.”

“Look at you, full of life and spirit. Age is only a number after all.”

“Do not patronize me. I have not traveled roads and days to come here to be lied to. Age is real, and it comes with pain.”

“I apologize. I meant no offense.”

“I am here because I want to visit the mausoleum. If I can see my daughter, it must be now.”

“Hawkin’s mausoleum,” Brien reasoned.

The old lady waved the name away like it was a thing in her eye. “I am grateful to whoever built the place, but it is urgent that I go there today.”

“It is not here.”

“Take me to it, please.”

“We are to inform everyone that if they wish to visit the mausoleum, they must travel to Lavenfauvish to the Rose Quartz tavern on Rue St. Kinni.”

“What am I supposed to do?” the old woman said. “Hike there? I am too old for that, sir. I came to see my daughter again.”

“You will need an artifact of your daughter. Her remains.”

“I am more prepared than you are. I have remains. You are telling me that the mausoleum is not here?”

“I am deeply sorry,” Brien said.

“I cannot make that sort of travel.”

“Do you not have family to go with you?”

“I did not know I was in the presence of a genius,” the old woman said with a lean away. “Of course, family!—How could I have forgotten? How could I have traveled two days to come here, forgetting the whole while that a family could have helped me.”

“No family then?”

“You are catching on too fast. Careful, you might hurt yourself.”

“My lady, I am deeply sorry that there is nothing else I can do in the meanwhile.”

Speaking as though to settle some matter private to her, the old woman said, “I will travel to Lavenfauvish. The journey will hurt.”

At that moment, the hush of voices became a rising murmur. Others were also being told that the temple did not have access to Hawkin’s mausoleum, nor to ethereal dungeons. Adventurers were disappointed. They cast their gazes upon their tired horses hitched outside the temple. Others began filtering out of the temple to search for the road that would take them west to the coast and up to Lavenfauvish. I heard Hiccough’s name come up a few dozen times. Too bad for me that Potere was assigned to his quest path.

But my time was now. My influence was rising; spreading. People all over the world were coming to know my name. They had come seeking me out! They would continue to come!

But there was more to do. I needed to ride this rise as high as I could take it. For that, I needed more help from the Dream Cutters, Planes Cutters, and Hawkin.

I rose high in the sky. I gazed upon the northern distance because there was the matter of Thrush. Thrush was ethereal, and he was cutting through planes like their walls were but sheets of paper. And if he could so easily go between worlds and cover infinite distances in the blink of an eye, were we—the gods—in danger?

Danger wouldn’t stop me from sending Dream Cutters north. Nor would it stop other travelers. Other seekers. Alchemists. Brewers. Planes Cutters. Dream Cutters. Collectors. Kingdom seekers. Grievers. Necromancers.

Chapter 5

Something About Us

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,999.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Warm weather at last.

The sea splashed against the barnacle-encrusted pilings. Half the sea was covered in orange. The early morning sun shimmered upon the sea like metal foil. The other half was in the shadow of the wilderness. A shadow that was quickly sliding toward the coast as the sun continued its climb.

I cast my fishing net wide. It cut a perfect grid onto the surface of the sea. The weighted corners splashed down. The net sank. As I gathered the line and heaved the net in, I felt the vibration of a chaos of fishes.

As I pulled, the line pressed into the crease of my fingers. The sea came with it. Salt water dripped from my hands and my elbow. A murk of sand bloomed in the water as I continued pulling. I hefted the net that held nearly a dozen different fish from the water and laid them on the dock. There were striped waterbills, sunfish, frillgills, and a number of brown bream. Big fish for being so close to shore. They flopped and smacked the dock.

I wrestled the net open and carefully moved each catch into one of my barrels that was made of a wrapped Ethereal Forged Label. The shimmering scales of each fish was nothing next to the incandescent label.

The sun breached the canopy of the coastal trees and fell upon the barrel. Pearlescent colors sheened in the label’s material. Chimeric colors reflected upon the dock and on the water. And I was mesmerized by the movement of the sun on the sea and its mix with ethereal colors.

I used my level 1999 Brewer’s Bubble skill to lift 20 gallons of seawater into the air. The water came up as a single sphere that wobbled. A haze of salt stirred within. With another small draw of my mana, I separated the salt from the water and collected it in a clay jar.

That effort rewarded me with nearly 2 pounds of salt. I used to spend an entire spring evaporating saltwater to get that much. I repeated the process a number of times until the clay jar was full. Then I deposited the jar in my personal inventory. I felt the fractioned weight instantly.

But something else weighed on my mind. The desire to brew.

A refreshing cold wheat ale sounded divine. I used quest-earned wheat, ethereal hops, fresh water, and local yeast to brew the beer. After using the Crumble Cloud Foam Cascade sub skill, I used Brewer’s Chill for a third time to bring the beer down to an almost icy chill. The drop in temperature turned the clear malt into a hazy yellow-bronze.

My Crumble Cloud sub skill rose to level 631, Brewer’s Chill rose to level 1688, and Hop Wallop rose to level 1999. My quality tier hit the all time high of 99/100 Lesser Honorable. But I still did not break into gold rank. My chances of brewing a golden chapter beer was still low—though not impossible.

I filled my silver drinking boot with the beer. Foam rose over the rim and continued to column up. The Crumble Cloud foam was soft, as though sugar cookies had been baked into crumbs that melted like cotton candy. There were specks of graham in the foam. Esters of orange and orange honey blossom rose from the beer in a rushing breeze.

The flavor of the beer was like toasted wheat that knew its soil and grew there year after year. There?—wherever it was grown. Under a hotter sun than mine. Judging by the sweetness of the wheat, perhaps by neighboring orchards of plums.

When I tasted the ethereal hops, it wasn’t a flavor that I experienced. It was a nostalgia. My mind recalled a summer in Lunstad when I was less than 10 years old. I couldn’t recall where my parents were; my friends were absent, and I was alone. My hands—they were sticky. They smelled of lilac honey and pine resin. I closed my eyes to better peer through time and into the memories of looking down at my hands before then looking up at an old city pine which I had tried to climb. My knees were scraped, and bits of pine bark lay in the ground around me. I had fallen from the tree for the first time.

I opened my Collector’s Journal to read the entry.

[Wheat ale.]

[Silver rank. 99/100 Lesser Honorable.]

[Brewery Hawkin.]

[Brewed with Lesser Honorable silver rank wheat, this ale is almost up there with some of the best silver rank beers in the world. The wheat is dry and sweet like dew on orange trees. Near perfect fermentation brings out esters of old banana and white honey. Hops: unknown.]

Footsteps clapped on the dock. Against the sun, the figure was an approaching silhouette. I held a hand up to better see Abigail. After a small hello, she congratulated me on successful fishing. She took a seat beside me and dangled her legs over the water. She leaned against a piling and gave her attention to the last few chapters of a rough-handled book.

I poured the last half of my beer in a silver boot and slid it over to her. We drank in companionable silence. I continued fishing. She continued reading until she closed her book and sheathed the bookmark in a new book.

We laughed back and forth for some time over one of her gold rank ales. It was a wheat ale with flavors of juicy kiwi and mango. The foam she used was Whipped Meringue. It was stiff, but melted back into beer when sipped.

After her beer, she turned to me and said, “I need to know something about us.”

Chapter 6

Here

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,411.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

It seemed that the sea thrashed because the sun beat on it. The waves made a constant effort to escape into the shadow of the trees upon the coast. Water evaporated in the heat of the day. A haze, high as a house and long as the world, lay upon the sea. It also lay on the slope of the coast. Trees could not block it, and dew sparkled in the coolness of the undergrowth. Sea salt hung in the haze and in the corner of my eyes and on my tongue.

Abigail sat up. I waited; listened. At last she told me, “Barnacle-eyes has left. Thrush too it seems.”

“I haven’t seen him either.”

“And I’ve been thinking about myself. I should be leaving too.”

The sea splashed our feet. It beat the pilings. Our legs dangled in the breeze.

“Your quest has come to an end,” I said.

“Your woods—this wilderness…it’s been wonderful being here.”

“You must be missing your home. Your hills. From what you’ve told me, they’re beautiful too.”

“But I don’t have anything there,” she said.

“Your home. The goats you tell me about. The summer grasses. Your garden.”

“I shared those hills with the goats—the goats aren’t mine. My house and garden are just things. I also have my Gift Number One ethereal plane for a garden.”

“There’s also your quest path,” I said. “You must be eager to get back to it.”

“Going back south won’t change anything about my quest path.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“That depends. Do you need help with anything?”

“I think I’ll always need help with something or other. But I survived on my own for a decade. I can continue like that.”

“I could continue to mentor you. You still haven’t brewed a golden chapter beer.”

“I don’t want to take you from your life, your quest path. There’s more exciting things for you out there than mentoring a silver rank Brewer.”

I folded my net and put it away. She chewed her thumbnail.

“My life could be here,” she said.

“There’s a whole lot of wilderness here. I could help you find a patch of woods; build a cabin.”

Our tunics rippled in a passing breeze. Her hair flung across her face.

She brushed her tendrils from her face and said, “Do you want me here?”

I could have said it was the heat that made my cheeks blush so damn hard, but that would have been a lie.

“Because I want to be here,” she continued. “I want to brew with you.”

It wasn't the first time I’d heard her say those words. We’d been sitting around a fire the first time she opened up like that. The fire had tripped over itself and filled the sky with drifting embers. She’d put a hand to her heart that day. I could remember that moment like it was yesterday.

There were many moments with her I could remember like it was yesterday.

She arrived through a gap in the woods. Instead of armor, she wore compassion on her sleeves. She brought life to my camp. She filled the clearing with flowers. She moved the earth with her hands. She cared for every living plant with the gentleness of a sleepy breeze. I admired that about her because I wanted to care for things as gently as she did.

She arrived with an eagerness to explore the wilderness. We hiked my trails together. Because her curiosity was an unleashed animal, we often went off trail and lost ourselves in the woods. That’s where she wanted to be; that’s where I wanted to be too.

She foraged in the wilderness. Not because I did, nor to help my efforts in gathering resources. Her desire to forage came from within her. How many times did I wake up to find a basket filled with boletes outside my cabin door?—or chestnuts, berries, flowerheads, roots, leaves, and other nuts? How many times did I seek her out in the path of the woods to thank her, only to find that she’d been collecting oyster mushrooms? How many times did she help me collect razor clams and offer to cast my fishing net out? I too loved foraging.

Beer? She wasn’t so much concerned with her quest path career, as she was with brewing beer she liked. It had seemed quite the conundrum to her that we were perhaps not so different about that. Above all, she loved memory attribute beers. I too loved those, so much that I still had not had enough of brewing them.

She shared her golden chapter beer with me. That beer bared all her feelings for me. She liked me. And I liked her too.

…But for her to stay? She wouldn’t be staying for the favor. Not for the beer. Not even for the hikes, the wilderness, nor for the thrill of foraging! She wanted to stay here for another reason entirely.

She was gazing upon the sea. The waves were high; the surf shimmered. My heart leapt, and my blood raced.

“I want you here,” I said.

Chapter 7

Shaken

Margaux

The correct Brewer’s Portal, this time, brought me at last back to my crystal mansion. I arrived in the upstairs main hall where amethyst light bounced around. Every bone in my body was shaking. I trembled so hard that some bones rattled. Shreds of hair fell from my head. I could only see through one eye. The other was swollen. On the same side of my body, my hand was missing a finger. Blood poured from the open wound, spilling like a full bottle set on its side. Still on the same side of my body, my side bled from a gash.

I had a few seconds to make sense of the damage which I had accrued. I unleashed a scream. I heard footsteps click on the crystal floors around me. My butlers rushed to me in a panic.

I rifled for healing ales and mana ales in my inventory. I selected each one, and snapped my fingers to use my Ingest From Inventory skill. The bottles broke one by one as the effects took place. My mana became replenished. My hair grew to replace what had been shredded. The gash in my side closed like ripped fabric mending in reverse time. But my finger did not grow back. My skin simply healed over the stump.

I unleashed another scream and said, “Lock the doors!”

Butlers rushed to lock the doors and windows to my mansion. Others knelt to tend to me. My clothes were being mended by one with a Tailor skill. They coordinated their efforts to bring me back to shape. But their tone conveyed shock and horror.

A moment later, I felt a relief of pain and pressure in my swollen eye. In a matter of seconds, I could see through it once more. I was able to better see my reflection in the crystal flooring at my feet. Though regrown, my hair looked like a pitchfork of hay. I looked no better than a peasant farmer!

“This is Hawkin’s fault! I’m going to torture him!”

But I couldn’t go after Hawkin until I dealt with Thrush—who else could that monster be? Although I’d ingested many healing ales and enough mana ales, my body took on a tremble once more. I couldn’t remember the last time I had drained my mana to near zero. Must have been when I was back in silver rank. How could a monster press on so hard, so constantly? What magic did he possess to follow me after I used Brewer’s Portals? How could he find me when I was disguised by wind? How did Slow Time not affect him? I was quickly going through my collection of Brewer’s Portals. I was relying on them faster than I could pick out the correct ones! Twice now, I’d found out the hard way that I’d used the wrong one. Both mistakes had put me off guard and almost cost me my life.

“Fetch mana ales! Healing ales! Brewer’s Portals!”

One butler said, “Which ones my—”

“Any of them, imbecile!”

Out of breath, shaking so hard, I fell to all fours. I heaved. My fingers rattled on the crystal floor.

Thrush was a formidable foe. I should have been on my toes; should have been prepared. That’s all it was, a matter of being caught off guard. It cost me my beautiful hair and a finger. I let loose my rage in a scream.

“That monster will pay for this!”

However formidable Thrush was, I needed to get myself together and quickly. With a fresh collection of supplies, I could take him on. He was persistent, and until now, I had been evading him with great difficulty. I had the chance to move on the offensive. I had to take it.

But how? How was he doing it? How was he chasing me from one location to another? And he wasn’t stopping!

He had chased me through Hawkin’s Mist Hidden barrier. Despite the use of Speed attributes, he’d gotten ahead of me, and I ran straight into him. He appeared through thin air, as though he’d been behind an invisible curtain.

And he didn’t stop there. He then chased me out to sea. While I sprinted over the waves, he flew overhead like a fat albatross. On his first dive, he landed an attack on me.

What did I do wrong after that? I had raced back to land, but he was there when I arrived. I evaded his ambush and rode on a tidal wave of earth. It wasn’t often that I resorted to using diamond rank attributes. And though the tidal wave of earth brought me quickly out to the plateaus between Hawkin’s camp and Lunstad, Thrush appeared out of thin air again! I only barely escaped that attack.

I had hoped to get far enough away from Hawkin’s camp that Thrush would pursue me no longer, but that wasn’t the case. He persisted. When I dashed to the rural farms of Lunstad, Thrush was only one deafening footstep behind me. He chased me through pastures filled with cows and sheep.

That was when I afforded a break from the chase. Something happened to Thrush. His eyes became small. His jaw fell so far that it dragged in the earth. He went ballistic, as if governed by insanity. His mouth began snapping open and snapping shut in a perfect metronome. He ate the earth, and he stopped to eat the cows and sheep around us. It was as if I suddenly didn’t exist to him—as if he’d forgotten all about me.

My butlers arrived with armfuls of beer. I stowed them all at once into my private inventory. I brewed an Anti-gravity ale and gulped it down in the same second.

Then I rolled onto my back and stared at the amethyst ceiling. My breathing was beginning to even, and my strength was returning.

Shouts rose from my butlers. A monster was emerging from a thin slice of air mere feet away from me.

First came Thrush’s leg with a hoof instead of a paw and claws. His fur was colored blacker than it had been. Then his other leg stepped through. Then came his belly with a white stripe across it like a belted cow. He stepped through entirely. He had patches of fur that were textured like curly wool. His nose had stretched out like a cow’s. Two small bull horns had emerged on his crown. But his mouth was still split open in half. His fangs were thick as tusks.

I fled. He charged after me like an enraged bull. His thunderous footsteps cracked my crystal mansion from floor to ceiling.

Chapter 8

Around Lavenfauvish

Thrush

I chased Margaux as she scrambled down the crystal hall as cracks spread throughout the mansion.

Satiation:

42%

My belly was for the meantime preoccupied with disassembling new contents. It rumbled like simmering water on Hawkin’s wood oven stove. It gurgled with a sound like bubbles popping out of thick soup. My intestines writhed like a ball of twine in a goblin’s wrestle.

As I digested, I felt new colors spread throughout my body. New fur bloomed from my skin. My eyes shrunk, and my legs grew thick with more bone. The more that my Composition fed from the contents of my belly, the more my belly shrunk from its bloat. Though it still rumbled, it was at least under my control again, tamed by a meal of sheep and cow and earth.

Of the flocks on the farm where I had caught her, my belly had snatched up two cows and one sheep. My jaw had ladled a heap of earth to the back of my throat. My paws had done what they could to help shove things into my mouth, even going so far as to help plunge massive chunks of dying cow down my throat. My paws, my jaw, my belly—they had been under the control of vicious hunger—but my mind had shut off. I had been present like a transparent eyeball that waited until the controlling hunger subsided and the Ravenous notification replaced the Starvation notification.

Like a spark to a wick dipped in tepid cow fat, my consciousness had returned. My thoughts had returned like a wick taking flame. A purpose had burned in my heart. Rage had replaced a frenzy. After completely coming to, I witnessed the fleeing flocks. The object of my hunt had also flown.

I had sniffed and snorted. My breath had plumed from my blunt cow-shaped nose. Although Margaux had flown, her scent lingered from a cluster of nearby baby bull thistles. I had inhaled until my lungs expanded and pressed against my ribs. Apart from the smell of farmland, I had smelled Margaux’s breath. And on that breath was the smell of beer. Not like Hawkin’s beer which carried ethereal aromas and northern wilderness aromas. This beer smelled like Lavenfauvish and amethyst crystals.

So I had cut through the world and stepped onto the streets of Lavenfauvish. Humans had shrieked. Doors had slammed. A dog’s barks had risen to squeals. I had put my nose to the air and inhaled again. The smell of beer and amethyst was like a long unspooled ribbon that led me straight onto the 2nd floor hall of a crystal mansion.

As soon as I had arrived, my prey began fleeing once again. She was in much better shape than she had been. Nevertheless, her recovery would be no match for my endurance. I would drain her of breath, of supply, and of energy.

My Satiation fell by 1%.

Butlers charged at me. They came at me with fists and feet. They chopped at my arms and my sides. They poked my eyes. They threw their heels into my belly. Their blows were delivered with heavy power. Every time my bones broke, I purred, and they healed.

No matter how many butlers I knocked back or flung across the hall, more jumped in. Margaux barked orders beyond the throng. I caught a whiff of beer and lost sight of her.

Sharp blades entered my belly and my shoulder. Half a dozen hands clutched the hilts of weapons embedded in me.

I stopped fighting off the butlers. I walked through them as they battled my body. I let them slash my body and let them land kicks on my giant eyes. Every now and then, I bit off a hand or a foot. I arrived at Margaux’s last location, marked by a residual scent of beer.

As I inhaled deeply, humans battered my back and my face. Tailor’s tape lassoed my neck. However much they tried to choke me, I could still take in the smells of the beer Margaux had sipped—undoubtedly a Brewer’s Portal attribute.

The smell was all too familiar to me, yet I couldn’t place it. As though I could taste the beer beyond the hops and malt to the faint taste of terrain, I found hints of flowers. Did they belong to those that Abigail planted by Hawkin’s cabin? Were they wildflowers along the road to Greditch City? A road that I hadn’t traveled in nearly a year? No—there were also smells of Lavenfauvish!

I encased myself in the ethereal orb and peered through magnifications of distance. When a vista magnified to reveal the Lavenfauvish pier, I poked my head through the orb so that I appeared at that location. I inhaled deeply and found that I was closer to the origin of the smell of Margaux’s last Brewer’s Portal beer.

I continued like that, appearing like a floating head in different parts of the city. I sniffed like a lost dog searching for home.

Meanwhile, butlers jabbed weapons into my body. Blood ran down my fur. I purred.

When I next poked my head through the orb, my head appeared in Hiccup’s gardens behind his mansion. Margaux’s scent was strong enough that I cut through the orb and stepped into the gardens. I followed my nose down the rows of flowers until I was sprinting through the garden. The smell grew so strong that I batted the air before me. Margaux appeared out of thin air. She tumbled through a hedge and rolled down a slope into a small pond full of fish, leaving a streak of blood behind. She rose from the water with a gasp.

I heard the sound of a bottle breaking. The smell of beer filled me. Margaux vanished once more.

Just as I began the hunt again, My Satiation fell by another 1%.

Satiation:

40%

The Ravenous notification blinked. My belly rumbled, and a burp escaped me.

Chapter 9

Song and Storm

Ogo

3 ships remained with the goblin fleet. The rest of us sailed north.

The wind was with us, and it howled. The sea split at the bow of ships so dark that it seemed we were gliding shadows in the early evening. The sea roared as it beat against the hull. The rigging clanged, and the masts snapped and rippled. But to discerning ears, the sloshing of hundreds of thousands of gallons of beer could be heard. There were so many barrels, we had to tie them down by the stack on deck. Some of my ships transported ethereal labels for barrels. And the colors that sparkled from those ships looked like shards of fallen stars.

Maybe fallen stars would fetch a fortune, but the beer beneath our feet was certain to fetch wealth. Wealth would bring more ships and more orcs. More ships and more orcs would bring wealth again! Nothing would stop me from establishing the Sea of Ogo!

Not even the leaden clouds that came at us from the northern horizon like a wall of war. Throughout the next two days, those clouds rumbled like drums. Lightning rattled like cracks on a snare. The storm galloped toward us with legs made of hot lightning.

Humidity hung over the sea, hot and salty, just before the storm trampled us. Every orc was on deck to watch the storm. Orc hands clutched rigging, clutched ropes, clutched taffrails, clutched cargo, and every secured thing. The wind whipped at us in punishing strikes that turned the faces of some orcs.

Above the din, my orcs sang! Our song dripped slow and deep like magma. Others joined in double canon like magma over magma. And every collective consonant boomed through the wood of the ship like the stomping of feet. Those in the crow’s nest made the center mast vibrate like the string of a giant instrument with the body of a volcanic cave.

I joined in the last canon of the song of our home. My tusks stayed still as only a skeleton could while my face, my gums, and my tongue vibrated like rippling water. My heart had been so thirsty for orc song. My soul had been so thirsty for storms at sea. My belly thirsted for beer.

As I came into the chorus of the song of orc General Uis the wurm slayer, I punched a hole through the stave of a barrel of spit beer. I pulled the barrel out from under straps of rope and hefted it onto one shoulder.

I climbed the stairs that led over the deck house over the stern. Lik’s hand clutched rigging and dripped sea water. Lightning cracked and met the sea port side with a hiss. Tankards were passed around. When one was pressed into Lik’s available hand, I tipped the barrel and poured him a slosh of spit beer.

The song tumbled into an octave that shook my eyes in their sockets. Orcs with rings on their tusks held those rings in place. An old scar of mine itched.

I went around Lik and poured Fot a slosh of goblin spit beer. Foam ran like lava over his hand. The wind spit the foam away. Fot drank his beer like a toad filling his neck. And the next few orcs drank their ration of beer in the same manner.

I returned down to the deck and filled a party of tankards that were then hoisted by bucket to the crow’s nest. A splitting crack of lightning lit the sky and a rumble of thunder hushed the wind for the blink of an eye. As the bucket was hoisted, drops of foam splashed to the deck.

It rained and everything went gray in the torrent. Orc skin kept warm enough to make the rain evaporate off our shoulders. That’s how I located the rest of my orcs. I searched the gray for clouds of rising vapor. I sang while I poured each orc a share of beer.

I followed the sounds of hammers on wood as I made my way toward the prow. I punched another stave in and continued pouring more beer for my crew as I passed them. The storm raged madly and ripped the foam from every full tankard. The wind spit in my face. Lightning struck Utu’s ship and a roar of war rose from the orcs on that ship.

I came upon the orcs that hammered at a construction of wooden carts laid on their sides. The orcs hammered with the song and paused one by one for a fill of beer. The rain fell so hard and ran off the wood of the carts so fast that the wheels of the cart spun in place. The hammered grain of the wood came alive in streaks of rings that looked like shrieking lips inside of shrieking lips.

When I reached the prow, I hefted the barrel high above and dredged what was left. By then, other orcs had hefted punched barrels onto their shoulders to help refill tankards. The wind swept the foam from every tankard rim. It looked like my ship was a tankard itself with how much beer foam flew overboard.

We drank and we sang until it rained so hard that I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. It was even darker below deck because the wind broke in and snuffed the lanterns. The sounds of the storms snuffed my dreams. Despite the chaos, I slept.

I woke early the next morning. The storm had calmed. Thunder rumbled in the distance as opposed to right overhead. Since it was still raining, I worked in the deckhouse at the table. I unfurled my sea map and weighed the corners with the hilts of daggers.

There were 6 civilizations in the 4 bays before the volcanic isles. The diminutive iceland tzards were the first civilization. They were half the size of goblins. Webbed fins lined their back and chins. Although skittish, they were friendly to nonhumans. Hell could they drink.

Miles north of them, on the long sandy shallows, were the slugs. That’s what Utu called them; that’s what I called them. Without arms and hands, they could still wrap around a good tankard of beer. Translating their tongue was off the table, and by rumor they weren’t interested in coin. Beer, however, was something they desired. Most orc beer went their way.

The scarpadae lived further inland than the slugs, but an inlet could be navigated by a clipper. We would find them growing ice reeds for sustenance, shelter, and armor. These were perhaps the most hostile and brainless of civilizations in the north. Trade might not work with them.

Each other bay, north of the first, hosted the snow cats, the tundra golems, and the greffles. Whatever we couldn’t sell to my kin in the volcanic isles, I would seek out those creatures on our way back south and barter with them.

Our wooden carts would be ready by then if we needed to go by land.

Chapter 10

Gigantic Flowers

Barnacle-eyes

My crew and I harvested onion and garlic week after week. Under Abigail’s direction, we only harvested half the amount of onion so that they could go to seed. After all the garlic was pulled from the raised beds, we divided some into cloves and replanted those. Boggo was the only one who was tired of garlic and onions.

During those weeks, we only encountered one storm. It rumbled like Thrush’s belly but lacked lightning. There was no other obstacle between Hawkin’s woods and Laven-what’s-fish.

Boggo shouted from the crow’s nest. “Lavenfauvish!”

Remember-not, Belut, and I rushed out of the deckhouse and to the port side taffrail. We’d been following the coast for a while now and there had been nothing but green leaves, dark tree trunks, rocks, and sand. Until Lavenfauvish came into view. The pier was a sprawling stretch of docks and ships. Plain ships without flowers, without hammered flower sails, and probably without the best crew in the world.

As we sailed into port, bright lights caught my attention. Colossal monsters made of translucent colors were perched upon Hiccup’s mansion. They were taller than some of the oaks that Hawkin felled and spent entire seasons chopping up. There was a red two-headed snake, a yellow hawk with goat legs, a white feathered ape, a green radish, and a black horse. I could see the city through their bodies and they were perched like statues.

I could only spend so much time staring in awe because the pier guards were waving to guide us in. My crew threw the mooring lines and the guardsmen wrapped them around the cleats.

“So many humans,” Remember-not said.

There were more than twice as many humans on the pier as there had been during winter. All of them had stopped to stare at the ketch. It dawned on me then how much change my ketch had gone through. The borage flowers were as large as the tiger-lillies had once been. The tiger-lilies were as large as umbrellas. The white trumpet flowers were each as large as a 15.5 gallon barrel. The honeysuckle were as large as trees—we’d had to prune those. Everything that Abigail’s Aggravated Wild Growth attribute beer touched had gigantified. The moment I stepped back to admire how much the flowers had really blown up, I gawked just like the humans of Lavenfauvish.

It was the voices of the pier guards that pulled me from the ketch. I dropped the gangway down to the dock, slid down, and paid my docking fee. With the matter settled and Remember-not wanting to stay aboard, I bounded toward the city and followed the boardwalk to Green-fin.

“Oops.”

I skidded to a halt and withdrew a dreambon ale from my inventory. I pulled the cork with a clamp of canine teeth and pulled it free. Nearby humans jumped and frowned at me. I poured a libation and hopped. After a few moments of hopping, my excitement waned. Thrush wasn’t appearing. I dumped the whole bottle, but Thrush still didn’t appear.

“Little goblin,” said a woman. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You’re spilling junk everywhere! People walk here!”

I tucked the bottle back into my inventory and skirted the woman. I sprinted to the Green-fin goblin shack. Goblins sat in the shade of the shack and on the steps of stairs that led down to the water. There were all kinds of goblins. Bright green ones with long ears like wings, dark green goblins with short human-shaped ears, gray-green goblins with curling noses, and gray-purple goblins with shiny bald heads. They eyed me as if I couldn’t eye them right back.

I pushed open the creaky door of the shack. It was as crowded as flowers on a vine. Goblin limbs moved like creeping ivy. Their clothes offered pops of colors. Each goblin slurped beer like bees chewing pollen.

I squeezed through the crowd and asked for a beer at the bar.

“Two copper,” said the bartender.

In exchange, I received a full tankard, big enough to fit two Boggos inside. I sloshed and spilled beer as I made my way through the crowd and found a place to sit.

The murmur of goblins was music that made my legs swing. I hummed a tune as I took a sip. But the tune drowned in my throat when I discovered that the beer tasted almost like foamy seaweed water. Hawkin brewed better spit beer; I brewed better spit beer.

“That your ketch there?,” a goblin said. He was green-ochre with skin like a naked mole-rat. “With the flowers?”

“That’s mine,” I said.

“You’re Barnacle-eyes,” another goblin said. “Remember me? Us? We were here last time you stopped by.”

By those beady eyes—it was Far-see. And beside her was Wrinkle-knuckle with hands twice as large as Hawkin’s.

“I know you snots!” I said.

Far-see grabbed me by the collar of my dress and pulled me into her group of goblins. They gushed about my ketch, and I went on and on to tell them all about it. Eventually, by the time I’d gone through one whole beer and had another in my hands, Far-see asked what I was doing back in Lavenfauvish.

“I told you I’d be back to sell spit beer.”

“Will you be coming to Lurk-murky marsh?” Wrinkle-knuckle said.

“Of course, but I have to deliver beer and a hurlicorn to Fiberthorn Cove first.”

“When?”

“I’m waiting on my best friend to answer my call. I’m here to sell beer to any goblins who want some before I sail off. Boggo too.”

“Is Boggo the other goblin in a dress?” Far-see said.

“He’s my ship rat—bestie.”

“Ship rats are the best,” Wrinkle-knuckle said. He sighed.

I brought out my sea map and asked Wrinkle-Knuckle where Lurk-murky marsh was. By his description, it was a large marshy island off the coast of the same land where Fiberthorn Cove was. It was more south, but not quite as south as Float-some Barge where I planned to seek out Pock-ears. I asked about Pock-ears.

“Left Lavenfauvish around the same time you did,” Far-see said.

From then on we talked of goblin things: promotions and Captains, hard work and goof-off, goblin lore and green ancestry, spit beer and better spit beer, the aftertaste of humans and the sugar of a juicy onion, better sticks to clean ears with and which teeth better pruned toenails; I couldn’t remember what we talked about. But it was more than Far-see, Wrinkle-knuckle, and I conversing. 13 other goblins had joined in until beer wasn’t enough to fill bellies with.

I wasn’t the only hungry goblin. We all split up to fetch food. While others ordered soup from the Green-fin kitchen, I skipped back to my ketch. I raced up the gangway, and it bounced with every footstep I took. When I stepped off the gangway, it continued to bounce.

My new acquaintances had followed me! They spilled onto my deck and wrung their hands. Their eyes ballooned at the sight of giant flowers.

What a poor lot they were. Their garments hung by shreds. All were barefoot except for one that had a pair of sleeves for socks.

“Come to see my ketch?”

“We were wondering,” said the tallest with his gaze stuck on the honeysuckle, “if you were hiring.”

One goblin nudged another and pointed at a barrel full of garlic.

Chapter 11

Big Fish

Boggo

Tunnels contained scents. It was easy to smell what was at the end of one tunnel, how far another one went, and how deep yet another one delved. Smells were like landmarks.

There was nothing above ground to contain smells. There was no order to scents—they just bounced around like tufts of fur in a twirling breeze. Because I couldn’t rely on my sense of smell, I failed at locating red bestie tunnels. There were thousands, yes, but I found not a single one. My memory was incorrect. I’d thought Ella and I had come out of a tunnel under a particular stretch of dock close to Green-fin, but I either missed it or I searched beneath the wrong dock.

All the foot traffic above was just as bad as the storm we had faced at sea. Human footsteps were louder than the goblins. To be fair, the goblins were barefoot. And since I was near the Green-fin shack, I heard a whole ruckus of padding. I listened for the clomp of big black boots but couldn’t pick anything up of the sort. Barnacle-eyes must have been inside Green-fin.

My gut was twisted with worry. What if Barnacle-eyes sold her beer before I had the chance to see Ella again? Would we leave for Fiberthorn Cove before I had the chance to sell warm-warm beer to the red besties? Especially if she could maybe help me locate the red besties? I had no time to wait. I needed to find her; but to do that, I needed to brave the surface.

I turned one last rock over, hoping to find a tunnel. Instead, a crab skittered over sand. I leapt back to the landing of wet sand. Waves came sliding up the sand in the long shadow of the dock. I scaled a piling and put my claws into the dock. Upside down, I skittered along the underside of the dock until it met the boardwalk. The wood shook under foot traffic. Sand and pebbles fell between planks. My heart raced, and I panted like a burrowing squirrel after a day under a hot sun.

My ears perked. A wooden door squeaked open. Goblins slurped and cheered and grumbled and spoke over other goblins.

I scampered over to a corner and climbed up into daylight, onto the surface of the dock. Humans zoomed by. Cloaks hung from their shoulders, draped like willow branches draped. Hair and hats formed a canopy atop their heads. They crossed the sun and threw stripes of shadows over me.

My eyes were wide. I wrung my hands. I crept along the side of the boardwalk. Two women gasped and hopped away from me. Another woman shrieked and leapt away. I scuttled along the edge of the boardwalk in a rush. I ran so fast that I put my head down to muster speed.

The next thing I knew, I entered a cool shadow and slammed into a green ankle. It became quiet in Green-fin. Goblin faces peered at me from on high like clusters of round ores. My tail puffed up. My fur stood on end. I put one foot back behind me and reached for-for…I just reached behind for anything. The wall of goblin bodies parted to birth an ochre-green head.

“Are you the ship rat-bestie? The Boggo?”

“I’m Boggo.”

“It’s him,” another goblin said.

Green tendril-shaped fingers wrapped around me. I soared through the air, and I was gently set down on a table top. A tankard slammed onto the table beside me. It was as tall as I was from head to tail-tip. A tidal wave of foam sloshed onto the table. I shook droplets from my fur.

“What are you doing in Green-fin, Mr. Boggo?”

“I came looking for Barnacle-eyes.”

“A fine goblin! Well, you missed her. Just missed her.”

The tankard soared high. The rim met with goblin lips. The goblin slurped. I saw the gulp in their neck and it was as big as Hawkin’s fist. The table shook when the tankard slammed back down.

More goblins gathered around me, and there was no path of escape. But as they began to ask questions, I began to have second thoughts of escaping. They weren’t mean. They were curious, mostly about Barnacle-eyes’ ketch and the gigantic flowers aboard. Nearly half the goblins were astounded that a goblin ship could float without bailing. But those were questions that the Admiral could answer, not I.

When they asked about the crew, I told them that the crew was small. Just the four of us; sometimes Thrush. When a pair of goblins sighed and wished they could be part of the crew, I suggested they talk to Barnacle-eyes. Green-fin became silent, save one small voice.

A short goblin stood tall on a stool and said, “She’s looking for goblins? Why, we’re all goblins. Most of us have been lost at sea. That’s how we got here.”

“Not me,” another goblin said as he began picking an ear. “I was left behind.”

Goblins chorused agreement.

“Why don’t you tell Boggo all about that, Mold-maker.”

Mold-maker pulled a clump of gray and yellow wax from his ear. He used the table edge to clean his finger before going in for another scoop. He pinched the collected wax with his other hand. He began molding his earwax on the table with the pads of his fingers.

“We fought a fish—big fish—on our way up from Donkeydunes…Nice place for a goblin home; dunes and donkeys and goblins and eels for eating. This fish—big as those giants up on the hill—had a few couple of legs on it. We were too close to the coast; it attacked our sloop. Captain Sniffle-nose was my Captain and he put me at the harpoon. I aimed for the eye of the fish; shot him right in the eye—saved us all. That big fish swam-ran off. Next thing I knew, I was at the top of green ladders. Made Captain Sniffle-nose jealous; when we passed through here, I woke up in the care of Green-fin employees.”

Mold-maker, by the end of his story, had collected several thimbles worth of wax. He gave his mold a final pinch and placed the figurine in front of me. He had molded a crude rendition of the fish with legs.

“You can keep that,” he said and pressed the figurine into my hands.

I gulped.

The afternoon was filled with goblin tales. Tales of the sea, of loss, of promotions, and the camaraderie they found at Green-fin while they waited for other goblin ships to sail on by.

By the end of the afternoon, Mold-maker carried me back to the ketch. I couldn’t toss away his waxy gift—not in front of him—so I climbed aboard and went straight up to my crow’s nest. I put the figurine beside the one of Belut, the wiregull, and the elder bestie.

I fluffed blue fur into a poof and spent the evening role playing Mold-maker’s battle with the big fish. I used the elder bestie to represent his character. The thought occurred to me then to use the canvas board from Tunnels and Potholes to reenact a chase. With the luck of a die, The figurine representing Mold-maker narrowly escaped the dark depths of the big fish’s belly.

I was left imagining what it would be like to be eaten by a big fish. To look up from the belly and see the mouth close. To see the daylight blink away. And it was just like watching the afternoon darken to evening.

I fetched a handful of dreambons and gazed at the lights of Lavenfauvish. Tomorrow was another day. I hoped to summon Thrush. I needed help finding red bestie tunnels. Maybe the red besties had more stories to share. I know the goblins did. I wanted more of those stories. I wanted to reenact them with figurines and a roll of the die.

Chapter 12

I’ll Hold On Extra Tight

I slept through it all.

The beat of boots on the docks did not wake me. Nor did the rigging of a hundred other ships that clanged like bells where the seagulls shrieked. The sea was a distant hush that my dream might have mistaken for a wind or the storm we’d sailed through. As my crow’s nest warmed beneath the morning sun, I did not stir. Though I breathed in the smells of the city stone and fish that sold at market, I continued dreaming. When breezes reached in to ruffle my fur, I must have smoothed my belly by reflex.

A voice woke me. “Boggo Ugo Oggo,” they said.

A yellow bestie stood over me. Her yellow fur ruffled in the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“Fetching you.”

“Me? I’m sorry. I couldn’t find any tunnels.”

“Well the goblins sure won’t know about them.”

“I was going to try again today.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Ella.

“There’s more humans out there than I’ve ever seen before.”

“Warm weather brings them out.”

“We should wait until dark,” I said.

“You’re safe with me. I’ve come and gone many times.”

“There are fewer after dark.”

“Come sit with me. I’ll show you.”

We sat at the threshold of the crow’s nest.

“There are twenty tunnel ends,” Ella said. “One is right above the rocks you were flipping yesterday.”

“There are a lot of pier guards on the dock today.”

“There’s another tunnel by the piling under Green-fin.”

“The water is really high there,” I said.

“Come with me, Boggo.”

“I want to.”

“Would it help if I held your hand?”

“My hands are sweaty,” I said.

“I’ll hold on extra tight.”

“Is it okay if I’m not as fast as you?”

“We’ll take our time. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Let’s see if I can first summon Thrush.”

Reluctant to leave Ella’s side, I got up and stumbled across the space. I took a bottle from the loot chest of dreambon ales, pried the cork off with a pop, and poured a libation down onto the deck below. The beer traveled for nearly 3 whole seconds before splatting by the honeysuckle. More seconds passed until I had to admit to myself that Thrush wasn’t coming. I hoped he still wasn’t after the human woman. He should be done with that.

With a sigh, I corked the bottle and returned it. I packed a few things into a bag I slung over my head.

I took Ella’s offered hand. She pulled me down the mast, through the rows of gigantified flowers, down the gangway, and down a piling. We scampered along the underside of the dock toward the boardwalk.

She turned back every once in a while and slowed when she got too far ahead of me. My ears lay flat, but I returned her smiles. The sea crashed below us. The barnacles watched on like monster eyes. When I spent too long thinking about the humans above us and the sea below us, I slowed to a crawl. But in a flash of yellow, Ella would be right beside me again. She’d put her hand upon mine, give a pat and a smile, and continue on. She skittered on with ease, light as a squirrel, and as yellow as dandelion petals.

How did she know where to put her claws? How was this such an easy thing for her? Why didn’t the sea give her pause? How did she become so brave? What did I need to do to become like her?

Ella leapt from the underside of the dock to the rocks by the sea. Her tail poofed like a squirrel’s. She landed like a cat. I made moves to leap, but trembled the whole time. When I eventually leapt, I landed like a thrown pillow. After I cleared my head of the daze, Ella turned a rock over to reveal a tunnel end. I sprinted in.

We scampered down red bestie tunnels at full speed. The floors were covered in red fur. As we raced by many red besties, they cried out “Blue!”

After an hour of running, Ella stopped at a fairly large chamber, about the size of Hawkin’s cabin. Several hide sacks leaned against the wall. Ella grabbed one and then shed yellow fur from her coat and fluffed a couple of seats for us. I wiggled into mine. She wiggled into hers.

“Do you like chicory roots?” she said.

“Up there with dandelion roots.”

“For me too.”

She rummaged through the sack for chicory roots. She split them in two and shared a pile with me.

“I haven’t had proper roots in weeks,” I said.

“What do all the flowers on the ship grow from?”

“Those aren’t mine to take.”

“Have some more of mine,” said Ella.

“I want to share something with you too.”

I rummaged through my own bag.

“A fruit,” she said.

“A dreambon. My best friend gave them to me.”

“Tastes like chocolate.”

“Orange,” I added.

“Honey.”

“Cream.”

“Oh, the seeds are so good!” she said.

“Have the rest of mine.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I’m full,” I said.

“I like crunchy foods. Do you like crunchy foods?”

“Me too, I do.”

“You know what would be a good way to digest?”

“Sleep?” I said. “As all besties do?”

“We’re not like other besties.”

“If it were up to me, I’d suggest we play a game.”

“Let’s play a game. Would you like to play with me?”

My ears perked. My tail wagged. “A game?”

“It’s called Rolly Holey.”

Following directions, I helped Ella dig 5 holes in the chamber. The earth was set aside to be refilled after we were done. I assumed red bestie excavation rules were the same as blue bestie rules. From another sack, Ella withdrew 4 sets of round crystals. I was given a set of 4 colored spheres and a set of 6 clear spheres. The first were blue like lapis lazuli. The clear ones were like quartz crystals. Ella had a set of carnelian colored ones and a set of clear ones.

“Throw down the colored marbles,” she said.

I followed her example and tossed mine near the holes. I stood about 10 paces from the holes where I was told to stand. Ella flicked a clear marble across the chamber. It clicked against a carnelian marble and knocked it into a hole.

“You get to keep whichever ones you sink,” she said.

“Is it my turn?”

“Once I miss.”

We must have played close to 20 games by the time we stopped for a drink of aquifer water. I couldn’t believe that I’d learned another game already! Even though we didn’t really play for keeps—I would have had no marbles to play with after the first game—I had a blast.

“What a game, Ella! How are the marbles so perfectly round?”

“That’s how they came. I’ll show you.”

We cleaned up and packed our bags. Then we sprinted through the tunnels for another hour until we angled up toward the surface. When we got close enough to feel the foot traffic of humans reverberate through the earth, my ears went flat, my tail sunk low, and I wrung my hands.

At the end of the tunnel, where I could clearly hear the scuffle of humans’ boots, Ella said, “Are you ready?”

Chapter 13

Brown Paper Bag of Purchased Items

We were so close to the surface that the earth thrummed from foot traffic. Human voices were muffled. There was a constant stream of water. My ears lay flat. Ella didn’t seem the least bit nervous. She plopped her sack down and rummaged through its contents. Her tail swished this way and that way.

“Let’s get you people-ready,” she said.

“We’re going out there again?”

“I want you to meet someone. Put these on.”

She passed me a tunic, a hat, and a cloak. She dressed in the same articles and slipped into a pair of booties.

“I have promotional boots,” I said and slipped those on.

“Oh, Boggo, they're lovely! You look like quite the pirate.”

“What’s all this for?”

“You and I know that we’re not rats. But they don’t.”

They—the humans. Ella dug out a wall of dirt and revealed a stone wall. She pushed it open and exited. It took me a few moments to complete my first step into broad daylight.

We emerged from the stone wall of a garden. A fountain, as big as Thrush’s smoker, stood in the middle of the garden. 6 different streams of water came down from stone birds at the top. The garden smelled like fresh mulch. So much mulch that I could taste it like a spice. Tulips were in full bloom. The sun shone through the petals and made them seem like stained glass. Ella stalked through the tulips. When she passed beneath the flowerheads of blue tulips, she turned green for a moment. Her cloak whipped and flapped as she went on.

We came to the end of the tulips at the edge of the garden. Ella stepped down from the raised earth and into the throng of people. She stood on two legs and grinned up at me. Humans made cooing noises as they gave her room.

“Trust me,” she said.

Trembling, I plopped down and wrung my hands. But her hand was suddenly there. She took a tight hold of my hand and pulled me through the throng of people. With expert feats of dexterity, Ella navigated around billowing dresses, stomping boots, piercing canes, baskets that swung low like pendulums, and curious dogs with whipping tails. I was most impressed when she squeezed through a chaos of children without the slightest hesitation. She danced like she was an artist on ice, leapt like the wind could carry her, slid like a spill of water, and sidestepped like an expert thief. I stumbled along until we arrived at a giant door. Ella moved it with her back. We entered.

A man rounded the corner of a table. “Ella!” he said. “And you must be Boggo. Welcome in. Happy with the marbles?”

“Have you got anymore?” Ella said.

“Bottom shelf.”

Near the floor on the right hand wall were baskets filled with marbles. A tag on each basket showed a variety of prices. The cheapest marbles were clear. Others had swirls. The most expensive had whole worlds of colors inside. Ella pulled me over to the most expensive basket. She showed me marble after marble and asked if I like them or not. Some I did and some I thought were amazing. Once she had enough of an armful, she bolted to the counter to make a purchase.

Just as I was about to follow her, I spotted a figurine on the next shelf up. I stepped back for a better view. Dozens of figurines came into view. They were as big as the ones that I carved. Each one was masterfully painted. There were creatures unfamiliar to me. A ton of humans. Lots of goblins. Skeletons too.

My jaw dropped.

“Would you like to pick one out to play with?” the man said.

I couldn’t process anything.

“Boggo?” said Ella.

She came over to me. I whispered, “What is he asking me to do?”

“Boggo would like to know why you want him to pick one out,” she told the man.

“I’ve prepared a game for us to play,” he said. “It’s been gathering dust. Hop on up.”

“Come on Boggo,” said Ella, and she gently tugged my fur.

But the man was close enough. His boots looked thick and mean, like they could kick hard.

“My name is Bailey,” the man said. “I’m a game master—have been for many years. I promise I don’t bite.”

“It’s safe, Boggo,” said Ella.

Ella was right beside him, holding her brown paper bag of purchased items. This wasn’t the first time they’d met. So if Ella said it was safe, I trusted her. I tucked my tail and forced my way over. I climbed up on the table.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bailey,” I said.

“See?” said Ella. “It’s not so bad is it? Look.”

I lifted a foot to see what I was standing on. “Is this a board game? What a beautiful map.”

“What we are about to play is not a board game. It is a role playing game. That’s why I asked you to pick a figurine. Let's pick out a couple of elves for you two.”

“Elves?” I said. “Are there any besties?”

“I’m sorry, there’s no besties in the rule book,” said Bailey.

“That’s okay. Where is the starting point?”

“I hope you have fun!” said Ella.

Bailey cleared his throat and set our pieces just inside the tavern on the map. “The tavern was dingy,” he began. “The bartender is slumped over the bar, steadily snoring. A cloaked adventurer has slunk behind the bar. He pours himself an ale. He staggers, but quick footwork keeps him upright. He finishes pouring his ale and turns to you. ‘Bout time you two got here,’ he says.”

“I give him the skeleton rune,” said Ella.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

“It’s from a quest I finished in my first game.”

“How do you know what to do with it?”

“That’s Gelbertaffid. He’s an exiled prince, and I’m helping him reclaim the territory he lost to the skeleton horde.”

“Is this part of the rules?”

“This is part of the story,” said Ella.

“Well, where’s the skeleton rune?”

“You have to use your imagination.”

Speaking for Gelbertaffid, Bailey said, “I thank you greatly Ella, princess warrior.”

“I’m a princess warrior,” Ella told me.

“Can I be a warrior too?” I said.

“Choose a name, young Boggo,” Bailey said.

“I’m a few hundred years older than you.”

“A few hundred? I see. Well choose a name, old Boggo.”

“Thrush,” I said.

“Here is your character sheet.”

“What’s all this? What are these numbers for?”

“I’ll explain as we go,” said Ella.

Bailey cleared his throat. “The tavern door suddenly explodes.” Bailey’s elbow danced. A die clattered on the table behind a barricade of paper. “Oof,” he continued. “What’s your armor class?”

“What’s going on?” I said. I felt my ears perk.

“Mine is ten,” said Ella.

“What’s going on?”

Ella put a finger at the top of a column of numbers on my character sheet. “These are your stats.” She slid her finger over. “This is your armor class.”

“Nine,” I read.

“Both of you are thrown across the tavern from the explosion,” said Bailey. “You each take one point of damage. When you get to your feet you see a skeleton at the threshold. He’s laughing, and his bones are on fire. What do you do?”

“I hide!” I said.

“We fight,” said Ella, and she slammed her fist on the table.

I balked. “We fight?”

“We fight,” she said. She took my hand.

“Ok we fight,” I said.

“All right, Boggo,” said Bailey. “I’m going to need you to roll this die.”

He handed me a die with many sides. It was light and made of red amber. Insects were trapped in the amber. There was a mosquito on one side, two mosquitos on another, twelve mosquitos on another…

A twelve sided die! My jaw dropped again.

“Boggo,” said Ella.

She pointed at a basket on the shelf of the left hand wall. I stood to peer over the rim. It was packed with dice. There were baskets whose tags read either d4, d6, d8, d10, or d12.

Ella’s finger moved to point at the shelf above. The tags on those baskets read d20.

My tail puffed up. My ears stretched high. My eyes went wide. My gaze zoomed to the d20 in tunnel vision.

Chapter 14

Crocodile Bear

Hiccup

My high ranking guests were enjoying the garden chamber. Clear strong sunlight melted through the high glass domes and made the ferns glow. Climbing nasturtiums hugged the furniture, the planters, and the columns at the entrance. Barley and wheat moved in the wind. Lavenfauvish bustled beyond my fields.

Lady Tais You joined us early in the morning for breakfast. Though she was a humanoid lizard without eyes, she picked through the assortment of fruit as though she could see. The others dug in: Noble Bartu, myth rank Linguist; Klick Hedel, myth rank Warlord; Fieef Eleventoes, the half-dwarf and myth rank Demon Hunter; Grafth U’ld, a literal shadow at rank oblivion.

I had to admit that I was nervous around such a powerful group of people. Because I was nervous, I listened more than I spoke. Not that I could have contributed much to their conversation, until I learned that their Dream Cutters were on their way north.

“These Dream Cutters,” I said. “They’re coming here?”

Grafth’s shadow stretched along the floor. “Here. There.”

“I mean to ask if I should prepare accommodations.”

“Yes and no and perhaps. We will acquire these master Planes Cutter beers from Hawkin.”

“Only a matter of time,” said Fieef.

“Each of us will house Dream Cutters under our employ,” said Grafth. “Those that we don’t employ…I imagine they’ll seek Hawkin by way of your acquaintance with him.”

“By Thrush, really,” I said.

A sudden chaos erupted in the hallway. My butlers shouted. A woman shrieked.

“Medic!” Someone shouted.

Another shriek. Footsteps slapped against the hallway floor. I rose to investigate when none other than Margaux stumbled into the garden chamber. She rushed in on all available limbs. A shriek clashed with an attempt for air. Brackish water dripped like slime from her hair, her shoulders, her back. Between shrieks, she wheezed. Something rattled in her lungs, like a pebble in a ball of bone.

I stepped back and put a hand to my mouth. She was missing an entire arm. But it didn’t seem to be that new. There was a healed stump at her shoulder—what’s new was the gash on the healed stump.

Even so, it was her visage that made me stumble back until I fell into another chaise. Her skin was clammy, droopy, sunken. Her eyebrows looked nearly melted over her eyes. Her hair and her dress was in shreds like confetti glued to a scarecrow.

“Ethan! Help me! Please! Call him off! Supplies! Please! Help! He’s in a rage! I don’t have much time!”

She scrambled over like a broken animal. Her only hand clutched onto my pants, and I felt like I’d stepped into a thorn bush. Her fingernails dug in. Her grip was desperate. She paused only to wail through threads of saliva slung between top and bottom teeth.

Lady Tais You rose. “What under the gods happened to you? Who is this? Call who off?”

A wrinkle appeared in the threshold of the garden chamber entrance. The wrinkle moved like laundry in the wind. It opened to reveal an image of a swamp. The portal widened, and a dark figure began stepping through. A crocodile's leg appeared, but patches of fur bordered every small crocodile scale. Thrush stepped through entirely. Half his body was covered in crocodile skin. A tail the size of a shoe wagged behind him. His giant eyes, the size of my chest, were moss colored with layers of green upon jungle green upon damp grove green.

Thrush was also wet. Brackish water slipped off of him. A mouthful sluiced between the fangs of his slightly elongated snout.

He stepped onto the floor, and two things happened. First, the portal shut. It blinked out of existence like an ironed out wrinkle. Second, the floor cracked. When Thrush set his full weight down, he broke through the floor and fell into my beer cave below. The mansion shook when he hit the cavern floor. Dust billowed out of the hole.

Margaux screamed. Her fingernails drew blood.

“Thrush?” I said. “Margaux? What on earth is going on?”

“Will someone please heal this woman!” Lady Tais You said.

Grafth’s shadow slipped up beside Margaux. “Leave the woman be.”

“Okay,” Klick said.

Margaux’s grip lost all its strength. She collapsed and wailed into the floor like she was intent on vomiting her lungs out. Her trembling turned violent like a seizure.

More worried about Thrush, I sped to the edge of the hole in the floor and peered down. Thrush was shoving an entire 15.5 gallon barrel of white beer into his maw. The skin of his cheeks broke open. I saw his massive toad’s tongue and fangs though threads of flesh that hung like strings of melted cheese. I saw the color of the beer too—white, like an Anti-gravity attribute ale.

An orb briefly encompassed Thrush. Then he appeared next to me the very next moment by stepping out of another cut in the world. His wild gaze was locked on Margaux who shrieked and crawled away. His eyes throbbed and pulsed.

He did not sprint after Margaux. He did not bolt after her. He did not even run after her. He simply strolled after her as though his arrival to his destination was a mere matter of time. Even the hour hand of a clock could not match Thrush’s sureness, nor his patience. He strode after Margaux like his footsteps turned the world and brought her to him; brought the windows of the garden chamber to him.

Margaux’s good hand slapped at the window. She turned and pressed her back to the window. She was slumped over, as though weary and she attempted to snap her fingers.

Thrush walked through a podium holding a planted fern.

Where was Margaux’s strength? She couldn’t snap her fingers. She looked like she was trying to feel the thickness of a cloth.

My guests scattered from their seats as Thrush stepped through the furniture. If terror was a color, Margaux’s eyes were that color. She shrieked and slapped her chest. She slapped her thigh. She slapped her own face, just as Thrush fell teeth first into her scrambling legs.

A bottle broke. The sound must have come from an activated attribute ale in Margaux’s inventory because she vanished a moment later. Thrush pushed himself up and turned from the window. A slice of Margaux’s thigh, as big as a rack of pork ribs, was between his fangs. Crumbs of floor rubble sprinkled from the mantle of his lips.

Thrush swallowed. The shape of Margaux’s thigh dumped down his throat. I heard a splash in his belly. After licking his lips, Thrush began sniffing the spot Margaux had disappeared from.

“An absolute pleasure to meet like this, Mr. Thrush. I am Grafth U’ld. Rank Oblivion.”

“T-Thrush?” I said.

Thrush ignored me. Another orb encompassed him. It was bright like molten moonlight. I squinted hard and made out parts of his crocodile and bear body. It looked like he was swimming.

Colors flashed within the orb. Then Thrush was gone. As the orb shrunk, I heard Margaux’s scream rip from the portal.

The orb vanished. I felt my blood rush and my face get pale. All of us were speechless.

Chapter 15

Northbound

The aftermath was as chaotic as the attack on Margaux had been. While my guests had recovered quickly, my head swam. No one had helped Margaux. We’d all stepped aside and let her corner herself. I had no problem with Margaux’s fate. None. But her state…her visage of terror…her pain…her shaking…I shook my head.

My butlers attended to everyone who’d been at the scene. Broken glass rustled as it was being swept up off the cavern floor below. Mopheads slapped against stone. Architects surrounded a table with blueprints. Quills whipped across parchment, and for every scribble an objection was firmly argued. Stone masons ambled about. They touched the pillars and the columns, and they pointed at the ceiling. Their tools were heaped by the door. The kingdom seekers were marveling over Thrush.

Riggvelte approached me. “Master Hiccough, A gentleman is here to see you.”

“I’m rather preoccupied at the moment and we’ve got rare guests.”

“This guest is diamond rank.”

“I suppose I must see to this at once.”

I followed Riggvelte out to the foyer. He introduced Aosh Vacomb, a pale man with purple bags under his eyes.

“Welcome to my house. Ethan Hiccough, at your service.”

“Mr. Hiccough. I’d like to speak with you somewhere private. I require absolute privacy.”

The study offered that privacy. I opened a window to free the motes of paper dust daily shed from the books. I had the time to wave in some fresh air since Aosh was slow. He moved like he had to spend time to convince his mind that he should take the next step. I had a lot of time to rewatch my memory of Thrush chasing down Margaux while Aosh crossed the study. But at last the pallid man sat like some invisible pair of hands were gently laying a corpse into a chair. His head even lolled back. My heartbeat quickened.

Aosh sighed and lifted his head. “Forgive me a moment’s rest. I forget how fast people are.”

“Are you searching for Hawkin?”

“I am not sure yet.”

“How can I help clarify things for you?”

Aosh’s eyes seemed to scan private thoughts. “The weather has been nice,” he said. “Hasn’t it?”

“It has. I’m afraid that Hawkin and I are mending a strained relationship, and I am still waiting on deliveries. I’m hoping the next delivery barrels through soon.”

Aosh fell silent once more. I relaxed back and closed my eyes as the memory of Margaux’s screams rang in my mind. She had seemed small. Like a mouse in the shadow of a boulder on legs.

“I enjoy the rain,” Aosh said. “Do you enjoy the rain?”

“I do. I have fond memories of walks in the rain.”

With the love of my life.

“I walked in the rain recently,” Aosh said. “It’s strange to be wet, isn’t it?”

“I suppose if you really stop to think about it…What is your path?—if you don’t mind me asking.”

Aosh ignored me. “I travel light,” he said. “And I travel tired.”

“You’re in need of a room, and I have a few rooms available. You’re welcome to stay for a few nights; but first, I must know who you are and why you’re here.”

“Do you know what it’s like to be tired? To feel as thin as spring frost?”

I did with my grief for Ashlee. “In a way.”

Aosh gathered his hands in his lap like his fingers were objects—parts of a glove. He cocked his head as though to listen. Gravity pulled his eyes so that his gaze fell upon the floor. He wrinkled his chin and nodded.

“Do you know what a phylactery is?” he said at last.

“You’re the necromancer,” I whispered.

“I’ve lived a long life, Mr. Hiccough. I’m ready to join the living.”

“Join the living? What do you call this? We’re already living.”

“People die. When I become a lich, I will continue living. In the grand scheme of things, if people die and I go on, who would you say is living?”

“The breadth of a lifespan does not change the fact that man or creature or monster is living, or has lived.”

“A tree grows and dies. Thus a forest grows and dies. The truth is that a forest is either constantly living or constantly dying. Not both.”

“But the tree itself has lived,” I said.

“Has it? When autumn crashes into the earth so hard that the leaves are shocked of their green, that is dying. When bark forms, that is dying. When branches cannot carry the burden of winter snow and ice, they break; that is also dying.”

“It’s a matter of exchange. The tree hibernates with a store of energy.”

“You miss the point. Life and death happens every single moment for that tree. Life and death are the same singular thing. It is the arising of form. Our tree is the form.”

“If you become immortal,” I said, “then you too will be in a perpetual life-death.”

“That is truly living. A form which the cycle of life-death cannot touch.”

“I vehemently disagree. You misunderstand life.”

“You study beer. I study life-death.”

For the next few moments, motes of paper dust glowed in the shafts of sunlight. The shelves creaked. When a wind came in, several pages crinkled. I laid a paper weight on an open book.

Aosh changed the subject entirely. As though fresh off of a pot of coffee, he spoke fluidly and with interest. He asked about my success as a gold rank Brewer. He celebrated that success. At the end of it all, he brought up his desire for an ethereal plane to act as a phylactery for him. Alas, I could not help the man. He asked if I could escort him to the stables a few blocks away from the city center.

I employed Riggvelte and a few butlers from his team to come with us. The closer we got, the more often we maneuvered around horse manure.

The stables were spacious and on the perimeter of a city park. There was a crowd of people and a herd of horses. More horses than stalls. More people than horses. I recognized a few faces, as Aosh led us down a row of stalls.

We arrived at a roomy stall with a gray horse.

“I cannot stay long,” Aosh said. “My presence here is illegal as I’m sure you know.”

“You’re a simple traveler. I’d have to report you if you were a necromancer.”

“Of course.” Aosh entered the stall. “The stable is busy.” He mounted his horse like his legs were deadweight. I took the reins and led horse and man out of the stable and by the throng.

We arrived at the road. I said, “Farewell.”

“I will.”

His horse trotted off northbound.

Someone in the crowd mentioned Hawkin. Then others mentioned him.

The stableman asked everyone to hush. “Let me get this straight; now I don’t know much about this Hawkin fellow, but all of you are going north? Every one of you?”

The more faces I saw, the more I recognized. I’d spoken with many of them before: Alchemists, Scholars, grievers and bereaved, and even a few Brewers. One of them, Mikil Dawlwish, was silver rank.

Chapter 16

The Cocoons

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,411.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

My forester axe was sharper than my knives. With its bit, I fileted one of the large brown bream that I caught. Cutting the fish from its skin felt like spreading warm butter. I steamed the filets in my old woven basket over a pot of water.

Since garlic was plentiful, I peeled and sliced a few cloves. My fingertips became sticky. When I moved on to make a broth, the pot handles smelled of garlic. The handle of my wooden spoon smelled of garlic. When I slid out the chair to my table, the wooden back smelled of garlic. The handle of my knife smelled of garlic. But soon the vicious vapors of onion filled my cabin. I put the onions in the pot of boiling water.

I fetched last year’s dried tomatoes from a barrel in my cellar. When I touched the barrel head, it smelled of garlic and onions. I couldn’t wash my hands. Not when It felt to me that Barnacle-eyes was one step behind me, touching everything that I touched.

I chopped last year's dried tomatoes. My fingers stained yellow when I scooped the pieces into the pot. I added the fish skin which Barnacle-eyes and Thrush would have shared. The pot made bubbles like round teeth that chewed what I threw in. I supposed that was enough to remind me of my dear friends. I gave them extra carrots and a small draught of a stout.

I brought out a bowl and a spoon for Abigail. She seemed deep in thought.

“Breakfast,” I said.

“Smells good,” she said. “I was going through quest notifications that have been piling up.”

I sat. “Anything good?”

“Thewwy’s Puncheon Tap. I haven’t worked on it all since that last shard. I’ve got seven thousand more to get.”

“Will you do it?”

“Is this the bream? It’s good. You didn’t overcook it.”

“It is.”

“It’s a simple shard quest. It’s one of the donation quests. If I donate another seven thousand bottles of beer to Potere, I’ll be rewarded with a tap handle which is linked to a puncheon barrel in my inventory.”

“Over one hundred gallons of beer.”

“Without the weight of it,” she said. “Did you put garlic in here?”

“I did.”

“We do have a lot of it.”

“Could you donate any beer?” I said.

“I’ve got to use alternative grains.”

“You could just brew wheat ales then.”

“It would be better if I use the opportunity to really explore other grains. Sorghum, buckwheat, spelt, to name a few.”

“So you will do it.”

“Well, I am curious. And if I can get my hands on some of these grains, I can grow them around here. Or on Gift Number One.”

“Do you think I put too much garlic?”

“It’s good garlic, so no.”

Breakfast was light. After a few mugs of fresh water, Abigail and I gathered our things and left. We took the northern trail. At the end of an hour, she withdrew two bottles of Honey Cocoon attributes from her inventory.

The yellow birch looked bronze today. The hemlocks wore bright green tips over their old garb of dark green. Their shadows were black beneath a big bright sun. Tree leaves hushed in the canopy.

“This is a good place,” Abigail said.

The bark of young hemlocks was scaly like shreds of cinnamon brown paper. The young ones were covered in that bark from base to top. The ones that towered had furrowed bark. And unlike pines, their branches ranged along the base. Abigail left the younger hemlock alone. She pulled the cork of her beer. It squeaked and then popped out. Foam ran down the glass of the bottle and dripped onto the base of the hemlock.

Each splash of foam swelled in the shape of cocoons. They reached the size of chestnuts; some of apples, others of melons. The foam flashed. Silver cocoon threads were revealed when the light dimmed.

The threads were sticky. Every cocoon wiggled for a moment. As if breathing, each cocoon perceptibly rose and fell. Monster fireflies.

By the time my inspection had satisfied my curiosity, Abigail had poured libations on neighboring hemlocks. Cocoons stuck to trunks, to branches, to whole layers of evergreen needles. Some were laid in shadow. Those that lay in the sun shone and emitted a faint buzz. Something pleasant yet eerie, like laughter along an empty beach. They also purred and moved the way that caterpillars swallow.

So it went. I followed Abigail off trail as she held her bottles upside down. She dashed through the wilderness, and I gave her wake a wide berth so that I didn’t disturb the burgeoning cocoons. When we reached the briar where blackberries battled for space, Abigail slung arcs of her beer into the density of thorns.

That was all for now. She said she’d like to save the rest of her bottles for other locations.

We cut west back to the main trail. Along the way, I chopped two fallen trees that lay across the path. I stacked the wood and took a break for fresh water.

By midafternoon, we reached a meadow where the dandelions and wild strawberries grew. The dandelions were out in full force. The entire meadow was quilted yellow. The serrated leaves of the strawberries patiently laid low.

Abigail poured a couple different sheltering attribute beers. We laid out separate bedding. Until late afternoon, we gathered wood and put a fire between us. It was twilight when I sat to brew a few beers. The first was an oatmeal stout. Something I hadn’t brewed since I was bronze rank.

The oats were toasted so that they were dark brown. Since the beer was only going to fill 250ml, I inspected every little oat. Those that took on even a matte of black, I set aside. I blended silver rank barley with cragajack barley. I roasted those as well so that they were nearly black. I used smurgard hops for their earthy and bitter orange peel aroma. I used ethereal yeast and ethereal water to finish the brew, and Crumble Cloud for the foam.

I leveled Crumble Cloud to level 650, Fire and Roast to level 1698, Brewer’s Harvest to level 1656, Alchemical Control to level 1828, and Mash Maser to 1868. I still did not break into gold rank.

Chapter 17

Barley as Big as Lemons

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,200.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

“How about stoneware mugs?” said Abigail.

She produced two mugs that could hold 2 cups. I discovered that they were hefty. They were smooth and looked to be made out of a single stone. Each must have been carved of time and water. The handle was thick, and my hand wrapped around the mug as if fingers could hug.

I poured my beer for each of us. We clinked our mugs and drank.

The beer was a sure improvement in quality. Enough to bring my quality tier to 96/100 Lesser Honorable. Four more and I would reach the last quality tier in silver rank. The foam crumbled like a mirage of fresh shortbread. A mirage, because that’s how quickly it melted. The roast dominated the hazelnut colored foam. I could have just roasted chestnuts on a fire, the roast tasted so fresh. Small flavors of coffee appeared on my tongue as intermittent and as icy as falling snowflakes.

The beer came soft like a ribbon of satin. There was texture to the beer, a haze that was as soft as pollen in the wind. There were notes of ground bark from ebony oaks, aged and roasted dandelion root, scorched chicory root, and black coffee. All this was carried on a cream of toasted oats—that’s what made the beer so silky, satiny. Notes of dark chocolate tufted the stream of beer that moved into me like an obsidian river.

But the tastes of ethereal water and ethereal yeast offered something different. Those flavors weren’t so tactile.

I first tasted the air of scentless laundered linen hung to dry on a crisp autumn day in Lunstad. The massive mangled oak, which crept outside my window every night, held the end of the clothes line between two twig fingers. I was but a lad in that vision. I leaned out the window to listen to dark purple leaves clatter down the boulevard cobbled in blue and gray stones. My father’s hand landed upon my shoulder like a hawk and a heavy book. He ruffled my hair and pointed out the dusk that screamed orange.

Then I tasted the slate scented wind that drove horizontal rain. In that vision, I chased down a tumbleweed—no, a tumbling umbrella—down that same boulevard. A young woman cried out when the wind had wrestled the umbrella from her wet hands. I ran so fast that I kicked up splashes of mud. Droplets hit my face and my clothes. After I battled the elements, I returned the umbrella. The young woman smiled, shouted above the din of the storm, and ran off.

Abigail had her own visions brought on by the tastes of ethereal water and ethereal yeast.

“When I was a little girl, the springs in Salindune would get very dry. Walls of wind would come through the city and change the shapes of the sand dunes. Everyone knew to seek shelter…it wasn’t often the sandstorms were so strong; you had to seek shelter. Well one time I thought I could make it home in time.”

“You got caught.”

“Oh, it was scary. I couldn’t see anything at first. I thought that was bad—the storm got stronger and thicker, and I had to shield my eyes from the sand. But something funny happened. I remember how loud the wind was. And the sand hurt my skin. I turned my back to the storm, and I raised my arms, and I threw my head back, and I started laughing. Hawkin, I felt so free!”

Abigail looked off into the darkening woods. But her eyes seemed to replay her experience. She shook her head. She grinned.

“How could I forget that?” she said. Then, “I think we would have been great friends.”

“If we’d grown up in Lunstad?”

“If we’d been friends in Salindune!”

“Lunstad isn’t all that cold. The stone just feels cold.”

“Well Salindune is warm and the city is one big family.”

“I could have used a friend,” I said.

Finished with my beer, I plunked the stone mug on a coaster of grass between dandelion heads. I lay back to watch the twilight sky. There was a star already.

“I’m going to resume my shard quest with a maize cereal beer.”

“One hundred percent maize?”

“And I’m going to brew fifteen and a half gallons at a time.”

“Would you like an Ethereal Label wrapped barrel?”

“Would that be all right?”

“Where will you store it?”

“On Gift Number One, of course.”

I sat up and employed my Forge Ethereal Label skill. I wrapped the ribbon of chimeric-colored material around and around until I completed a near perfect barrel shape. Abigail deposited the barrel into her inventory and sipped on a beer. She vanished.

The wilderness was quiet. The sky was clear and dark blue. The lone star found a companion. Within minutes, more stars emerged.

The flames of our fire died. The embers glowed when a breeze with legs strolled through. But I did not rekindle the fire. It hissed. It crackled. It offered some warmth in Abigail’s absence.

We had to brew more goblin spit beer. I had to clone brew more Ethereal Dungeon beers. But most of all, I had to reach gold rank. My only purpose was to brew golden chapter beers. I was saving my lemon sized Saint Maxt barley just for those kinds of beers.

I fetched one kernel of that massive barley from my inventory. I rolled it in my hands up against a background of stars.

I sat up, employed my Brewer’s Harvest skill, and watched my mana begin to drain. The lemon sized barley began to sprout. Leaves began to grow into blades of grass. The stem shot up as tall as a mammoth sunflower stem. It thickened to the size of my forearm. Giant kernels formed, and I harvested a handful of Saint Maxt barley. Brewer’s Harvest reached level 1660. I used those kernels to grow more. And those to grow more. I stopped when half the meadow was filled with stalks of Saint Maxt Barley.

Chapter 18

Surely a Collector’s Beer

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,040.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

The very next morning, Abigail and I enjoyed hot mugs of roasted chicory tea. My very last supply of the toasted bitter root. The flavor was almost like burnt rye grains.

The day had begun with two groggy greetings. The embers had to be roused from their sleep. I had to poke them with sticks to properly wake them. They coughed flames until the fire pit which lay like a volcanic eye finally crackled with much to say. It was hungry too, so Abigail and I fed it the rest of our gathered wood.

Although our bodies were awake and we sipped tea, our minds were trying to shut our eyes like they were window blinds and daylight was an interloper—at least that’s how I felt. Hers were half open too, and she stared off as she absently brought the tea to her lips.

In the quiet of the morning, while the fire slowly lowered its flames, I let the moment fill my senses. The way that the morning dew sparkled in the undergrowth of the trees and on the cusps of all the closed dandelions made me feel as though I could easily be convinced right there that stories of faeries were inspired by glistening morning dew. They had arrived, silent as the creeping of time, and in the coming minutes they would ride up shafts of sunlight. There were so many that Abigail and I turned circles to take it all in.

Sunlight combed through the trees and filled the meadow like water fills a pool. The dew began to vanish. Glistening reflections popped away in silence. The dandelions opened to make the meadow appear like it was tufted with yellow pom poms, as if sunlight was a color and it was filling the meadow.

While sunlight filled the world with colors and the sky lightened, we drank the last of our tea. Other things needed filling. Forged Ethereal Label barrels needed to be filled with goblin spit beer. Even though Thrush had not yet made any new deliveries, I still needed to brew more Ethereal Dungeon beers.

Abigail and I accomplished all those tasks on my Beyond the Cabin ethereal plane. Once more, I tried to brew the master beer of Ethereal Dungeon #4. Even though my Ethereal Dungeon Master skill was at level 810, my system informed me that I couldn’t yet brew the beer. Instead, I used my Clone Ethereal Beer skill on the other three dungeon beers.

[Congratulations! Clone Ethereal Beer has reached silver rank!]

[Clone Ethereal Beer now takes half the mana. When Clone Ethereal Beer is used, the quantity of the clone will be doubled. Containers can also be cloned. You can now clone ethereal gold rank beers.]

Other skills had leveled up. Brewer’s Chill rose to level 1763, Alchemical Control rose to level 1902, and Foam Cascade rose to level 1466. Still no breakthrough to gold.

At least we’d been able to fulfill double our scheduled production run for the day. Barrels were amassing on my ethereal plane. Forged ethereal ingredients hung in suspension. Nature was growing faster on the plane than in the northern wilderness.

We returned to that wilderness before noon. We gathered our things. We resumed our hike.

The forest was cool and breezy. It was too windy for mosquitos. Ferns were unfurling. Wild flowers were in full bloom. The trillium stacked their leaves like pyramids around maroon, pink, and white flowerheads.

And now cocoons littered the forest. Globs of silver threads rested on roots, tree branches, boulders, and in thick bushes. Abigail poured arcs of libations all the way to the next meadow. A smaller meadow. But sow-thistles grew there. Spiny leaved sow-thistles. Their heads were dandelion look-alikes, but their stems grew up to the waist. There were purple clovers too on little bumps of earth that we used for seating.

We harvested the leaves of the abundant thistles. We removed the spines. Abigail hummed with delight. Foraging brought something out of her. She used Brewer’s Bubble to wash the greens and a touch of Fire and Roast to dry them. I carried salt in my inventory. She carried peaches and oil. With those three ingredients we mixed together an absolute star of a dressing. Atop our salads, I sprinkled crushed wild walnuts.

Lunch had all the ingredients of a dream: solitude, nature, an impossibly good picnic salad, wild foods, a clean sky, a cool sun, good company. We ate with our hands for the fun of it. For the experience.

But the meadow was too warm to leave. Our seating was too comfortable. I lay back against it, put my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes. I heard the pages of a book turn. I squinted through one eye. Abigail perused her copy of the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients over crossed legs. She tucked her hair behind an ear.

“You awake?” she said.

I meant to speak, but I only gave my voice enough energy to softly grunt.

“Listen to this,” she went on. “The attribute is called Citrine Skin. Bullhead-lily seeds can turn your skin yellow when brewed in a lager using Alchemical Control. Effects of translucency can be achieved at gold rank.”

“There are some marshes around here.”

“Near us?”

“South of the cabin. Where the cattails grow.”

“This will be my next attribute then. Would you like to try it with me?”

“I would like nothing more than to forage and share beer with you.”

For the next hour, Abigail turned page after page. The crinkle of paper soothed me. Every time a page turned, my thoughts turned into new thoughts. Those thoughts led into daydreams. Daydreams led into dreams.

I woke beneath a sun that had barely moved. Abigail set down a bottle of beer beside 12 others.

“What have you brewed?” I said.

“Amber rye ales. One hundred percent rye. Care to try before we move on?”

[Amber Rye.]

[Gold rank. 02/100 Mythic.]

[Brewed by Abigail Yak.]

[An unusual ale made with the spicebush variety of rye from the eastern farms of Basket Plains. The malt is bittersweet like candied sassafras. Elements of black pepper and subdued clove marry into the beer like cinnamon on foam. Ribbons of sweet molasses and threads of honey swim throughout each sip of ale. Surely one for the books. A true Collector’s item.]

Chapter 19

You, Me; Here

Brewer’s Reputation: 2,777.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

We left the meadow and stayed on the trail that stretched northward. We came upon a pool of water in a bowl of sunken earth. Using Brewer’s Bubble, we drained the water and cast it aside. By late afternoon, Abigail halted and pointed at the canopy.

The tree tops swayed with soft hushing. Late golden light dappled the leaves. Small vistas opened up between a maple and an oak. In the distance, towering above the forest, was a tree. It was one of the trees affected by the Aggravated Wild Growth attribute ales we left to percolate in the wilderness.

“Can you imagine,” Abigail whispered.

“Hm?”

She held an imaginary thimble between her thumb and forefinger. “From a seed this big.”

The oak was so tall, I mused that it could pose a danger to wandering clouds. It was so tall that it could slice storms in half. So tall, that the leaves might brush against the atmosphere and burn. If I ever spent a month felling it, I would have eternal wood for my stove.

We moved on, laughing back and forth as the trail blended from a managed path to wild growth. Faint desire paths of animals intersected each other every now and then. We picked a careful path over upheaved birch roots. Clusters of briar forced us around. The wilderness got darker and darker until we stopped to camp for another night beneath Abigail’s sheltering attributes. No fire. Just a cold camp.

In the morning we moved on toward the towering oak. We arrived by late afternoon. In the woods, I spotted chimeric colors reflecting on the trees. Giant ferns blocked our path. We hacked our way through with axe and daggers. The barrel of Aggravated Wild Growth lay atop a bed of flattened ferns where huge roots hugged the staves. Beer dripped from the spout. Behind it, the colossal oak towered so high that we had to bend backwards to see the top. Branches the size of Barnacle-eyes’ ketch bowed out from the trunk at every hundred feet. The occasional leaf and twig drifted down.

Abigail was suddenly close by. She picked a fallen leaf from my hair, tossed it aside, and ambled toward the tree.

A person could slip into the cracks of the bark. The spaces between were as wide as open wardrobes. Scaling the giant would be akin to taking the stairs of a ruined temple.

“Catch,” said Abigail.

I caught an open bottle of beer. White foam and white beer flowed from the top. Abigail leapt into the sky. I sipped the Anti-gravity attribute ale and leapt behind her.

Her hair moved like a cape wrenched by wind. Her clothes fluttered. I squinted against the wind. The higher we went, the colder it got. I withdrew a bottle of warm-warm beer, took a sip, and tossed the bottle to Abigail.

The tree was a blur beside us. Branches whooshed by. Birds scattered in surprise in an explosion of leaves. The sea reflected dusk in the distance. The orange of the setting sun painted Abigail’s clothes and skin. I followed the soles of her boots.

At last we stopped at a high branch. Below, the goblin freebooter sloops looked like ants at a thin line of purple mist. The sea seemed endless. Several other trees towered in pockets of wilderness. There was a cluster of aspen by the valley. Wych elms hunkered like bushy giants.

Abigail slung arcs of Honey Cocoon attribute beer onto the tree. She slung libations out into the wind as she ran the length of the branch. The beer became a spray and flew out far and wide.

We sat at the base of the tree with the setting sun in our face. The wilderness below was already shadowed by the horizon.

“It’s like a blanket,” Abigail said. “The sun.”

That was true. It was golden orange and lay upon us, thick as a blanket. Its reflection was a thousand miles long on the sea. And it was quickly shrinking. The sky darkened. The sun grasped the edge of the world with a single finger, then descended. Twilight revealed the stars, but we seemed no closer.

“Could we camp here?” said Abigail.

“Might roll off.”

“I have sheltering attributes to keep us safe.”

“I can’t remember the last time I slept in a tree.”

“Let’s do it. Let’s cold camp here.”

Abigail poured libations of sheltering attribute beers to protect us from the elements, to soften the ground, and to contain us. I broke open some cold baked sweet potatoes, salted fish, and dried tomatoes.

“When will the firefly cocoons open?” I said.

“In a few months.”

“Where will they go?”

She shrugged.

“Do you think we’ll ever see Thrush again?” I said.

“What do you mean? Of course we will. What makes you say that?”

“I tried to summon him the other day. Just to talk. He didn’t respond.”

“He must be busy.”

“When we first became friends, we left it unspoken that Thrush may one day leave. And that would be that.”

“Are you worried about him? A nightream?”

“I am.”

“Hawkin, he’s a nightream. He’s the most powerful…creature…fathomable.”

“But he hasn’t been eating lately.”

“I understand your worry. I know less about Thrush than perhaps you do, but let me say this; Thrush is fond of you. He considers you a friend. And I’m sure he can survive anything and everything. Just give him time. Perhaps he's going through something. What you can do is be there for him if he needs you.”

“It’s so strange,” I said. “Losing Barnacle-eyes; Boggo, even. It feels like I’ve lost Thrush too.”

“You haven’t lost anyone. You’ll see them again.” She took my hand. “We’ll see them again.”

“It’s strange. I came here for the isolation. I’m happy to return to it, but I can’t help but feel…I don’t know—hurt? Like I’m hurting.”

“Have you ever had friends before?”

“I was a friend to others when I was a child. But after getting to know Barnacle-eyes and Thrush…and you…It’s painfully clear now that children never returned my friendship. I always gave and gave and gave. They took and took and took. I never figured that out. Never solved that.”

“Don’t solve it,” she said. “Who says you have to solve it?”

“Sometimes I’m a pushover. My experience with the goblins certainly proved that. That’s my flaw.”

“Embrace who you are at your core, Hawkin. And if giving and being a pushover is a part of your character, then just embrace it. I find it endearing, and I would never call it a flaw. You don’t have to overcome some adversity of character to live a fulfilling life. Protect it instead.”

“I wish this could be a golden chapter beer. Right now. You, me; here.”

Chapter 20

One Grand Step Closer to Gold

Brewer’s Reputation: 2,424.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I woke up warm and sore. The tree branch wasn’t exactly the most relaxing thing to sleep on. My bedroll was only so thin. But the sheltering attributes that Abigail has used kept the wind out, kept us warm, and muffled sounds of nature.

On the furthest branches, a flock of grackles clicked and sputtered like lit fuses. Below, far below, the sun raked the land with streaks of sunlight. As it hoisted itself from the horizon, it was still soft enough to enter my eyes without giving me pain. I sat up, leaned on an arm, and stared into the gold-orange sun for nearly a minute.

A dagger’s blade sliced into an apple. Abigail was up, sitting cross legged. In her lap was a wooden bowl to catch slices of apple. She divided 4 apples before waving me over. We watched the wilderness below steep in sunlight.

“Morning,” Abigail croaked.

“Morning,” I croaked.

Not just morning, a good morning. The apples were as crisp and as crunchy as stacked wafers. Each slice held the amount of juice that only the first bite normally had. A cider-like juice that was clear as yellow topaz.

I halved an acorn squash from last year’s harvest. The flesh was orange like a pumpkin, and the seeds came out in a few easy scoops.

“Raw?” said Abigail.

“Hopefully not. We’ll see.”

It was so strange to be so high above the sun, that the shadow of the branch we sat upon was cast above me on the trunk of the colossal tree. In the next few hours, the sun would be blaring down on us. I only needed one hour to use Fire and Roast on the squash to cook it.

What sounded simple soon became a tough endeavor. Using Fire and Roast for an entire hour, straight, was something I’d never done before. It used an extraordinary amount of mana, and I had to keep sipping from a mana ale. The patience and concentration I needed to sit and focus on Fire and Roast was something I borrowed from my meditation required in forging ethereal ingredients. However, Fire and Roast was a difficult skill to maintain for an hour. Once, when I failed and the acorn squash fell out of the air, Abigail was quick to use her skill to help until I downed more mana ale and resumed.

The effort was thrice what I normally put into brewing and cooking. But I felt accomplished trying to bend my skills for other uses. Tasty uses. Though the squash didn’t have the char and smoke of my wood oven stove, its aroma was cousin to that of a cave aged cheese. It was nutty too, like peanuts crushed by hand.

We ate in silence. The forest canopy was too far below for us to hear the wind that moved the leaves. Even the wind tried to come up, throwing leaves and twigs as high as it could. No breeze made it up. When the grackles dove off, having nearly no option but down, the only sound that remained was the scoop of metal spoons through steaming squash flesh.

Our breakfast ended too early. And as we had lately taken custom to do, Abigail began brewing beer for her shard quest. I meanwhile mulled over recipes for my daily attempt at a golden chapter beer. Torn between the stout and a crisp ale, I decided to brew a golden stout.

Which barley should I use? One of the few that I had yet to identify. Without Thrush, I relied on my Collector’s Journal Absorption Stone. So with the journal open to the next available page, still less than halfway through the book, I picked a grain to taste.

It was larger than barley generally was, about the size of my thumbnail. In the light of the sun that finally threw a ray of light upon us, there was a white sheen. White like selenite.

The grain tasted like dried grass, hay, and hail. Hail? I could barely place the taste that reminded me of hail when words and illustrations began to bleed onto the page.

“Pearls of Xyx. This variety of barley grows in wetlands. It prefers the brackish waters of deep swamps. The Xyx creatures have been cultivating this grain for one millennia. Pearls of Xyx barley are known to be the creamiest on the market. The Xyx press these grains to extract an oily milk that is rumored to make up nearly eighty percent of the Xyx diet. The flavors range from frozen milk to wet farmland. An uncommon barley.”

Brewer’s Harvest rewarded me with several bushels full—most I had to store on Beyond the Cabin. What I was left to brew with I mashed and added witland hops for their fruity and sweet pine flavor.

Because the grains weren’t roasted as much as they should be for a dark stout, the color of the malt came to be something golden, like a plate of mirrored brass underwater. Or like the sun in a precious childhood memory.

I finished brewing the beer into a 500ml forged ethereal label wrapped into the shape of a waterskin. Before pouring a drop onto my Collector’s Journal, I checked to see which of my skills improved.

Brewer’s Harvest increased to 1664, Alchemical Control to level 1940, Flash Ferment to level 1865, Foam Cascade to 1539, and the Erupting Streams sub skill to level 28. My overall Brewer level remained at 1999.

I poured a drop onto my Collector’s Journal.

[Gold Stout.]

[Silver rank. 07/100 Grand Honorable.]

[Brewed by Hawkin Ballow.]

[Elevation may have had something to do with the creaminess of the blend of styles. Using Pearl of Xyx barley, this beer is one of the creamiest silver rank beers in the world. The malt is a deep amber, the color of honey exhumed from ancient burials. Erupting Streams foam moves slowly like dazed snakes. The hops turn this beer of salted hay into a pastoral star. Several instances of fruit and cream can be discovered in every other sip. A slight wild pine provides a lick of acid to beautifully balance the heavy cream.]

The Grand Honorable quality tier. The last tier before gold rank. Would being that much closer to gold rank improve my chances in brewing golden chapter beers? Or was I kidding myself?

“Looks good,” said Abigail.

I shook off the foam that was cascading over my knuckles. I passed Abigail the bottle.

Chapter 21

Time’s Up

Hiccup

Barnacle-eyes was doing well for herself. If not for her beautiful ketch, I would not have known she was here. Word had spread through Lavenfauvish of a beautiful ship filled with flowers. Even the sails had flowers stained upon the cloth. It sounded too much like Abigail’s goblin friend. I was surprised to see a busy pier one morning. At least a hundred painters sat on stools around a litter of supplies. As the ketch bobbed at the wharf, the painters copied its colors. They even painted the goblins who stood guard by the gangway.

Riggvelte and I weren't allowed on, they said, but Barnacle-eyes was to be found at Green-fin. That’s exactly where I found her. The place stank of garlic, and an air of onions cut my eyes. I had to listen until the end of one goblin’s story of surviving at sea on a raft by themselves before I was able to get a word in.

I was desperate to get an update on Thrush. After chasing Margaux off, I hadn’t seen him again. Nor did I hear from Abigail. The goblin was my last hope.

“I can’t summon him,” she said. “I tried. I try every day but he’s not answering.”

“Is there nothing we can do?”

“We can do nothing until we do something,” she said. “Says Slime-tooth.”

I thanked her, bought a round of drinks for her friends, and slipped out of Green-fin.

“My men will think I’ve been crying,” Riggvelte said.

“I haven’t seen our guests the last few days. I hope they’re all right.”

Our pace was brisk. When we returned to my mansion, I hurried up the grounds. Riggvelte jogged every few paces to keep up with me.

Evon greeted us in a brand new butler’s uniform.

“You’ve taken the position!” I said.

“Again I thank you for the opportunity, Hiccup,” Evon said.

“Master Hiccough,” Riggvelte corrected.

Evon’s glance said, “Really?”—but I dismissed the notion with a wave. “When did you start?”

“This morning. I had some time to think about it all. Better start somewhere. Make money while I can. I’m sure I’ll acquire a Fable Stone again. The road to power and prestige is a long one, and I have no choice. Better start now than later.”

“Power and prestige are fine but not what’s important.”

“Yes sir.”

“Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, old friend.”

“There is one thing. You still haven’t seen Hawkin, have you?”

“I’ve not.”

“What about Thrush?

“I’ve not, no.”

“Sorry to trouble you, Master Hiccough.”

Riggvelte and I continued through the gardens, and we stopped at the arched entrance to the foyer. Another butler, Chips, filled me in on the events during my absence. Grievers had come by. All of them carried remnants of their passed pets. A few folks had come by with the remains of humans. All were turned away because we could not do anything for them. There were Collectors who had come to see me. Beer Collectors. Two awaited me in the beer cave.

I meant to see them right away, but a visitor I hadn’t seen for a few weeks now came in. Perage Vich, Fable Rank Weapons Collector. He arrived on a floating white feather the size of a canoe. The vessel sailed straight into the foyer. Perage leapt out barefoot and smiling.

“Time is up, Ethan Hiccough,” he said.

I felt my eyes go wide. “But Thrush is the only way to reach Hawkin.”

“The only way?”

“All Hawkin’s business goes through Thrush.”

“And where is this Thrush? Busy. Poor woman. And there are no obstacles for Grafth U’ld.”

“Going through Thrush is easier. He’s a reasonable creature.”

“Our leaving won’t change how reasonable Thrush is,” he said.

“If time is an issue, Thrush has you beat on that.”

“It is an issue of time.”

“How can I make your stay here more comfortable?”

“You’re a goldfish in a bowl. We are whales—masters of the sea. And you’re offering us a drop of water.”

“There are beers to share. A handful of Fable rank beers. Many gold rank beers.”

“It’s time, Ethan. Lavenfauvish is a lovely city. Lovely. My employer is on a timeline, and he will have us travel north today. Now.”

“And if Thrush were to come tomorrow?”

“You will inform him that we are traveling north to find Hawkin. We’ll be hard to miss.”

A clamor rose outside. A few of my butlers ducked. The translucent red body of a giant snake came through the walls of my mansion in the way that light passes through a window. The snake’s body was as big around as the archway. Being made of light, the snake floated through the mansion. Nothing was an obstacle. Red wings came down through the ceiling.

Two long translucent yellow goat’s legs stepped through my mansion. Its hooves, each the size of a wagon, simply went through the marble flooring like it wasn’t there. In a few giant steps, it followed the snake. One of its legs went directly through me. It felt as though I’d walked through a shaft of strong sunlight.

The legs of a giant white ape stepped down into the foyer. It had feathers instead of fur and it followed the pair of goat’s legs. Down came the roots of a giant radish-esque beast. Its roots were curled in loops and they functioned as feet. It followed the ape. The biggest one of all, a black horse four stories tall, followed the radish.

Perage rubbed his hands together and stepped into his floating white feather. From his inventory, he brought out a kettle of boiling water and a mix of black, blue, copper, and green tea leaves. Those went into a silver pot. He reclined in his feather with his hands behind his back and sang a relaxed melody that evoked pastoral romance.

The feather drifted out of the foyer like a lily pad on a lazy stream. It followed the monsters northward.

Chapter 22

Gentle Brews

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 2,123.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

We plummeted.

For 2 full minutes, the very air roared at my face. Abigail’s hair trailed her like the tail of a comet. Our clothing clung to our chests. Tears beaded at the corners of my eyes. She was laughing, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t even hear myself laughing.

When we angled through a V of geese, they must have squawked when we passed. Their formation broke into a scribble. But they weren’t the only close encounter. We had to look out for the huge branches, large as bridges, that came by at awesome speed. I wondered if Abigail was clutching her Anti-gravity attribute ale as hard as I was.

Of course, a gold rank Brewer must have been used to such circumstances. She seemed entirely relaxed. She had in one hand the Anti-gravity beer; in the other, a Slow Time beer.

Near the canopy, the beating of my heart competed with the screaming air. My heart raced. By reflex, I put my hands out as though to brace for impact. Once I could make out the definition of leaves and even see the forest floor beneath, terror made me sip the Anti-gravity ale.

My momentum did not stop, but it did slow down. Abigail and I alighted on the flimsiest branches of an old growth red oak. I wiped the wind-pulled tears from my eyes. We shared warm-warm beer because the dive had stolen heat from our bodies. I sniffled and then leapt down to the forest floor. Abigail followed.

We trekked north without hesitation. Our conversation was filled with recounting the dive. We laughed back and forth while we navigated desire-paths and old trails. We remarked things we could forage. A fallen oak was riddled with pink oyster mushrooms. A new growth of hemlock needles were at picking level. Partridge berries offered nothing but crunch. We took some of everything for dinner later.

Everything we stumbled upon was a delight, but one delight made our breathing shallow. We slowed our pace. I brought a hand up my lips as if to help my tongue invent a new word for the spectacle before us.

All that Honey Cocoon attribute beer that Abigail had slung far and wide into the wind had fallen into the wilderness like particles of a dust storm. Silver sheening cocoons breathed on every branch and in every nook of branch and trunk. Cocoons dripped from leaves. Orbs of silk wiggled like trapped caterpillars. The sun that could breach the canopy made some cocoons breathe faster. They littered the trail.

Single file, Abigail and I continued along the path. We picked our steps carefully. We gazed upon the largest of cocoons, and I had to admit that my hackles rose. Giant breathing cocoons was not an entirely pleasant thing to come upon, however magical it was as an event. Especially since the cocoons pervaded the wilderness. Deep into the wilderness, far from that towering tree, so far that we had to stop at one point for a breather. We stopped where the holly grew. Their trunks were as thick as Thrush and their branches brandished spines and red berries in small breezes. We respected their warning and cut into my Beyond the Cabin plane.

There was daily work to do: Brew goblin spit beer, clone brew Ethereal Dungeon beers, tend to the various planes that I’d made, forge ethereal ingredients, use Brewer’s Harvest on hops and grains. Brewing was much faster with Abigail. She couldn’t help with clone brewing ethereal beers, but she did help me where we had skills in common. However much I wanted to help her brew in return, when we arrived back at the holly, she was brewing gold rank cereal maize beers for her shard quest; a silver rank Brewer would only hold her back. But I watched and learned.

Her gentleness had continuity. She could walk where delicate flowers grew—poppies—and not disturb a single pistil. Honeybees might rear their heads as though they’d heard a foreign whisper, and only then would the flower bounce. When she divided foods—apples, squash, potatoes, mushrooms—she might as well be asking with a “please” for the food to open. What I witnessed was not absent of any gentleness. Maize cereal flowed from her inventory like a long lost dog. Water streamed like the body of a long bottled genie already bubbling with laughter at a joke she hadn’t yet said. Brewer’s yeast swarmed in a halo over her crown. Hops blushed, perhaps because they’d been chosen. There was even a cardinal, head cocked, that perched among the red berries of the holy. He stayed there like an ornament. I couldn’t blame him and I hoped he couldn’t blame me for being so mesmerized by Abigail’s brewing.

“Instead of forging an ethereal barrel,” Abigail said, “could you forge bottles?”

“How many?”

“Two hundred and thirty, 250ml bottles.”

Cross-legged on the forest floor, I focused my attention and began forging ethereal labels. I stopped when each label was about a foot long. I wrapped them and kept the tip untucked so it could be pressed into the neck for a cork. It was quick work. Using Brewer’s Bubble, I helped Abigail bottle all her fresh beer. She promptly donated each one, via her system, to Potere.

“I’m now six thousand six hundred and seventy-six shards away from finishing the quest,” she said.

Branches rustled in one of the holly trees. I spied a streak of red shooting away. After a moment, Abigail and I did as the cardinal had done and left. We continued our trek north.

“Could we climb the other tall trees?” Abigail said. “I have enough Honey Cocoon left that all these woods can be covered. Imagine the fireflies.”

“I’d love to.”

“We’ll be away from the cabin for a while.”

“We’ll pop by for weekly deliveries,” I said.

“We’re missing prime weather for planting.”

“Why don’t we spend a few hours on an ethereal plane or two every morning?”

“To plant?” she said. “What do you want to plant?”

“Everything.”

“Cucumbers?”

“Cucumbers, sure,” I said.

“I adore cucumbers.”

“Let’s start with cucumbers.”

Chapter 23

Thundering Azurite

Brewer’s Reputation: 1,505.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

High in the colossal aspens, miles above the forest canopy, Abigail and I drank soup. There had been shreds of salted fry, chunks of carrots, and ripped oyster mushrooms, but we’d both picked those out first thing. All that remained was simple broth dotted with fish oil. The morning was cold, especially at our altitude, and even though Abigail had warm Sheltering attribute ales active, we still had to drink some warm-warm beer.

Below us was the northernmost libation location of the Mist Hidden wall. A lush valley, between the aspen and the sea, led into the distance. Mists crawled along the valley floor and evaporated up the sides.

Before debarking the massive aspen branch, I brewed.

I used both forged ethereal yeast and forged ethereal water to produce an ice milk billy goat lager. I used the adjunct: lactose sugar. It wasn’t the best quality, but I was inspired by Abigail’s quest to use alternative adjuncts.

The ice billy goat style required a sequence of using Brewer’s Chill to freeze the water from the alcohol and sugars. The result was a stronger beer with a unique malt profile. Because of this, my Brewer’s Chill level rose to 1812. Other skills leveled up: Fire and Roast rose to level 1701, Mash Master to 1875, Alchemical control to 1969, and Brewer’s Harvest to 1760. Foam Cascade rose to level 1598, and the sub skill Sleeping Fox Familiar reached level 98. I couldn’t believe that I still hadn’t broken into gold rank, when my quality tier increased by 18 levels to 25/100 Grand Honorable.

I pulled out my silver drinking-boots—

“These instead?” said Abigail. She held the stems of two balloon goblets between fingers of one hand. “Ice billy goat lager. Am I right?”

“You are.”

From the 750ml ethereal wrapped bottle, I poured us each a goblet’s full. Through the glass, we watched the foxes made of foam uncurl from a froth. Their legs kicked deep into the beer and landed at the bottom of the goblet. Bubbles raced up from their toes.

Both foxes leapt from the goblets. Our hands bobbed from their push off. They scrambled down the branch away from the trunk of the aspen. After a brief pause, wherein their trails of foam petered to nothing, they leapt from the bough. By the time they made it to the next branch, the wind had taken most of their foam. I lost sight of them.

“We must follow them one day,” said Abigail.

“One day.”

She crouch-walked over to me, probably to save herself from the vertigo of such an impossible height. She clinked the rim of her balloon goblet to mine, and they rang like bells. We drank.

Straight away, the lager was strong. The foam was like a pile of cotton shards that fizzled into the perfume of apricot pits and tropical marzipan. The beer was dark, almost black, but viscous hues of purple hung to the rim in the shape of a tongue. The malt was smooth and hazy. A milkiness turned the lager from something smooth to something silky. The lager held a beautifully rustic malt with a full body of plum. There were flavors of dark chocolate and waffle that appeared in mauve flecks. Abigail purred and gave three nods.

She complimented the beer and shared a few tricks that I should keep in mind the next time I brew something so chilled. It was one of my coldest beers.

I asked her if it was too cold, but something in the valley drew our attention. Several trees lost half their green leaves. A monster rose from amidst those trees. It rose above the canopy like it was climbing out of the ground. A golem perhaps, twice as tall as the trees. Its body was made of cuboid crystals of azurite. The sun lay upon it in a confusion of reflections. Blue colors swarmed the trees. Two arms pushed aside the near nude trees. Its legs came up, cuboid and metallic blue like the rest of it.

“Good thing you’ve got your Mist Hidden wall,” said Abigail.

“Even with monsters like that?”

“Even with monsters like that.”

It walked through the valley. The earth boomed. Quivers vibrated up the tree, shook our branch, and the leaves trembled on the ends. Every slow step made a deep thunderous sound. Trees cracked to splinters in its path. The destruction sounded like slapping lightning. Flocks of birds fled the valley. Every now and then, the monster paused and hunkered as if to take the time to draw breath. Then it stood up as straight as it could—still hunched—and stomped on.

There was no way we could tear our eyes from the thing. We were forced to when it disappeared into the far valley’s end like it was walking back into the earth once more.

“Wow, look,” said Abigail, and she pointed a finger.

I’d been so preoccupied with the curious sight of the monster, that I hadn’t noticed dark clouds on the horizon. Never had I seen clouds so dark, so charcoal. Light flashed in the most bulbous parts of the clouds. Its shadow raced across the distant lands.

“Do you think it’ll pass below us?” said Abigail.

“Every other cloud has passed beneath us.”

“That doesn’t look like every other cloud.”

“We could wait it out,” I said.

“We could dive down and experience it.”

“Experience it?”

“Feel the rain,” she said.

“And the lightning.”

“No, not the lightning. I’ll brew some Sheltering attribute beers.”

“It doesn’t look like we’re going to get a light rain.”

“It doesn’t, does it?”

With that, Abigail brought out a couple of Anti-gravity beers, left one for me, and leapt off the branch. I scooped up the bottle and leaned into the fall for another dive.

Chapter 24

What did she Mean to me?

Brewer’s Reputation: 1,282.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Either the dim blue light of dawn or the drizzle woke me. Abigail slept upon her bedroll beneath a tossed and turned blanket. It was probably early. I saw daylight before any of the birds below. We had chosen to camp near the bottom of the giant and bushy wych elm which was still hundreds of feet high. By the time I wiggled free of my bedding and sat up to rub my eyes, I heard the sudden songs of birds far below. Innumerable flocks had made such a giant tree their home. Hawks circled below. I could barely make out their form through the water that streamed down the wall of Abigail’s Warm Bubble Sheltering attribute.

I passed a hand through the 2'' thick bubble wall. Cold water ran over my fingers.I could feel the vibrations from drizzle hitting the bubble. The use of Brewer’s Bubble parted the steaming water like it was but a curtain.

The world lay clear before me, striped with drizzle.

Everything was a jungle green. The rain brought out the color in things, and there was nothing but life spread out below. Every single leaf was disturbed by the patter of drizzle. The northern wilderness almost sang with rain and beaten rustling leaves. From so high, it all appeared like a green crashing sea.

The blue sea was a haze, a block of haze that sat on the world as only a canyon wall could sit. I peered but could not make out the goblin freebooters. If I peered long enough, I could argue that those dark shapes might be the fleet.

Drizzle beat the fat, elliptic leaves of the wych elm. Each drop of rain hit the leaves with the sound of wrinkled paper. I did not ever want to leave the branch. I was so moved by the beauty of the morning that I wanted to live and die there.

Animals would find our bodies in the maze of colossal boughs in the towering wych elm. Raptors would find us after soaring to new heights one day and exploring the deep shadows of the tree. And after they fed from our meat, perhaps they’d nest there and reluctantly leave the vista to hunt daily. Boughs as long as creeks stretched out from the gnarled trunk of the wych elm. And if ever the tree fell into the sea and washed ashore somewhere far away, whatever civilization came upon the bleached bone looking wood might think an ancient giant had perished.

Those moments were mine, mine alone. Abigail slept soundly, crumpled. She turned. A mess of hair washed out onto the bark. She turned her face and breathed slowly and deeply.

What were we becoming? What did this woman mean to me? I wanted her here with me. And how could someone like her want the same? Where had she been when I needed a childhood friend? Why did the absence of shared early years make me feel so robbed?

We had to make up for lost time, and I needed to tell her that.

I felt compelled to attempt a golden chapter beer. I gave it all I had with the intention to stuff it with my entire morning. Alas, it was only an attempt, and it turned into a simple Memory attribute beer.

The Memory attribute beer, paired with the past few days of brewing, brought my Brewer’s Harvest skill to level 1745, Fire and Roast to level 1766, Mash Master to level 1948, Brewer’s Chill to level 1846, and Flash Ferment to level 1893. Still no progression to gold rank. Brewer’s Bubble, Hop Wallop, and Forge Ethereal label were all stuck at level 1999.

Foam Cascade rose to level 1626, and I had brought the sub skill Cream Shaved Ice to an even level 500.

“How long have you been up?” Abigail said groggily.

“I’ve been trying for a golden chapter.”

“When did it start raining?”

“I woke up to it.”

“Think it will continue?”

“All day,” I said.

Abigail wrestled out of her blanket and put her affairs away. She came over and sat beside me.

“Fruit?” she said.

We ate apples, figs, and cherries that she bought at Lavenfauvish markets.

“Let’s try that beer,” Abigail said. “Memory attribute, I’m guessing.”

We shared a small mug of a Drunk Defiance attribute beer before moving on to my latest brew.

The foam looked like shards of white mica. It formed a cone over the beer and collapsed when rammed by a nose and a lip. The malt was light because of the crisp lager style. It was honey sweet with notes of woodland strawberries hidden beneath fresh straw. Motes of crisp buttered biscuit haunted every other sip. The carbonation was fierce and made my mouth feel like it had fallen asleep.

The memory was a complete picture of the moment I woke up until my final thought that Abigail and I had to make up for lost time; that I needed to tell her that.

As soon as the memory was over, we shared eye contact. She blushed and smiled small.

The drizzle continued to tap the leaves. Water cascaded down the walls of the sheltering bubble. The movement of the canopies below mesmerized us.

The rest of the early morning was spent studying and brewing. While I worked on cloning ethereal dungeon beers, Abigail worked on her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap shard quest with oats and rye. When she needed bottles, I forged ethereal labels for her. After donating her latest beers, she had 468/7000 shards.

We would stop later to hop onto Beyond the Cabin to brew goblin spit beer together. In the meantime, we resumed our hike. We dove off the branch of the wych elm and fell with the drizzle. For the time that we raced down to earth, the drizzle was frozen with us.

We arrived at the foot of the gnarled roots of the wych elm that sprawled like giant, twisted sea serpents. Even the bark was like scales. Our route lay southeast. We leapt over branches and passed under arcs.

All around us, glistening in the dim morning light, Honey Cocoons wiggled all around us, everywhere, as far as we could see. They seemed to soak up the drizzle.

Chapter 25

Overwhelmed

Brewer’s Reputation: 1,140.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

In lieu of lunch, we cut onto the Beyond the Cabin ethereal plane to complete our daily batches of goblin spit beer. Ethereal Forged Labels made it easier to manage inventory. Although I could not brew nearly as fast nor as much as Abigail could at one time, I was able to brew more and more everyday.

Despite the fact that Abigail was helping me brew something as weird as goblin spit beer, all her gold rank skills had leveled above 3500. She was more than halfway to diamond rank. But over and over she said it would take a lot more than grinding skills to break into diamond.

When we brewed together, our ranks didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Gold, silver, diamond; it was spending mana together that mattered. Sharing the brewing experience together. When we collaborated, it was like dancing.

When we finished our daily batch of goblin spit beer, and after I’d spent some time forging ethereal ingredients and arranging newly filled barrels in line, we ambled around the log house and took in the new sights.

The ground of sand and sumac leaves had expanded. Everything expanded. The raining leaves now drifted through the air miles away. The woven ball of oak trees, still dripping with moss, expanded outward. The ball was now several layers deep. They were their own woods. More moss dripped from every branch and fissure of bark. There was so much moss, no matter where I turned, it all looked like seaweed underwater. And because the moss searched in every direction for gravity, they flagged like seaweed.

The flowers had all covered distances beyond the sand. Their roots tangled with each other to form a new ground, and they seemed sustained by the atmosphere. They thrived!

When we returned to the doorless log house, Dellia descended from above. She appeared as an outline of a woman. Her hair was big and also outlined. Her facial features could not be seen; they could be felt. And in her outline I could see the cosmos.

Abigail gasped and grabbed my hand. I think she was startled. I wanted to hold her hand in return, but—

“My dear Hawkin,” said Dellia. “…You must be Abigail.”

“Abigail Yak, Dellia Lucerne; Dellia, Abigail.”

“A pleasure,” said Abigail.

“Come fly with me,” Dellia said to me. Then to Abigail, “We won’t be long.”

That’s how I came to miss Abigail’s hand for the first time. Dellia led our flight out into the atmosphere. She took us on an orbital flight around the oak.

At last she turned, flying backward, and said, “Produce as much of your mausoleum beer as you can. Bring it to market.”

“My Loved Ones Mausoleum beer.”

“Dellia Lucerne’s Loved Ones Mausoleum beer. They must have my name. Especially these ones.”

“For grievers like Corylus. Like Hiccup.”

“You know what this means.”

“I’ll have to brew libation beers with people’s remains and animal remains.”

“Think of the joy you will bring people,” said the goddess. “The world will be begging my name. They come and worship me already.”

“A lot of people have lost loved ones,” I said.

“It will be a lot of labor. You will never catch up.”

“Many people will never get a chance to reunite.”

“You turned down a quest to hire Dream Cutters. They would have helped you.”

“That quest was to help me build kingdoms on ethereal planes.”

“My point is that they will help you,” she said.

“Too many people.”

“How can you say no to giving people one more day with their loved ones?”

“…I can’t. You’re forcing my hand.”

Dellia slowed our pace. She came closer and spoke intimately. “If you didn’t care, you would decline this opportunity, and you would not feel forced.”

“How can I say no?”

“Reconsider that quest you declined.”

Suddenly, her body and hair of cosmos was no longer. Then her outline broke like melting threads.

I flew down to rejoin Abigail. We returned to our hike in the northern woods and continued our hike in the drizzle. I relayed the conversation I had with Dellia.

“I need to figure out how I’m going to manage all this,” I said. “I can only do so much.”

“The horrible thing is I can’t help you.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

“I can’t be the one to transport things back and forth,” she said. “It would be exhausting beyond measure. I wish I could help you brew those libation beers. That’s what I mean.”

“You can. I use simple skills for those beers: Brewer’s Bubble, Hop Wallop, Kiss of Yeast…”

“That’s what I’ll do,” she said. “That sounds delightful.”

“I’ll have to be the one to use Alchemical Control. And if you can’t use those skills with forged ethereal ingredients, then we’ll figure something else out. Maybe you can use Foam Cascade sub skills.”

“How will you get these remains? When will you brew these beers?”

“Thrush?” I said.

“He’s gone missing, hasn’t he.”

“What other way is there?”

“These mausoleum beers will go to market?”

“Depends on Hiccup. They’re not really made for leisure.”

“Hiccup will not say no,” she said.

“What am I supposed to do? Leave a sign by a pile on the mausoleum plane that says ‘Leave your remains here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can’?”

“I don’t know,” Abigail said softly.

“I can’t do that.”

“You can’t do that.”

“And when this beer hits market, what is it going to be? First come, first serve? What if it's priced too high for some folks?”

“I wish I had answers,” Abigail said like she was in pain.

I stopped and gestured at nothing. I heaved a deep and heavy sigh. This was all too much for me.

“Hawkin?”

I rubbed my hands in my face and groaned like I had to roll a 15.5 filled gallon uphill for miles in the mud. I stared off into the woods. Rain water cascaded down my face, my shoulders, my clothes.

“Are you all right?” said Abigail.

I closed my eyes. I tilted my head back to see the sky and canopy.

“How can I not give to others what I gave to Corylus and Ethan?” I breathed.

I felt arms around me. I looked down, but suddenly my chin was atop Abigail’s head, on her wet hair. She hugged me fiercely, and I had to step back to brace myself.

“I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to see these reunions. It will kill me. Every one will break my heart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll do it, but I can’t be there to see things happen.”

In the cold of the constant drizzle, I had only the warmth of her hug. I held her to my chest.

Chapter 26

I Wish it Were as Easy as Fishing

Barnacle-eyes

Green-fin was busier than it was yesterday! Everyone had been ordered to walk on tables if there wasn’t any room on the floor.

Wet goblin feet slapped on the wood; I wasn’t the only one to protect my tankard and keep it close. Every once in a while, a wet sock splatted upon my shoulder. Water dripped from clothing. Goblins that were wet brushed up against enough other goblins that they soon dried.

The goblins that came in soaked were new in some ways. They had small round ears. Their skin sheened a gray-yellow in the light by the windows. Every one of them did not seem happy to be there. No matter how hard they rubbed their sad faces into wet, used towels, their expressions did not change. Their heads came out of tassels of towels dry but still sad.

A shallow pool of water had collected upon the floor. Boots no longer tip-tapped, they splish-splashed. A goblin heaved and grunted behind the bar. Something loud popped, and the noise silenced the din of goblins for a moment. A drain clogged with slime and hair was held up like a trophy. Listening closely, I heard a constant flushing whirl. Boots went from splish-splashing back to tip-tapping.

“Poor ones,” Far-see said.

“They’re all wet!” I said.

“Of course they’re wet. Their sloop sank. Talked to Three-nostril this morning. Three-nostril talked to the pier guard. Pier guard talked to a coast guard. Coast guard came upon a swimming goblin—Got-toes…Got-toes said that their sloop sank way down, down. Coast guards’ been picking up as many survivors as they could and dropping them off here. Not a lot of survivors. What you see is what I see.”

“That’s why we’re here,” said Wrinkle-knuckle.

“Why?” I said.

“That’s why Green-fin’s here, I mean.”

“You’re one of the few around here with a ship now,” said Far-see.

“I hired a few snots,” I said.

“That’s what Green-fin’s for,” both said.

“Everyone here is for hire,” said Far-see. “That’s the dream, at least.”

“Not the dream for Captains,” said Wrinkle-knuckle.

“Not for me either,” said Far-see. “I’m no Captain, but I’m with those who just want to go home.”

“Some aren’t so picky,” said Wrinkle-knuckle. “They’ll sail with anyone who's hiring. Not so much humans, but other creatures. Orcs. Hunchlings when they come around. Legrinauses…”

“You’re lucky,” said Far-see. “A lot of goblin ships sink around here.”

“Cause of the rocks,” said Wrinkle-knuckle.

“No, it’s because of the city. Goblins get excited, and they stop bailing. Only the best Captains keep ‘em focused.”

“My best friend Thrush can get them!” I said.

But they were having none of it. In their eyes, no one—not even Thrush—could fetch sunken ships. The sea might as well be bottomless. I didn’t fault them for not believing me. They didn’t know Thrush and what he’d done in the past. However frustrating it was that no one believed me, just talking to goblins kept me happy. My heart felt so fuzzy and warm that I swung my feet into the legs of other goblins.

As one, we brought our tankards up for a sip. Over my rim, goblins were everywhere! They were stacked upon each other, spread out on tables, and several green ladders had formed to make space for wet newcomers. There were goblins on shelves, all the way to the ceiling. This was home. No one would believe me, but all the makings of a goblin home were there in Green-fin. I closed my eyes, smiled big, and swung-swung my feet into the legs of other goblins.

Laughter peeled from 50 goblins at once. I craned my neck to see through the throng. If there was such a good joke, I wanted badly to see it. Far-see and Wrinkle-knuckle, just finishing their tankards, craned their necks too. And though most of us weren’t laughing, we were at least smiling. I was convinced then that I wasn’t the only one who knew that Green-fin was a home.

There were only a handful of goblins who weren’t smiling. The goblin at the table in front of us, the one I’d been kicking, was simply staring down at his clasped hands in his lap.

I tugged on Far-see’s sleeve and said, “It’s happy, why isn’t he?”

“Oh, that’s Tongue-pores. He’s been here a couple of months. Captain of another sinker like we were talking about. Only survivor of four hundred goblins. Tried to go down with his ship, but some goblins float.”

“Quite a few Captains around,” said Wrinkle-knuckle. “Any unhappy face—that’s ‘em. Look there between those green ladders. That’s Captain Pinky-chew. She lost half her crew when her sloop sank. That whole lot was hired by Pock-ears. She’s been having a hard time of it too.”

“It’s the rocks,” said Far-see.

“That’s a lot of hoards,” I said.

“So many hoards,” said Far-see. “All the way at the bottom.”

“What’s it matter to the snots?” said Wrinkle-knuckle. “Have to feel bad for the Captains, but otherwise, none of the hoard ever goes to the snots.”

“What about promotions?” I said.

Promotions were promotions. We entered a lengthy discussion detailing how promotions were different from hoarding hoards.

“I don’t like it,” I said. “I’m going to share my hoard from now on. All of my snots will get a cut!”

A silence cascaded out around me, like I was the epicenter. A hundred eyes, from floor to ceiling, blinked at me. Then those eyes rushed me. Goblins came at me. They wielded questions and the words, “hire me, work, in search of sloop, big beautiful ketch, hard worker, deck swabber, best bailer, count on me, sail,” and a raucous of mumbling. There were only two types of goblins that didn’t come asking for a job: forlorn Captains, and goblins that only wanted to go back to their homes.

One goblin spit on the floor. “She’s full of lies,” he said. “She’s telling you that she’ll split her hoard but I’ve been told the same thing before! Always a lie!”

As if having been awakened from a dream by those words, some goblins bared their teeth, snarled at me, and then retreated back to their seats. But some goblins were persistent enough to follow me out to my ketch. I introduced them to Remember-not and the rest of my crew. I hired all of them.

But what about the Captains? It was no good seeing such broken eyes on goblins. No good to anyone. But I understood their truth. Any goblin sloops that made it to Lavenfauvish already had Captains.

As I looked out over the taffrails that night, and the wind ruffled the gigantic leaves of the flowers and garlic and onions, I dreamt of recovering those sunken ships and repairing them, just to give them back to those Captains. There was only one person I knew who could do that.

I retrieved a dreambon ale from my private forecastle and poured a libation. Thrush did not answer.

“Where are you?” I muttered. “I have to sell spit beer! I need your help!”

Someone rapped on my door. I let Remember-not in and we sat upon canvas sacks of boots.

“Lots of new snots,” she said.

“A whole lot,” I said.

“Is everything all right?”

“I wish I could retrieve those sunken ships like Thrush could. I wish he were here. I wish I could do it. I wish it were as easy as fishing.”

Chapter 27

A Big Hook

Excited voices woke me early the next morning. My entire crew must have been up on deck shouting and hooting. How strange it was to suddenly hear goblins on my ketch. I bounded off my cot, jumped into both boots at once, and sped down the hall to the cargo hold. I burst through the hatch.

It was almost dawn. A soft early blue light made my eyes go big. At the stern, my crew of 30 goblins clustered together.

“Pull!” they chanted. “Heave! Heave-ho!”

If pulling was what needed to be done, and heave and heave-hoing came next, that’s what I did. I latched onto the closest goblin and pulled with all my might. As one we strained. As one we gritted our teeth, and we grunted. As one, we fell back and spilled across the dock.

“Another thing!” Remember-not hollered.

My snots stood at attention and saluted me. Remember-not would have, but she was plopped in a puddle. Junk lay at her feet. There were crudely planed boards and a sapling bound around a metal rod.

“Sloop pieces?” I said.

“I’m fishing for ships like you said!” she said.

A rope of ripped canvas lay beside her. Half was in a coil. The other half was heaped in a mess. The end was tied to a metal hook.

“It’s working!” she continued. “You said you wish it were as easy as fishing, and I wanted to see if it could be, and so I fished, and we got a few things and then we got this.”

“These are for you, Admiral,” said Little-belly.

With some help he dragged a pile of things over. There was a wet cloak, a barrel hoop, a tankard, a basket, and a leather collar.

“All right, snots,” said Remember-not. “Let’s bring these down to the forecastle to add to the Admiral’s hoard!”

The items were quickly gathered up. As if gearing for a race, those goblins leaned forward. Then they waited for commands.

The wheels of cheese that I had pilfered during an attack, the apples I had pilfered, the sack; almost all of that had gone to Gloom-glower. The rusty pliers I had wrestled into my ownership and one apple were my only possessions. I hated that. Things had to change.

“Whose idea was it to go fishing for ships?” I said.

“Yours,” said Remember-not.

“And after?”

“Mine?”

“And whose idea was it to shred one of my spare canvases into fishing line?”

Black-thumb gulped. “Mine?”

“And whose idea was it to fasten metal for a fishing hook?”

“...Mine,” Mint-breath squeaked.

“How’d you do it?” I said.

“One of the sapling bound barrels was falling apart. The hoop was rusting through. I broke it and bent it.”

“And did anyone say this was a good idea?”

“I thought it was a good idea,” said Bags-neck.

I asked those goblins to line up by the raised bed of giant honeysuckle. The onions there were half as tall as them. I gave Remember-not the cloak, Black-thumb the leather collar, Mint-breath the barrel hoop, and Bags-neck the basket. Their eyes went big, and they stared agape at the items in their hands. The other goblins whispered with excitement.

“Promotions?” Remember-not stammered.

“Promotions,” I said. “I’m proud of all of you.”

“What about the tankard?” said Jiggle-cheek. “I helped heave-ho.”

Suddenly everyone had helped heave-ho. And it was true. I was there. I saw it.

“I can’t share this tankard with everyone,” I said. “This is what I’ll do. I’ll keep it aside for the next promotion.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it for yourself?” said Remember-not.

“Sure as sure can surely sure for certain!”

I sat back and watched my snots congregate around the garlic. They sat upon the cloves and passed the treasures around for all to examine. I clasped my hands and performed a pirouette. I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen so many happy goblins in one place! And there was garlic everywhere!

Was this it? Was this home?

Just then, a new notification came up.

[Congratulations! Your first complete crew has accepted you as their Admiral!]

[New stat earned: Chance of Mutiny.]

[Chance of Mutiny: 0%.]

[Your Admiral quest path has leveled up to level 684.]

[66 Levels until ketch evolution.]

Another evolution was coming up!

Bigger-more room for more flowers and garlic and onion and snots! My heart felt like it could be the size of Hawkin’s or Abigail’s. Maybe it was evolving too! I puffed my chest nice and big, just in case it needed more room. I held it like that as I watched my snots return the items to their rightful owners. I couldn’t disturb such mirth.

Then Remember-not said, “What about the sloop pieces?”

“Let’s take a look,” I said.

The sun washed over the ketch. The trumpet flowers opened with the sound of flapping canvas. Insects came alive. Birds began chirping. Dragonflies hovered over still waters. One or two goblins leapt to attempt catching grasshoppers. The onions glistened.

In dappled morning sunlight, I inspected the pieces that most certainly came from a goblin freebooter sloop.

“The hook caught the piece right there,” said Remember-not, replacing the metal fishing hook where it had caught the pieces.

“There has to be more where this came from,” I said. “Oh, I wish Thrush were here!”

“I don’t think a small hook like that is going to catch a big ship,” said Bald-knees.

“The fishing line wouldn’t hold,” said Remember-not.

“It would have to be as thick as the anchor’s rope,” said Black-thumb.

“Thick as the anchor’s rope,” I muttered.

I clomped on over to the capstan. Goblin feet slapped the deck after me.

The rope was thick as a thigh. It was already tied to the sea anchor. If pieces of a sunken ship could be fished with a small hook, could a whole sunken ship be fished with a large hook?

“Churn the capstan!” I called.

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

30 goblins churned the capstan; some the wrong way.

“Raise the sea anchor!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

30 goblins churned the capstan; all the right way.

I stood tip-toe at the taffrail and watched the sea anchor rise.

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

We hauled it aboard.

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

We disassembled the fabric of the sea anchor.

“Aye aye, Admiral.”

“We’re going to build a giant hook,” I said.

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“Rule number one.”

“Here come the rules,” said Remember-not. She held up a single finger, counted it to be sure, then held it up higher.

All perked their ears.

“As Slime-tooth once said—”

“—Thank god, Slime-tooth,” screamed Mint-breath.

“—There are two rules to building,” I continued. “Rule number one: Build it as fast as you can! Rule number two…”

Remember-not counted 2 of 3 fingers, put the third one down, and showed those 2 fingers.

“Keep adding things until it works! Go!”

Every goblin snarled like feral cats. They dashed to-and-throw and grabbed every loose item they could. In a matter of moments, goblins were stacking planks on the sea anchor, weaving trumpet vines that were as thick as wrists, and weaving canvas-thick blades of onion sprouts around the new fishing hook-anchor. I leapt in and used my Boat Builder skill on the wood planks to secure them together.

In just a few minutes, we had a wooden fishing hook the size of my old shed. Each and every goblin eagerly waited for the next command with bated breath.

“Let’s sail out into Lavenfauvish waters,” I said, “and see what sunken ships we can fish!”

Chapter 28

A Hoard Untouched

Chance of Mutiny: 0%.

60 levels until ketch evolution.

An assortment of goblin sloop materials had amassed. Water dripped from farm tools, saplings, planks which had once belonged to red barns, flattened wheelbarrows, the wooden rails of fences, and a whole wall made of scrap metal and wide boards. Remember-not painstakingly matched a number of her fingers to the number of items.

Sails cupped the sea wind. The crashing sea battled against the hull. But the hull always won and left a wake, shaped like a gash, in the sea. The rigging lines thrummed. The pulleys clanged. Insects chirped. Blue jays shrieked. Crows laughed. Most delightful of all, goblins hooted and hollered.

Our makeshift anchor dragged along the sea bed, just off the coast of Lavenfauvish. We circled a large gray rock that stood above the water like an iceberg. With every lap we made around the rock, we picked up some piece of a sloop.

Goblins disassembled metals from the wood and organized things into Hawkin’s weird-color barrels. The more pieces we collected, the more Remember-not strained to count. We had only to keep fishing for ships until we had enough material for a whole one!

The anchor line went taut. It sounded like a finger sliding on a stringed instrument. The sloop rolled and pulled to a halt. Everyone went tumbling ears over feet. The sloop stayed at an angle.

“Churn the capstan!” I hollered.

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

Goblins scampered, leaped, crawled, scaled, swung, fell, and climbed in a mad rush. Like monkeys on a carnival wheel, we leap-frogged over each other to spin the capstan. Click by click, the gears sung, and the anchor rose.

Something crashed against the hull. The sloop suddenly rolled upright. Once more we were knocked on our feet. I ran to the starboard taffrail and peered over. There in the water, was a splintered goblin freebooter stern. Water poured from the stern like it was one of Hawkin’s old reed-woven strainers. Beside me, my goblins hooted with joy.

We returned to the capstan and strained to continue lifting the broken stern. However much we grunted and went purple in the face, the capstan churned no further. We locked it.

Lassos were of little help but to tether the stern. There were enough ropes to make it appear that we’d scooped up the stern with a net.

“Admiral,” said Jiggle-cheek. “Look at Green-fin!”

With a hand to my brow, I put a shadow over my eyes. There was the pier, our empty docking spot, the other ships, the boardwalk, and a whole pile of goblins. I brought my monoscope up to an eye and peered.

It wasn’t quite a pile of goblins. But Green-fin seemed to have turned inside out. Every goblin had crowded around and on top of the shack. Nearly half of them hopped from foot to foot and pointed at my ketch. The ones that didn’t hop up and down—the former Captains with forlorn faces—stared with big deep eyes at the recovered stern.

“Ours now!” my crew chanted. “Ours now!”

“Admiral,” said Remember-not. “Where are you going?”

I climbed over the taffrail. “I’m going to start fixing it up.” I descended the net of ropes that tethered the stern. I alighted on the broken vessel then climbed down and dropped inside. It was dark. A number of junk-made ladders were stuck in holes through walls and levels. Barrels, a heap of bailing buckets, and soaked fabrics were scattered everywhere. There was only twenty feet of stern, and the second half was the forecastle.

The stern was at such an angle that I kept my left hand on the floor, and my right hand on the wall of a passage. Barely two feet beneath the floorboards, the sea thrashed. I stepped over a barrel and passed through a hovering smell of rotting food. When I reached the forecastle door, I tried the knob. It was locked.

I placed my hand flat against the wooden door.

[Replace Plank skill used.]

A plank of wood, taller than me, fell from the door. Water streamed around my boots. I parried the plank and used my skill twice more before I was able to squeeze into the forecastle. It was darker still. A dim rectangle of light fell onto the corner of the room. I leaned aside so that I didn’t block the light. My shadow moved too.

A cot was turned on its side over a pile of rubbish. I pulled the cot off by one of its legs. It snagged on everything along the way until I finally muscled it free. A chest gleamed in the light. I rushed over and pried it open with my pliers. They served as a near perfect peen.

Coin glittered within! Gold coin! 3 Fable Stones! The head of a silver pickaxe! A sea map!

[Congratulations! You have commandeered your first sloop by capturing the hoard!]

[Your Admiral quest path has increased to level 692!]

[58 levels until ketch evolution!]

Oh no! The headaches! I gulped down one of Hawkin’s waterskins of fresh water. It was enough to ward off skull-splitting pain but not enough that I didn’t need to lie down to rub my temples. I righted the wet cot as best as I could and lay on it. Between rubbing my head, groaning in discomfort, and muttering, I fell asleep.

Snoring woke me up. But I wasn’t snoring, and there was more than one snore! I sat up and peered into darkness. In the gloom I could make out almost my entire crew. Little-belly was curled up on a wet canvas. Black-thumb was sleeping with his back slumped against the wall. Mint-breath was sprawled over Black-thumb’s legs. Bags-neck’s head was propped up inside a bailing bucket. A dozen other goblins tossed and turned in the hall and in the forecastle.

Every single one of them had left the hoard untouched. I put the Fable Stones into my inventory then the entire hoard-filled chest. The weight of it made my knees buckle. I felt like Thrush! My grumbling woke everyone all at once. I gave orders to transport everything onto the ketch. The task was chaotically fulfilled.

Meanwhile, as goblins came and went, I touched the stern of my commandeered sloop and used my Boat Builder skill. Foot by foot, the materials fused together to form a strong construction. Saplings shredded into planks. Metals flattened into braces. Odds and ends fell from the walls and popped up from the floors.

Within the hour, I was out of mana. I needed Thrush! He had all the mana beer!

Chapter 29

Scrawled in Chalky Coal

Chance of Mutiny: 0%.

57 levels until ketch evolution.

We moored at the Lavenfauvish pier with the stern of the recovered sloop still tethered to the side of the ketch. My snots spilled down the gangway and rushed through a throng of humans toward Green-fin. Remember-not stood by.

“Any sign of Boggo?” I said.

“No Boggo!”

Remember-not, cleared of duty, skipped down the gangway and after our crew. I descended to my forecastle and poured a libation of Thrush’s dreambon ale. I crouched to closely watch the spilled beer. An excited tension emitted from my throat, like I was bracing for a jump scare. Time passed. I stood and let out a sigh.

And after complaining out loud for some time, I fetched a bottle of Hawkin’s Home Camp ethereal beer. I took a sip, I blinked, and I found myself on an almost empty ethereal plane.

Hawkin called it iridescent. Whatever iridescent was, he was right. There were only a few things that weren’t iridescent: a firepit, a stump, a journal on the stump, and a thick coal utensil. I swam-flew over to discover no fire in the firepit.

“Hawkin?”

He wasn’t around. I lingered for a moment and flapped my arms. After some time, Hawkin still didn’t show up. I flew over to the stump and opened the journal. There was a note for me in shaky thin letters.

Barnacle-eyes,

We miss you around here. I’ve hung the mash paddle above the brewery doors to remember you by. The one you chewed. It’s nice to look at it because it reminds me of you. I hope you’re not getting yourself into trouble. I wonder about you. I wouldn’t be surprised by now if you’ve gotten another crew member. Can’t wait to hear from you. If I don’t see anything in the journal, I’ll ask Thrush about you.

-Hawkin

I took the coal utensil in a fist and turned the page.

Hawkin,

Hello. Eye have a bigg crew of over Thirty GOBLINS. They call me Admiral.

-Wow cant wait!

A letter to Hawkin! That was another thing to add to my list of writing skills; list-making and letter-writing. And Hawkin was my first Dear! I could dear anyone! Abigail. I could Dear Thrush. I could dear Peg-tooth. That was probably a good idea. Oh!—Slime-tooth! I could Dear him. I flipped to the next page.

Dear, Dear Slime-tooth,

Eye miss you. Eye dont know what to say. Eye have feelings but I cant write them down. Eye dont no what they are. Eye just miss you. Eye am on my way to be the best goblin ever was. My heart it feels like hole without you. Eye wish you were hear.

Wet drops appeared on the page. I sniffled and blinked away the blur in my eyes.

Eye regret not taking you with me when Eye left Gloom-glower. My new family of goblins is different now that there goblins. Humans was even more different not same as goblins. Goblins are my new family now but they cant replace the family that you were. Eye didnt no how family you and me were. How come goblins live a life of bailing and bailing and dont get chance to no there family? Do you think thats why Meat-fist was mean? He was had no family? Thank you for telling me to speak. Eye speak a lot now. Eye speak to my crew and they say aye aye Admiral. Guess what. We used 2 of your rules. The 2 that say keep add things and build fast. It worked. Now every1 nos the Slime-tooth rules! Can Eye add some rules 2? Eyem going to add rules.

My lip quivered. I massaged my straining forearm, and then returned to smashing the utensil tip onto the page.

Please dont forget about me.

-Your like-a-daughter Barnacle-eyes.

I returned to my forecastle and let my lip quiver for a while. Several long sighs slithered out. I would trade all my hoard to have Slime-tooth aboard. I’d promote him higher than any goblin had ever been promoted before. Higher than Captain. Higher than Admiral. Higher than Peg-tooth! Why not? Who was to stop me?

But Slime-tooth was not here. He was further from me than ever before, and he certainly didn’t have one of Hawkin’s Home Camp beers.

I went on deck to find that it was late afternoon, nearly twilight. My snots were on board swabbing the deck, coiling ropes, making hammered flower dresses, and coveting each other’s earned goods.

As one they greeted me.

“We need a cook!” I said.

After short deliberation, I delegated Long-toes as our cook. I rummaged among the recovered human farm tools that had previously helped to comprise the walls of the sloop. I selected the cracked and rusted blade of a hoe and rewarded Long-toes with the item for his promotion.

Long-toes hacked at an onion which was the size of one of Hawkin’s barrels. Remember-not had a few snots help him roll the onion over to the deckhouse. We gathered around as the snots peeled back the layers of the onion. They went at it with the same strength that they used to lift wet canvas from the sea. Long-toes attacked the onion with fervor. Fumes rolled up off the onion and made the air dance like a mirage.

In moments, every snot was waving off the air like flies were diving into their eyes. Long-toes chopped and hacked at the onion until it began to fall apart in pieces; big pieces the size of goblin limbs!

Onion was passed around until everyone had a piece. I took my own slice and blindly escaped the deckhouse. We sat between the rows of giant flowers and garlic and onions while we ate. The sun went down and lights came alive in the sky and in the windows of Lavenfauvish.

“Admiral,” said Happy-smile. “What are you going to do with your new hoard?”

It belonged to a Captain—had belonged. It bothered me to see those forlorn faces in Green-fin. It was Pinky-chew’s face that was stuck in my mind. Her eyes were deep with loss. They were murky like the sea, and she had lost half her crew when her sloop sank. Perhaps that’s why her eyes were so murky. She was still seeing those goblins. Maybe she knew what a family was. I felt I was only just starting to understand what a family was, and I had only recently been promoted to Admiral. As Captain, maybe she went through the same thing.

“Maybe a Captain could claim it,” I said.

“All the Captains are going to claim it,” said Bounce-knee.

“If you want a Captain, one of us could be Captain,” said Remember-not.

“I have someone in mind,” I said and went into the deckhouse for seconds.

The following morning, I searched Green-fin for Pinky-chew. She was slumped in the fold of her arms at a table. No matter how hard I tried, nor how loud I spoke, she didn’t answer.

“I’ll have to do things the hard way,” I muttered.

I ran back to my ketch, grabbed the new hoard filled chest, and stowed it into my inventory. I arduously put one foot in front of the other and made my way to Green-fin. I was sweating from the weight of the hoard. It was just before noon when I pushed through the crowded shack and slammed the hoard-filled chest down on Pinky-chew’s table.

She sat up. Her eyes went wide.

“That’s yours,” I said. “I did like Thrush and recovered a sunken ship, and I’ve been repairing it. I want you to be its Captain. I’ll be your Admiral.”

“Mine?” she said.

“That’s your name isn’t it?”

In fresh chalky coal, the name Pinky-chew was scrawled on the lid of the chest.

Chapter 30

Game Rules

Boggo

Barnacle-eyes was often at sea lately, dredging. The crew had grown exponentially. Half of them were scouring the parks and wooded areas of Lavenfauvish for fallen branches and little sticks. When she was moored, most often at night, I had been able to climb aboard and attempt to summon Thrush. But so far, no answer.

Apart from suffering a knot full of worry in my stomach, the only bad part was that some of the red besties began to doubt that I had warm-warm beer to sell them. “I do!” I told them, but after repeating that day after day, I could see an edge of doubt in their hopeful expressions.

I talked to Ella at length about my worries. She suggested we go look for him. The reality, however, was that it was better to stay put and wait. He was my best friend; he’d eventually show up.

When he did show up, he would be in for a surprise. The wreckage that had been tethered to the ketch was buoyed and being towed. Barnacle-eyes had exhausted herself by repairing the hull as much as she could. It was slow going and she was almost constantly napping and out of mana. There was nothing I could do to help besides dig out giant bulbs of onion and humongous cloves of garlic. I did prune the woody vines of wild growth plants which the goblins heaped into a pile of material that went into rebuilding the recovered sloop.

Otherwise, I spent my time—the loveliest time—with Ella and Bailey.

“You can do it,” said Ella.

I rolled the d20 in both hands. I spun it. I juggled it. With my tongue between my teeth for concentration, I rolled the die onto the board. The d20 bounced 3 times and knocked over two flaming skeleton figurines. I winced and wrung my hands. The die continued bouncing across the board. It took up my figurine, then sent Ella’s figurine sprawling out. I felt so bad that my ears fell flat. The die stopped at the figurine of our human wizard companion and knocked it over.

“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked. “So, so sorry.”

Bailey sighed. “...It happens.”

“You did it!” Ella said. “You rolled a twenty!”

“I did? I did!”

Bailey leaned over and said, “Your sword plunges deep through the ribs of the skeleton king where a red core beats. With a deft twist, you kill that core. Red and orange light burst from the skeleton’s chest. It crumples to the ground in a heap of bones. It’s crown clatters. An old man steps out of the crowd of spectators. ‘You’ve done it,’ he says. ‘You’ve killed the skeleton king and freed our village from his tyrannical grasp!’ The crowd erupts in cheers and tears. The mayor approaches you. ‘Warrior princess Ella and warrior Thrush, you have our eternal gratitude.’”

The game was over. Ella nearly tackled me with a hug, which forced a cough and a wheeze out of me. It had been a long game, lasting almost a week of daily play. Bailey had become so inspired as the game master, he closed shop early for the final days of the game.

“I’ve prepared another adventure,” he said.

“Another one?” I said.

“This one will involve new character sheets.”

Ella looked at me. “What do you say, Boggo?”

“I’m still waiting for Thrush. Barnacle-eyes is too. I have the time.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” said Bailey.

He shooed us off the board. We collected our figurines, dice, and tokens before scurrying off so that Bailey could lay a new board out. We would begin our new adventure in the grasslands with new character sheets.

“Choose your race,” said Bailey.

“I’d like to be a dragon,” said Ella.

“I’d like to be a worm!” I said.

“Can’t pick a worm,” said Bailey. “It’s not in the rule book.”

“Caterpillar.”

“Not in there either.”

“Can I be something with wings?” I said.

“None of the approved races have wings, I’m afraid.”

“Can I at least be a bestie? Please?”

Bailey flipped pages of a large tome until he found what he was skimming for. He turned the tome to me. “These are some of the choices available to you. How about a gnome?”

So the adventure began. As dragon and gnome, Ella and I went in search of a rare collectible. But the road was long, and while we slept beneath a miniature tree made of felt and clay, a thief had come and absconded with the item. We tracked the thief to a river. In the distance, cutting through the sparkle of a late sun on rapids, the thief was rowing a boat downstream.

We could pursue no further, not for lack of action, but because Bailey needed to go home for the night.

“The adventure continues tomorrow,” he said.

Ella and I retreated to the crow’s nest of Barnacle-eyes’ ketch. Ella wanted to sleep over where I slept, and I liked being with her. We lay on our bellies—her on a yellow poof; me on a blue poof—and looked out over the edge of the threshold. Between the vines of giant flowers and rows of giant plants, the goblins reveled. Our tails whooshed back and forth.

“I think this adventure is going to be better than the first,” said Ella.

“I think so too. I wish I could be a worm though.”

Ella cackled. “A worm! Boggo, you can be anybody, and you want to be a worm?”

“I can’t be anybody. I can only be the races that are in the rulebook.”

“I want to play them all.”

“The rulebook needs more races. I can’t even be myself. Besties aren’t on the list. If I was a game master, I would include every race. It would let anyone be whoever they wanted to be.”

“Even a caterpillar? A great big horned one that drools?”

“Yes!”

A game had begun. For the next few minutes, Ella and I went back and forth making up characters that should be allowed to be considered in Bailey’s role playing game. The best one we could come up with was a pumpkin with 20 wings, and it bounced on one leg and saw with one eye. Also, a silver-ridged furry rhino courier who could not turn down a messenger quest.

When the stars came out, we imagined those creatures in full detail. We pointed at the stars and discussed bestie lore until Ella looked square at me for a long moment.

“What?” I said.

“Why don’t you become a game master like Bailey?”

“Oh, I don’t have a Fable Stone for that,” I said.

“You don’t need a Fable Stone. You can just declare it. I love our ideas. Why don’t you make your own role playing game? I can help you make up the rules. The first rule is that anyone can play, and they can be whoever or whatever they want. Maybe I can be a game master with you, and it can be our game. We can do it together. Would you like that?”

“Do you think we could? Do you think it would be good?”

Ella pointed at my collection of figurines: the wiregull carved out of a dagger’s handle, a big fish molded out of earwax, Belut’s likeness carved out of the thick of a sapling, an elder bestie carved out of hardwood. “We’ve already got some figurines. All we need are some rules.”

My tail whipped back and forth. Ella rolled back and laughed long and loud.

Chapter 31

More and More and More

Hiccup

Abigail paid me a visit. I welcomed her with all the luxury my estate and butlers could produce. However, she wanted nothing but a stroll through the gardens. I bit my nails while she and Corylus ambled about and caught up. When at last Corylus left her by the hog-peanuts, which were poison-ivy look-alikes, I joined her there.

“Hiccup,” she said. She wore one of her biggest smiles yet.

“Abigail. I am thrilled that you’ve come here. If you’ll excuse my lack of enthusiasm, it is only because I am still haunted by my recent behavior; what’s worse, we have much to discuss.”

“Something the matter? Have you seen Thrush?”

“I’m desperate to talk about Thrush; however, there is some redeeming I should apply myself to. Therefore I will postpone that topic until after I’ve filled you in on the latest developments.”

Abigail led the way into the barley field where my silos towered. The barley was at its peak. The kernels were the rusty color of late curly dock. The stems sheened bronze beneath a sun that sprawled through a thick haze. Summer was nigh.

I told her about Aosh the necromancer. He rode north.

Abigail stopped and expressed her concern. “North?” she said. “Hawkin?”

“He wants to commission Hawkin for an ethereal plane beer to use as a phylactery.”

“A necromancer. Powerful?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he a threat?”

“He passed harmlessly through the city. Avoided the guard and kept a low profile. Didn’t seem too keen on attracting attention.”

“You said that there’s more,” she said.

We resumed our amble back to the mansion grounds beneath an arch of honeysuckle and hanging amaranth.

“We are still to this day turning away the bereaved. In addition, when I escorted Aosh to the stables, I ran into a throng of adventurers; and all of them were heading north to seek out Hawkin.”

“You jest.”

“Alchemists, Scholars, those bereaved I mentioned, there were even a few Brewers. There were others still whose quest paths I could not easily discern.”

We turned down a row of geraniums that alternated with spider plants. The spider plants had stems and pups that hung all the way to the path like beaded curtains. As soon as we turned down the row, a startled figure jumped and put their hands behind their back.

“Evon,” I said.

“Eth-Hiccup. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” said Abigail.

“Sorry to startle you,” said Evon. “I’ll be on my way.”

“What have you got there?” I said.

He revealed a pair of old shears. “I was looking for the gardener.”

“Groundskeeper,” Abigail corrected. “He’s headed home for the day.

“Right,” said Evon. His gaze darted about and then he was off.

Once out of earshot, Abigail said, “Wasn’t that odd?”

“Losing his quest path to the Alik has really done a number on him. I worry about him. I want to help him.”

“They don’t know where we reside.”

“We?”

“...Hawkin and I.”

“Abigail!”

She blushed. Before I could press for an explanation, she said, “Where have your fable rank guests gone?”

It was my most dreaded moment of our conversation. “North.”

Abigail spun to face me. “North? They too travel north to find Hawkin?”

“There was nothing I could do. Believe me.”

If Thrush had maybe come earlier…But I couldn’t say that. It was my fault that Hawkin had paused trade with me. I could only take responsibility and move forward. The more that Abigail stood there agape, the more I feared that there would be no moving forward. She clenched her fists at her side. The muscles in her jaw tightened.

“Abigail?”

She glared.

“I assure you, there was nothing I could do. They meant to wait for Thrush. At some point, their patience ran thin, and they departed. And speaking of Thrush, he came by…Margaux too…She’s in danger. Thrush went after her like he was hunting her, like he was intent on killing her. He fell upon her and ripped her body with his teeth. It was a gruesome scene, Abigail.”

She massaged her temples.

I continued. “...It all happened so fast, and there was nothing I could do. I think she’s doomed.”

Abigail let out a long and perhaps pent-up sigh. She closed her eyes and seemed to take a moment resolving private thoughts. Then she said, “At least we know what she’s been up to. Margaux kicked Boggo—a good friend of Thrush—and he’s exacting vengeance.”

“Boggo,” I mouthed.

“It’s weird what I’m feeling,” she went on. “I’m ashamed to say that I feel only a little bit sad for Margaux. I mostly feel indifferent. She’s going to lose against Thrush.”

“My high ranking guests saw the whole thing. Thrush came in and crashed through the floor. The gods…Margaux was a pitiful thing. She deserves this. While you may feel sad, I don’t feel an ounce of that.”

“This was her own doing.”

We fell silent for a few moments. I gestured that we resume our walk. Abigail led the way.

“I’m trying, but I just can’t process all of this right now,” she said.

“I apologize for all the news that I bear.”

“Hawkin and I are going to have to deal with visitors. I wouldn’t be surprised if the folk you mentioned couldn’t find us; even if they did, there’s the Mist Hidden barrier. But those fable rank adventurers…There’s nothing I could do to stop them. They will find Hawkin.”

Abigail struggled with the development of things. She couldn’t even form words at some point, and she became even more frustrated. Her pace quickened and she could not stop shaking her head. If Riggvelte hadn’t shown up, we might have broken into a jog.

“Pardon my intrusion,” he said. “We have guests from Sweet Gale. Half of the group call themselves Dream Cutters; the other half, Planes Cutters.”

Abigail and I groaned in tandem.

“Would you like to accompany me?” I asked her.

“I think I’d better,” she said.

Riggvelte turned on a heel and led the way.

Chapter 32

Daisies

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 999.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I woke to the sound of footsteps on dewy grass. I could not make out the figure that stealthily moved through the dark of predawn. It was not Thrush because the earth did not quake. I shimmied out of my bedroll, sat up on my elbows, and squinted.

Abigail cursed and then said, “I tried not to wake you.”

I grumbled something—I wasn’t even sure what it was, nor what I wanted to say. I was so tired that it took me several minutes to kick my mind into gear. Abigail meanwhile put together a small fire, just for light, and made tea. The tea was made with actual tea leaves, not the tisanes which I’d been calling tea for over a decade. It was dark brown like corn liquor.

Flashes of flames rippled upon the surface. It had a fragrance of toasted cacao and mango. On the tongue it was smooth. There was an aftertaste of baked earth. Halfway through my mug, I was able to think straight.

“Morning,” I said.

Abigail was also tired. Our chatter was soft, barely above whispers, and we were slow to finish our teas.

The sky lightened. The colossal oak, grown to impossible heights because of the Aggravated Wild Growth attribute, caught the sudden sun on its trunk. The sun wept down the tree like gold water. When it reached its base, sunlight burst through the trees. Startled birds seemed to expend all their energy to sing. In the field where we had chosen to camp days before, crickets and grasshoppers leapt around like it was time to escape. Then sunlight found the flowers in the field.

Daisies.

What a beautiful name for such a flower. Hundreds of daisies stood among the glossy bulbous buttercups. Each daisy opened as though ardent for the sun. Their white petals stretched out. Every one popped open with the sound of flapping wings. They bared their saturated disc florets so that the sun could sit there. The stems bounced as though to brace against the weight of the sun. If nature could fervently love, the sun and the daisies were sworn together.

“I have to tell you,” Abigail began.

She told me to expect visitors in the coming months. All manner of folk were headed north. My gut twisted into knots of frustration as I listened. Thoughts raced through my mind. I heaved several sighs. I shook my head.

Was this all Hiccup’s fault? Or did his actions only speed up the process? My Brewer’s Reputation had just reached triple digits. How could I expect to be left alone in my corner of the world in such a scenario?

It was clear to me then that I had no idea what being one of the Greatest Brewer’s in the world would entail. Perhaps I was only about to glimpse the consequences. Kingdom seekers…Dellia had known from the very beginning.

“The necromancer,” I said. “Will he bring violence?”

“If he’s looking for a phylactery—for himself—it’s almost as though you have his life in your hands. I’m doubtful he’s out for a fight.”

“And the fable rank adventurers?”

“Perhaps they’re more ruthless…Like I said, they stood aside while Thrush ran Margaux down. I have no idea what skills they wield.”

“...We don’t know what they’ll do to get what they want,” I said. “And the Mist Hidden wall?”

“That will keep everyone out except for the fable ranked. I don’t know about the necromancer.”

I was preoccupied with two things for the rest of the morning: building frustration and impending arrivals. We entered the Beyond the Cabin ethereal plane and harvested cardoons, radishes, and carrots. We worked in silence. Abigail gave me the space to mull things over—brood, perhaps—and I appreciated that.

But it wasn’t long before something else intercepted my train of thought.

Abigail and I were on our knees in the earth. We pulled the carrots from the floating earth with ease. They tore from the soil and came out as small as my index finger. One by one, Abigail wrapped the greens around a knuckle, pinched down with her thumb and pulled the carrots. She was gentle and focused. She spent the time cleaning every one with a splash of water and Brewer’s Bubble. She—

“—What?” she said.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Sorry. I…”

I continued pulling carrots from the earth. But it wasn’t long before I slowed to admire the way that she handled nature. Her gaze was fixated on the row and she passed me by to move along to the next few carrots. As she passed, I heard the sweet song of an almost indiscernible hum. She bobbed her head in tune and breathed easy during beats. She—

“—Hawkin, what?”

“Sorry.”

We didn’t have much more to collect. The radishes were stored in ethereal forged labels wrapped into barrels. So were the cardoons and the carrots. Then, after returning back to the field on our hike, we made roasted carrot soup. We both had a hand in the roast of the carrots. The soup turned out creamy, fragrant like queen anne’s lace flowers, and with a hint of sweet walnut.

We sat among the daisies which seemed to be caught in a mesmeric sway. Summer insects affected blades of grass. The long shadow of the large oak moved like the hand of a clock while we talked shop.

Breakfast was a breeze to clean up, and dessert came in the form of little green cones. Hops. Abigail and I went through both our inventories of hops and pried them open. They were like flaky pinecones. Each one gave a different resinous aroma. Some were kiwi. Others were lime-like. Others were woody and herbaceous. Some were tropical and grassy. One was like creamed buckwheat.

While Abigail worked on brewing a few different variations of crisp ales using millet, I painstakingly put all I had into brewing an ice billy goat lager with all my skills. Abigail lent me a handful of orange jelly hops.

My quality tier rose to 37/100 Grand Honorable, and I leveled up a few skills: Fire and Roast rose to a whopping 1873, Forced Carbonation rose to level 1812, Throughout the Ages rose to level 1854, Brewer’s Chill rose to level 1922, Flash Ferment rose to level 1844, Foam Cascade rose to level 1647, and the Greater Classic sub skill rose to level 567. I still did not break into gold rank.

Chapter 33

Mullein

Brewer’s Reputation: 993.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I poured the ice billy goat ale into the two goblets set in a nest of summer grass between us. The color was tawny red. The bone-white foam swelled with a hush. Tiny bubbles flew from the head. I reached for one of the goblets.

“A toast to—”

—My fingers grazed the back of Abigail’s hand. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment the world seemed quiet and easy.

“Go for it,” she said. She let go of the goblet.

“I thought you were going to grab the other one,” I said.

She grabbed the other goblet and held it aloft. “A toast,” she said.

“...To brewing the best beer that we can.”

She nodded. We drank.

When I plunked my face through the foam, it sounded like sand falling on sand. The foam was simple and held a hint of orange peel marmalade. The lager was chilled to frigid temperatures. I thought for a moment that my lips would freeze to the lip of the goblet. The first strong flavor of the beer was of royal jelly on toast. It was musky like cedar incense. There were swirls of nutmeg and cardamom. The aftertaste was close to the flavor of orange peels soaked in mulled wine.

“I can tell that your Hop Wallop skill is at one thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine,” said Abigail. “This might be one of your best beers yet.”

“It’s not too strong?”

“Not for an ice billy goat. The only critique I have is to experiment with different Foam Cascade sub skills. See what works better for this type of lager than the Greater Classic.”

That was enough beer for the morning. After a quick sip of Drunk Defiance, we continued on with our hike. We walked in the shadow of the colossal oak for a few hours until we reached a slope of bare earth against a hill. Only a landslide could have piled still living trees at the bottom.

“Look at all the mullein,” said Abigail.

“Must have happened a few weeks ago.”

Tall grasses, dandelions, and cottonwood sprouts were growing from the broken earth. But mullein thrived there. Dozens of them were in full bloom. They looked like elongated corn whose kernels had popped into butter-yellow flowers.

We struggled for balance as we crossed the slope of the hill. Earth crumbled down from our footsteps. I found myself often reaching out to grab hold of something to steady myself. I ended up gripping the mullein stalks. It was like touching the wings of butterflies. The leaves and flowers were as soft as shredded silk. I couldn’t remember feeling anything so soft and easy on my skin. Bees with laden pollen baskets slept in some of those buttery flowers. How could they not curl up and sleep beneath a quiet sun in the luxury of high flowers?

“We should leave a barrel of Aggravated Wild Growth here to percolate,” I said.

After brewing the attribute beer, we climbed the hill and left the barrels at the top and in the shade of trees. Ethereal beer dripped and formed minuscule rivulets down the hill and over the roots of the mullein. The spectral colors of the beer marbled the hillside.

At last, we crossed the hillside and entered the shade of full grown juniper. The trees were over 20’ high. Small berries mimicked young unripe blueberries. The foliage was truly evergreen. Sunlight played upon long spider webs. The strands were as thick as whiskers.

“We have to collect these,” Abigail breathed.

We ambled through. Some of the webs stretched as far as the trees were tall. A chipmunk, caught in a web, squealed and hissed. A black spider with glowing purple veins rushed through the air on its bobbing web toward the panicked critter. They wrestled together until the chipmunk went limp and sagged in the web. The spider stretched like a splayed hand across its kill.

“Let’s tread carefully,” I said.

Abigail clenched her jaw like I did. I kept a lookout when she snapped spider webs with her dagger and reeled them in by spinning the blade. She kept a lookout when I clipped the webs with the bit of my axe and hauled the whole web in at once.

Spiders clicked at us. The offended ones presented themselves with raised front legs that moved like marionette limbs. Their gazes followed us, and their fangs pinched the air. The more webs we cut, the more spiders skittered across the ground.

As we continued to harvest spider silk, I began to feel increasingly tense. I was only looking out at first. Then my eyes were darting at every sound. Abigail’s gasps startled me. Then I began to wring the handle of my forester axe. Abigail chewed a nail when it was my turn to harvest the silk. A spider, large as a bird and with legs as hairy as a squirrel's tail, crossed over my boot—

“—Okay we’re done,” I said.

We bolted through the juniper. Abigail held the necks of beer bottles between her fingers. When we ran straight into a web in full shade, Abigail smashed those bottles together, and a quick ball of fire bubbled around us. Two fried spiders fell from on high and thumped on the ground.

After another sprint, we were free from the den. We sat on an old log speckled with turkey tail mushrooms. The wood was decayed and wet. We faced each other and spent an hour carefully unraveling spider silk from each other’s hands. When the adrenaline wore off, we laughed back and forth. We spoke softly because we concentrated on keeping the silk intact. She turned my hand around like she could divine our future in my palm lines. She ran her fingers along mine to pull off the stubborn strands of spider silk.

I had a harder time cleaning the silk from her hands. I had to work tediously to compensate for the blindness of large fingers. I felt her eyes on me as I worked. I had to raise her hand and turn it in the sunlight to glean any last traces of silk.

“Sometimes you're a brute,” she said.

I didn’t look up, but my brows rose. “A brute?”

“The way you cook and handle things. You broke a bottle setting it down too hard just the other day.”

I stopped and lowered her hand. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. Sometimes you’re a brute. Sometimes you’re gentle.”

Chapter 34

Bouncing Bet and Royal Lily

Brewer’s Reputation: 925.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Clouds had rolled in. They were dark and thick. Though it was drizzling, there was a strong ground-wind that flipped the leaves of forest floor plants and those of low hanging branches. Insects furiously flew. Mosquitos were enraged, it seemed, and Abigail and I spent half the time swatting the air and smacking ourselves.

We had turned our hike eastward and came upon a stretch of marshland. The drizzle and mosquitoes were so maddening that we brewed a few bottles of shelter attributes. The Repelling Haze attribute was made with lavender tea. I used the tea in a stout.

Abigail brewed the Leaf Parasol attribute in a simple crisp style ale with giant burdock leaves. She pressed a thumb to the neck of the bottle and shook it. Foam spewed into the air where it hovered and collected together. The foam settled into a light gold beer that floated in the shape of a leaf. It was as large as the roof of my cabin. As we hiked on, the gold Leaf Parasol bumped into boughs. It wicked away the dew from leaves.

The ground was soggy. Bubbles rose from earth where we trudged through mud. At a particularly squishy section of earth, Abigail turned to me.

“Smell,” she said.

The air was sweet like white syrup and spiced like vanilla beans. The smell only grew stronger the further we went. Suddenly, after a row of swamp white oaks, we came upon an expanse of bouncing bet flowers. They were pale pink, purple, and white. The petals were scallop-tipped. The calyx was tubular, and some were ballooned.

Midnight black bees, brown shaggy moths, and large blue winged butterflies pollinated the flowers.

Walking into the midst of the bouncing bets was like stepping through a waterfall of pure fragrance. I’d never harvested bouncing bets that were so perfectly bloomed. The persistent ground-wind shook the stalks and flung insects through the air.

…But the fragrance was something to remember. I asked that we pause so I could attempt a golden chapter beer. Using a simple lager recipe with ethereal ingredients, I employed my Alchemical Control skill and used Imbue Memory:

The dark silver sky blended with the clear gold Leaf Parasol and laid down an olive green light around us. Moths flew as silently as owls. Butterflies seemed to pop in and out as they opened and closed their wings. Bees lurched like thrown black pebbles from flower to flower. Thunder rumbled. I could feel it in my belly. Abigail turned to me. She smiled, perhaps because she seemed to love thunder, and it thrilled her.

The fragrance of milky oats, crushed vanilla pods, cardamom tea, and crystallized jasmine hung in the air like humidity. The scent filled my lungs so much that I felt I was breathing a new air. It invaded me so deeply that I considered these flowers. The scents were a calling: “Come to me, sweet things with wings. Find me in the flower. I have made my stalks like arms and reached from the earth for you. I have made sugar for you. Feed in my colors. But come with foreign pollen. Mingle with me. I have made this fragrance so that you may find me. I have made this flower so that you may find me. I give you everything that I am—everything! Come now while we are in the height of summer, for I shall soon perish. I will lay myself down. My buried roots will look like tangled hair. I need you. I know you need me.”

Thunder rumbled and shook the memory. It ended.

Though I brought my Imbue Memory skill to level 513, it still did not turn out to be my most coveted objective: the golden chapter beer.

“It’s okay,” said Abigail.

I wondered if my disappointment could be so easily sensed. I shrugged.

We moved on through the small plot of bouncing bets. The marsh became swamp-ish. An inch of water covered everything. After a sip of a Water Skimmer attribute ale, we pierced through the reeds and cattails. Frogs croaked with their whole bellies. The biggest ones croaked like they were the size of adult elephants. I could have sworn that the contents of my inventory rattled.

We crossed the swamp. By late afternoon, low on mana, we were walking on dry land again. We climbed a hill with a long, slow grade. A creek worked to split the hill. Tall green stalks rose from the banks. They were a few feet taller than me. Purple-yellow royal lilies hung from the high branches.

“Stunning,” said Abigail. “I wonder…” She brought out her Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients and began rifling through it.

While she fell into her book, I stomped through undergrowth and approached the royal lilies. The anthers, like stretched coffee beans, were covered in pollen. I plucked a lily from its stem, and the anthers broke from their filaments. The anthers skated off the back of my hand, and the pollen fell in minuscule mounds down my arm. It felt as though a thousand lazy winds had been carded by the hands of fairies and then lashed together to form a brush. It made floating dandelion seeds seem like airborne weapons when they landed on bare skin!

“Royal lilies,” said Abigail. “‘Imbues beer with one of two hundred and eleven Sustenance attributes. Pour beer into a bowl for royal purple soup. One bowl of royal purple soup is enough to sustain energy for three full days.’ Shall we try?”

“Of course,” I said. “Any specific parts?”

“The flowers.”

She waded through the undergrowth. I bent the stalks down so she could pluck the flowers with ease. When she disturbed them, the anthers pitched to the ground. Pollen cascaded down Abigail’s arms and landed like bright freckles. After a dozen more flowers, she was entirely freckled in pollen. When she moved, pollen drifted off like dust in the wind.

We returned to our path, leaving a trail of pollen that floated confused-like in the air, and we continued our hike eastward. By evening, we made camp beneath tall, thin pines. Abigail brewed more beer with millet. In one, she imbued it with the royal lily Sustenance attribute. She poured us each a bowl. The beer thickened into purple soup.

We clinked our bowls and drank straight from the rim.

Abigail “mmm’d” and said, “It’s like blue corn porridge. Have you ever had that?”

“I can taste the millet. It’s sweet and salty. Smoother than I would have thought.”

Chapter 35

Honeysuckle and Amaranth

Brewer’s Reputation: 905.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Much of the following morning was spent on the Beyond the Cabin ethereal plane. There was still the matter of brewing beer for distribution, forging ethereal ingredients, gardening for the fall harvest, and harvesting what was currently at peak.

I focused first on cloning Ethereal Stroll beers. Since those ethereal planes had been trespassed upon, I decided to make it a public project. Something was ruined about it for me; however, I didn’t want all of my hard work to go to waste. I discussed the matter at length with Abigail. We came up with the plan to simply sell it to Hiccup since it was an award-winning beer. People of the world could delight in it, and it offered a stark contrast to the ethereal dungeon beers.

That didn’t take away from the fact that I was cloning as much of ethereal dungeon beers #1, #2, and #3 as I could. After a morning of cloning, my Ethereal Dungeon Master skill leveled to 856. I still couldn’t use the 4th dungeon core in my inventory—try as I might.

For the remainder of our time on the plane, Abigail and I worked together to brew thousands of gallons of goblin spit beer. I worked with haste to forge ethereal labels and to wrap them into barrels.

“We’re going to run out of ptooey soon,“ said Abigail.

Out of 50 black barrels, 40 were empty.

“We’ll have to talk with Slime-tooth,” I said. “It’s great that we’re brewing more and more each month, but if the goblins can’t keep up, we can’t brew more.”

“Aren’t they producing as much as they can?”

“That’s what we’ve been told.”

“I don’t see it happening—unless Gloom-glower’s fleet could triple,” said Abigail.

“Then we’ll soon reach our limit. That’ll be that.”

“I’m sure they’ll take regular beer instead.”

“We’ll see. If that turns out to be their only other option, then what can they do?”

Before leaving the plane, I gandered a look at my stats to see what leveled up. Brewer’s Harvest leveled up to 1829, Foam Cascade leveled up to 1679, Alchemical Control hit level 1999, Mash Master leveled up to 1973, Throughout the Ages leveled up to 1865, and Clone Ethereal Beer leveled up to 1802.

All my skills were slowly joining Brewer’s Bubble, Hop Wallop, and Forge Ethereal Label at level 1999. Planes Cutter Master was on the brink of silver at level 988.

After organizing ethereal barrels into neat, floating rows, we returned to the wilderness. I led us through pockets of ferns and heaps of last year’s leaves. I picked paths that skirted low hanging branches.

We came upon an old trail of mine. Abigail and I had hiked the trail before. So did Barnacle-eyes and I. Wood was piled in neat, round logs every few dozen yards. Tree stumps held a mess of acorn and pinecone shells. Honeysuckle grew along the edges of the trail. Goldenrods grew at the base, and they looked ready to flower. Chamomile grew interspersed among the goldenrod. They were in full bloom. Not only were they all flowering, their chalky musk hunkered in the air like a haze.

“The marigold’s we grow,” said Abigail. “...When you touch the leaves, stems; they give off a fragrant tang. Chamomile sometimes reminds me of that.”

“I know, but it’s sweeter, isn’t it?”

“Like honey.”

“It reminds me of one of your barley wines,” I said. “You brewed something one day that tasted like it had been aged in a crypt where the sun was allowed to shine.”

“There’s something meaty about it.”

“But if there was ever a tea that tastes like flowers, chamomile tea would be it.”

“Why don’t we harvest some?” she said.

We waded into the chamomile and plucked the flowerheads. Every time I stood, I brushed my head in the honeysuckle flowers. Dew dripped down my temples. Busy bees buzzed in warning and moved along. Abigail too brushed against the honeysuckle. She blinked against a rivulet of honeysuckle nectar as it ran down over her face. She licked the bead of nectar from her lips.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Mind if I experiment with a recipe?”

I gestured, “Go for it.”

She brought up her hands and must have used Brewer’s Bubble. As though her fingers were claws that clutched at an invisible drape, she stepped back and pulled her hands back. The honeysuckle flowers rose as if each one was pulled by an invisible thread. Beads of watery nectar began to float out from each flowerhead with mangled-looking petals. Abigail turned toward other honeysuckle bushes along the trail. She turned toward the other side of the trail. Thousands of drops of honeysuckle juice rained toward her and collected into a wobbling sphere of liquid. It looked like pure pastel amber, like resin that could trap not only insects but also sunbeams.

Grain flew from her inventory in an arc. The cereal was wheat colored, but round like millet. Abigail began to employ a series of different skills, one after the other. The cereal was malted, roasted, and then mashed. Hops were added a moment later, and then the spent grain and hops were cast into the woods for animals and insects. The beer chilled to near ice with the obvious use of Brewer’s Chill.

After a successful brew, she bottled the beer in twenty 250ml bottles. She held each one aloft, one by one, and donated them to her god. With each donation, they transmuted into shards. She handed one of the bottles to me and said that she had 5,990 more shards to go until her shard quest was complete.

We shared the beer, and I opened up my Collector’s Journal to find out what grain she had used.

[Amaranth, Am I Right?]

[Gold rank. 01/100 Greater Mythic.]

[Brewed by Abigail Yak.]

[Brewed with Yak and Billings hops, amaranth, and honeysuckle nectar, this cereal beer boasts a higher alcohol content that marries the sweet tangerine of the hops with the grit of beautifully malted amaranth. The foam is Supreme Lattice. The aroma is reminiscent of white and donut peaches and is double juicy. The malt of the beer is nearly 100% dry which masterfully tames the sweetness.]

“Broke into the Greater Mythic quality,” said Abigail.

My congratulations was perhaps over enthusiastic, but I couldn’t have been happier for her. I was struggling so much to break into gold. Her success felt like my success. Breaking into another quality tier was no easy feat, and she was several ahead of me.

“As you know,” she said, “Grand Honorable is that last quality tier of silver. In gold it goes: Lesser Chimeric, Chimeric, Greater Chimeric, Lesser Mythic, Mythic, then Greater Mythic.”

“You’re in the last quality tier of gold?”

“If you’re curious, my Brewer quest path is at three thousand eight hundred and sixty-one.”

“You’re already in the second part of gold?”

“It might seem like I’m close to the four thousand level diamond rank; however, nothing could be further from the truth. It’s taken a year to simply improve my quest path by one hundred levels. It’ll be a few years before I reach three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. Then I’ll have to break through.”

“Do you think you will?”

“No.”

“That sounded like an easy answer.”

“I’m not quest path focused. I’d probably have to work with a diamond rank Brewer for a few years and focus on nothing but brewing to really break into diamond. The two and three thousand levels are no joke. I made the decision before we met that I was happy at gold. I wanted to enjoy life. If I ever do reach diamond rank, it will be done at my leisure.”

Chapter 36

The Center of the Universe

Brewer’s Reputation: 840.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

The road of chamomile and honeysuckle and curious roots and sleeping rocks ended at a stream. The day was hot, though it was dusk, and the stream offered a cooling air. Abigail brewed a few Sheltering attribute beers to keep us comfortable. The best one she used kept the mosquitoes and biting gnats away. And since her sheltering attributes had been laid out wide, we were able to comfortably hunt for crawfish.

We boiled them in a small pot of water spiced with foraged peppers and with tomatoes, garlic, and onions. Above the fire, in a wobbling sphere of Brewer’s Bubble, I steeped our foraged chamomile for a soothing tisane. The fragrance of honey-musk suffused the area. Abigail took a deep breath and sighed.

“Mind if I grab some?” she said.

Little bubble by little bubble, chamomile tea left my Brewer’s Bubble. She was more than welcome to take some. I had a feeling that she would brew another attribute beer for fun, and that’s exactly what she did. She brewed a double attribute beer with chamomile and holy basil.

“Just try it,” she said. She handed me the open bottle of beer.

It was cold, and sandy foam cascaded over my fingers. I sipped the stout and returned the bottle to her. It tasted like molasses and black honey, patina, and crushed coal. The malt was like liquid dark chocolate on waffled quick-cake. The flavor was so gorgeous that I felt my brow wrinkle. I contemplated the flavors.

When I came out of my thoughts, a dizzying sight lay before me. The entire world was translucent. The trees, fire, stream, earth, and Abigail still existed; but all were translucent. Through the planet, I saw the stars. Through Abigail, I saw the stars. I also felt lighter than air. Unlike the Anti-gravity ale that was hard to control where there was momentum in my movements, I didn’t have to worry about that with this new attribute. My body simply floated like it was peacefully anchored.

We both rose to our feet and wandered over to the stream. Seeing through it was like looking at melting galaxies. Though I could discern the edges of the earth, everything further than a few miles was indiscernible. The opposite end of the world appeared like the further wall of a glass ball.

Abigail took my hand. I was soothed by the tea. I felt her gaze. I looked at her. I wanted to say her name. She turned to face me. My heart beat like I was on the brink of battle.

I leaned toward her. “Abigail…”

She leaned in. We kissed.

She pressed into me as ardently as the daisies were for the sun—as if one of us could lay like sunlight upon the body of the other. And she did press her body into mine. I wrapped my arms around her. Her hair fell over me, and it was like I was touched by a rumor of flowering mullein. A fragrance arrived like it was her familiar. Did it first curl around my legs and climb our bodies like aggressive vines? Was that how the fragrance came to me? It was the fragrance of body—of skin and hair and clothes that battled the heads of flowers. The fragrance entered me through my breath, and I felt my mind change colors.

The kiss became more! We came out of it with frozen breaths and gasping souls. Abigail held me closer. She put her cheek to mine and put her lips just at my ear. Her eyelashes flickered against my cheek, soft as the pollen of royal lilies. My eyes rolled back and I relaxed into her like we were supposed to topple over.

I felt her lips move to form the shape of my name at the edge of my jaw. She whispered and pressed closer. I felt her teeth on the tip of my ear. She pulled back and she pulled out of the embrace. Her eyes were like dusk. They were soft and almost closed and something burned in them. She grabbed onto a twist of my tunic and yanked. The universe of stars and clear earth pitched in a blurring arc. We were suddenly toppling over. Abigail fell back and pulled me down with her.

She laughed with delight on the way down. She shot a hand out. A bottle broke beneath us. She landed, not on the knuckles of hard earth and root and rock, but on a clear bed of cloud. I landed atop her and the wind was knocked from both of us. Instead of trying to regain our breaths, we kissed.

How fitting was it to see through the earth like it wasn’t there—like nothing was there. And even though I saw through Abigail’s form as well, I felt her. I felt her presence, her being, her soul, her character. She kissed like she knew things.

How fitting was it to feel like our kiss was at the center of the universe. I had come out to these northern woods to escape the world. To find myself in nature. To live out a peaceful life. She unleashed within me my tamed love for the world; she made it wild again! She matched that love. Our lives were parallel. Our candor was equal. When I left to find myself in nature, how could I have known that I had only been half a man until now. Our kiss was a language. It was barely one word. She kissed like she was telling me that she too had only been half until now.

The fire went out. Embers twinkled. Cooling steam rose from our mugs of chamomile tea. The earth became earth-colored again. Summer frogs croaked and trilled on the stream. A crescent moon pressed its light onto the trees and where it could on the forest floor. It waggled a finger of moonlight in the stream like it was stirring. Insects buzzed at the edges of our unseen shelter.

Chapter 37

How Does This Go?

Brewer’s Reputation: 833.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I awoke when I felt Abigail stir. She lifted her head off my chest and gazed at me as though her vision were blurry. She brushed her hair from her face.

“Morning,” she said.

“I’ll make breakfast,” I said.

We ate the remainder of our crawfish boil and shared two apples. Then we made ourselves comfortable at the stream. Abigail replenished the Sheltering attribute that kept the insects at bay. She sat between my legs and laid her head back on me. I wrapped my arms around her. Our fingers entwined. The stream softly ran by.

“There’s so much I don’t know about you,” she said.

“There’s not much else to know.”

“We’ve lived entire lives before we met. That’s a lot.”

“For some folks, I suppose,” I said. “I feel like my life didn’t really begin until I came north.”

“Were you born in Lunstad?”

“I was. Near city center.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Only child. You?”

“Sister. She’s a housing strategist for Salindune.”

“Do you ever miss her?”

A striped frog leapt onto a rock. It licked the air. Then it pivoted.

“When Blurante betrayed me, my sister told me that it was my fault. She blamed me.”

“Blurante was the man?” I said.

“What about your parents?” she said.

Oof. “How do I explain…They gave up on me. We didn’t want the same things. I wanted to work with trees, hence the Lumberjack quest path, and they wanted me to travel with them somewhere east. They gave me an ultimatum when they ran into money and power. Either I work with them and eventually inherit their line of business, or they would throw me out onto the street to fend for myself.”

“Awful.”

“They threw me out onto the streets of Lunstad. I worked at a tree farm for a while. Then I got into lumbering.”

“When did you decide to come here?”

“After a few seasons. We would sometimes ride north for hardwoods. The more north we went, the more I fell in love with the northern forests. Lunstad was by the sea, and I missed it, so I went northwest until I got here.”

“I love this place.”

“What about your hills? What will you do?”

“Behind me,” she said. “I’m here now.”

“Is it too soon to tell you that we feel right?”

The frog leapt into the water. The stream gurgled. Goldfinches passed over.

“Life is short,” said Abigail. “Sometimes love is shorter.”

“Love?”

Birdsong chimed above us. Wind opened the canopy. Sunlight stepped into the water.

“That’s what this is,” she said. “Falling in love.”

“I admire how forthright you are.”

“It’s just who I am.”

“Love,” I said.

“Does that intimidate you?”

“How long does it last?”

“Like I said, life is short and love is shorter.”

“Do people really love? I mean really love?”

“They do,” she said.

“But after? After they’re in love? Is it still love?”

“When people drift apart?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Is that what it is?”

“You think we’ll drift apart?”

“When people fall in love, they have the best first year of their life together, but does it last? If we fall in love, really fall in love, I don’t want to forget to…”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “…Forget to what?”

She tilted back. Her eyes were listening. I looked into them.

“If we fall in love, I don’t want to one day forget that we’re in love. I saw people fall in love in Lunstad. They smiled at first. They held hands, but after a year, they didn’t smile anymore. They didn’t hold hands, but they continued together.”

“That’s not fair to say. Love has many faces.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I said.

I blew a breath. The muscles in my jaw flexed. I stared off.

“Say what you want to say,” she said.

“If we fall in love, I want to love you everyday like we’re in love. I don’t want to one day walk beside you, unsmiling, uncaring for your hand in mine.”

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? I would be fiercely protective of what we have…if it ever comes to something like love. I think if we both give it time and water and sunlight, like a plant, it will only grow; and we won’t have to ever worry about drifting apart or living life like we had once been in love.”

“Isn’t that what people tell themselves? Why would we be no different?”

“This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“I know people, Abigail. That’s why I came out here to live by myself.” I laughed. “To get away from them. People fall in love, but they don’t care for that love as the years go by.”

She sat up. “The way we love nature, the way we stop for flowers, the way we brew, the conversations we have—real and humble conversations—how we give our feelings time and attention to be felt; why would we abandon these things? They make up who we are. If these feelings deepen…If we fall in love…I think that love will only grow everyday.”

“You think so?”

She seemed to turn thoughtful for a moment and gazed at the stream. Wind shuffled the canopy. Dappled sunlight danced across the stream and forest floor. A little snail conquered a blade of grass.

“From my experience,” she said at last; and she said it softly, carefully, “you can’t promise someone you’ll love them forever. You just do it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She turned to me. She seemed about to speak. Private thoughts crossed her eyes.

Then she said, “If you ever want to end things between us, you have to tell me. Just tell me. Just tell me, Hawkin.”

“I can only ask the same of you.”

She reached for me and laid her back on my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She pet my arm. We listened to the sounds of nature: the stream, the birds, the frogs, the crawl of snails, the insects.

Abigail popped open a bottle of beer.

Chapter 38

Feast

Thrush

The chase had led me high in the sky to a castle on a floating isle. I had been ambushed there. The stone of the castle entrance hall had been chalky white when I had arrived.

Margaux lay face down, fully healed and unmoving, at the end of the hall. 12 other bodies were strewn around the hall. Half of them were barely alive. Groans and trembling agony echoed off the scorched castle walls. Shards of stone layered the long running rug between pairs of repeating columns. Ice shards stuck to the walls like arctic crystals. Icy vapors misted from their facets. An eerie green glow pulsed from a floating green orb. Hundreds of blade-severed swords lay like a layer of broken mirrors in a shallow spill of hot blood. Ethereal ash drifted in the pulsing green light. A man’s scream turned high into a shriek of agony.

And I was everywhere all at once. My blood ran with others’ blood. My body was divided into limbs and smears of gore. My bones were streaks of speckled white in the carnage.

Nightream Eternal!

My thought was disembodied. Yet, with those words, I felt a mass, the center of a mass—my mass! From my smeared and butchered body, dreambon seeds began to sprout.

Someone wailed and then fell into mutterings. “No, no, no, no. No…”

The sprouts grew thick and grew leaves and grew branches and grew fruit. And as the multitude of dreambon plants began to take space, the roots and branches began to crawl over debris. Every pulse of green light burned the leaves of the dreambon plant, but the plants grew faster and persisted. The roots and branches crept along the castle floor like blind hands. They wrapped around my decapitated head. They wrapped around my scattered intestines. They wrapped around my lower jaw and tongue. They found every smear of my body and dragged it all back into one piling ball of horror. I hardly recognized myself. I was like one of Francis’ meatballs.

I—that meatball—began to purr. With every purr, I began to feel more and more whole. My organs came together and turned from smeared gray to dark red blobs. My bones healed from splinters to whole pieces of my skeleton. Slowly, I began to evolve from a meatball back into Thrush form. I grew legs. I grew a belly that slurped up the knot of my spilled intestine. My ribs let in a vomit of gore and then they caged it all in. Flesh and skin and fur covered my bones. Dreambon roots and branches left my body. Then I had arms. Then the meatball turned into my head. Suddenly I could breathe again. I could see again. I could taste again. I felt hungry again! But that hunger was tempered by rage! There was an image in my heart, and it was of little Boggo coughing and wheezing in the cozy coopered bucket-bed Barnacle-eyes had made for him.

A system prompt came up in my mind. The Ravenous notification blinked.

Satiation:

31%

“Eternal Ends.”

The dreambon plants withered. All the fruit stayed intact and hit the floor with thuds that dropped apples would make.

Margaux was still unmoving. How could she even lift a finger when she had been chased for weeks on end without sleep, without food, with only dwindling supplies and occasional help? She was breathing, I could hear it. Her heart was beating once every 10 seconds, I could hear it. She was crying, I could smell the salt.

I took a step toward her.

A man sitting against the scorched wall to my left groaned and then said, “Run, Margaux!”

The healer whose legs were broken and who lay against a column wearily said, “Her heart is barely beating. She’s more than exhausted. She’s run down to death.”

Another man who was putting all his strength into stopping the flow of blood from his stomach whined in pain. He spat. “Evil creature!”

“I’m so sorry, Margaux,” the first man said.

Then a 4th man came to, further up the hall, and he wailed in agony when he saw his shredded lower half. His cry of agony lilted into a scream of horror.

I walked through the carnage, right by the first of Margaux’s companions, the one on the left. When the fight had begun, he sent over one hundred thousand throwing stars at me. More than half had gone straight through me. The other half impaled the castle walls and brought down a shower of stone fragments.

The healer leaned back and obliquely cast healing magic into the body of a 5th adventurer. That companion fell into seizures and gagged on his own tongue. After his seizures, he lay back. Tears streamed down his face. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Margaux…” Then his head lolled to the side and pain no longer showed on his face.

“Opias!” the healer shouted. “Opias! Stay with me!”

I strode past the man who had called me an evil creature. He had wielded 32 swords at once against me. I stepped upon those shattered blades, and they cracked like glass beneath my immense weight. He was in the middle of my path.

“Let me live!” he said.

I kept my eyes on Margaux as I stepped over him. I found another man hiding behind a column. He had been the one who conjured the ethereal serpents. Their ashes still floated like dust through the air. He could no longer use his arms, and he shook violently. His eyes rolled over to me. As though from a throat clogged with shock, he said, “Stop! She did nothing wrong! She’s an angel! Demon! Margaux, run!”

Margaux wept loud and long, and it sounded like a howl.

I continued forward and stepped into the epicenter where the firestorm had started. It was a black spot of castle stone that had melted into obsidian. The man was dead, but he had turned the battle into a fiery hell for over an hour.

The man of one hundred thousand throwing stars said, “Margaux! Please! Help her, healer!”

The healer responded with whispers. “I’m out. I’m out of mana. I have nothing left.”

The green light began to pulse again from the floating orb. Everyone in the vicinity took poisonous damage. My fur warped like it was wet with acid. My ear closest to the orb collapsed. I purred to heal it, and strode by the healer. I passed by the man who mastered arctic magic. He lay frozen in death.

As I moved past the floating green ball of pulsing poison, my ravenous notification blinked rapidly. I strode right up to Margaux’s prone body. Her breath came in slow, labored rasps. The castle stone beneath her face was wet.

Satiation:

30%

STARVATION

My mind fell into a quiet trance while my belly took over. My jaw fell open. The flesh of my cheeks ripped apart. My tongue rolled out onto castle stone. My body took a pulse of poisonous damage from the still floating green ball. I turned to it and rushed toward it. My bottom jaw slammed up, and I gobbled the ball. It bore a hole right through the roof of my mouth and nose. But then it was half its size. I chomped it again, it melted a hole in my tongue, and then it snuffed out. I felt my body purr as my jaw snapped open and snapped shut on repeat. I ate the castle stone at my feet. My fangs carved a chunk of it out like it was as soft as smoked meat. My jaw kept snapping open and closed. I felt my Satiation rise, but I knew I wouldn’t regain control of any faculty until it reached 40%.

Satiation:

32%

I was out of control. I bit into the stone columns like a frenzied dog at a bone. The clash of my fangs turned the stone to chunks and to dust. My tongue shoved it all down my throat. I ate the man, who once wielded arctic magic, in three bites: legs, torso, head and arms.

Satiation:

34%

I ate the melting crystals of ice on the wall. I snapped up the charred furniture along the wall. My foot smashed through the ribs of a corpse and my jaw scooped it up.

Satiation:

36%

I bit through another column and gobbled up the screaming healer behind it.

Satiation:

39%

A cry commanded my attention. I turned toward the end of the hall and ran toward the sound that came from Margaux. The bottom of my jaw scraped against the floor. Debris was swept into my maw. I rushed her like I was one giant piranha.

The moment my tongue hit the soles of her boots, my lips fell like a bunched, wrinkled curtain around her ankles. I sucked her legs into my mouth. She was silent as I chewed. She must have been too exhausted to feel anything. She hung from my lips like her limbs and body were willow branches. I swallowed the chunks of her legs and snapped my head back for my next bite. I bit through her thighs with great crunches. She hung like she was dead, but I could hear her heart beat faster.

My tongue worked the chunks of her thighs around and I swallowed them. Her body twisted and turned as my tongue moved it to one side of my mouth, then the other. I slurped her body in and bit through her chest. Her ribs snapped a number of times while I chewed. Her guts showered into my belly like a chunky, hot deluge.

Satiation:

40%

Ravenous

I immediately regained control of myself. I chewed slowly and swallowed. I sucked her arms in, and then her head. I paused. Her hair draped between my fangs. Her hair was long again, and it brushed the scorched castle floor. I burped around her head and an exposed elbow bone. I slowly slurped her down my throat. Her hair slithered between my fangs and brushed my gums. I turned and looked upon the carnage.

The man who still bled from his stomach rocked back and forth in torment. His tortured visage was frozen in breathless pain and sorrow.

He whined something that was more spit than word. Then he said, “A curse upon you! I vow to rid the world of your kind!”

My belly rumbled, and I rubbed it. “I feel something. Something special.”

“I will do everything in my power to crush you! I have friends in high places. Fable rank friends! They will deal with you! Bastard monster!”

My belly gurgled. “…Something very special is happening! My appetite! It’s returning! I feel better already!”

I sat down. The stone of the castle sank beneath my weight. I felt hungry again! Margaux would never hurt Boggo again! To celebrate, I began eating all the tasty things in my inventory. I didn’t have a lot of smoked fish left, but I had a ton of unsmoked fish. I ate fish until my Satiation reached 60%. I ate furniture made with sweet wood like maple and birch. I ate metals that tasted like iron. I ate dreambons until my Satiation reached 80%. I drank whole barrels full of Hawkin’s beer until my Satiation was at 96%. I munched on a few of last year’s leaves.

During my feast, I changed. Fish scales grew on my chest, my palms, and my face. My digits became wooden like saplings. I felt rust colors fill the sponges of my eyes.

Chapter 39

Big Big Hug

I peered down over the edge of the floating isle. Clouds mutated by. Every now and then I was afforded vistas of the wilderness far below. The trees were different so far in the east. Their trunks were bronze and white. The leaves were purple and many were different shades of blue.

There were people in the castle, and most of them were weeping. None were adventurers; they seemed to be servants in various capacities—like Riggvelte. I paid them little mind and let my feet dangle off the edge of the floating isle. While my belly gurgled and settled, I thought.

The chase had brought me to new places in the world. It had taken time, but time meant nothing to me. That wasn’t entirely true. Time was very important when smoking fish or elodon ribs. Too much time made the meat go dry. Not enough time meant the smoke would be light and the cook would be insufficient for a proper melt-in-your mouth meal. My belly rumbled.

Smoked meat made me think of Hawkin, Boggo, Barnacle-eyes, and Abigail. Each of them had been seeking my presence over the past few weeks. I had ignored all their dreambon libations. Notification after notification had popped up from various locations. Barnacle-eyes had been the last to pour a dreambon ale. I knew that she and Boggo needed me to sell beer.

I felt the effects of the morning's Anti-gravity ale suddenly wear off. The earth of the isle cracked beneath me and then broke away from the rest of the land. I tumbled through the air beside a dozen chunks of earth and rock.

As I ripped through layers of bulbous clouds, and the air rushed through my fur, I activated my orb. I magnified the western horizon and cut through the world. I stepped down on Lavenfauvish’s boardwalk. People scrambled away screaming. I happened to interrupt a farmers market. There were shaded booths all over the place. One of the booths was manned by a handful of goblins. They were selling colossal onions and garlic that were bigger around than I was. Each of the goblins wore hammered flower dresses. The goblins dove behind the giant produce. Belut came out from behind them.

“Thrush!” he said. “We’ve all been waiting!”

“Me too. I had to wait for my meal.” I sniffed the air.

“Barnacle-eyes is at sea. She’s got a few sloops with her.”

I opened my orb, magnified the vista of the sea, and cut through the world. I arrived over water and I fell into the sea with a great splash. I surfaced and spotted Barnacle-eyes’ ketch nearby. Perhaps one hundred goblins cavorted about on her ship. They all pressed against the taffrails and peered at me.

“A fish!” one goblin said. “A fish!”

I arrived at the ketch in moments. After I chugged a barrel of Anti-gravity ale, I dug my claws into the hull, and climbed.

“Admiral! The hairy fish is climbing!”

Above, one of the giant white trumpet flowers was pushed aside to reveal Barnacle-eyes. She peered down at me.

“Thrush! Come aboard!”

On board, Barnacle-eyes stretched her arms out wide. She smashed into me and hugged me tightly. I saw all the goblins over her shoulder. Their eyes were wide. They shrunk back when I smiled at them. They hid behind giant garlic and giant onion and giant flowers.

A faint voice shouted, “What’s going on?”

Barnacle-eyes leapt off of me. “This way, Thrush.”

She sped off starboard. I picked my way through the jungle of overgrown plants on raised beds. I ducked under stems and stepped over vines. I shouldered giant flowers out of the way. 2 pairs of goblins moved giant cosmos flowers aside like they were double doors.

Along the way, Barnacle-eyes had a lot to say. “Where have you been; I’ve been waiting, we’ve all been waiting; beer isn’t going to sell itself you know—especially when you have all of it, but now we can sell it; guess what—we’ve been fishing for sloops; Wide-neck, meet Thrush; Thrush, meet Wide-neck; So many pieces of ships, and I even commandeered a hoard, can you believe it? I’ve hired so many goblins; Flaky-Lips, this is Thrush; Sun-burnt, wake up, this is Thrush; hired so many goblins; Boggo’s been underground a lot and playing games, and he brought a yellow friend aboard—she’s been really nice—they laugh and laugh and laugh; did you see our booth at the farmers market? I said, Belut, please help sell big onions, and he said okay, Admiral; we get to sell beer now that you’re back! We’re very behind schedule; Flop-ears, this is friend Thrush, say hello.”

“What?” said Flop-ears. She lifted a floppy ear.

“Hello!” said Barnacle-eyes.

“Hello!” said Flop-ears.

We moved on past Flop-ears, and Barnacle-eyes continued. “We’ve been repairing sunken ships, just like you used to do, remember? The problem is that I need lots and lots of mana; do you have mana beer?”

“Lots of it,” I said.

We reached the starboard taffrail. I withdrew a few barrels of mana beer from my inventory and slammed them on deck.

Barnacle-eyes leaned over the taffrail and said, “Pinky-chew! This is Thrush! Thrush, this is Pinky-chew. She’s my first Captain.”

Pinky-chew was startled when she laid eyes on me. She slunk into the shadow of her sloop’s mast. The sloop was tethered to the ketch. It looked like it had been severely damaged in some places and beautifully repaired in others. There were about a dozen floating rafts behind the sloop. Each one was leashed to the ketch. They struggled against the waves.

A pop drew my attention to the barrels of mana beer. Barnacle-eyes had uncorked the bunghole of one barrel. She filled a tankard with mana beer and then chugged it. She then threw herself over the taffrail and began descending the rope netting.

She paused and looked at me. “Do you still have wood?”

“Like a forest.”

I removed a full grown pine tree from my inventory and dropped it in the sea. Goblins threw lines over the branches and heaved it to the side of Pinky-chew’s sloop. Barnacle-eyes began alternating between using her Boat Builder skill and sipping mana beer to repair and rebuild the sloop and then the rafts. I unloaded tree after tree as we worked late into the day.

Lavenfauvish lanterns and windowsill candles made the city come to light in the distance under dusk. The Admiral had by then moved onto repairing the rafts. She shouted commands as she worked. “Aye aye, Admiral!” was the only sound that beat the crash of the sea and rose from the ships like the constant beat of a drum.

“Long-neck! Wrinkly-butt! Please start building raised beds for the new sloops!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

Chapter 40

Contracts

The only sound came from my deep, slow breaths. My eyes pulsed. My spirits were returning more and more after my successful hunt.

Goblins cowered under tables, in corners, behind stools, in the shadows of shelves, and in clusters behind Green-fin’s bar. The only goblins not cowering were Barnacle-eyes and Green-fin’s proprietor, Shelly-Shelly. Her fingernails were seashell wavy. She wore a burlap apron with one front pocket. Chimeric colors were spread out in the bar from the bright ethereal forged label of one of Hawkin’s barrels. It was clear to see that the goblins wrestled between awe at the light and fear of me. Every pair of goblin eyes peered over shielding surfaces.

I unplugged the bunghole and filled a tankard with a draft of the goblin spit beer. I passed the tankard to Shelly-Shelly.

Shelly-Shelly took a sip and shifted on her stool. She brought her knees up and curled her toes. Her eyes widened, and her sip turned to a glug.

“Impectastible!” she said. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever had before. But better doesn’t always mean better, especially since better usually means more expensive.” And she eyed me through slitted lids.

[Merchant Options:]

[Bribe Shelly-Shelly.]

[Counter ‘better usually means more expensive’.]

[Flatter Shelly-Shelly]

[Begin price bargaining at 50 silver per 15.5 gallon barrel.]

[More Merchant Options…]

“Maybe when you’re dealing with humans,” I said. “I’m not human.”

“Yeah, what are you?”

“I’m Thrush. How much do you pay right now for your spit beer?”

“A Thrush, you say—that’s a new type around here. Twenty silver per barrel. The big barrels. I hardly make a profit. There’s not a whole lot of work for goblins to do in this city. Odds and ends. I have most greens give me something like this.”

Shelly-Shelly reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a handful of torn pieces of paper. She held the crumple up to my face. Several variations of “I owe you” were misspelled on each shred.

She continued. “Got this idea from a human. The profit we make is from visiting Captains and some of their snots. They pay in coin. But mostly from monsters! Lots of orcs. Occasional paper-fins—those shark looking people. A bunch of other non-humans. Make enough to keep the roof on the walls. Sometimes even for food, but honestly, I’d hate for goblins to have a no-place to go to. Lot’s of ships sink around here.”

Barnacle-eyes sighed and leaned forward. She put her chin in her palm and stared with starry eyes at Shelly-Shelly. “Lots of ships!” she said. “You’re like a grandmother making a home for goblins.”

Profit was a problem for Shelly-Shelly. I carefully chose my Merchant prompts.

“How about we turn things upside down?” I said.

“Oh no! Storm already did that once and it took a month to right-side-up everything. Except for the shack. Had to leave that upside down. Why do you think the shelves go so high, all the way to the ceiling? Why do you think that one window is shaped like a door?”

Better usually meant more expensive to Shelly-Shelly. And if my climb to gold rank Merchant taught me anything, it was to listen and listen well.

“If better usually means more expensive, let’s put a stop to that. Let’s make better mean cheaper.”

“I don’t think you can beat Moody-booty’s prices.”

“How about nineteen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel?”

“Nineteen? How long can you supply me for? Moody-booty has been serving me for years.”

“For as long as Barnacle-eyes and Hawkin want.”

Shelly-Shelly took a swig of her beer. “Saving one silver per barrel sounds nice, but you’re asking me to risk trusting you. I’m sorry.”

“Eighteen silver.”

“Eighteen silver? What am I supposed to tell Moody-booty?”

“Tell them you’re taking an offer for seventeen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel for better goblin spit beer.”

“Seventeen? Even if you could afford that, I doubt you have enough beer to supply me. I’ve seen your ketch, Barnacle-eyes. Filled with flowers and plants but I hear there are no barrels of beer on there. I’m beginning to think you’re out to swindle me.”

I withdrew another barrel from my inventory. Then another. Another and then another. I pulled out barrel after barrel of Hawkin’s goblin spit beers. Goblin eyes got wider and wider. Gasps increased in number. Chimeric colors made all of Green-fin look oil-slicked.

“I am like a ship,” I said as I continued to pull out barrel after barrel. “Like a big ship. I’ll sell all the goblin spit beer you need for fifteen silver per 15.5 gallon barrel.”

“Fifteen!” Shelly-Shelly said from somewhere behind the fortress of barrels. “Okay! Stop, stop! I can’t pass this up. I have to maintain my relationship with Moody-booty, so I’ll buy sixty barrels a month. How often can you sail here?”

“I can deliver beer once a month.”

Shelly-Shelly—it must have been her—let out a shrill whistle. “Let’s get these down to the warehouse! I’ll erase one ‘I Owe You’ per helper!” None of the goblins moved. They picked their ears, they avoided eye contact, and they grumbled to themselves. “None of you have an ‘I Owe You’?” Almost every goblin shrugged. “Every one of you has an ‘I Owe You’! Except for you Captain Limp-hip. The rest of you get to helping! Now!”

Whether it was her apron, or her voice, something cracked in the air. Every goblin rushed to help transport the chimeric-colored barrels. They struggled to tip the barrels. One by one, the barrels were rolled down a ramp in a hallway. Hawkin’s branded name rolled over and over.

The bartender rolled a barrel against the flow and said to Shelly-Shelly as he passed her, “I’m grabbing one for the bar, Commodore.”

The bartender’s muscles bulged as they alone lifted the barrel onto a wooden saddle behind the counter. After a series of grunts and one sharp cry of pain, they successfully had the barrel in place. They drove a hollow iron tube through the forged label barrel head, and beer foamed out and splattered into what must probably have been a tankard set on the floor. Then a plunk of goblin earwax was shoved into the open tube to plug it up.

“Let’s put this in writing,” said Shelly-Shelly.

I drafted a Merchant’s Contract. Shelly-Shelly signed on the line after a brief skim.

[Quest Objective: Merkul’s Merchant Tent Evolution Stone.]

[1/5 New Merchant Contracts complete.]

Chasing Margaux had been so all-consuming, I’d forgotten about my most recent quest objective. Silver rank had brought about fewer quests than bronze and gold rank had fewer still.

I withdrew more barrels from my inventory to satisfy the contract. Goblins that weren’t helping were helped to fresh draughts of goblin spit beer. It wasn’t long before Barnacle-eyes was overwhelmed by goblins with questions. They asked her if she was still hiring, if she was sailing to specific goblin colonies along the coast or across the sea, and if she would want to deliver such delicious spit beer to their homelands.

Happy with the contract, I left Green-fin. Goblins and humans parted as I made my way along the boardwalk to Barnacle-eyes’ ketch. Goblin boots pounded the boardwalk behind me. Barnacle-eyes caught up to me.

“A sale!” she said. “A sale at Green-fin! I love Green-fin! Did you know we’re behind schedule, Thrush? But it all works out because now I’m making a home for goblins with garlic and onion and flowers and ships that don’t sink! I still have a lot of repairs to do before we can sail out; I want all my sunk-recovered sloops to come with me; I’ll need to promote at least eleven other goblins to Captain! Or hire already-Captains! We need to gather all my snots so we can get ready to sail out; round up Boggo too; Belut too; can I have more mana ale, please? Also some anti-drunk beer? I end up taking too many naps without it.”

“I don’t have any Drunk Defiance attribute beers. How about we go to an Alchemist shop and buy some mana potions? We’ll get you a big barrel with our new profits.”

“Are you going to sell beer to Hiccup too?”

“Through Abigail. I didn’t want to give Hiccup one of my dreambon ales. That’s only for those closest to me.”

“Well, I have one.”

“You have a lot.’ I said.

We turned away from the docks and headed into the city for mana potions. Then Barnacle-eyes gasped like something had dawned on her.

“Does that mean I’m closest to you?” she said.

“That’s what it means.”

I donned my old cloak. Barnacle-eyes skipped and hummed a tune.

“Do you think my goblins could be closest to me one day?” she said.

“If you’re anything like Barnacle-eyes, of course.”

“That’s me! I feel so lucky being me!”

Chapter 41

Yeti There He Was

I was down a couple of gold, but Barnacle-eyes was now up a few barrels of mana potions. They were stacked by the starboard taffrail ready for her belly. Remember-not stood beside the barrels. She wielded a coopered bucket tied to a rope. For the last few hours, she’d been lowering refills of mana potions for her Admiral. Barnacle-eyes had been using her Boat Builder skill nonstop on her acquired sloops. They were starting to take shape. Half of them were nearly complete.

I tossed another tree into the water from my private inventory. It was a two-trunked cedar and it made a big splash beside the long maple. Goblins lassoed the cedar branches. Twice as many goblins wore black boots. Pinky-chew seemed to have the most experience, and she was teaching new Captains, “How to Captain”—in Barnacle-eyes’ words. I dropped another dozen trees into the water. When I next looked up, the furthest sloop had a mast. Goblins were rigging a sail to it and celebrating. Barnacle-eyes was aboard that sloop, and she performed one of her pirouettes with her hands clasped at one side.

I sniffed the air. I took long, deep breaths like I was trying to suck the world in. I was smelling for Boggo, but I only got weak whiffs of him. Days old whiffs. His crow’s nest must have been empty for at least a week.

After dropping another dozen trees into the water, I disembarked. I leapt off the ketch and made a gigantic splash in the sea. I swam beneath the docks until I reached the shore beneath the boardwalk. My nose led me straight to one of the red bestie vents. They were tunnels, of course, but to my nose they were like vents of nothing but bestie smells.

I moved a rock to reveal one tunnel entrance. I put my nose inside and took whiffs massive enough that I could feel my lungs expand against my ribs and organs.

I could smell everything: tons and tons of red bestie fur, their musky bodies, fresh roots, sparkling gems, layers of the earth, a variety of pungent minerals, some gasses, aquifer water, thousands of red besties, and only the faint scent of Boggo. All those scents were so strong that it put an image in my mind of the vast network of red bestie tunnels beneath Lavenfauvish.

My huge eyes went wide. Would Boggo be above ground in the city in broad daylight around people? Boggo? Little blue bestie Boggo who has to build courage for things?

I donned my cloak yet again and strode into Lavenfauvish proper. The cloak was longer than I was tall, so it dragged behind me. I pulled the hood over my head and halfway down my eyes and cinched the cloak at my neck. Humans who got too close went pale when they saw me, but I didn’t have to deal with the guard as much.

As I wandered further into the center of Lavenfauvish, I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed. Boggo’s scent at one point got stronger, and it was all I needed to pinpoint his location. It was early evening, and shops were closing all around me. Shopkeepers swung out of their businesses, flipped signs from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, or locked their doors from the inside after ushering late customers out.

Boggo was in one of those shops! Bailey’s Game Enthusiast: Board and Card Games. And it was closed for the day. I gently—very gently!—tried the knob but it was locked. So I cut through the world and into the shop.

Mini painted figurines lined the shelves. Card and board games sat like books in a library. Several tables had maps, figurines, and elaborate dice upon them. Under the bright light of several lanterns, Boggo, Ella the yellow bestie, and a man sat around one of the maps with figurines atop it.

The man was startled. “What the… What is this? You can’t come in here!”

Boggo hopped. “Thrush! No, it’s okay, this is my best friend. He looks like he’ll eat you, but he won’t.” He leapt off the counter and skittered over to me. With pleading eyes he said, “…You’re not going to eat Bailey are you?”

“As in your character Thrush?” said Bailey.

“That’s the one,” said Boggo.

“I’m Thrush.”

“Hello, Mr. Thrush,” said Ella. She scampered over without a hint of fear. She held a tiny hand out to shake. “Nice to finally meet you up close. I’ve seen you on the pier.”

Bailey, who was visibly frightened, said, “Mr. Thrush…Well, I suppose I can’t turn down Boggo’s best friend. Why don’t…Why don’t you play this monster yeti in the mountain pass. How would you like that? Won’t that be a nice way for us to get to know each other?”

Boggo’s face lit up. "Thrush! Will you play with us?”

“I’ll always play games with you, Boggo,” I said.

Bailey fumbled for a stool and offered it to me. He tried to maybe smile, but it just made him look like a sick animal. He was pale too, and his voice went high. I tested the stool but it creaked under my weight. I chugged half a barrel of Anti-gravity ale, and when I tried the stool again, it didn’t creak.

After I belched, Bailey closed his mouth and stopped staring at me. He clapped his hands as though to break a spell, and then placed a tiny figurine of a white-blue yeti on the map. “This will be your player piece, Thrush. These other pieces are Boggo and Ella.”

I moved mine so that it was with Ella’s and Boggo’s after Bailey explained what a player piece was.

“I’m sorry, Thrush,” said Bailey. “You’re playing the enemy monster.” He then leaned in as though to whisper something to me but got scared halfway through the action. He wrote me a note instead. “Read that to yourself,” he said.

I read aloud to myself. “You cannot pass until you place the ice spear in my hands and defeat me in battle.”

Bailey rubbed his face. Through his hands he said, “They were supposed to figure that out on their own!”

Ella stomped a foot. “I run over and place the spear in the ice yeti’s hands.”

“I’m not ready!” said Boggo. “I’m not ready! Can we sneak around?”

Bailey completely changed just then. His fear seemed to diminish. Color returned to his face. He became animated as he put himself back in the game. “The ice yeti’s eyes fly open,” he said.

“Oh no!” said Boggo.

“He rises from his seated form!”

I stood.

Bailey whispered, “You don’t really need to stand, Thrush.” Then he turned his gaze to Boggo and Ella and said, “The ice yeti says…” He scribbled another note and handed it to me.

“Now that I’m complete,” I read, “I will crush you.”

“The ice yeti raises the spear high in the air!” said Bailey.

I raised my fist.

“And he smashes…”

I got ready to smash.

“He smashes…” said Bailey with less conviction. He looked at me, cleared his throat, and said, “He gently brings the spear down and pokes the ice with it.”

I brought my fist down, extended a claw, and poked the counter. Cracks split the wood. Bailey groaned.

“That’s right,” I said. “You must defeat me in battle.”

“We fight!” said Ella.

“Unless…” I said.

“No,” said Bailey. “No unless.”

“Unless what?” said Boggo.

I was confused. “What do you mean, ‘no’? I thought I was the yeti.”

“Well you are,” said Bailey, “but—”

“—Unless you can give me two high fives,” I said.

“No, no, no,” Bailey tried.

But Boggo and Ella were already bounding across the map toward me. They both high fived me.

“That’s not how this is supposed to go!” said Bailey.

But I was the yeti. “Those were good high fives. You may pass.”

Bailey sighed in resignation. He slouched. “All right. This is a good place to stop.”

Chapter 42

Colors in My Claws and Fangs

Bailey was adamant that I not help put things away. I wasn’t to touch any of the figurines, dice, maps, or tokens. While he, Boggo, and Ella cleaned up, he asked me the usual questions: What was I? Where did I come from? How old was I? What was my kind called? What magics did I have? Between swallowing dreambons, I told him as much as I knew, as much as I told anyone. After some chit-chat about their next game campaign and everything was all cleaned up, we said goodbye, and Bailey let us out.

“Now that you’re here,” said Boggo, “we can sell warm-warm beer to the red besties. They’ve been waiting! Did you ever make that contract with Hawkin?”

“The contract will be between me and the red besties,” I said. “I’ll take whatever they can trade with. I’ll use my Appraise skill if it isn’t coin.”

“When can we sell beer?”

“Now.”

Ella tugged Boggo’s elbow. “Remember that chamber where we played Rolly Holey with the tall ceiling?” Boggo nodded, and she said, “Follow me!”

Ella sped off. Boggo and I followed. After half an hour of turning down many streets, Ella stopped suddenly between a bakery and a textile shop. Monstrously thick trees lined the street.

Ella pointed at the cobbles at her feet. “It’s right down here, Thrush. You can do your magic thing and meet us below.” She grabbed Boggo by the arm and hauled him to one of the thick trees.

“Are you sure?” said Boggo. He stumbled behind her.

“C’mon!”

Boggo followed Ella up the bark of a tree. Ella jumped into a knothole and disappeared.

Boggo paused and said, “Won’t the red bestie council get mad?”

Ella appeared back at the knothole. She grabbed Boggo’s hands and said, “They’re always mad at me anyways. I’m not scared of them!” She yanked him in.

My gaze fell to the street beneath me. I cut through the street, through the earth, and through dozens of red bestie tunnels until I arrived at a chamber large enough to fit in. It was empty aside for a few pouches. The ground was covered in red fur like a layer of pine needles. It was quiet for a moment, and then I heard approaching footsteps. Ella and Boggo flew into the chamber.

But then Ella said, “I’ll be right back!” She left.

Boggo and I had enough time to catch up on things, shoot dice, and barter back and forth for dreambons. Ella later returned. An elder red bestie accompanied her.

“Boggo, Thrush, this is Yuta Tuta Luta Tuya.”

Yuta was taller than Boggo. The fur around his snout was silver. He took a long look at me.

“So this is Thrush,” he said. He looked at the tunnels around us and then at me. “How did you get in?”

“I use a different tunnel.”

Yuta approached. “Don’t be damaging our tunnels! Now what’s this business with warm-warm beer? The reds have been waiting. I am not happy with any of this, but let us get things going.”

[You have entered negotiations.]

[Merchant Options:]

[Offer sample of warm-warm beer.]

[Discuss quantity.]

[Discuss price.]

[more…]

I withdrew an ethereal waterskin from my inventory and placed it beside the elder. Yuta seemed puzzled by the colors of the label. He looked on in awe. Then he popped the cork and took a sip. He smacked his lips.

“I have to hand it to you, Boggo. This is quite something. Never in all my years have I had warm-warm roots like this. Now you listen here—all of you. I would not normally condone such business between foreign tunnelers and the red. But since warm-warm roots have kept us alive since the beginning and through ice ages, and it’s a lot of trouble growing warm-warm roots under the city, I am willing to trade with you.”

I browsed my Merchant Options and followed the quantity vein.

“How much would you like?” I said.

“There’s a lot of us. One of these could be enough for a family for a month. The summer is almost over…We will first have to discuss which tunnel you will deliver to.”

“I can come here and deliver all the beer.”

“I have not told you yet how much we need. You will not be able to carry five hundred thousand of these.”

“But I can. There’s no end to what I can carry.”

“Is that so, young beast? How did you get here again?”

“I travel through a different sort of tunnel. I appear wherever I want.”

“We have an empty aquifer that we use for storage. If I showed you, could you deliver this warm-warm beer straight there?”

“Yes.”

“The only condition is that you do not damage our tunnels.”

“I have my own conditions.” I browsed the price prompts in my Merchant Options. “I’m selling each of these waterskins for seventy-five copper.”

Yuta sputtered. “Seventy-five copper what? Ores that vary in size and weight? That won’t do. Besides, metals are not common in our earth here. We will have to trade with gems: emerald, topaz, ruby, tourmaline, and red diamond.”

Boggo, who until then had been patiently watching and listening, whispered to Ella. “I’ve never seen a red diamond!”

Yuta turned to him and said, “Of course not! You have only seen a blue one.”

“How’d you know?”

“What do you think gave besties their colors long ago? I do not know what the blue have taught you, but they must have missed some things.”

“Gems will work,” I said.

“Let us go down to the empty aquifer,” said Yuta. “How will you go there, Thrush?”

“If Boggo goes, I can sniff him out.”

It was decided. The besties took a tunnel. I began to take big sniffs. Boggo’s scent was the most familiar. I latched onto it as it got more distant. Other scents came to the fore. I smelled roots, rocks, rust, all the red besties, aquifer water, and layers of earth. At some point, Boggo’s scent no longer changed distance. I cut through the world, through hundreds of tunnels down into the earth. I cut through an aquifer and kept going until I found Boggo and the others in an aquifer that was empty of water. There were piles and piles of roots, piles and piles of nuts, piles and piles of gems, and piles and piles of raw minerals. A handful of red besties guarded the trove. A slab of rock served as a table. One red bestie with bearded cheeks stood behind that table as Yuta spoke with him. When I appeared, all the new red besties went stiff.

Yuta said, “Deefa here will manage the transaction with you.” Then the elder made himself a red poof beside Boggo and Ella. Boggo began whittling a figurine while he and Ella decided on features to add. Boggo said, “Great idea!” to every idea the yellow bestie had.

Deefa looked me up and down and then swallowed. “Never have I ever seen something so ugly as you.”

“I’m Thrush.”

“Well, Thrush, let’s get on with it. You’re here to sell some warm-warm beer?”

“Yes.”

“And how much?”

“One season’s provision of warm-warm root beer for the colony.”

“Give me a moment. What is the individual quantity?”

“Waterskin,” I said.

“Let me take a look.”

I placed a waterskin on the stone slab. Deefa had several red besties assist him in lining up several cups beside the waterskin. He emptied the beer into as many cups as he could. As he poured, the foam on the previous pours hushed away.

“Why is it disappearing?” said Deefa. “Is this a trick?”

“The foam? It’s not a trick. It’s beer. If you pour it again the foam will come back. When I drink a barrel of beer and walk around, it perpetually foams in my belly.”

Deefa poured one cup into another. The beer foamed, and the foam hushed away after a few moments. “I see…Let me calculate.”

An assistant brought him a quill, a vial of ink, and a journal. Deefa flipped the journal open and put quill and ink to paper. He executed mathematics and murmured to himself. At last he looked up.

“Six hundred thousand should get us through the winter.”

600,000. I began emptying my inventory of warm-warm beer.

“Hold up!” said Deefa. “Let’s talk price.” He fetched an emerald gem and placed it on the stone slab. “For one hundred waterskins.”

I snatched up the emerald.

“Hey!” said Deefa.

“Let me calculate,” I said and ate the emerald.

Green color coursed through my veins and brought a vibrant emerald color to the sponges of my eyes. My claws hardened and took on a greenish tint.

“What’s the meaning of this!” said Deefa.

I inspected my Composition stat for the gem.

[1 carat emerald from the red bestie mines beneath Lavenfauvish.]

[Merchant Options:]

[Appraise item: 1 carat emerald.]

[Y/N.]

Yes.

[Appraise item level 1122.]

[1 carat emerald.]

[Appraise skill is too low to determine origin.]

[Value estimate: 90 silver coin.]

What was going on? My Composition knew the origin, but my Merchant quest path Appraisal skill didn’t! How strange! I marveled over the situation. At last I turned to Deefa.

“One carat emerald for one hundred waterskins?” I said.

“Now you owe me one hundred waterskins!” said Deefa.

“One carat emerald for ninety waterskins. And I owe you ninety extra.”

Deefa looked surprised. He was quick to say, “Deal. Let’s move on to tourmaline.”

I ate and appraised a 1 carat gem of tourmaline, then topaz, then ruby. Wild colors bled into my claws, my eyes, and my nose. My eyes pulsed and throbbed out of sync. The red besties all took a step back each time. I could feel my fangs take on those precious colors too.

One after another Deefa struggled with the fact that I was eating the gems, but Yuta calmed him down.

“It’s better if we diversify our payment,” said Deefa after I appraised a 1 carat gem of ruby. “Thank you for understanding. Last one. Red diamond.”

He looked resigned as I threw the red diamond to the back of my mouth.

As soon as the red diamond hit my belly, my eyes went wide. All my fur stood on end.

Chapter 43

One by One

The contents of my belly rose in a wave. My organs juggled. My eyes thrummed like beaten drumheads. A heat spread out from the center of my belly and suffused me. I felt bright red colors swarm my body. Bright red colors spilled throughout the layers of my irises. My fur wavered on end. And as if I’d eaten a thousand red besties, my fur took on a bright red color. From head to toe, I was red. The skin beneath my fur turned pinkish. I inspected my Composition stat.

[Red Determiner Diamond from the red bestie mines beneath Lavenfauvish.]

Composition:

75% Dreambon

15% Fish

02% Tree

02% Precious gems

01% Human

05% World

100% Ethereal

02% Red Bestie

All the besties around me took a few steps back. Except for Yuta. His hands dropped to his sides and he gaped at me. He took a step forward while his eyes went big.

He whispered, “By bestie lore…Red besties, we just witnessed our own history. Imagine that; after all these years.” He fearlessly approached me, and he touched my fur. “This is how the first red bestie came to be. Just like this.”

Boggo and Ella looked on, clearly amazed. If the first red bestie had eaten a red determiner diamond and turned red, Boggo’s ancestors must have eaten blue determiner diamonds, and Ella’s ancestors must have eaten yellow determiner diamonds. And there they were, thousands and thousands of years later.

“I’ve never eaten a blue diamond!” said Boggo.

Without taking his gaze off me, Yuta said, “Your progenitor has. And with other diamonds, Ella’s progenitor has. My progenitor has. They were silver besties.”

“The yellow call them clear-coats,” said Ella.

“I do not doubt they have different names,” said Yuta. “Each one ate a different diamond.”

“My Composition tells me they are called determiner diamonds.”

“Determiner diamonds!” Yuta’s face lit up with something like joy. Beads of water trickled across the bottoms of his eyes. He looked at me as though I were both a long lost son and a relic. “That is their name!” he continued. “What a gift to learn! How delightful! What a gift!” He closed his eyes and a tear streamed down one cheek. “…Determiner diamond! Ha! Everyone tell everyone! Goodness, Thrush! What a treat of a lifetime!”

[Appraise item level 1123.]

[1.5 carat red diamond.]

[Appraise skill is too low to determine origin.]

[Value: Unknown.]

“I don’t know its value,” I said.

Deefa collected himself and returned to stand behind the stone slab. “Thrice the emerald per carat.”

“What happens if I eat one?” said Ella.

Yuta, who once again stared at me in awe, said, “This is something we have tried centuries ago before the purple colony went south. In fact, I ate a purple diamond—a purple determiner diamond, how about that!—and it does nothing. Some of the purple ate red determiner diamonds—Determiner, Ha!—and nothing happened to them. Lore states that it worked on the silver besties, or clear-coats, and now on Thrush here. My, my! An example of history before my very eyes! To be affected like my progenitor! Of course that makes you an honorary red bestie!”

Deefa groaned. “Our tunnels are about to get humongous.”

“No tunnel shall be less than the wiggle room for the fattest red bestie,” Yuta said with an upraised finger. “That is now you, Thrush! You are our fattest red bestie! We’ll have to bring this to the engineers!”

“I’m just Thrush.”

“Not today, Thrush.”

”I’m only two percent red bestie.”

“Does that mean…Will you get fatter?”

“Probably. My belly gets so big sometimes that I have to sleep for days until it’s back to normal again. I love being fat; it’s my favorite thing to do. Especially with smoked meat in my belly.”

“I can vouch for him!” said Boggo. “Gets so fat when he eats smoked meat! If I know Thrush, I'd say getting fat is indeed his favorite thing to do.”

I rubbed my belly. All the talk of smoked meats made me want to cut back to Hawkin’s camp and fire up the smoker.

“I’ll have to get back to smoking fish again now that I have my appetite back.”

“Construction is going to be a pain,” said Deefa. Everything is going to change.”

“You don’t need to widen the tunnels. I can cut through the world and appear where I want now.”

“Red bestie law is red bestie law,” said Yuta.

Deefa snapped his little fingers. “I suppose this means you’ll be getting the kin discount. So for six hundred thousand waterskins of warm-warm beer…”

Deefa executed more mathematics on paper. Then he and his assistants began making piles of specific gems. Deefa at last presented the heaps of gems.

“This is your payment, eaten gems accounted for.”

I sat at the pile of gems and—storing them away, not eating them—I began appraising each individual gem.

Deefa’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not trying to scam you, Thrush. We’re honest here.”

“I believe you. But if I appraise them all individually, it’ll help raise my Appraise skill and Merchant quest path level.”

“That’s going to take forever!”

Yuta shuffled over. “Is that necessary, Thrush?”

“No.”

It took me several days to appraise each individual gem. In that time, Boggo and Ella came and went. They talked about game mechanics, figurines, dice, and outlandish monsters born from their imagination. Deefa and his assistants took turns helping to shovel the dwindling piles of gems closer to me as I went through them.

In the end I counted: 1,550 various carats of topaz, 1,850 various carats of tourmaline, 3,200 of ruby, 2,300 of emerald, and 400 of red determiner diamonds.

When I announced that I’d appraised the last gem, Deefa woke up with a start.

“All done!” I said. “Let’s draft up a Merchant’s Contract!”

Deefa signed on the line and Yuta co-signed. It was Merchant Contract 2/5 of my evolution stone quest!

With all the gems secure in my inventory, I began withdrawing 600,000 ethereal waterskins of warm-warm beer from my inventory. There were a handful of plain hide waterskins in there too. The red besties carried them on their backs like sacks of grain and piled them deep in the cavern of the aquifer. The chimeric light of the waterskins filled the deep of the aquifer, like one spark at a time.

Boggo and Ella returned.

“So that’s it!” said Boggo. “We sold beer to the red besties!”

“We did.”

Boggo gave me a sharp high five. Ella jumped in for a high five as well.

“I think it’s time to sail to Fiberthorn Cove to deliver more beer,” I said. “Barnacle-eyes should have her sloops up and running now. Are you ready, Boggo?”

Boggo’s tail went limp. His ears drooped. He looked at Ella with uncertainty.

Chapter 44

Dressed for Adventure

Boggo

Red besties with thick necks ambled about the tunnels. Their eyes glinted in candle and crystal light from beneath helmets made of black iron. They examined the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Some had been given the task of sweeping up the red fur in great big balls. Side tunnels were cleared of passersby. Residents of 1 section of the colony had been asked to temporarily relocate. Most besties were thrilled with the expansion of their chambers; however, other stubborn besties needed to be coaxed to participate in the sudden construction with a gentle “please, thank you.” What good mannered bestie could resist an earnest, polite request? As Ella and I ambled out of the area under construction, we passed by besties with polished iron helmets. They were employed in deciphering unraveled scrolls burdened with innumerable lines and diagrams and solved mathematics.

“Tunnel four hundred and five, chutes one thousand one hundred through one thousand two hundred cleared,” one bestie reported to their foreman. Diggers arrived right on time with sharp untrimmed claws. Their escorts stood on small stools and bleated a shrill warning as they came through. Ella and I slipped up a chute until they passed.

We resumed our amble out of the area.

Ella had on her pack and was fully geared. She had her tunic, hat, cloak, and booties on. We had already moved her things away from the area of construction, and I absently wondered why she was still dressed for adventure. She was quiet too. We both looked at our feet as we ambled.

At last she said, “What about a pickled acorn in a jar? Could that be a character in our game?”

The game. How could we keep working on that while seas apart? That was no good. We’d have to wait until we next saw each other. We could meanwhile work on things while we were apart and then confer when we met again.

“I think it should be,” she continued. “What should we call it anyways? Do you realize that we’ve never given it a name?…Boggo? Boggo?” She nudged me.

“Hm? I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m just thinking,” I said.

“About the rest of your journey?”

“I knew the day would come.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it,” she said.

I looked up at her. I felt somewhat boggled. “You have?”

“A big adventure; sailing the world with goblins and a hurlicorn! I dream of adventure like that. It’s exciting, Boggo! I’m excited for you! That kind of adventure is an adventure worth looking forward to! It’s almost the best adventure!”

“I’m scared just thinking about it,” I said. “We were so cozy on the way to Lavenfauvish. Barnacle-eyes is hiring so many goblins! And she’s promoting many of them which means they’re getting boots…and boots hurt.”

She took my hand in hers. “What’s the saying you like? The one that Thrush told you?”

“Be scared. Do it scared.”

“That’s the one.”

We passed by a particularly bright tunnel without a lot of activity. Bright lanterns roared with flames. Cut and polished crystals set upon the floor distributed the light into splendid rainbows and sparkles.

My shoulders slumped and I sighed. It was time that Ella and I parted ways. There would be a great distance between us. Perhaps more than the distance between the blue and the red colonies. How much time would pass? Even with a few thousand years, was it worth it to miss out on 1 year with Ella? And with such an adventure looming before me, my possible death would mean that these last hours might be my last with her. How important was this goodbye going to be?

It wasn’t my healed rib that ached, it was something else that ached. I felt wistful and sentimental. Playing games with Ella, exploring above ground, mingling with red besties, making our own game, imagining monsters, sharing stories of our peculiar adventures…By bestie lore! This was a new pain. Parting with Ella was like suffering a cave-in. She was just the best. She was more family to me than my family had ever been. I wished we could travel together. Travel the world; go on endless adventures side by side. The ache in my chest deepened like a black hole. My thoughts fell into it until I was no longer thinking, I was only feeling. I’d rather be kicked again than feel such ache! …But perhaps there was a way.

“I could stay!” I blurted.

“Of course you can’t,” she said.

“I could stay, Ella.”

“You have the opportunity of a lifetime! You were invited as a crewmember in the Friend position of Barnacle-eyes’ ship. You have to go!”

“But I’m going to miss you.”

“I already miss you, my Boggo. And we will miss each other until you come deliver beer again.”

“I could spend a year here.”

“You can’t miss out on seeing the world! What if there are besties on the other side of the sea? Imagine if you get to meet clear-coat besties! Silver besties? Orange besties? Speckled?”

“Speckled?” I said.

“I don’t know. What if? No, you must go. How many besties have the chance to be invited to sail the world? I wouldn’t pass up an invitation like that!”

I must go? I sighed. “Can I be honest?” I said.

“Of course.”

“It hurts.”

Ella put her hand on my weak rib. I felt a jolt of small pain. My tail twitched.

“Still?” she said.

“Yea that still hurts sometimes…but something else. I feel hurt leaving. I can’t explain it. When I got disowned by my family it was a different hurt. Leaving you hurts more.”

She hugged me, and we let out sighs over each other’s shoulder. Sailing out would feel like forever, but forever wasn’t forever. I would one day sail back to Lavenfauvish. I would dash through red bestie tunnels with dozens of carved figurines in my hands. I would have hundreds of stories to tell and even more ideas to share about our game.

How strange was it then that we hardly talked on the eve of my departure? We held hands while we continued along the tunnels. When we arrived at the rocky shore beneath the docks, the impossible happened. The ache in my chest deepened.

We let our eyes adjust to the daylight. Ella then set down her pack. She was still in full gear and dressed as though for some big adventure. I marveled at that for a moment until she pulled out a crinkled brown paper bag from her pack.

I recognized it. “You bought this from Bailey!”

“For you.”

“Me?”

She handed me the brown paper bag. I began to open it.

“Will you do something for me?” she said. “Will you wait to open it? Open it in your crow’s nest.”

I was touched, and the ache in my chest sharpened until it produced the beginning of a tear. “I can’t wait,” I said.

I rolled the brown paper bag up and tucked it between my back and the waterskin slung over my shoulder. After everything was secure, Ella and I looked at each other for one long moment until a familiar monstrous voice rose out from Barnacle-eyes’ ketch.

“I smell him, he’s coming,” said Thrush. “Almost all accounted for!”

I slipped into my cloak and booties. I followed Ella up onto the dock. We dodged human feet until we arrived at the gangway. We shared a fierce hug. I took another long look at Ella, fully packed in travel gear, like she was ready for anything.

“Farewell, my Boggo,” she said.

“I’m so sad.” I confessed such a simple feeling because I knew no other words at that moment.

“Me too. Go be scared, Boggo.”

“I will. I’ll think of you.”

What else was there to say? A million things? I couldn’t say anything else. Ella put her hand over her heart. I made my way up the gangway. I turned back halfway up. Our eyes met and our tails simultaneously twitched. I smiled, she smiled.

At the top of the gangway, I bolted between goblin legs, beneath massive trumpet flowers, over vines as thick around as my belly, and around bulbs of gigantic onions. I screeched to a halt to let a diving bird sweep up a grasshopper. I shooed dragonflies away on my climb up the mast to my crow’s nest. I peered down at the docks and spied my yellow Ella. Her thumbs were tucked under the straps of her pack. She was adorable in her tunic and cloak. Her eyes were glossy and sad, but there were dimples in her cheeks and she wore a small smile. What a picture—the bravest bestie I ever met fully geared up for adventure! Her tail was raised behind her.

Thrush stomped along the prow. “We’re ready, Admiral!”

Barnacle-eyes stood at the helm. “Rig the sails! To Fiberthorn Cove we go!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!” chorused the goblins. The rest of her sloops awaited us upon the sea.

What a difference a crew of goblins made. I leapt from rig to rig like a flying squirrel. I dislodged stuck pulleys and helped goblins locate correct lines. We were sail-ready in a flash.

Upon the mizzen mast, I blocked the sun with one hand and searched the dock for Ella. Her eyes were large orbs and her thumbs were still beneath the straps of her pack. Her little feet inched forward toward the ketch as the gangway was raised.

Goblins churned the capstan. Mooring lines were detached from cleats and hauled in. Barnacle-eyes leapt upon the ship wheel and spun it with a grunt. The ship lurched. Ella’s tail went limp and slowly sank to the dock.

Chapter 45

Yellow

Our ketch met with the sloops. Barnacle-eyes brought every Captain into her deckhouse. Fumes of onion wrinkled the air and rose to the sky. Blue jays cawed from on high. Sparrows dove into the giant wild growth of flowers for insects.

Every time the deckhouse door opened, Barnacle-eyes’ big voice bounced out with some instruction on the upcoming voyage. Dozens of goblins milled about with bailing buckets. They were slow, seeming confused by the lack of flooding water. Meanwhile, Remember-not fitted goblins with dresses made of canvas and hammered flower patterns.

From on high, I blocked the sun with a hand, leaned out of the crow’s nest, and peered through the late summer haze at Lavenfauvish. I could see Green-fin. There was the dock where we had moored. There was the cleat. I squinted and leaned out just a bit more. Alas, I could not make out any puff of yellow bestie fur.

I entered the crow’s nest and scrambled for the brown paper bag. It crinkled when I opened it. Ella had been holding onto this bag for quite some time! I stood on tiptoe to look inside. I gasped and pulled out a fully painted figurine. It was a warthog with two saddles, one blue, one yellow. I marveled at the figurine and turned it over and over. I made it gallop atop the loot chest Barnacle-eyes had left for me. I made it snort and rear before tucking it into the chest with the rest of my figurines. Amassing figurines for our board game was my new purpose, and I felt a tremendous joy collecting each new piece. The ache in my chest hurt a little less.

I skittered back over to the brown paper bag and tore it open. The bottom was filled with Rolly Holey marbles: a green one with an eye, a blue one with a swirl, a yellow one with painted butterfly wings, one with a rainbow swirl, one that was half yellow and half blue, a black one that glittered, a clear one with a glass rose inside, and a purple one with a red heart in the middle. I tucked each one into my loot chest after careful examination. My tail swished to and fro.

The last thing in the bag was a 20 sided die. It was a big one too, as big as a horse chestnut still in the shell. It was blue and there were a ton of gold flecks on each side. The numbers were engraved and also gold. I rolled it 50 times, not once landing a 20.

I kept it with me as I sat on the threshold of my crow’s nest and gazed out at Lavenfauvish. I couldn’t believe Ella got me such wonderful gifts. And I wanted to keep looking into that brown paper bag because I felt that there was something I missed. It was empty of course, and the gifts were delightful but…I still ached.

I missed her.

I rolled the d20 at my side as I thought about her. As it clattered and bounced, I wished with all my heart that she were with me. The die landed on the beautiful engraved 20 for the first time. The number stared at me. In the sunlight, it gleamed a bright gold, almost a fierce yellow.

I squinted, but that gleam of harsh gold and fierce yellow shone in my mind. That shine morphed into Ella. She was standing at the foot of the gangway with her thumbs beneath the straps of her pack. She was in full gear dressed for adventure. But why? I hadn’t been able to figure it out at the time, and it seemed odd. She was dressed to go, but go where? Was she leaving right after seeing me off? She hadn’t mentioned traveling outside of the red colony.

The things she had said rushed through my mind: “I dream of adventure like that”, “I wouldn’t pass up an invitation like that”, “That kind of adventure is an adventure worth looking forward to! It’s almost the best adventure.”

My eyes shot open, and I gasped.

I clutched my d20 and flung myself down the mast. I landed like a tossed potato in a white trumpet flower. I clawed my way through the walls of petals and fell onto a clove of giant garlic. I rolled off and landed in a tangle of vines. I scampered out of the raised bed and slipped on the deck. Goblins milled about, and I dodged them. A couple of goblins in big black boots clomped around me, and I held my tail to my chest in fear. I ran straight for the deckhouse and burst through the door.

Barnacle-eyes was tracing her sea map with her finger. “…Straight until we get here and then straight again; straight over this sea part; straight here and then straight there.”

All the goblin Captains nodded grimly and listened intently to our Admiral. There was a stern air to the meeting, and I began to tremble.

“Excuse me?” I said softly.

Pinky-chew traced the map with a finger. “If we go straight here, we can’t go straight through here, can we?”

“We can if we keep going straight,” said Barnacle-eyes. “We have to stay westbound.”

I took a shaky step forward and held tightly to my tail. “Admiral, I have a little question.” I could barely hear my own voice. No one looked at me.

“Are we ready to sail out?” Barnacle-eyes said after a pause.

I fidgeted with the end of my tail and the d20, trembling all the while. If I had one opportunity left to bring Ella aboard, it was now. As I fidgeted, the d20 slipped out of my hand and tumbled on the deck. The goblins turned as one.

I rolled an 18. Something inside me clicked. I stopped shaking. I stood straight and let my tail go. I took a deep breath.

“Admiral!” I shouted. “Permission to bring aboard the most amazing yellow bestie in the world as a new Friend crewmate! We have to go back for her!”

“Another ship rat?” Pinky-chew said.

“Bestie,” I said.

Barnacle-eyes performed a pirouette. “They’re multiplying! Permission granted, Boggo! Please thank you!” To another goblin she said, “Captain Soft-heart. Please escort Boggo to Lavenfauvish to pick up and invite the yellow bestie aboard in Friend crewmate capacity. Please thank you. Remember-not, help me draft a Friend position contract. Please thank you.”

∞

We took Soft-heart’s sloop. Sloops were much closer to the sea. The raised beds had little sprouts, and there were only a handful of goblins. When we docked, the pier guard asked for a docking fee. While Soft-heart dealt with all that, I leapt onto the dock and bolted between the legs of the guard. I was trembling, but my booties slapped the dock as I ran. I went beneath the dock, but my booties offered no grip on the wood and I fell right into the sea. I gulped air as I paddled like a newborn kitten to shore. Soaking wet, I sprinted up the rocky beach beneath the boardwalk and flipped over rock after rock. At last I found one of the red bestie tunnel entrances! But before I scrambled in—

“Boggo? What are you still doing here?”

I turned around.

“Ella! You’re still packed!”

“To be honest, I was hoping…”

I whipped out the wet Friend position contract and read the official invitation to crew Barnacle-eyes’ fleet. Ella was speechless as I stammered. Then she threw her arms around me. She gave me a dozen kisses on my cheek.

“Let me say goodbye to the red,” she said.

Chapter 46

Beer for the Tzards

Ogo

For the first time in weeks, I issued the first wheel order: starboard. Light morning fog wisped by and left dew in its wake upon orc skin and dark wood. Hawkin’s barrels gleamed their impossible colors. As if from a stupor, my orcs slowly braced themselves as the ships turned. We carved into the waves, and the rhythm of slapping water fell silent. We sailed into the gulf as far as we could.

“Drop anchor!” I said.

We dropped anchor. My Captains echoed my order and dropped anchor one by one.

“Drop the jolly boats!”

The boats fell, slapped the sea, and rubbed against the ship as they bobbed.

“With me!”

Rope ladders were unfurled. I descended to one of the jolly boats. My translator, Jix, boarded my jolly boat. Orcs filed into the other boats, and barrels were dropped into the sea and tethered to our boats. The colors of Hawkin’s barrels trailed us like a net of bloated mermaid tails. As we rowed to shore, dawn light discovered the gulf waters. The fog brightened into a copper haze. It almost felt like the fog was the end of a giant’s candle wick and the cool water of the summer sea warmed like melting wax. The coast of the gulf wasn’t rocky, sandy, nor was it earthy, or silty. It was a swamp, and the sea spilled into the swamp like a constant rush of overflowing warm wax. Creatures dodged about in the line of black trees, reeds, and canebrake.

Spears with fish hook tips rained around our boats like a brief torrent of hail. An orc in the jolly boat beside mine grunted. One of the spears had impaled his breast. He rowed with one hand and pried the spear out with his other. We smiled at each other.

Another volley of spears hit the water like a sprinkle of sudden hail. Foam streamed out from one of the pierced barrels in a white arc. The orcs that it showered licked their lips and gave deep gravel laughs. Creatures ashore gurgled as we drew near. A strong bubbly command rose among the purl of fluid voices.

“Translate,” I told Jix.

Jix tabled her rowing. “Stop fire. Nonhuman.”

“Translate rapidly, Jix. Make me feel like I know their language!”

Jix said nothing. This wasn’t our first time working together. She knew the drill. She was so quick with translation that it always seemed like there were never language barriers. So when we reached the swamp edge, and when the chief of the tzards spoke, it was as if I could understand him directly.

“Goblins!” the tzard chief said.

I stood.

“Orcs!” the chief said. “Flash color. Barrel. Stand down.”

As soon as our jolly boats slipped into the swamp, insects swarmed us. Insects were nothing to orc skin. They went for our eyes but a quick blink smeared them into paste on our eyelashes. They frenzied for blood on my companion’s chest.

“Halt slow stop!”

I echoed the tzard’s command. Our momentum slipped us into the midst of the tzards. They were half the size of goblins. If I crammed my foot and ankle down the throat of a tzard, they would fit like boots. Webbed fins lined their hunched backs. Their heads were frog-shaped and their eyes had 4 different lids. They stood on roots of swamp trees that were raised like legs bent at knees. Fins bladed their elbows like the gray wings of a bat. Their frog mouths, with smiles at rest, came off mocking. Some did smile mockingly. Their teeth were cousin to piranha, and their long tongues must have been made for wrestling eels and snakes from long, slim mud tunnels. Like their webbed fins, their gray skin stretched over lengths of bones and wrinkled at joints. Joints that were knots, like burl on wood.

The chief beckoned one of his lessers who from then on translated for him. Migigle introduced himself.

“Problem with big boat?” he said. “Stuck in gulf?”

“Beer for trade.” I said.

The swamp-filled lot of tzards hooted and splashed and chittered and clicked and croaked.

“Give us flashy barrel for keeping,” Migigle said.

“For trade.”

“Maybe trade. That one for keeping. Trespass us swamp. Friendly payment.”

I gestured to my orcs. “Give him the barrel.”

One buoyed barrel was pushed through swamp water to the chief, but Migigle shook his head.

“Come this way,” he said.

The tzards turned toward the deep of the swamp and escorted us in. Given their previous clamor I expected them to splash their way in, but they moved silently whether in water or over roots. The only ripples came from our jolly boats. The only sounds came from our rowing and the barrels that bumped together and knocked on the roots and swamp trees.

The trees were tall like they wanted to crane their necks to gasp the sky. Leaves hung from branches like seaweed left to cure. Wiry moss bearded the forks of trees like patches of black mold. There were faces in the trees. Only when they blinked did I make out the camouflaged tzard warriors. An acrid haze hung in the air and choked the swamp from sunlight. Rotten tree stumps shaped like stalagmites appeared just above the waterline like rotting teeth. We passed by occasional clumps of green grass that huddled in something like fear. They stood stiff and encircled like their blades were swords.

Then we came upon the tzard settlement. They had decorated the swamp with everything they’ve ever earned in trade. Hide tents covered hollows of roots. Timber shelves were strapped to trees with leather strips. Cauldrons hung above coals in numerous open kitchens. Sacks of burlap were heaped in piles. Odds and ends were stored in tree hollows. Monstrous lengths of bones provided arched house architecture. Beyond the kitchens, it looked like the roots of trees had been trained throughout the years into nests. Young tzards peered from nest entrances.

Eel boiled in one of the cauldrons. Migigle had one of his lessers tip the cauldron to pour out the top layer of eel fat into a lantern with a snaking wick. A glowing ember was fetched with a pair of tongs to light the wick. Other lanterns were filled. Soon, the swamp glowed a tarnished bronze. Migigle invited us into a long building made of giant rib bones covered in hide. Lopsided tables and chairs were arranged parallel to the walls. We filed in. Tzards brought in a dozen lanterns. Migigle sat at the head of the table. Jix sat between him and me.

“Orc sit,” Migigle said. “Drinking now.”

The barrel of weird colors was brought in. The tzards spent a few minutes dazzling over the label. They tried to decipher an opening and rejected any help. They managed to finally open it and took turns pouring the beer out into their cupped, webbed hands. They slapped the beer with their tongues, they slurped and murmured, they inhaled the foam, and they gasped with delight.

After a long conference, Migigle said, “Long time no goblin beer.”

“Trade with me,” I said.

“Fetch trade things,” Migigle said to the tzards at his side.

They brought back baskets full of treasure. Migigle introduced each item: oyster pearls, slug pearls, good-moss, black fruits shaped like tamarind pods, jars of cold eel fat, dried swamp flowers, bones, dried snake eyes, and a host of other monster parts.

I mustered patience. “Coin?”

Migigle laughed at the translation. “Human trade pearl and flowers, slugs trade good-moss, scarpadae trade eyes and fat and fruit, greffles trade bones.”

“No coin?”

“Cats sometimes coin. Never beer.”

“What do the cats trade?”

“Sometimes coin.”

“For?”

“Clear rock golems make.”

“Do the golems trade for coin?”

“Golems trade good-moss.”

I requested 1 oyster pearl.

“Goblins trade pearls with human for coin,” said Migigle.

“We’ll trade for good-moss and pearls. Eel too.”

“Eel, eel. Come share custom.”

‘Come’ was mistranslated. We stayed right where we were. Food was brought to us and we feasted on oyster, eel, snake, and goblin spit beer. Migigle accepted the trade. After the hurlicorns—good luck, Barnacle-eyes—our second trade transpired with the tzards.

Chapter 47

A Crown Upon Whose Head?

A south wind filled our sails.

After long inactive days, the orcs did something unusual. They mingled. Apart from song, I hardly heard their voices, but a cargo full of treasures had affected their spirits. Laughter became more common since trading with the tzards. It didn’t hurt that each orc had been given a few pearls as a bonus. Several barrels had been opened for celebration. Only the good-moss went untouched. No one wanted anything to do with it.

Trading for good-moss was a gamble. Following Migigle’s logic, we could trade good-moss with the golems for clear rock—glass?—and glass with the cats for coin. As for the pearls, it was my hope to trade with Barnacle-eyes for coin; she could trade pearls in Lavenfauvish. I needed her to expand the Sea of Ogo southward.

After another week of sailing north, summer came to an end. The nights became cold. It drizzled when we finally arrived at our next destination. The land so far north was sparse and low. It was one long broken stretch of canebrake. Our jolly boats scraped against the mud until we came to a halt. I led our party through the canebrake by hacking. Bif consulted an old map and directed our trek. After half a day of hacking and slashing, we came to a forest. The trees were willow-esque. Their yellow-clear foliage hung like slips of slime.

Cracks ran up the trees, and the trunks bled resin like pines did, but the resin was gloopy and pastel green. Things did not decay quickly among the cane. The land smelled of compost. Clear round eggs covered whole canes and branches here and there. In the water that collected in our footprints, silvery mucus foamed.

I caught sight of movement between trees. “No need for the map anymore.”

Eyes atop stilts came into view. Each stilt was long and fleshy. The flesh was pale like moonlight. So was the rest of the slug as it oozed across the ground. It was larger than a cat and wore a crown made entirely of what looked like melted pearl. Eyes on stilts appeared all around. Other slugs began to exude from the canebrake and through the trees. There were some up in the trees. With slow, long stretches they drooled down to the forest floor beside the crowned slug.

The crowned slug moved its mouth like it was chewing sludge. It chewed their language.

Jix shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know, sir.”

I beckoned one of my orcs to offer a barrel. The barrel was gently set before the crowned slug.

“Trade for beer,” I said.

The crowned slug wrapped himself around the barrel. He uncorked it and let foam dribble down into its puckered mouth. Each gulp it took traveled the length of him like he was a squirming throat. His eyes on flesh stilts danced. Other slugs approached and stretched their eyes on stilts.

I showed the crowned slug one silver coin. “Trade for coin.”

The crowned slug slid off the barrel and chewed its language to his kin. The rest of them took turns slurping at the beer. Each one wiggled after a few gulps. While they all drank, and the crowned slug spoke with a number of smaller slugs, brown ones approached. Sticky beads of moisture dribbled from their striped backs like beads of rolling sweat. They left a gritty turmeric stain behind. The first of the brown slugs stopped at my feet and curled up. Its body writhed for a moment. It birthed a pearl, looked up at me, and then crawled off. I picked up the pearl. Goo slobbered off of it.

“One pearl?”

The crowned slug chewed its language and nodded. I pried a drinking slug off Hawkin’s barrel. Its mouth moved like a fish out of water. The crowned slug and his kin spit and spit and spit. I asked my orcs for a tankard and filled it to the brim. I drank half and put the other half beside the single pearl as if to show the value. The crowned slug driveled over the pearl and broke it in half.

“One pearl for one tankard.”

The brown slugs inspected the barrel. One stuck its eyes on stilts into the bunghole. After chewing its language to the king in apparent discussion, a rout of brown slugs came and birthed a total of 120 pearls.

“Four pearls short,” I said.

I crouched beside the pile of pearls and made 4 indentations in the ground with my thumb. I gestured at the pile and the empty indentations. The crowned slug only shook its head at me. After some thought, it dawned on me that the crowned slug knew what he was doing. He wasn’t going above 120 pearls per barrel. We traded the remaining barrels on hand.

Throughout the next several days, we used our carts to transport barrels of goblin spit beer to the slugs. I led the trade and hardly slept. My mind was in a fog as I labored over transporting cart after cart after cart. We lugged the pearls aboard and shoved them in empty barrels with broken staves. The orcs took shifts until the crowned slug was satisfied with our trade. Brown slugs no longer came forward to birth pearls over the turmeric stained birthplace. My third trade was complete.

I thanked the crowned slug. His eyes swung and he circled me. He put his back end on my boot and sucked at it with his body. After two more rounds of that, I gathered that he wanted me to follow him. He led me through the land until we came to an area that was covered with barbed snails. The forest floor was white with glistening strands of mucus. The barbed slugs let the crowned slug and I through.

A giant slug, as large as an orc, writhed in the center of the mess. So many pale slugs surrounded us that it seemed to me like they were maggots pulsing on a wound of earth. The giant slug rolled over and over. It twisted and gulped and throbbed. The crowned slug watched, so I watched too.

At last, the giant slug began to labor in birth until it dropped a large pearl ring. The giant slug moved away, and the crowned slug circled the pearl ring before turning to me and bowing.

“For me?” I said.

The crowned slug remained bowed. I picked up the ring. It was an imperfect circle but entirely pearl and strong. I pinched it, and it did not break or bend. And that was that. I was escorted out of the slug settlement. The escort thinned then, and only the crowned slug and a dozen other slugs came with me the rest of the way to the jolly boats. I kept pace with them out of respect.

I bowed at the slugs when we reached the mud and water. I returned to my ship by jolly boat and we raised anchor. Just before we set sail, I inspected the pearl ring. It was too large for my fingers. I slipped it on a tusk.

Farewell orc friend.

I furrowed my brow and looked back at the coast. The crowned slug and his kin were there. Atop them, transparent as ghosts or like sunlight through murky water, each slug bore a rider. Their features were almost human, but their mouths were toothless. The heads were teardrop and they waved emphatically.

Return someday with more beer!

Chapter 48

They’re Alive

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 755.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I roused from a mix of dreams. It was black, and late night stars were still out. The blue of early morning had not yet obscured the night sky. Several dozen yards away, a giant maple towered in the sky. It blocked so many stars that it left a single stripe of darker shadow across the forest floor. Abigail stirred from her bedroll beside me, and then she murmured.

I struggled up. “All this hiking. I’m starting to wake up sore.”

She sat up, leaned in, and dropped a kiss on my lips. Her stomach rumbled.

“Sweet potatoes?” I said.

She sat back. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she faced me. “Do we still have turkey?”

“Sweet potatoes and turkey it is.”

Together we gathered firewood and built a cooking fire. It was a colder morning; summer was now days behind us. The sweet potatoes roasted in the embers. Cooked turkey was warmed near the flames. When the sweet potatoes were done roasting, we cracked the burnt things open. Steam plumed out from the orange-red potato. The flesh was pie-like, and a sprinkle of salt brought out an earthy honey. The flavor opened both our eyes. We had to pair dry turkey with foraged black chokeberries. A truly wild breakfast!

After our meal, Abigail used Brewer’s Bubble and Fire and Roast to heat up a floating sphere of water. “I still have real tea. Black tea. It’s called copper snake’s tongue because they kept two leaves to one bud when they harvested.”

She made tea. I leaned against an ethereal label forged barrel for support, and Abigail leaned against me. The fire held my gaze.

“This morning feels like a dream,” I said.

Abigail sipped. I felt her sigh. She relaxed into me.

The tea—damn was it good! The black tea was rich with cave flavors—flavors of old stone and baked brick. There was a dark malty sweetness like an amber lager, but it was inherently leafy, like a pile of autumn leaves. The tea revived me.

The sky too became revived as sunlight suddenly lay upon the forest canopy before slowly melting down the trees. The sky took on a deep blue, and the stars withdrew. There were no birds, so only the sound of a leaf rustling along its long descent drew my attention. The leaf twirled like it was steeping in sunlight-warmed air. More brown and orange leaves tumbled from the heights of the giant maple. Abigail pointed up at them. We watched them rustle all the way down as daylight strengthened. When they neared the forest floor, we gasped.

Morning light showed us a wilderness covered in silver silky cocoons. Swaths of maple trees were laden with cocoons. Their branches draped like willow’s did. Their trunks were hunched over. Bushes and fern were nearly matted down.

The sunlight, which had been melting down the trees, finally flooded the forest floor. The cocoons surged to life in the light. They throbbed by the hundreds. Each and every bulbous cocoon moved like it was breathing. It made the entire forest feel like it was breathing out of hundreds of silk-wrapped mouths.

And the sunlight behaved oddly. The cocoons were so silver, and the forest was so buried in cocoons, the wilderness looked to be bathed in sharp moonlight. Right beneath a sky of blue.

What’s more, an eerie silence pervaded the atmosphere. The falling leaves crinkled when they hit cocoons; however, there was no wind, no bird, no delicate twig, no rattling cricket, no bouncing grasshopper.

Throughout the rest of 3 steepings of Abigail’s black tea, we observed the wild cocoon-laden wilderness.

“Shall we move on from this dream?” said Abigail. “See what things we can forage to make attribute beers with?”

I pulled my gaze from the pulsing world of cocoons and looked up at the giant maple. “Before we go, what if we left barrels of Honey Cocoon ales in the branches?”

“The wind will just knock them down.”

“We strap them down and let them percolate.”

“We could try,” said Abigail. “Let’s try. Then we’ll head back home. After everything we’ve foraged, I can’t wait to continue brewing all the attribute beers I possibly can.”

We broke camp. Just as I was rolling up my bedroll, Abigail hunched over a pile of cocoons that was wrapped around a tree trunk. She put an ear to the cocoons. Her hair fell across her face.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hawkin, come here.”

“What—”

“—Shh. Come.”

I tiptoed over in a flash. I put an ear to the cocoon. The silk pulsed against my cheek. It was like feeling a caterpillar morph within an accommodating chrysalis. I heard a quick heartbeat.

My eyes went wide. “They’re alive.”

Abigail whispered. “How close do you think they are to emerging?”

“What does the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients say?”

“I’ll look it up when we come back down.”

We sipped from an Anti-gravity ale and leapt up to dizzying heights. Halfway up the tree, where we could still see a slash of night sky on one horizon, and the sun on the other, we took in the view below.

Our efforts throughout the past weeks transformed the wilderness. Swaths of the forest were beginning to grow to giant proportions. A network of silver silk covered everything north and northwest of us, all the way to the Mist Hidden barrier. It looked like the wilderness was covered in wavy pleats of silver snow. It all pulsated from hundreds of thousands of breathing cocoons. It was like the entire forest dripped with silver paint; as if we lived on the body of a titanic slumbering god, and we just so happened to be where their silver hair lay sprawled, cloaking everything. Every vein of silver silk could be traced like river paths to nowhere.

We were in awe. The wind too gasped. We held each other’s hand.

But the sun was climbing, and we had the rest of our hike ahead of us. Day was only so long. We brewed more barrels of Honey Cocoon and Aggravated Wild Growth. With the longest ethereal labels I had ever forged, we tied the barrels to a branch, tapped them, and let them percolate in the wind. If the wilderness was so changed already, it was only the beginning. There would be more growth, more cocoons.

When we returned down to hike west toward the sea, I brewed and clone brewed a multitude of beer: ethereal dungeon beers, cream ales, ice billy goat lagers.

Throughout The Ages leveled up to 1927, Flash Ferment leveled up to 1896, Forge Ethereal Yeast leveled up to 1902, Brewer’s Harvest leveled up to 1843, and my Crumble Cloud, Foam Cascade sub skill rose to level 781. Yet gold rank was still out of reach!

Abigail had meanwhile been studying her Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients.

When I finished brewing, she closed the book and slipped an arm through mine. “It takes anywhere between four and five months for the monster fireflies to emerge. They’ll emerge no matter the season or weather.”

“So it might even be spring by the time the first monster fireflies emerge.”

“That attribute is my favorite so far! And don’t forget…” She closed my hand into a fist. “...They’re going to be this big.”

Chapter 49

Rice

Brewer’s Reputation: 680.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

The atmosphere on my Beyond The Cabin shone with spectral colors. Ethereal ingredients glowed their mystic, holy, unearthly, and ghost colors all at once. The chestnut trees expanded away from the cabin. It still drizzled autumn leaves. Black cohosh flowers dominated the landing where the log house sat. Barrels made of ethereal forged labels bobbed in rows upon rows, extending into the distance until they looked like scales of a dragon’s tail. No sun and no moon didn’t mean it still wasn’t evening. And before the day was completely over, there were a few things that needed to be done.

I brewed more ethereal dungeon beers to prepare for the continued trade with Hiccup. And since we were stopping at the log house, I thought it was a good idea to wrap ethereal forged labels into jars to contain all the ingredients we had foraged while on our long hike. I stuffed an ethereal pot with dried, black chokeberries. I gazed out the many windows as I worked.

Abigail suddenly appeared on the sand amidst the black cohosh and fourrure blancs. She looked to have freshly bathed after gardening on her Gift #1 ethereal plane. She smiled warmly before employing her Brewer’s Bubble skill to hoist a Thrush-sized ball of water. With a scoop of bouncing bet soap and heat from her Fire and Roast skill, she threw in a tunic and pants and let them soak in midair.

Without breaking stride, after what must have been two hours of gardening, she jumped right into brewing beer. I watched while I wrapped another forged ethereal label into the shape of a pot and filled it with river-beauty shoots. Using Brewer’s Bubble once more, Abigail gathered together more water than I had ever seen her use at once. I gazed on in absolute awe. It was like she had lifted a lake from the earth. Her arms trembled. Her feet slid apart to brace herself. So much water…What could a diamond rank Brewer do? Fable rank Brewers? Could they hoist planet shapes of water above their heads? Abigail was clearly pushing her skills to their maximum and the glimpse into the true capabilities of a Brewer absolutely floored me…

With but a gesture, ptooey streamed in a thin drooping line from one of Slime-tooth’s black barrels. Grain and hops followed. She often paused, lowered her head, panted, and then renewed her efforts until the beer had completed fermentation and was stored into waiting barrels.

I packed another pot with scallop-toothed yaupon leaves that we had roasted to near black. I secured the lid on the pot and then looked out the window once more. Abigail was still at it, this time with a much smaller sphere of water. Instead of barley, she withdrew rice from her inventory. She went still; she seemed to sharpen her focus. I could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. She left the bubble of wobbling rice beer to float beside her while she made smaller batches and experimented with every one of her Foam Cascade subskills. As she tasted each one, nodding or shaking her head, I stowed the starchy pickerelweed seeds we’d painstakingly foraged.

When I next returned my attention out the window, Abigail had her nose in her own Collector’s Journal. Several bookmark tassels swung from pages. She traced words with a finger and flipped back and forth between pages.

I made another ethereal pot and filled it with the narrow leaves of lady’s-thumb—not before pressing my finger tip to the triangle print pattern in the middle of some leaves.

A cascade of splashes drew my attention. Each small experiment Abigail had brewed had hit the sand. She returned to the larger sphere of rice beer. After incorporating her selected Foam Cascade subskill, she bottled the beer in red-amber glass bottles. The glass had reflections I’d only ever seen on yellow topaz. Each bottle received a twist of silver foil over the cork. Then with the trace of a fingernail, and a skill I was unfamiliar with, she etched the label into the glass.

I stored away the parsnip-like roots of wild ginseng.

One by one, Abigail donated each rice beer toward quest shards. Each beer transmuted in the air before her. All but one. She passed by the window with a smile and then entered the log house.

She slipped into my arms. “I’ve got about six thousand and three hundred more shards to collect; at the same time, I’ve reached a milestone.”

“Your Brewer’s Bubble was gigantic.”

“I’ve reached level three thousand nine hundred ninety-nine in Brewer’s Bubble.”

“You’re on the brink of diamond rank—Abigail, that's incredible!”

“But I’m not really on the brink. I’ve got so many levels to grind with other skills. Then I’ve got to climb through quality tiers. Diamond rank is still something that might take more than my lifetime to achieve.”

“You hit a ceiling with Brewer’s Bubble. That’s still a reason to celebrate.”

She pulled away just enough to fit a bottle of her freshly brewed rice beer between us. “Celebrate with me.”

She poured us full V pitchers of her rice beer. We clinked pitchers.

Her eyes went big. She smiled and blushed. A giggle escaped her.

“I hope you like it,” she said.

The aroma—vapors of arctic air—reminded me of rice pudding. That was the simplest way to put it. There were notes of icing, sweet porridge, and cheese-cake stuffed pancake. What a shame I couldn’t dine on the flavors of mere smells. I breathed the aroma like I’d been starving. In my mind, there was a perfect pastry beneath my nose. I couldn’t open my eyes. I lived for the beauty of this beer’s deceit! Oh, damn—just the smell!

I went in for the heady foam that mushroomed over the pitcher rim. Abigail had already bitten through hers. She dabbed at her lips with the back of her hand and then whispered, “Sweet Pillow sub skill.”

I sank my teeth in the cool foam. The bubbles were star-shaped, and I felt their points shatter on my tongue. The foam was softer than a pillow. I chewed the foam like I chewed air. I drank the milky sweetness that melted from the dying foam. The foam was something meant for kings! Nothing I’d ever had had been so good.

Abigail laughed and smiled big. “Drink!”

The aroma, the foam, it was nothing compared to tasting the very beer itself. On my first sip, I grasped Abigail’s shoulder. Her bubbly laughter rang in my ears.

Chapter 50

Old Ale Wheat Ale

Brewer’s Reputation: 676.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Thick logs burned with tall flames in the fire pit. Since we were between meals, the fire was for leisure. Because the wood was so dry, the fire was smokeless. Flames ripped the air when the wind strengthened. The canopy shook. Early autumnal leaves fell free from on high. The trees swayed so much that I considered whether the wind preceded a storm.

We had food, shelter; and Abigail was armed with innumerable Shelter attribute recipes. But in whose shelter would we seek comfort? Hers? Mine?

On a double billy goat recipe, I used my level 1999 Alchemical Control skill and my level 582 Imbue Memory skill.

The fire crackled as it rushed. The logs collapsed in a slow dance. The wind hushed through tree leaves. A pair of goldfinches flew so fast that for a moment it looked like they each dragged yellow ribbons. A gray catbird trilled in the height of a pine. Crisp yellow-green leaves fell into the thicket of flowers. Midday heat cooled when gray clouds swooped over the forest. The smell of caramelized grapes and fresh date paste conjured autumnal pastimes. Ethereal ingredients evoked memories that belonged to some earlier time, some earlier place, some earlier state of mind. I couldn’t place the nostalgia. …A simple lonesome walk along an unfrequented park trail…

[End Memory.]

The double billy goat lager smelled like I’d just torn open a fresh white fig. The foam was Creamed Shaved Ice, and it held notes of orange peel, coriander, and wild, young ginger. The beer was dark, like wet wood, and it tasted like chocolate and sugar-liquor cake.

Was it the flavors of cake that made me want to celebrate such a fantastic beer by continuing to brew throughout the next few hours, armed with mana beer?

Beer after beer, I pushed my Force Carbonation skill as far as I could. Several beers exploded from Brewer’s Bubble. Rivulets of beer dripped from the roof of my cabin, down tree trunks, and hid as dew on the petals of Abigail’s flowers. I was thoroughly drenched. Foam melted into the earth and sprinkled with protest upon the fire. Forced Carbonation reached level 1852.

I brewed the coldest beers that I could with Brewer’s Chill. Although I had been able to bring its level to 1995, it didn’t come without cost. I lost almost all the beer to overusing that skill. I dropped ice globe after ice globe until I was able to produce one of my coldest beers so far. It was arctic. Ice crystals had begun to form around the silver boot that I tried the beer in. I was only 4 levels away from maxing out Brewer’s Chill.

Flash Ferment was also getting closer to the silver rank max of 1999. I brought it up to 1961. After a break and a few sips of Mana beer, I put all my energy into using Flash Ferment to the best of my ability. I had to be careful with time and temperature, and I again lost a few beers in the process to undesirable flavors. The failed brews brought me back to my first few days of brewing beer in my cabin. I couldn’t help but smile at having progressed so far in such a short time. I couldn’t believe that humans and monsters and besties were enjoying my beers.

Throughout the Ages reached level 1951. Not only did the color of the beers darken when I used Throughout the Ages, but the flavors completely changed. Fruity notes transformed like they’d undergone baking. Floral notes nearly dissipated. The fresh resinous flavors of hops became more earthy. Malts became sweeter, smoother. Beers which were better enjoyed fresh ended up bland. Hardier, darker beers ended up mature—as though the flavors could be worn like a shoe and broken in with a good walk.

And since I was drenched, I went with the Erupting Streams Foam Cascade sub skill. Foam Cascade leveled to 1708; Erupting Streams leveled to 142.

What a rush it was to see some skills hit the 1900s!

It was early evening by the time I decided to brew my last beer of the day. I was almost too exhausted, but I wanted to give another proper try to brewing a golden chapter beer.

After a brief break of water, onion soup, a chat with Abigail, and some meditation, I began. I spent nearly a full hour meditating on what recipe to brew: an olde wheat ale. I wanted to mix the dark strong ale style with a usually fresh beer. I took a deep breath and then used my skills.

[Brewer’s Harvest. Level 1829.]

[Fire and Roast. Level 1873.]

[Brewer’s Bubble. Level 1999.]

[Mash Master. Level 1973.]

[Hop Wallop. Level 1999.]

[Brewer’s Chill. Level 1995.]

[Kiss of Yeast. Level 1987.]

[Flash Ferment. Level 1961.]

[Foam Cascade. Level 1733.]

[Sleeping Fox Familiar sub skill. Level 185.]

I aged the beer for just shy of a decade’s time.

[Throughout the Ages. Level 1951.]

Abigail appeared from a trail in the woods. She dumped firewood from her inventory in the piles beside the fire pit. She withdrew her hands into her cardigan sleeves and joined me on the large logs.

“How’d it go?” she said.

“No notification, but let’s see.”

“Mugs? Your silver boots? Something more appropriate?”

“It’s an olde wheat ale.”

“You aged a wheat ale. Interesting. Brewery Leap’n Leak does that. Quite a difficult feat for an attempt at a golden chapter.”

“It’s a mix of wanting to have fun and trying to push my skills.”

“...How about a lidded tankard? I only have one. I’m still searching for a matching one.”

The lidded tankard was nearly the size of my head. The metal was heavily tarnished. Chips of yellow semi-precious stones were arranged in patterns that resembled wheat sheaves. The sheaves circled the tankard at the top, the middle, and the base. Abigail rinsed it out and thumbed the lid open. I poured the beer in. Fluffs of white foam stirred. A fox made of foam leaped out of the lid that swung open with a clang. It leapt over the fire, and the heat carried it up the forest canopy. The fox’s form maintained true long enough for it to scuttle across a high branch. Firelight clung to the underside of the canopy. I lost sight of the fox in the shadows.

“It’s your beer. You should enjoy it first,” said Abigail.

I thumbed the lid open and sipped.

[Hawkin’s Olde Wheat Ale.]

[Silver rank. 38/100 Grand Honorable.]

[Aged for nearly a decade, this beer marries the freshness of a classic wheat ale with the mature developed flavors of an old ale. The banana esters, classic to the wheat ale, have almost vanished. Instead, a lingering bouquet of baked currants remains. The foam is legendary! This oddity is currently Brewery Hawkin’s best beer to date.]

[Special Attribute: None.]

All that effort had only earned me 1 level up the Grand Honorable quality ladder. …And it was not a golden chapter beer.

Chapter 51

Ethereal and Light

Brewer’s Reputation: 658.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

“Morning,” said Abigail.

Steam rose from two mugs on the table in my cabin. Blurry-eyed, I joined her for black tea. A small fire crackled in the stove. Between quiet murmurs and swift sips, we kissed a few times. The morning was cold, she was cold, but our lips were warmed with tea and with small, brief kisses. How new it was to hear someone else's clothing rustle in the early hours in my cabin. When she cleared her throat, my eyes awakened a fraction more.

“I need to catch up on ethereal beers today,” I murmured.

“I’ll be studying,” she said.

I thanked her for the tea and then drank a sip of Beyond the Cabin.

On the ethereal plane, I flew up to the woven ball of still growing oak and sat cross-legged in a nest of hanging moss. There I forged ethereal ingredients for hours while I struggled to maintain undivided focus on the task. Mythic, holy, unearthly, and ghost colors enthralled me. Every single grain, hop, drop of water, and fleck of yeast came to life between my hands like the smallest stars. And in the spectral colored atmosphere of the plane, high above the log house, I felt for a moment like some deity expanding the cosmos. I added tons of newly forged ingredients to the ever growing rows of ethereal ingredients. All my Forge Ethereal skills progressed to around 1933.

Without missing a beat, I used my Clone Ethereal Beer skill to clone Dellia Lucerne’s Dungeon #1, #2, and #3. However much I would have loved to wrap forged ethereal labels into giant pumpkin shapes, the traditional barrel was easier to manage and store. My Clone Ethereal Beer skill rose to level 1890. Ethereal Dungeon Master rose to level 919—still in bronze rank. However, my Planes Cutter Master skill rose to level 1033!

[Congratulations! Your Planes Cutter Master skill has reached silver rank!]

[Mana replenishment while on ethereal planes has increased to double speed.]

[Sleep on ethereal planes offers a deeper peaceful rest at half the time required.]

[All ethereal skills have increased by 1 level.]

[Forge Ethereal Label cannot receive level up past the silver rank max of 1999.]

[Light, color, texture, and atmosphere of your ethereal planes can now be modified.]

[Dream Cutters can now build at twice the speed on your ethereal planes.]

Dream Cutters? Dellia had asked me to reconsider the quest to hire Dream Cutters to help me with the Loved Ones Mausoleum project. She’d said they would make it easier for me, but how? I heaved a sigh.

Now that my Planes Cutter Master reached silver rank, I attempted to brew Ethereal Dungeon Beer #4, but it didn’t work. My Ethereal Dungeon Master skill was 80 levels shy of silver rank. That would be the skill to let me brew using the dungeon core.

I returned to my cabin. Abigail sat against pillows on my cot. A bottle of beer glowed from some special attribute that threw light bright, like a lantern, upon the pages of her Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients. Embers squealed and hissed in the stove. Our eyes met. She closed the book and tossed it on the mattress.

“I’ve been harvesting all the red squash today,” she said. “I brewed some new attribute beers. Do you like this one? It uses petrified wood—juniper. The attribute is called Highlighter.”

“We should take a night walk with a couple of those.”

“Could we? Tonight?”

“It’s a date,” I said.

She leapt up from the cot and threw her arms around me. I bumped against the table. She laughed wildly; I chuckled.

“We could go down to the sea,” I said.

“And watch the Mist Hidden barrier.”

“We could take the trail up to the cove. It gets darker there in the pines.”

We packed a dinner of various filets of salted fish, tomato soup, and sow-thistle salad. Then we left the cabin and took the trail down to the sea, hand in hand. We talked shop for most of the way, and stopped to touch the bark of the oldest oaks along the way. We laughed back and forth, and more than once spoke at the same time after a lull.

Abigail read up on her Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients at the dock—I had interrupted her in the middle of a paragraph earlier. Perhaps it was the clouds that had darkened, or the strengthening wind, but the fish were quite active. I cast my fishing net out while Abigail read. On my first throw I caught 14 herring. I exclaimed and gaped at the catch. I cast out my net for the next 2 hours. The line pressed into the crook of my fingers. Sea salt became powder in my palm. My fingers slowly pruned. But my inventory filled up with herring!

On my final successful catch of a couple of sea bream and small fry, Abigail’s boots clapped the dock. She crouched beside me as I pleated the net for organized storage.

“I brewed an Anti-gravity ale for you,” said Abigail.

“Just a sip then. I still want a laid back walk with you. It’s already getting darker.”

Abigail pivoted and turned her gaze to the graying sky. The clouds were rushing overhead.

“I think you were right,” she said. “It’s going to storm.”

“You all right being caught in it?”

“I’ll prepare a few Shelter attribute beers.”

Apart from the Mist Hidden wall, the surf was the brightest feature under a dark sky. It was near twilight. Before we turned to take the trail up to the cove, lights flashed in distant southern clouds. There was no thunder, no jag of lightning.

Abigail withdrew one of her beers that was bottled in a wrapped ethereal forged label. Chimeric colors lay upon the ground. Some of the colors washed over the trees. Then she withdrew her Highlighter attribute ale. We were instantly encircled by an orb of bright yellow-green light.

“I wanted to compare the two,” said Abigail.

“Can we drink it?”

“You won’t end up glowing or anything.”

“Not even for a moment?”

Abigail popped the cork from the Highlighter’s bottle. She took a sip. A warm yellow glowed through her cheeks.

Chapter 52

Modify

Brewer’s Reputation: 645.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

On Beyond the Cabin, autumn leaves rained. A wild assortment of impossible colors, from all my master beers, escaped my log house by beams through the windows. I cloned gallons of each Ethereal Landmark ale and spilled them into the space of the plane until every landmark was almost doubled: moss covered oak, fourrure blanc and soil, black cohosh, sand and sumac leaves, those raining autumn leaves, chestnut trees, and nasturtiums whose roots hung like long, wet, white hair.

I floated through the atmosphere like I was a flying monkey. I swung from hanging moss like they were vines. I practiced balance on the meandering branches of the ever growing oaks. I dove to the chestnut tree forest and then swam back to my log house. I soared through the soft fourrure blancs and white, duster-tips of the black cohosh flowers. All the while, a lazy storm of autumn leaves crinkled through the atmosphere.

After a break from brewing, my mana replenished quickly, and I kicked off from the sand. I soared high into the plane until I reached the upper branches of the ball of oak. I sat on a nest of moss and gazed down at the world that I’d built. I considered the opalescent colors of the plane and activated my new skills one by one.

[Modify Ethereal Plane Color.]

[Shiny.]

[Opalescent.]

[Prismatic.]

[Pavonine.]

[Sheen.]

[Pearl.]

[Shimmer.]

[Ghost.]

[Unearthly.]

[Holy.]

[Mystic.]

It wasn’t fair to call those options ‘colors’. The sheens could perhaps be the closest to having colors. When I selected [Sheen] I was presented with a spectrum that went from something akin to a moonless night with flecks of mica, to something like sun through an icicle with speckles of frozen, crushed pearl. Changing the color of the plane so completely, so suddenly, threw my stomach for a loop. It was almost like replacing the sun in the sky. Everything was affected. Some of the color options were brighter than others. With the use of my Modify Ethereal Plane Light, I was able to dim the brighter ones and brighten the dimmer ones. I went with a Sheen for my final selection. The color was akin to autumn sunlight through gold birch leaves. I adjusted the light until it was soft, like late daylight through a weathered window.

[Modify Ethereal Plane Atmosphere.]

[Cloud.]

[Dew Point.]

[Haze.]

[Fog.]

[Storm.]

[Gravity.]

Changing gravity kicked my ass. The wind was knocked out of my lungs when I was suddenly pressed into the branch of the oak. My head hit the bark. My chest felt tight, I couldn’t breathe, and I quickly returned gravity to around where it had been. When the pressure let up, I coughed blood and cursed for a few minutes at my folly. That folly could have been my death.

The mistake was sobering, and I cautiously returned to changing the atmosphere after my hands stopped shaking, and I stopped hacking. I didn’t mess with too much else. I modified the atmosphere so that low thin clouds wandered just overhead. Then I used Modify Ethereal Plane Texture to make the clouds tangible and the air as dense as the air at the foot of a mountain. When I touched the clouds, it was like running my fingers through silken, sun-dried hair. And from those clouds autumn leaves speared through.

Dellia Lucerne dropped through. She was an outline of the cosmos. I could see a star-filled night in the outline of her big hair and all through the rest of her.

“How is the hermit?” said Dellia.

“Dellia!”

We floated down to the log house, talking as we descended.

“How are things with my Loved Ones Mausoleum plane?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” I said.

“I want you to turn thought into action.”

“My problem is people management. I’ll need to figure out how to manage visitors.”

“You will. There will be more than you think. I want a steady supply of those beers. I want them delivered to my temple in Sweet Gale.”

“How will I get my beer there?”

We alighted on the roof of the loghouse. She sat on the edge so that her feet dangled above the mad beam of colors that escaped a window.

“You have orcs, goblins, humans, and little besties selling your beer all over the world,” she said. “You can figure it out. My name must be on every label.”

“I make sure of that.”

“Good.”

“Since I have you—I can’t brew my fourth dungeon core into an ethereal dungeon yet.”

“Accessible when your Ethereal Dungeon Beer skill breaks into silver. Are you still turning down quests?”

“The few that I’ve been receiving have all involved traveling.”

Dellia stopped swinging her legs. She sighed. “You can use Brewer’s Portals now…”

“I’m sticking to these woods.”

“I was hoping you’d change your mind, you odd man.”

“…But it looks like the world is coming to me. High ranking adventurers, beer collectors, alchemists, grievers, and a necromancer.”

“And dream cutters. I sent them.”

I couldn’t make out her features; any expression. All I had was her tone.

“Why?” I said.

“You’ll need them for several reasons.”

“Will this end? I want to be left alone.”

“Says the man who has recently nabbed the title holder of Champion Oude Brewer.”

“That was not supposed to happen. Did you do that?”

Dellia laughed. She tossed her head, and her big hair flipped back. As it cascaded over her shoulders, the air wrinkled in her outline. Stars twinkled within her form. “Potere’s follower did that work for me! I’m flattered that you think my influence is larger than it is. It continues to grow, thank you. I have amassed more than ten thousand followers already. Almost half of that are young Brewers in bronze rank. They’ll be brewing ethereal beers soon too.”

“Will this end? Will I be left in peace?”

“That depends on several things.”

I lay back with my hands behind my head. I watched the mesmeric new colors, textures, and atmosphere of the plane. If other Brewers would soon be creating ethereal planes, perhaps they could surpass me, and I could be left alone. I turned to Dellia, but she had vanished.

How am I going to manage all these grievers on the Loved Ones Mausoleum plane?

I sipped that beer, blinked, and found myself on the plane with a path of pebbles between butter-colored honeysuckle and gnarled oaks that looked like cooled magma. Empty forged label barrels hovered in the shimmering atmosphere overhead. I cloned each landmark ale and refilled the barrels so they could continue dripping.

I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. I needed to brew libation beers with the remains of people and animals. They would all need privacy to reconnect one last time with their loved ones. I could make winding paths with dens of honeysuckle and oak that offered that privacy. And I needed to change the color of the atmosphere so that the ghostly colored people and animals could be more easily discerned.

I got to work.

Chapter 53

Personal Effects

Brewer’s Reputation: 638.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Last night’s rain clung to the poppies, the marigolds, the asters, and the goldenrods in our clearing. As we moved Abigail’s things into my cabin, we became soaked from the knees down after bumping into drenched flowers. Early morning light was a mix of blue and yellow rays. Birds were only starting to stir. The cocoon-laden forest was taking its first breaths of the new day’s air.

I held Abigail’s bedding above the wet flowers. She led me through the flowers to my cabin. Inside, I dropped her bedding on my cot. She pinched each layer of my bedding between her thumb and forefinger.

“Let’s keep your comforter, and let’s use my sheets,” said Abigail.

I felt the softness of each layer. “This will be an upgrade for me.”

We threw the extra sheets into a barrel filled with hot water and a ladle of bouncing bet derived soap. Using Brewer’s Bubble, I churned the water. The smell of sweet cream and sweet orchid steamed up from the barrel.

“Let’s switch the stoves,” I said.

I foolishly proposed that we roll her stove on logs. Abigail simply popped open two bottles of Third hand attribute lagers. The root-beer-colored hands clutched her stove, removed the stovepipe from the ceiling, picked the whole thing up, and followed Abigail through the rows of flowers. Wet ash dripped as she went. Switching the stoves went without a hitch. We put my smaller old one in her old cabin.

“Hawkin?” said Abigail as I crouched to inspect the new stove.

“My stove…it was the reason Thrush and I met. The day my life changed.”

“I should visit Hiccup soon and summon Thrush.”

“I’m fond of the monster.”

“I’m sure he’ll come back to put his smoker back to use.”

“I miss the smell.”

“Let’s smoke some fish together. Maybe he’ll smell it.”

We smiled at each other with our eyes, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Soon I was blessed with Abigail’s delighted chuckles as she went through her trove of clothing. She remarked her favorite articles; and in the burgeoning light of the day, she held garments up to her collar bone, draped the lengths down her body, and pivoted this way and that. I knew she would need storage for her clothes, so I wove ethereal forged labels into chimeric-colored baskets. I focused on my task while quietly reveling in her simple joy. Basket after basket was filled with splendid sundresses, deeply dyed tunics, thick linen pants, and dark weighty cloaks. I slid each color-throwing basket beneath the cot.

“Will they all fit?” she said.

“Your twelve baskets next to my two?”

For each piece of clothing Abigail had, she had collected ten times as many dried flowers. Empty bottles of beer, vases, glassware, and gourds held bouquets of dried flowers in her cabin. And she was right: they were so lovely! She wrung her hands as we talked about what to do with them. She seemed nervous when she said, “We don’t really need all these dead flowers, do we?”

I hugged her from behind, kissed behind her ear, and began loading my inventory with all her dried flowers. She went from nervous to beaming with sparkles in her eyes.

“Let’s find a place for all of these,” I said.

“All of them?”

“All of them. And you can teach me the best way to dry flowers. We’ll fill our home with them.”

“Hawkin,” said Abigail when I stepped over the threshold of her cabin. I turned to her and put a hand up to block the rising sun. “I’ve never made a home with anyone.”

She came to me. I took her hand. We strolled through the waking flowers to my cabin and spent the morning putting high shelves around the perimeter of my cabin. I put my axe to work to plane those shelves. We stuffed them with dried flowers from wall to wall. Dozens of powdery scents fell from the rustling flowers. Zinnias dropped their scent of dried toothpaste, peonies wafted their cinnamon and lime zest fragrance, the honey-musk of yarrow drifted to the floor of the cabin like floating pollen.

I was simply astonished. How could this woman find so much joy in arranging an overflow of dried flowers? She wasn’t asking for anything; she just wanted flowers. It was such a delicate joy that it broke my heart. I could not explain the feeling any other way.

If there was anything else she liked as much as flowers, it was her books. We returned to her cabin and stowed her multitude of shelves of books into our inventories. There were sun-stained clothbound tomes, wobbly leatherbound volumes, stiff thimble-sewn journals, and a host of craft-bound books. Some smelled of paper-must, some smelled of cedar and sawdust, and the one on her only chair smelled like sunflower oil.

We took the books and her chair to my cabin. Our chairs were different—mine, rough; hers, near-polished—but they completed the table.

“Oh, but we’re out of room,” said Abigail. Her gaze roved the shelves of jars that held foraged items.

“Let’s move all this to your old cabin,” I said. “That’ll be for extra storage. The cellar is always an option too.”

Within the hour, the table was crammed with jars, and the shelves each held a long book-scape. Abigail pulled out a few volumes that she’d been meaning to get into. She set a stack of three upon her pillow.

All the jars went into her old cabin where the books had been: jars of eastern hemlock needles, jars of dried gemmed puffballs, jars of dandelion root, a gourd of roasted chicory root, and on and on. We smelled of clay and root and earth by the time we were done.

For lunch, I ran back and grabbed the jar of roasted chicory root. I prepared the root in a strong black tisane for us. We smoked small fry and shared a crisp salad of wild greens and sliced cabbage, all with dreambon juice dressing. We talked shop while we ate, which culminated in spreading out an assortment of grains on the table to discuss.

Abigail pushed a pale, almost translucent grain of barley, across the table with the tip of a finger. “Jualsfeld glass barley. Makes one of the clearest colors of beer available.”

“Beer that looks like water?”

“Almost. If you’re brewing something light—say, a crisp ale—it will come out like murky water.”

“Murky.”

“Doesn’t sound good, does it?” said Abigail. “But that’s the reality. Some Brewers are trying their hand on making a clear double stout.”

“Something thick.”

“Can you imagine? Viscous like warmed honey.”

I picked up a few kernels of barley that were deformed. “And these ones?” Each one looked like they had been bent in a twist with pliers. The barley was wheat-colored and sported a single twisted stripe of pastel green.

“Ikad spirals. Ikad is as south as Salindune, but you have to go far east. Sweet Gale is about halfway from Salindune to there. They’re grown on pastures near sand bluffs—great big cliffs that drop miles down into a cold, white sand desert. It gets so windy there that the kernels mutate in the wind. Trees are forced sideways.”

“You’ve traveled the world.”

“Oh no, not nearly; but I have traveled my fair share. I’ve apprenticed under a lot of Brewers. Grikk Oldertuff—he brews exclusively with Ikad spirals—enters the Oude Brewer’s Competitive every year with the same beer but has never placed.”

“I’d like to try it. What is it?”

“Spontaneity Brett Ale. Supremely difficult; often his batches take other wild yeasts. He’s been cultivating brett yeast on wine grapes around his brewery for the sole purpose of the chance to brew a perfect spontaneity brett beer. He’s forcing the brett yeast to outcompete native yeasts. I think he’s going to transform the world of beer one day.”

“I would like to try his beer. Have you had it?”

“I’ve had some of the most remarkable beers in the world working at his brewery."

Fueled by Abigail’s tales, I started brewing beer right after lunch. Abigail worked on her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap quest while I worked tirelessly on trying to brew a golden chapter beer. I went through batch after batch of a double crisp ale recipe.

I hit several ceilings. Brewers Chill hit level 1999, Throughout the Ages hit level 1999, and Mash Master hit level 1999. Foam Cascade hit level 1786, and the sub skill Sticky Meringue hit level 441—an improvement of only a single level.

I quaffed nearly two quarts of water before the headache of leveling came on. Information flooded my mind. The headache came on strong, and instead of celebrating a total of seven of my skills hitting the brink of gold rank, I spent most of the rest of the day lying in bed.

Chapter 54

Something Done is a Thing that’s Done.

Brewer’s Reputation: 621.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

I felt much better, late evening, after a bowl of onion soup and a bowl of tomato soup. A layer of embers hissed and glowed in the new stove. Abigail finished another batch of beers that went toward completing her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap quest. She remarked that she had around 5,800 more bottles to go.

I fetched a couple of sticky stones of resin from our new storage shed and placed them on the embers of the stove. Aromas of pine, pine needle covered earth, and something like myrrh filled the cabin.

“How often do you burn resin?” said Abigail.

“As often as I have the supply. More often in the summer than in the fall and winter. It used to keep the insects away before your Sheltering attributes did the trick. Now I just love the smell.”

Abigail poured us a beer from the batch she had just brewed.

[Teff-initely Tasty.]

[Hoppy Crisp Ale.]

[Gold Rank. 25/100 Mythic.]

[An excellent entry in the Mythic quality tier, this fine ale carries a strong undertone of fire roasted acorns. Blue Ankor hops offer fruity esters of blueberry and black currants. Yak hops offer notes of citrus and sweetgrass. The foam is Angel’s Pillow. Ribbons of blueberry honey stripe the beer.]

After the first sip, I was floored. The foam was the softest I’d ever had. The experience was dream-like, and I questioned for a moment whether I was really tasting such a phenomenal beer. I was honored to add this to my Collector’s Journal.

Judging by her reaction, I think Abigail surprised herself. We discussed the beer and talked shop for a time before she pulled out a notebook, quill, and ink. She told me about all the things she wanted to do the next day as she wrote them down.

“Have you always planned out your days like this?” I said.

“I used to be quite busy when I first reached gold rank. It was the best way to organize my schedule. So much so that I still use it even for mundane things.”

Burning resin and planning days weren’t the only thing we learned about each other. I asked to join Abigail when she began a stretching routine before bed. She told me she inherited the routine from a few other Brewers when she was grinding levels day after day. It helped shed excess energy and tension before bed.

She seemed surprised when she saw me wash my face with cold water, especially since I had the Fire and Roast skill to heat the water. I told her that my grandfather used to shave with cold water, and it just always reminded me of him. When he used to shave, it sounded like someone was running their thumb along the tines of a comb. Abigail shuddered.

In bed, sitting against the wall, I showed Abigail all the notches I had made on the wall. Each one was small as an eyelash. She ran her finger over the notches. When she asked why, I told her that I counted the days.

And later when a fresh heap of kindling was added to the stove for another half hour of light to read by, Abigail closed her book and lay down to stare up at the ceiling. I watched the shadows of the stove grate bend and lurch on the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Just…existing for a moment.”

I looked back up at the ceiling. After a moment, I closed my Collector’s Journal and scooted down to lay beside her and stare at the ceiling with her.

Our front door was open and a breeze came in and made the shadows dance. I leaned up on an elbow and watched the dark night through the door. I listened to the wind and the rustle of nature. An owl repeated itself.

Abigail took my free hand and clasped it over her belly. Her eyes were half closed. Her breathing steadied, and I felt the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing became free and slow and deep. Within the hour, she closed her eyes. I slipped my hand out from hers and lay back to stare at the ceiling for just a bit more.

∞

Abigail and I sipped the ethereal Home Camp beer. We hovered up to the stump beside the cold fire pit. The iridescent atmosphere of the plane quietly morphed like the shifting of clouds.

“Do you think Barnacle-eyes visited?” said Abigail.

“It’s strange not having her around.”

“I could go for another one of her rambles.”

“Those were the best,” I said. “She loved talking about Slime-tooth. Always missed him.”

“Is he her father?”

I mulled that over for a moment. I recalled conversations with Barnacle-eyes. “We talked about that every now and then. She started calling him ‘like-a-father’ after she grew interested in the idea of a goblin family.”

“I wonder if any goblin knows their parents.”

“I imagine they must without realizing it. From everything I learned, it’s a village-raised scenario. Camaraderie and chain of command are more important to them.”

“I don’t buy it,” said Abigail. “It’s more likely that goblins are forced into labor—coerced.”

“I think that’s why Barnacle-eyes is so fond of Slime-tooth. I don’t think he ever asked her for anything.”

Abigail chuckled. “I loved hearing all of Slime-tooth’s proverbs. They were absolutely wild and often made little sense.”

“Like the rules of shipbuilding: Work as fast as you can and keep adding things until it floats.”

“Well, Gloom-glower’s fleet is still treading water.”

“True; they made it work. Barnacle-eyes’ ship on the other hand…”

“What did she say when she used to drop for naps?” said Abigail. “It made me crave naps every once in a while.”

I searched my memories. Drop was the correct word to use. Barnacle-eyes used to stop whatever it was she was doing and lay down—no matter where—to sleep. She would say…she would say…

I snapped my fingers. “Sleep when you’re tired; work when you're tired.”

“That’s it! It made me realize how much I overwork myself at times—both you and I. It’s a wonderful saying if you think about it.”

“We all work too hard.”

“I think we do, and I think we owe it to ourselves to take things a little easy sometimes.”

But it was at that moment that Abigail brought out a few ingredients to brew beer with. Judging by the sorghum, she wanted to contribute another batch of alternative grain beers toward her Thewwy’s Puncheon Tap quest. I pointed out the irony.

She cackled. “I know, I know—I just started thinking about work in general, all the things I wanted to accomplish. And it’s still early in the day.”

“There’s another one she used to repeat all the time,” I said. “About eating. Eat if you can? Then eat some more?”

“Oh, I know this one. Barnacle-eyes said it was one of Slime-tooth’s more common proverbs. ‘Eat if you can; eat if you can’t.’”

“According to Barnacle-eyes, Slime-tooth used to always follow that up with sharing jellyfish or dried rat meat.”

“He had another proverb for that,” said Abigail.

I racked my brain. From Abigail’s silence, I could tell she was trying to recollect the saying as well. After a moment, she returned to finishing her sorghum beer. She began donating bottle after bottle toward the shard quest. When she asked me if I wanted to share one, it struck me.

“Sharing feels like giving things away, but it’s not, it’s sharing.”

Suddenly we both recalled a ton of Slime-tooth’s proverbs, as repeated by Barnacle-eyes. Some of them made absolutely no sense. Others were simple. A couple of them contained deep, wordly insight:

A goblin never knew who they might be tomorrow. Our only guess, based on the little we knew about goblins, was that goblins could be bailing buckets one day, and could become a Captain the very next day. The proverb was about jobs, we surmised, until Abigail mentioned that Barnacle-eyes couldn’t have gotten her name before she had been attacked by a saw. Thus, the proverb could be about the literal identity of the goblins, depending on their life circumstances. And maybe their names weren’t up to them. Maybe their names were communally, subconsciously agreed on.

And goblins that remember to never forget to remember, sometimes always remember. Without a doubt, that was our favorite. We even shortened it to ‘Goblins that remember, remember’, but it didn’t have the same twisted appeal as the original.

“Delivery days were her favorite days,” said Abigail.

“Because there was always a chance to see Slime-tooth. She used to ask to borrow garlic and onions to give to him.”

“The way she talked about him, I think he meant a lot to her.”

“I have a feeling she meant a lot to him too,” I said.

“See if she’s written you,” said Abigail, gesturing to the journal on the stump.

I opened the journal to the second page. “She did! She wrote me a letter. She says that she’s amassing a crew of goblins.”

“She’s gathering her family members.”

I flipped to the next page to write her back. I paused. “She wrote a letter to Slime-tooth…”

Abigail came over. “Oh, I think this might be private. Let’s not read it.”

“Why did she write it here?”

“Did you tell her she could write to Slime-tooth in there?”

“I never mentioned it.”

“Maybe she thinks you’ll pass it on for her.”

“I don’t think Barnacle-eyes thinks that way,” I said. “But let’s do that. Let’s enclose it and give it to Slime-tooth.”

Chapter 55

All on the Shoulders of a Little Goblin

Brewer’s Reputation: 606.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

Back and forth trips from my Beyond the Cabin plane to the docks were annoying, but there was no better way to move hundreds of barrels. Abigail meanwhile used a Water Skimmer attribute ale to escort goblin ships and an orc ship in through the Mist Hidden barrier.

It was dusk. The amount of chimeric-colored labels threw enough light to make the dock feel like it was throwing light like a lighthouse. Such colors…I often touched the material to see if the colors were truly real.

I was nearly dizzy from all the back and forth of moving barrels. By the time all the barrels had been moved, the goblins and orcs had docked. Empty chimeric-colored barrels made of forged ethereal labels were carted down to shore and haphazardly stacked.

Captain Grey-tongue introduced himself as the newest goblin to handle deliveries with us.

“Let’s get cracking!” Captain Grey-tongue snapped at his lessers. Hundreds of goblins lurched to task.

Goblins grouped around barrels.

Grey-tongue leapt onto a barrel and took a deep breath like he was ready to shout for the rest of the day. “Tip ‘em!” he said.

Goblins grunted and tipped barrels.

“Fingers underneath!”

Goblins slid their fingers beneath the barrels.

“Lift on the count of three!”

Grey-tongue began counting, starting with number 7. Between there and 9 and 2, goblins hefted the barrels with strained grunts.

“Carts! Carts! Carts!”

With half a dozen goblins per barrel, barrels were heaved into carts. Some carts creaked, some groaned, some rolled away, some cracked, and some fell apart. More than two dozen sharp, pained yelps rose from the goblins.

“Tip ‘em!”

Two pairs of goblins rushed through the crowd. One held an armful of balled canvas strips. The other stopped at goblins who cradled their hands and could not wipe streaming tears from their cheeks. Their bruised fingers were bandaged in a flash before the goblin pair moved on to bandage other hands.

“Fingers underneath! Seven! One! Four! Three!”

Barrels were thrown into protesting carts. The pairs of goblin medics rushed through the crowd once more. In no time, with nearly every goblin’s hands bandaged, the carts were full.

“Heave and heave-ho the carts! Put your back to it, Sleep-lids!”

Goblins grunted and strained against the carts that began to roll down the dock.

“Double-up! Push, No-brain! Push, Stuff-nose!”

Goblins let out sounds like growling foxes. They grunted and pushed and heaved and yelped. Slowly, the carts were managed up the gangways. But the goblins had hardly put a dent in the inventory, and all the carts were in use.

“Group up by the sevens!”

Goblins grouped up, not by the sevens.

“Tip, tip, tip! Tip, Pox-brow!”

It took no less than 5 goblins to tip a single barrel. One of the goblins, in a group of four, strained so hard that he stiffened, put a hand to his lower back, and fell to the dock. He writhed in agony until two goblins carried him off.

“Roll!”

The dock suddenly reverberated with the sound of an earthquake. Goblins jumped over each other as they rolled the barrels. It was so packed on deck that some goblins were forced to ride the barrels. Many more yelps rose from trampled goblins.

Rolling barrels up the gangways seemed near impossible. That was where goblins truly screamed with all their might. Their eyes bulged as they pushed and pulled. Veins throbbed in their necks. At least a dozen goblins were required to bring a single barrel aboard.

Some didn’t make it aboard. One less goblin than a dozen meant it was easy to lose control of the barrel. Several barrels rolled back down the gangway and bowled into goblins, barrels, another round of carts, and into pilings. Goblins frenzied over beer that spilled out from cracked open barrels. Some barrels splashed into the sea and bobbed around a ring of melting chimeric colors. Dark dinghies slipped through the water and green-ladders clung to the barrels.

“No stealing! No stealing! Tip! Tip, Flap-ears!”

Another round of mayhem and hard labor moved barrels aboard.

“Switch!”

Bandaged, beaten goblins boarded the ships. A hundred more descended to the docks.

“Tip! Big-feet!”

Barrels were tipped.

“Fingers!”

Hands were bandaged.

“Where’s Slime-tooth?” I asked Captain Grey-tongue.

“Lift!” he commanded. “No ptooey today, hawkman. Not ready yet.”

I wanted to ask if I could pass off a letter to Slime-tooth, but the more I observed the goblins, the more uneasy I felt about it.

“Heave-ho! C’mon, Spine-bump! Heave-ho!”

Amid the long and hard task of moving barrels, some goblins were sneaking sips every here and there. More than one bunghole had been opened up. I could smell the beer.

“No stealing! No stealing! Roll! Roll, Mutter-mutter!”

Some barrels were purposefully pushed off the dock where dark dinghies awaited. The goblins on the dinghies giggled, secured the barrels, and quickly rowed into the shadows of the ships before Grey-tongue could throw obscenities at them.

The goblin who handled the sack of coin pocketed 1 silver coin. When Grey-tongue turned his back, another coin was pocketed.

One of the gangways thrummed with panic. Another barrel rolled down that gangway and knocked all the goblins off their feet. In the mayhem a scuffle ensued, and one of the goblins lost their promotional boots. Tensions led to a brawl.

I held Slime-tooth’s letter in my hand.

Abigail nudged me. “I think we should deliver her letter personally.”

I could only nod and return the letter to my inventory.

“Eleven, one, two!” Grey-tongue went on.

“Where can we find Slime-tooth?” I said.

“Working, working,” said Grey-tongue. “On the dark, empty ship!”

When the last of the barrels were loaded up, Abigail and I drank Water Skimmer attribute ales and escorted the ships back through the Mist Hidden barrier. The sea sloshed beneath our feet and around our ankles. The bioluminescent mist flickered overhead like heatless flames. We emerged on the other side. I knew instantly which ship Slime-tooth was on.

“He was right,” said Abigail. “It looks empty compared to the other ships.”

There were less than half as many bailers. The ship sat low in the water. There was a mass of corpse-figureheads on the bow.

“Terrible,” Abigail muttered.

“Let’s go find him.”

“Drink this first. Keep the bottle on hand.”

We both sipped from her Chameleon Stealth attribute lager. She gave me a bottle to keep on hand because the attribute effect didn’t last as long as those like Water Skimmer or Anti-gravity.

We made our way across the sea. We stepped over surf and leaned into the waves. Abigail’s form was only a wrinkle of air. I looked through my hands and was almost disoriented from not being able to see where I put my feet on the constantly changing sea surface.

At last we arrived at the ship. With sips of Anti-gravity attributes, we leapt up to the crow’s nest and leapt down to the deck. There were only a few dozen goblins on deck tirelessly bailing water. The captain bailed with them. There were so few goblins that we easily stepped out of their way and avoided collisions. We passed unnoticed below deck.

There were no goblins below deck. Only black barrels. I tipped one and found it full.

“They’re stacked three high,” said Abigail. “They could only stack them two high on the other ships.”

“It looks like they have to; there would otherwise be no room. And since twelve goblins could barely stack barrels two high, they’ve got to have orcs down here.”

The corridors below deck were filled with stacked black barrels, always three high. Crude mixed material ladders intersected the main corridor from a variety of other hallways that came at different angles. More black barrels were stacked in those hallways, which meant orcs must have carried the barrels up the ladders.

“No, not orcs,” said Abigail. There’s no way orcs could have come down here.” She went on hands knees to move through a tight breakthrough in a wall.

I was barely able to squeeze through. Unless an orc was the size of a goblin, Abigail was right. But as we moved on, black barrels were still stacked three high.

Ahead, down the slight curve through intersecting hallways, a hunched figure crossed and climbed a ladder. Their body was bent like an arch. One hand grazed along the floor like the cane of a blind man. The figure squinted and mumbled.

“What creature was that?” said Abigail.

“Too dark to tell.”

We climbed the ladder to another floor and followed the creature down a new hall. It stopped by a black barrel, opened the bunghole, and tested the ptooey.

My jaw dropped open as I approached. Our Chameleon Stealth attributes wore off.

“Slime-tooth?” I breathed.

Slime-tooth unbent like a fishing rod after losing something heavy. He looked through me with blue-gray eyes. I could make out his sapling-thin bones beneath his skin. His fingers were smashed at jagged angles. Abigail cried out, covered her mouth, and turned.

“Hello?” said Slime-tooth. He looked right at me. “Is someone there?”

I crouched down to the goblin’s eye level and put a hand on his shoulder. “Slime-tooth?”

“A human?” said Slime-tooth. His head moved as if to look, but his eyes darted madly until he squinted hard and shuffled forward. “Hawkin? What—by Peg-tooth—are you doing here?”

“Slime-tooth…”

I cupped his face. Abigail silently cried. Emotions welled up within me.

“Who’s with you?” said Slime-tooth. He clasped my hand at his cheek. His fingers were bent in alternating directions.

“Abigail’s here,” I said absently. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, I’m just tired. Sometimes being tired makes me tired, and being more tired makes me even more-er tired.”

Abigail, with tears on the round of her cheeks, fell to her knees beside us. She began rummaging through her inventory and brewing a series of small beers. I recognized some of the ingredients and put together the healing beers she was making. One by one, she handed them to Slime-tooth.

“Will you hold my head?” said Slime-tooth.

He leaned back as only a puppet could, and I held his skeleton up while he drank sip after sip. It was only then that I noticed the greenish color return to his pallid skin. I heard bones pop and felt his spine straighten. He breathed like he’d been holding lung-crushing tension in his body. His clouded eyes cleared; they came alive and roamed my face.

Abigail gave him bottle after bottle. “Lemon Spinach, Olive Porridge, and Apple Butter Sustenance beers,” she said. “I don’t understand? How did this…”

“What happened?” I said when Abigail could only shake her head.

“Sorry I’m late with ptooey,” said Slime-tooth. “I’m trying to catch up.”

And with that, he gestured to the barrels that had been lifted and carried up ladders, barrels that were stacked three high, barrels that were stained with blood around the rings, barrels marked by fingernails, barrels stained with sweat…all the way down every hallway.

“By yourself?” I said.

Slime-tooth smiled. “I’m just like my little Barnacle-eyes, aren’t I? I hope I can be as hard working as her.” Strength flared in his broken hand. I had no idea where the sudden strength came from, but he firmly grasped my arms. “How is my Barnacle-eyes?”

“She wrote a letter. We came to give it to you.”

I handed him the letter. Slime-tooth smiled big and opened the letter. His eyes moved over the writing. He smiled and laughed, and sparkles appeared in his eyes.

“What a treasure!” he said. “Wow what kindness this is, for you to deliver her letter, if it is a thing that comes from kindness. I thank you from the bottom of my soles. Again, I’m sorry I’m behind schedule.”

Slime-tooth turned the letter this way and that. He brought it to his chest for a furtive hug. He was simply beaming.

“Slime-tooth?” said Abigail. “Would you like us to read the letter?”

I would have said it was impossible for Slime-tooth to smile more, but he did. “Oh, could you!”

As I read, Slime-tooth listened in fairy-tale awe. He gripped my arm like it was the handle of a walking cane. He gasped. He laughed with glossy eyes.

Chapter 56

More Folk

Hiccup

“Sit, sit,” said the old woman. She limped to the leather chair while her gaze roved the bookshelves of my study. With almost a yell, like her lungs were an accordion, she bent over and plopped herself into the chair.

“I don’t tolerate people that go around whacking my butlers with canes,” I said. “Even if the whacker so happens to be a lady.”

“I don’t tolerate being led by the arm without my consent! Tell that to your butlers next time an old lady comes a-knocking.”

“Ah. I understand. I hope that you’re all right? I apologize, then, for the lack of consideration on behalf of my staff.”

“Young man, I’d like to see my daughter. Brien at Dellia Lucerne’s Temple in Sweet Gale sent me to the Rose Quartz tavern in Lavenfauvish. You are the proprietor, and I should like a mausoleum beer, please. I know how this works; I’ve brought her remains.”

“You’ve traveled all the way from Sweet Gale?”

The old woman lifted her feet up and wiggled them at me. “With my own two feet! She shook her cane. “And a little help.”

“I don’t have mausoleum beers.”

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait right here. I’ve lived eighty-eight long years. I can keep waiting. I’ve seen old people hang on enough just to lay eyes on a loved one. I can hang on until I see my daughter.”

“It will be worth it,” I murmured.

The old woman sat up. “So you’ve experienced it? It isn’t a god-trick? It’s a real thing? I can see my daughter again?”

“The phenomenon is real.”

The old woman closed her eyes. A moment passed before she closed them tighter. She whispered to herself for a few moments. Age rattled in her throat when she cleared it. “I’m here now. I’ve only to continue waiting. How long will it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“You young’uns never do know. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Your prime isn’t the time to be lazy—take my advice. …Always taking too long on the important things.”

“Would you like to reserve a beer?”

The old woman stiffened and seemed to become sheepish. She slid out of the chair and groaned on her way to her knees. She bowed. I felt embarrassed for her and shot up and around my desk.

“My lady,” I said. She battled me back with blind swipes of her cane.

“I don’t have money. I’ll do anything. I’ll serve you.”

“My lady, please! Get up.” I gestured sharply at my butlers to come in and help her up. The old woman battled them too, but they still managed to lift her to her feet and return her to the chair. She tangled her cane with their arms and beat their chests the whole while.

Once she was settled and had regained her breath, she said, “I will do anything to see my daughter again.”

“Have you traveled penniless?”

“For most of the journey.”

“At your age…”

“I slept in the weeds like any young adventurer. I fed myself like any young adventurer. …And I defended myself as only an old lady can.”

“What is your plan?”

“To see my daughter. I’m healthier than you if you’ve got trouble hearing or remembering what’s been said.”

“After.”

The old woman went silent. Her chin bobbed like she was chewing her thoughts.

“I’ll be hanging on until I’m done hanging on,” she said.

“Please accept my offer of room and board until you’ve seen your daughter—I can’t make promises about the mausoleum beer.”

“Of course I’ll take you up on the offer. One becomes less of a fool with age. Can you do something for me?”

“Perhaps.”

“If for whatever reason I can’t get my hands on this mausoleum beer, tell me straight away. I’ll go north and find the Brewer myself.”

I sighed and rubbed my face. She was only the first of the day’s seeking grievers.

But what would Ashlee do? And I’ve since learned a few lessons. It was in my means to help the old woman, so why not? My dear Ashlee…we could bring some solace to this woman. Along the way our tavern could perhaps become known throughout the world.

∞

Erik Skullander and I peered through the windows of the garden chamber. Evon was by the sprawling pink geraniums.

“He looks a bit lost, doesn’t he,” said Erik.

“What in the world is he doing with half a shear?”

Corylus appeared from between blighted sunflowers opposite the geraniums. The short groundskeeper, beaming, startled Evon. Evon seemed bashful for a moment and gestured as though he needed help with the half shear. Corylus took the tool, and they conversed in the shade. Erik and I left the sight, deciding to visit the silos and to walk where the osage orange grew.

Along the way, Erik shared his latest creations.

“I’m calling the lineup ‘weird beers’,” said Erik.

“Weird? From you? No…”

Erik laughed with his eyes. “Pickle juice peat spontaneity beer. Made with Lakespar green barley, northern quartz hops, pickle juice, smoked peat, and it’s coolship fermented to boot.”

“Bleh. Give me a moment to take in some fresh air.”

“Doesn’t sound good, does it? But what if it is? Hot pepper beer is good. I think this should be too.”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson? Weren’t you banned from the Oude Brewer’s Competitive for that gravy beer?”

“Are ye insane? They can’t ban me for entering a beer, no matter how much they might hate it. They deserve it too. It’s only ever the classics that win, never the good stuff.”

“What about Hawkin’s ale?”

“That’s what I’m talking about. So what if it’s magic? What about flavor and all that?”

“Hawkin’s ethereal beers have flavors that don’t work like flavors. They’re more abstract, like they trigger fond memories.”

Erik grunted. The stink of osage fruit hung wet in the air. The barley and wheat in the field were past their prime and tinged with gray.

“I brewed a mustard seed brett ale last week,” said Erik.

“Must have sent you back to bronze rank.”

“Brought me into the Grand Honorable quality tier.”

I regarded Erik for a moment. Did he really brew something so wild that pushed him into the last quality tier of silver rank? He didn’t seem to be joking.

“You look like you don’t believe me,” he said.

“I do. I’m simply astonished.”

“Remember the ethereal dungeon beer Hawkin had made? Inside the crazy-colored pumpkin gourd?”

We reached the silos. One of them slowly emptied of their grain. It belonged to Shejan, gold rank Brewer of the East Aldines. …Another pine smoked beer?

“I commissioned a glass blower,” said Erik, “to replicate the gourd. I’m releasing these to the public come fall.” He withdrew a glass pumpkin bottle from his inventory.

The glass was gas-green. Instead of a vine atop the pumpkin, a larger cork had been fitted in. Beer sloshed within. I withdrew a pair of tulip shaped pint glasses from my inventory and handed one to Erik.

He grinned. “An honor, brother.”

Because the container was so unwieldy, I had Erik hold the glasses. Beer foamed all down the sides of the glass pumpkin as I poured. The beer poured a sunshine yellow. The foam was speckled with flecks of rust, like bits of brown mustard seed hulls.

“This is the brett ale?” I said.

“Why else would I have put it in something so dumb and so lavish?”

True to brett ales, aromas of horse blanket, barnyard, and the remnants of touched brass on fingertips wafted up from the foam. Classic brett fragrances! We clinked glasses and drank. I knew then why the beer brought Erik into the highest quality of silver. Brett ales were tricky. Those brett flavors could easily be unfavorable; however, Erik mastered them. They were slight. The graham flavors of the roasted malt shined through. The hops were earthy like yellow clay. The mustard was less than slight and brought out the honeyed sweetness of the malt. It was an odd beer, but a fantastic odd beer.

A cold wind raked the barley field. A torrent of orange leaves flew off of the trees from across the field. A field mouse skittered across the trail. We continued our stroll.

“Speaking of the Oude Brewer’s,” said Erik, “I’ve already decided on the recipe I’ll be brewing for next year.”

“I’ve asked to pour the medalists’ beers next year at my tavern. They’re open to the idea.”

“Well you might be serving my okra oatmeal stout.”

“Okra?”

“Adds a nice bit of slime; it thickens the liquid. If you use enough of it, the liquid will float like a jellyfish in water.”

“Could you even get it out of the bottle?”

“With a couple smacks on the bottom.”

“I don’t think you’ll be placing with something like that. I doubt I’ll be pouring your beer in my tavern.”

Erik’s smile turned into something mischievous. “Yes you will. We’re good friends, and good friends will pour beer like Erik Skullander’s licorice sassafras black lager.”

I threw an arm around his shoulder and turned us around. “Of course we’ll pour your beer at my tavern. No matter what the concoction is. And since we’re good friends, I’ll let you be the first to taste your weird beers.”

“Some are hard to swallow.”

“Exactly. I don’t know how you’ve amassed a following of beer collectors. People love strange things I suppose. By all the gods, I’d love for my tavern to be known for pouring everything—everything!”

∞

Late in the afternoon when the light was amber and a chilly breeze sauntered through the open windows of my mansion, Riggvelte notified me that Abigail Yak was present. Erik and I followed Riggvelte out onto the 2nd floor balcony where wicker chairs had been set up around a low table. Abigail was looking out across Lavenfauvish.

After greetings, Erik and I sat across from her. Her gaze was on the floor, she chewed her lip as though it was a hardy thought, she hardly smiled, and she was quiet.

“You’re deeply preoccupied,” I said.

She told us all about a little goblin named Slime-tooth.

“And the ptooey is for the spit beer?” Erik clarified.

“It’s killing the goblin,” said Abigail. “He’s hardly allowed to sleep, or eat, or step outside. I’m absolutely heartbroken about it. He refused to come with us.”

“Do you have one on hand?” said Erik.

“A barrel of ptooey?”

“A bottle of spit beer.”

Abigail took a sip of beer from a chimeric-colored bottle, disappeared, and then reappeared a few moments later with a similar bottle in hand. She gave it to Erik.

“What will you do with it?” I said.

Erik shrugged.

For minutes, a profound silence sat in Abigail’s lap, and she stared at it. I could only surmise that she felt responsible for the conditions put upon Slime-tooth. From what I knew about Hawkin, he too must feel that same agony.

At last, Abigail slapped her knees, shook her head, and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve brought a dreambon ale,” she said. “We’ll summon Thrush, but would you mind if we ate first? Brewer’s Portals always exhaust me and leave me famished.”

“I’ll have Riggvelte muster something. You’re welcome to nap in the guest wing if you need to.”

“Thrush, the big ball of fur with teeth in the middle?” said Erik. “Count me in!”

Abigail smiled small.

Chapter 57

What Worked for Anger does not Work for Suffering

Thrush

40x Blue Marlin

I cut through the world from the dark of deep sea to the bright sunlit deck of Barnacle-eyes’ ketch. A dozen smaller sloops zigzagged westward around us. The fleet sailed unnaturally fast.

Barnacle-eyes manned the helm. Belut stood apart from the goblins. I found him between a giant white tulip flower and an onion as big as me.

“I recognize these waters,” said Belut. He took a big whiff. I followed with a big whiff of my own.

I smelled food. I smelled the colossal garlic and onions that grew on the raised beds of the ketch. I smelled the cooking onion and garlic in the deckhouse. But those smells also came from the goblins. I smelled their abrasive skin which housed veins of blood that stank of garlic. I breathed their breaths of onion that mixed with the fast wind of sea salt. I smelled the slick wet wood of the ships where garlic-sticky goblin hands had landed, or grasped, or pulled, or slapped.

A gurgling thunder rumbled. Goblins looked at the clear sky and then at my belly. My belly continued rumbling for another few moments. I swallowed one of my human-long blue marlin.

[Nightream Summoning Portal has been activated.]

[World Marker has been placed at your current location.]

I sniffed at the vista of Lavenfauvish offered through the ethereal gash in midair. Hiccup and Abigail were there! They waved.

I chugged a barrel of Anti-gravity ale and stepped through the portal. “Hello.”

Abigail hugged me. My eyes pulsed out of sync, and I purred. Erik Skullander and Hiccup greeted me and offered me a seat. I plopped myself down, took a big whiff of Lavenfauvish as they talked, and gave them one word answers. I smelled wet stone, damp leaves, and dying ivies.

Butlers arrived and poured beer for everyone. A 15.5 gallon barrel was wheeled in for me.

“Peat smoked fishbone lager,” said Erik.

Butlers tipped the barrel upright. An illustration of a skull carved in the side of a mountain had been burned into the wood. Butlers pried the cork free. I drank straight from the barrel and rested it on one knee between glugs. Everyone else clinked glasses and drank from their lighter beers.

Colors of smoke and peat filled my eyes. I tasted fish broth and smelled fish oil, fish skin, and fish flesh. It was like I tasted a wounded sea.

“I’ve been waiting for flavor like this!” I said.

Abigail’s smile was half what Erik’s and HIccup’s were.

“Let’s get down to brass tacks,” said Hiccup.

Since our contract had been signed prior to my Merchant Tent Evolution Stone quest, our trade did not count toward the quest. All parties were prepared to continue trading, so I cut through the world to Hawkin’s cabin. Hawkin and I caught up as he gave me his entire inventory of beer to sell. I then returned to Hiccup’s mansion.

Platters of smoked fish were brought out for me. More beer was poured. Butlers lined up to transfer tons of elodon meat which Eileen had hunted.

Almost every butler smelled of fear. I could hear their hearts beat faster when they approached. They lacked breath when they stood before me. Fear was a sharp scent, and it wafted from their stuck tongues and sweating armpits.

When payment in meat was complete, coin followed. I ate until my eyes were nearly charcoal with the color of smoke, and my Satiation reached 99%. All the while, I unloaded group after group of Hawkin’s ethereal beers from my inventory. One by one, the butlers carted them off.

“...and so Hawkin and I are trying to figure out how to manage remains from people who visit the mausoleum,” said Abigail. “He doesn’t mind brewing the beer, he just doesn’t want to be there. What do you think, Thrush?”

I chewed on my last bite of smoked fish—just one more bite—and gestured to Abigail that I wanted to finish my food before speaking.

There was suddenly a commotion at the door.

“That’s all right, Riggvelte,” said Hiccup. “If it’s an emergency, let him in.”

Riggvelte bowed, stepped aside, and let the man through.

“What can I do for you, Evon?”

My nostrils were suddenly filled with the scent of anger. Strong, astringent anger. Evon cast his gaze low to the floor by my feet as he crossed the balcony. My ears switched forward. The man’s lungs were frozen stiff. His heart beat rapidly. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Evon muttered. He then lunged at me.

I stood and let my body take the length of half a shear. Humans screamed. The rusted shear pierced through my heart which clenched the blade like a tight fist. Butlers rushed to my aid, but I pushed them back. Hiccup and Abigail were beside me in an instant, but I pushed them back too. Meanwhile, Evon grunted and put all his strength into twisting the blade. His eyes were wild.

Abigail and Hiccup rushed to my aid once more, and I pushed them away once more. Through a mouthful, I said, “Just a second, let me finish chewing.” I chewed while I looked into Evon’s twisted, strained face.

After I gulped, I wiped my lips and peered at Evon. “What are you doing?”

A tear ran down his cheek. He grunted and tried to shake the half shear. Everyone watched in open-mouthed horror.

“You and Hawkin!” Evon growled.

“Vengeance?” said Hiccup.

“You took everything from me!”

My heart beat around the blade of the shear. When I breathed, the hilt bounced. Evon screamed, slung saliva, and tried to twist the blade once more.

“Now what?” I said.

Riggvelte made to move, but I shot him a glance. Abigail brought out beers from her inventory and held them by the necks between her knuckles.

“Now what, Evon? You’ve got your revenge. You’ve stabbed me. Now what do we do?” Evon’s visage slackened. His eyes darted between mine. “You’ve taken your anger, and you’ve stabbed me,” I prodded. “What’s next?”

“Kill!” he said with renewed vigor.

“Okay. You kill me. Then what?” I sat back down in my chair, dragging Evon to his knees. He maintained his white knuckle grip. “Then what, Evon?” Evon shook with rage. I continued. “I don’t think you know what anger is. I don’t think you know what vengeance is.”

“The Alik family wiped me clean of my quest path! All because of Hawkin!”

“Because Hawkin declined the invitation to the Alik jungle?”

“Die!” Evon attempted to twist the shear blade. He trembled with the effort.

“A creature’s free will has angered you?”

“Creature?”

“Humans are but creatures. …I’ll tell you what real anger is. Have you ever seen your best friend almost die? Have you had to watch your best friend struggle through an injury that you were capable of preventing but weren’t in the right place at the right time? Has fear ever been foreign to you until one day you felt it for the first time when your best friend’s life was in danger?”

Evon’s strength slackened. His eyes opened more.

“You’re angry because someone said no, and you were punished,” I continued. “Take it out on the Alik. Tell them how you feel. I know exactly where they are.”

Hiccup, Riggvelte, Erik, and Abigail went wide-eyed.

“You know where the Alik reside?” said Erik.

“Yes. I recognized that jungle the moment I was there.” I regarded Evon. The man closed his eyes. His grip loosened on the hilt, and he bowed his head. “You don’t know real anger,” I continued. “And you certainly don’t know what to do with it.”

The smell of wet sadness ran through Evon’s blood. His anger cooled until I could no longer smell that tang. What replaced it was the dank smell of…

Evon let go of the handle of the shear and fell back, sobbing. Everyone rushed in to restrain him. Abigail rushed over to ask if I was all right. Butlers tied his limbs with sewing tape rope. Shouting overlapped shouting. All the while, Evon lay there with his face to the ground. Humans surrounded him in absolute pandemonium, restraining the man’s every limb.

…the dank smell of utter suffering.

My ears switched toward his body. I heard his heartbeat slow to something less than calm. I strode over to his prone, restrained form. He had moments ago been filled with twisted anger. Like water over embers, I had snuffed his anger. All that was left was his wretched suffering. Such creatures these humans were…

Without me, their restraint would have sheathed Evon’s anger, but why use it after I had killed that anger? Why use it when the human was suffering? Could they not smell these changes? Restraint would not quell suffering like it would cool anger.

“Get off him,” I said.

Butlers looked to Hiccup for advice. I simply shoved them off Evon and tore away his restraints.

“Thrush,” said Abigail.

I crouched and spoke to Evon with private volume. “It would have been a mistake to stab anyone but me. Do you understand that?” Evon’s shoulders trembled with his torment. He was silent as tears flowed from him.

Chapter 58

Tough Choice

Glass panes separated Evon on the balcony from us inside. He was leaning on the banister and staring out at Lavenfauvish. Hiccup, Erik, Abigail, and I sat on barrels. Butlers circled us. Tension tightened the air.

Erik shook his head. “A fool, attacking you like that.”

Riggvelte faced me and bowed low. “I have failed to protect you as our guest, Master Thrush.”

“Nonsense,” said Hiccup. “You held the man at bay, and it was I who bade him forward. I, the real fool here, did not read the air. I should have sensed something amiss.”

But these creatures could not sense things the way that I could. They could not smell the speed at which blood traveled through the human body, nor what emotion blood carried. They could not hear the whispers of the heart or the stealth of quieted breaths. They could not listen.

“I killed his anger,” I said. “Now he suffers.”

In all the veins around me, adrenaline was beginning to cool down, like lions laying for naps. There was one smell of quiet rage that I picked up, one smell of shallow breaths, one sound of a speeding heartbeat: Abigail. She had been silent so far. Her leg bounced and her gaze bore through the glass panes.

“That’s no excuse,” said Erik. “I know that you’re Thrush and all, but he could just as easily hurt someone else next time. We need to bring this incident to the authorities.”

“Why?” I said. “What will they do?”

“Punish the man,” said Riggvelte.

“Investigate,” said Hiccup. “It will be considered a crime in court. He’ll be jailed.”

I gazed where Abigail gazed, at Evon. The creature suffered in silence, but these other companions wanted to keep him suffering? Why double suffering?

“I shall dispatch for the guard,” said Hiccup.

My ears switched toward Abigail. She clenched her jaw. Her leg stopped bouncing.

“He’s a danger,” said Erik. “Anger like that was out of control. You were right, Thrush. He had no reason to be angry—not for something like that.”

Abigail’s eyes became thin edges. She went still. Her heart beat faster.

Hiccup nodded to Riggvelte. “I can sympathize with losing half a life’s work along a quest path, but to turn violent like that…Gah! I should have never given the wretch a second chance. Fetch the guard Riggvelte.”

Abigail went stone still. She stood and turned to us. “Just a moment, Riggvelte. What Evon did was wrong, and he’s clearly suffering…Thrush, how can you say that he doesn’t know what real anger is? You can’t compare his anger with someone else’s because someone will always ‘have it worse’. If Evon experiences anger and suffering, that anger is just as real as the anger you felt when Margaux kicked Boggo.”

“Boggo?” said Erik.

Abigail continued. “We only have our own experiences. Your experience doesn’t mean that Evon’s is any less valid. It’s not that simple, and a small thing could affect someone deeply.”

“Ms. Yak,” said Riggvelte. “Are you saying we shouldn’t involve the city?”

“Listen. Everyone goes through what they go through. I've been thinking about Slime-tooth this entire time. I kept asking myself: Abigail, why was he happy in the deplorable conditions he was in; and why wasn’t he red with anger from the obvious pain he was in?”

“He was always happy to see Barnacle-eyes,” I reasoned.

“Thrush, you can’t invalidate someone’s feelings because someone else has it worse. What matters is what you do with any feeling you have, how you get through it, and what you do after it.”

Riggvelte made it a statement this time. “You’re saying we shouldn’t involve the city.”

Abigail sat. She seemed to struggle returning an answer. She shook her head ever so slightly. Not as an answer, so far as I could tell, but more like she didn’t know what to do.

“I’ve already given him a second chance,” said Hiccup. He massaged his brow, perhaps to force new thinking to take shape. “What would Ashlee say to do…”

A silence fell among Erik, Riggvelte, and the butlers. I heard their hearts change pace as one, as if their hearts softened for the human who had lost the love of his life.

“Evon is suffering,” I said. “The plan is to hand him over to the city to make him suffer more?”

“That’s what we do with criminals,” said Erik. “Imagine if you were human. Imagine if he ran that shear through Abigail. Who’s to say his anger won’t return?”

“Why don’t we ask him,” I said.

“Things don’t work like that,” said Abigail. “You can’t control some emotions. Didn’t you stop eating after Boggo was hurt? That couldn’t have been on purpose.”

“Master Hiccough,” said Riggvelte, “I’m not comfortable with this man on the premises. It sounds to me like there is hesitation here, and I want it known that I cannot guarantee the safety of our guests if Evon is to remain here.”

“That settles that,” said Hiccup. Riggvelte and his butlers relaxed. I heard their imperceptible sighs.

For at least an hour, with everyone making occasional glances to Evon on the balcony, we discussed what to do with the man. If we weren’t going to report his assault to the city, what then? What did we do with a man who suffered from the loss of his life long quest path?

“A Fable Stone,” I said.

“Oh, sure,” said Erik. “Easy answer for you. How long have you been around? Humans don’t live long lives. Any chance we have at a long life comes from the work we put into reaching the highest rank we can. Telling someone in the second half of gold rank to start over brings their chances at a longer life to near zero. The amount of work and years they’d have to put in to reach diamond would crush a man.”

“Would make him suffer,” I said.

All nodded. Clothing ruffled. A couple of throats were cleared.

“Why do we care so much for Evon,” said Erik. “Not to be insensitive, but if it were anyone else, would we really hesitate to involve the city?”

No one answered, but all nodded. Gazes darted between me and Evon.

Hiccup deeply sighed. “...Ashlee knew Evon. She would have wanted to help him.”

“I helped his anger,” I said. “Maybe I can help his suffering too.”

“We’re not giving him a third chance, are we?” said Erik.

“I’m with Erik on this, Master Hiccough. Evon cannot remain on the premises. It would impede my purpose here.”

“Perhaps I can hire him,” said Abigail.

“And take full responsibility if he hurts someone?” said Riggvelte.

“Hasn’t he been around a lot of someones?” I said. “He hasn’t hurt any of them, has he? Aren’t I different from you humans? Don’t humans normally battle monsters like me? He didn’t hurt a human. He attacked what many have called a monster. I’ve been around enough humans to know that.”

“You’re different,” said Abigail.

“You have a point, Thrush.” said Hiccup. “He hasn’t hurt anyone here until Thrush was summoned. Not one human.”

“Lavenfauvish extends the law on assault to a variety of races,” said Erik. “Isn’t that right? Attacking a…”

“Nightream,” I said.

“-Nightream won’t make it less of a crime.”

“What if I told you he inflicted no pain upon me?”

“The intent to was still there.”

“Master Hiccough,” said one of the butlers.

“That’s a mark on your performance,” Riggvelte snapped at his butler. “Not another word out of you.”

But the butler stepped forward. “I mean to reach the highest rank I possibly can. I don’t want the death of a guest on my record. If Evon stays, I will resign right here at your feet.”

Suddenly everyone began talking at once. Hearts beat faster. Blood stank with human emotions. …Quite sensitive creatures.

Abigail’s voice cut through the din. Voices quieted.

“What did you say?” said Hiccup.

“What if I place him as liaison between Hawkin’s mausoleum and the grievers and bereaved?”

“More suffering,” I said.

“He’ll attack some unfortunate soul,” said Erik. “I don’t know why we’re entertaining this. You’re putting people at risk.”

“He hasn’t attacked a human so far. Why would he start now when his target was Thrush?”

“I killed his anger,” I said.

Hiccup’s shoes creaked as he stood. He tugged his collar and gazed through the panes. “I’d like to give him one more chance. I’ll allow him to stay. Riggvelte, we can negotiate extra payment for bodyguards.”

Three butlers angrily resigned and walked off. Erik shook his head and muttered; his face went red. Riggvelte sighed and closed his eyes as though he were bracing for pain.

Abigail’s brow creased. “I’ll see about acquiring a Fable Stone for him.”

…Humans…

Chapter 59

Sturdy Sturdy

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 35%.

1 level until ketch evolution.

Growing, growing, growing! My fleet was growing, the plants—on all the sloops—were gigantify-ing, and camaraderie was growing. The salty, salty wind tasted like salt. Most days were clear, bright, and made for smooth sailing. Those days were the best for pirouettes.

“Morning,” I said to the day shift goblins. Night shift goblins moved below deck like they were shadows pushed by the sun. Boggo and Ella leapt from rig to rig above.

I peered over the taffrails at the mesmerizing blue sea which was still the same dark blue. I lowered a bailing bucket by rope and scooped water from the surf of a wave. My goblins helped me hoist the bucket with a couple of groggy heave-hos. With a grunt, I lifted the bucket over the taffrail. I dunked my sea map into the bucket like I was trying to launder a mop head. I unraveled the sea map, spread it on deck, and watched the illustration of the sea expand westward into darker blues.

[Congratulations! You have reached your first New Waters!]

[You have reached Admiral level 777!]

[Your ketch has reached level 750!]

[By Peg-tooth! Your ketch is able to evolve into a Galleon and travel at a speed of 3 times.]

[By Peg-tooth! A sloop on your fleet is able to evolve into a Ketch and travel at a speed of 2 times.]

[Evolve ketch. Y/N?]

Hurray, Peg-tooth! Yes, please thank you!

[Ketch cannot evolve.]

[Not enough wood resources.]

[Collect wood resources.]

[Not enough ketches.]

[Choose and evolve a sloop on your fleet.]

[Not enough Commodores.]

[Promote 1 Captain to Commodore.]

“Lower sails, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“Drop sea anchor, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“Summon Thrush, please thank you!”

A cork popped out of a bottle from up high on the main mast. “Aye aye, Admiral,” squeaked Boggo.

A stream of beer stretched long and splashed upon the deck. A moment later, Thrush stepped through a slice of air.

“Hello,” said Thrush.

I leapt onto him and gripped him in a hug. “Thrush, my ships are evolving, I need more wood, please thank you.”

“Okay.”

Thrush stomped over to the starboard taffrail.

“Tether the trees, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

Nets and ropes were prepared. Thrush began dumping tree after tree into the sea. They were lassoed and pulled up against the hull.

My sloops slipped on over. Goblins rushed to taffrails to watch the spectacle. When I spotted Pinky-chew, I called her over. Gangways connected sloops, and she made her way over from sloop to sloop to sloop to ketch.

Who better than Pinky-chew? It was her that had fished the largest shark any goblin in my fleet had ever caught. The shark was so long that it could have fit twelve goblins like a sleeping bag.

Was there a better choice than Pinky-chew? She was a master at keeping her eyes on the sea. She was the one to confirm many islands and hidden rocks which Boggo and Ella had spied. She could even see better than I could through my monoscope! “Fear the rocks,” she told me. By Peg-tooth, what a Captain to have.

Was there a harder working goblin than Pinky-chew? Not possible. She was often quiet, and when she was quiet, she worked even harder. “Distracts from sadness,” she told me. “Helps me from thinking too much about the goblins I lost at sea. I swear I will never let another ship sink again.” Instead of sleeping, some nights, she worked through the night. No other goblin was working double shifts.

Did any other goblin have more experience than Pinky-chew? No, no, nope. She was the one to volunteer hauling the next sloop I was working on. The sloop should have sunk, but she didn’t let it. She hauled it behind hers. “I used to sail a paddle-tugboat,” she had said. Wow, what experience!

Was there a goblin more trustworthy than Pinky-chew? Someone who trusted their Admiral to repair their black promotion boots when the soles had begun flapping off? And Remember-not did such a good job using her sewing skills on those boots. Pinky-chew didn’t even bite her fingernails when I suggested I take the boots for repairs! She trusted me wholly. Wow, I was so lucky to have her. I hope she knew I trusted her too.

Who better than Pinky-chew.

“Reporting for duty, Admiral!”

I withdrew a Fable Stone from my inventory.

The goblins shushed. The sea hushed. Goblin eyes went big, big, big.

“I hereby promote Pinky-chew to Commodore.”

Pinky-chew clomped a boot; she saluted me. Her chin wrinkled, and her eyes went glossy. I placed the Fable Stone into her palm. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head for a moment.

“I saw Peg-tooth!” said Pinky-chew. “And Fin-ears! And Gurgle-liver!”

“Well, what quest path did you choose?” said Thrush. “Which goblin god did you assign?”

Pinky-chew shut her eyes. She sniffled. “Wind Shaper! Fin-ears!”

[Evolve Pinky-chew’s sloop into ketch. Y/N?]

Yes, yes, yes!

“Release the trees, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral.”

Ropes were managed. Trees floated off toward Pinky-chew’s sloop. The trees splintered apart with cracks like whipped lightning. Bark and debris compacted into boards. The sloop absorbed the new boards. A mizzenmast was formed and erected. Sails were rigged. Goblins hooted with glee.

[6 of 13 sloops have been assigned under Commodore Pinky-chew’s command.]

[You have enough ketches, Commodores, and sloops to evolve your ketch.]

[Evolve your ketch. Y/N?]

I punctuated my yes! with an extra flashy pirouette.

My ketch evolved.

The difference between my new galleon and my old ketch was so great, it even sounded different. When the sea crashed against the hull of the ketch, the sound was harsh and bright. Against the hull of the galleon, it was deeper and softer. The galleon had a third mast and even more sails. The sails on the ketch had whipped and cracked in the wind like paper. The sails on the galleon thwomped and beat like whale tails slapping water!

Walking from one end of the ship took twice as long. I had to peer twice as far to see the prow over the gigantic plants from atop the deckhouse. There was Belut, sniffing air between rows of onion. He seemed to take less space now that the ship was wider. The galleon could hold another dozen raised beds too. It was strange to see the bare deck, but that meant there was more room for goblins!

It was my first experience on a ship that didn't throw me port or starboard when it rolled, nor toss me from the stern to the prow when it pitched, nor spun the sun or stars when it yawed, nor flip my stomach when it heaved, nor brought the ship dangerously close to another when it swayed, nor knock me off my feet when the ship surged back and forth. I had never been on a ship so strong and stable. After a quick pirouette, I kicked the new mast.

“Sturdy, sturdy!”

Long-toes and a dozen goblins came up from the hatch. “Admiral! Come see.”

Below deck, there were more quarters. One for this, one for that, one for this and that, and “Let’s put the kitchen here!” I said. Long-toes was so pleased with the idea that he and a team of goblins began rolling giant onions and garlic from the deckhouse to the new kitchen. New portholes in the ship offered bright sky views.

Goblins had to stand on green ladders to peer out and see the sea. It was so far below compared to the ketch. And when looking over the taffrail, the sea was much further down. Fishing lines needed to be extended! …So many plants and goblins below; I had never seen the sloops from so high and so close before.

“Admiral, come look!” said Hunch-back. I followed his hobble to the stern. There were new pulley mounts which hung away from the ship. Thick rope descended down to a small little boat! Inside the boat was a goblin who seemed rather confused. He shifted around in the small boat, which could only hold 2 or three more goblins. A jolly boat!

“How’d you get down there?” I said

“…I don’t know,” said Soft-song.

“Green ladder, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral.”

Goblins hopped onto goblin shoulders, one after the other. Like bending a fishing rod, the green ladder arched and drooped down from the deck of the galleon into the jolly boat. I climbed down the green ladder of shoulders and heads and elbows and legs and hands and noses and ears. A tiny yellow furry arm tried to help me along the way! At last I made it down to the jolly boat.

I cleared my throat and withdrew a pair of big black boots from my inventory. “Soft-song, I hereby promote you to Captain of this jolly boat!”

Chapter 60

A New View Through the Monoscope

Chance of Mutiny: 47%.

250 levels until fleet evolution.

But why? Why was the chance of mutiny so much higher? Promotions were going around, we had a new Captain, and my galleon had much more space. One of our Captains was even on a quest path…Was I a bad Admiral?

A cough of hot air blurred the lens of my monoscope. With a couple circular wipes using the fabric of my dress, the lens nearly vanished. A sharp sparkle of sun reflected from the cracked glass.

I brought the monoscope to my eye.

What a sunny day, what a salty day, what a sea-wet day. There was nothing but sea. There wasn’t a stripe of land from here to there, or there to yonder.

My sloops were farther out, trailing the ketch which trailed my galleon. On every sloop, goblins gathered around threads of sunlight that dragged in the sea. They wrestled long wooden fishing rods. 2 sloops were reeling big fish! The goblins shouted with reels and reel-hos until two hammerhead sharks were hauled up over the taffrails.

Good job snots! Into the barrels the fishies go!

On one sloop, the hammerhead sharks were quickly gutted and chopped; and the flesh, fins, and head were stored in a barrel. On the other sloop, only half the meat was stored away. The other half was taken below deck by the armful. What had been stored in the barrel was rolled over to Captain Wing-ears. Wing-ears took an inventory of the barrel, scratched his head, and shrugged. How long had those goblins been hoarding half of their catches? Why didn’t they want to share? Were my goblins starving? Was that why the chance of mutiny was up to 48%?

Or was it something else? Remember-not was atop the deckhouse, sitting on a giant bulb of garlic. She hugged the paper-wrapped garlic stems and stared out over the sea. It seemed to me that she was sad; bothered by something. That couldn’t be the reason the chance of mutiny was 49%, could it? Just last night, Remember-not had said, “I’m doing this and doing that, sewing this and sewing that, going here and going there, and everyone else gets to be Captain.” But that wasn’t the case. Not everyone was promoted to Captain. “Why couldn’t I be Captain? I work hard.”

Oh Remember-not…

Wow! Pinky-chew’s ketch was much further behind than only a while ago. The sloops were not only farther out, they were even further behind. As only sloops could sail, they zigzagged with the wind. Goblins worked tirelessly to man the helm and brace against the waves.

“Lower the foremast sails, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“Lower the mizzenmast sails, please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

Was that why the chance of mutiny was now 50%? Was I working my goblins too hard? Of course! With a galleon that traveled at 3x the speed, and a ketch that sailed at 2x the speed, how could little sloops hope to keep up? I knew what being overworked was like, and I didn’t want to Gloom-glower my goblins. Nope, nope, no!

Birds circled the sloops. Flecks of insects swarmed the plants and chimeric-colored barrels. Goblins cavorted about on all the decks, leaping and grasping for dragonflies and grasshoppers. They ate them! All the buggies were being eaten. Were the birds being gobbled up too? Not the bees; goblins left those alone. Swoll-cheeks had taught us a thing or two about bees.

I hoped my goblins weren’t starving! That’s what all the garlic and onions were for! Oh no, no, no…That must be why the chance of mutiny was 51%! They were hungry and overworked, and it was all my fault.

Some Captains waved at the galleon as their sloops slipped near. My Commodore waved. But other goblins did not wave. Those goblins crossed their arms and glared at me. Behind the hardest glaring goblins, smaller ones smiled with their pointy teeth. Those that glared were obviously amassing a following. Followings led to factions. Factions led to division. Division led to mutiny! No wonder the chance of mutiny was at 52%! It was all happening right under my nose!

I lowered my monoscope. With two knuckles, I rubbed my eye. My heart felt rock-heavy and tightly knitted.

All of a sudden my chance at a goblin-filled home seemed much further away. I put Stiff-neck and Back-ache at the helm to balance each other out before I went below deck to my private forecastle.

I was just entering my skeleton key into the door lock when I froze. There were scratches all around the doorknob—long, deep fingernail scratches. There were scratches at the bottom too and all around the hinges.

Oh no, no, no! Everywhere I turned it seemed that the chance of mutiny was growing! 53% was way too much! I had to do something before it was too late!

Chapter 61

Gobsong

Chance of Mutiny: 11%.

250 levels until fleet evolution.

Whew! What hard, hard work it was getting the chance of mutiny as far down as I could! And it wasn’t easy. Like Slime-tooth used to say, “If it's easy, it can’t be that easy.”

I confronted the goblins who had only reported half of their hammerhead catch.

“Why should we share everything we catch when we bring in the biggest fish and the most fish?” Click-tongue had said.

“You’re right,” I had said. “From now on I’ll keep track of who catches the biggest fish and the most fish.”

“I’m right? How can I be right when you're the Admiral, and I’m just a snot?”

“I will reward the sloop that catches the biggest fish and the most fish, that’s how!”

That certainly changed the tuna of things. Suddenly we had more fish available to eat, and fisher-goblins became more dedicated to their fishing lines.

On a canvas scroll, I kept track of more than caught fish; I kept track of leader goblins such as Remember-not. I showed her evidence that she was my right and left-hand goblin.

“See look,” I had said after inviting her into the deckhouse to show her the list of goblins and their achievements.

“That’s my name?” she had asked.

“That’s your name.”

“Whose names are underneath?”

“Those aren’t names. Those are all your accomplishments.”

“I did all those things?”

“Every one.”

“What about those things that don’t have check marks?”

“Those are to-dos. I want you to start training under a different Captain each week to start gaining some Captain-ing experience.”

Remember-not turned emotional after that.

While other goblins didn’t turn emotional, at least they were overcome with relief when I decided to maintain the speed of the galleon at only 2x its normal speed. The ketch had no problem catching up, and the goblins on the sloops didn’t have to work so hard to catch up. As a result, the chance of mutiny had decreased by 20 points. Who knew working goblins so hard could lead to mutiny so easily!

Almost as easily as keeping them hungry. Were they really so hungry?

“Starving,” they had all said.

Once a day without fail I had my fleet lower sails and set sea anchor. Giant onions and colossal garlic were rolled onto each sloop. I promoted goblins into cooks and made sure each sloop had a cook. The biggest catch of the day was celebrated and all catches were equally distributed.

Goblins ate with their familiar groups. It was clear which goblins had followings. I made a list to keep an eye on them and how many followers they had. If any goblin’s following got too big…

At the end of the week, the chance of mutiny had drastically reduced. It was exhausting!

On one clear and easy day, I ordered my crew to sail at half-sail.

“All on deck, please thank you!” I called. “Let’s take turns.”

“Food time already?” said Big-belly.

“Happy-dimple, you first. Grab the helm.”

Happy-dimple looked around before pointing to himself. “Me?”

“Grab the spokes, please thank you.”

He grabbed the spokes and put dimples in his cheeks with a giddy smile. “Wow, Admiral! Is this a promotion?”

“This is practice. I’m going to build more sloops, so I'll need to keep in mind the best potential Captains.” Every goblin went stiff after that. Their eyes got big, maybe their ears too. “Right now we’re going to follow Slime-tooth’s rules—your turn Knuckle-hair.”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“As Slime-tooth used to say, ‘Steer forward, and you’ll get from here to there.” Goblins oohed and aahed. Heads bounced in deep, understanding nods. “Your turn Pickle-tongue.”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

That wasn’t the only one of Slime-tooth’s sayings that I shared on such a smooth and stormless day. When it was time for the daily food exchange and most-biggest catch competition, I invited every single goblin aboard the galleon. It was so packed with happily munching goblins that I had to share: “If you can tell it's your own limbs, there aren’t enough goblins around you!”

Everyone took an inventory of their limbs. Some came to find out that they'd been eating out of each other’s hands instead of their own. Those limbs were quickly untangled. Even so, there was still a lot of room for lots and lots more snots aboard.

And we were ready for more. Remember-not had finally caught up outfitting each goblin with hammered flower dresses which had tons of pockets. She’d been asking for more goblins, but there were none! Out of boredom, she’d been sewing together backpacks. She’d been wanting to make something that could hold the most pockets. I wanted Pinky-chew to be the first to try one on.

Pinky-chew slipped her arms through the straps. “Now this is nice, Admiral!”

“Open it up, please thank you.”

She dropped the backpack. She wrestled with the straps like a cat backpedaling a ball of twine. At last she flipped the flap back. There were a hundred folds and a hundred pockets.

“I lost a piece of garlic in there,” said Remember-not. “If you find it…you can just have it.”

“So many pockets!” said Pinky-chew.

I clapped and performed a pirouette. “Like Slime-tooth used to say, ‘A pocket in a pocket is like a secret’!”

I was soon beginning to hand out backpacks for promotions. The first lot went to the next sloop that caught the biggest fish. Suddenly, goblins had safer places to put all their trinkets and coin. I also decided to promote Gabby with her own backpack.

“I am promoting you to my personal Sayer,” I said.

“I am honored, Admiral,” said Gabby between tears.

“Here are your boots.”

“I’ll do the best that I can!”

“As my personal Sayer, I’ll need you to say ‘please thank you’ after everything I say.”

“I’ll be the best Sayer ever!” Gabby sniffed.

“All right everyone! Full sail ahead!”

“Please thank you!” said Gabby.

And morale improved! An improved morale helped in times of uncertainty. It was always hard to predict the weather; but one thing was for sure, clear days didn’t last forever.

On one chilly morning there was a thick fog in our way. It was miles and miles long, and there was nothing to do but sail straight through. Water beaded on the lines and rigging. Water dribbled down the masts. The soft air wet my eyelashes. I could hear the sea slam against the hull, but I couldn’t see it. It felt like we were frozen still, but the masts were full of air, and I felt the cold damp wind.

The fleet sailed tethered in line to the galleon so that no ship turned lost. I put Remember-not at the helm. After pouring myself a tankard of spit beer, I went on a stroll. There were so many sleeping goblins! Green legs had to be stepped over. Arms had to be moved aside. I had to make sure my boots didn’t step on ears or noses or fingers or stomachs.

Bouncing-leg was asleep beneath drooping white trumpet flowers that were as large as barrels. Little-one was asleep in a heap of canvas within a barrel. Some creature tugged at the fishing line, but Bush-brows was asleep at the rod. Easy-going was sprawled out in a large coil of rope near the prow. Grumpy-mumble was sitting against the taffrails with shut eyes. Dew dripped off his chin. Slime-tooth was right when he said, “A cloud is a good place to sleep for a quick nap.”

For almost a week, while sailing straight west, every goblin got to breathe easier. The chance of mutiny fell to 8%, and spirits were high when we broke through the fog and sailed under a bright full moon the color of cheese.

Nearly all had been sleeping when we began to hear a soft lovely hum. The hum eerily grew into squeaks. Soon everyone was up and looking over taffrails for the source.

The sea was pleasant and still. No big splashes slapped my ships. No great fin sliced the water. Yet the squeaks turned to shrieks. The sound moved like a song with ups and downs, and highs and lows, and lefts and rights, and quiets and louds.

“Pretty,” said Half-ear.

“Lovely,” said Broke-toe.

“Sublime,” said Blow-nose.

They were all spot on. The sound was so, so lovely—like a dolphin singing and laughing. They were similar to sounds that came from Hawkin’s woods: cackling coyotes or foxes; whining, warring cats…Something like that!

“Admiral,” said Stretch-arms, and he lobbed an arm over his head to wave me over.

I clomped on over to the stern. I climbed the steps over the deckhouse and looked overboard. I gasped!

Down in the jolly boat, Soft-song was laid back with his arms behind his head. He was belting the most beautiful song I had ever heard. Then Stretch-arms began to wail with his own long song. Bright-eyes shrieked into the night. Bell-throat clanged. Remember-not wailed like a siren. Stuffy-nose and Fat-tongue mimicked foghorns. Soon the song spread to the ketch and to the sloops.

Spontaneous gobsong! The rare camaraderie! Who would have thought? Gloom-glower never experienced anything like that before. I was sure even Gone-hand never experienced gobsong. My ears pricked this way and that. I performed a pirouette, and I howled.

By midnight, the chance of mutiny was 0%.

Chapter 62

New Players

Boggo

I had to agree with Ella. The mood of the goblins was much better. I felt less like a walking, roasted pheasant, and more like a companion to the goblins. I prayed that their eyes never turned hungry on me ever again like they had the past few weeks.

“See anything?” said Ella.

I shaded my eyes from the sun with one hand and peered through the haze. There was nothing but sea for miles and miles and miles.

“There!” said Ella.

I squinted hard to make out a small blur of orange in the distance. It looked too small to be land and much too big to be anything else but an island. Haze did tricky things, so we could only report it as Barnacle-eyes had asked us to.

I took in a huge breath and felt my ribs ache. I fell to my knees.

Ella scrambled across the roof of our crow’s nest. “Careful not to push yourself,” she said.

“I have to perform my duty.”

“Let’s call out together. That way we have strength in our voice, and you don’t need to hurt yourself.”

On the count of three, Ella hollered while I called, “Maybe-land ho!”

Boots clapped on deck. Goblins followed Barnacle-eyes to the prow. She put her monoscope to her eye. After returning the monoscope to her inventory, she withdrew her sea map and ran for the deckhouse.

Belut stepped out from the giant foliage of browning trumpet flowers. “Little Boggo! We’re close!”

We gave him a blue and yellow thumbs up before resuming our midday duties. We leapt from mast to rig to line to mast. We dislodged stuck lines and used spit beer on pulleys for lubricant. Spare lines let us swing from topgallant sail to flying jib, and from center mast to foremast and mizzenmast. Ella, weeks prior, had the brilliant idea of building a suspended rope bridge between the masts which we skittered along daily. It allowed us a quick return to the crow’s nest.

Enough of our fur had blended together in the crow’s nest that the floor was green. Just when the day was at its brightest, we sat down to discuss our game. I whittled the figurine of a laughing beetle wearing a backpack while we went over our new rules.

“Each game should be a grand adventure,” said Ella.

“And it’s up to the player if they want to be cautious or not,” I said.

Bluebirds squawked by. They sprawled out and perched on vines and rigging and flower petals as thick as canvas. A pair of metallic red dragonflies perched on the threshold of the crow’s nest. Their wings bounced before they flew off.

“Hear me out,” said Ella. “If a character is an animal and they enter a new area, they have a chance to start in random places in that area.”

“What if they enter a kitchen and there’s a boiling pot of potatoes on the stove?”

“I played a game with Bailey one day. A big monkey was lobbing bananas at us, and he used scatter dice to determine what direction the bananas went.”

“Scatter dice. So when an animal based character enters a new space, there’s a chance that they scatter all over the room?”

“Wouldn’t that be fun! An extra bit of adventure. They don’t have to go inside the pot of potatoes, silly.”

“I think we should try it,” I said.

“You don’t think it’ll be fun?”

“I do! I think we should try it—actually try it. Let’s get Barnacle-eyes and some of her goblins to play.”

“We don’t have scatter dice…”

I spent the next hour carving arrows on the sides of a pair of wooden cubes. When we passed by the island of red clay and tall grass, we sat on the threshold to watch.

“There’s movement in the grass!” said Ella.

It wasn’t the wind—wind moved great swaths of grass at a time. It was something else that pushed blades over as it moved beneath. Several lines of movement raced toward a shipwreck on the coast of the island.

“Maybe-monster-ho?” said Ella.

“Maybe.”

We climbed atop the crow’s nest, took simultaneous deep breaths, and hollered, “Maybe-monster-ho!”

Goblins began to emerge from the grasses. They gawked at the fleet which was ladened with giant flora and cavorting goblins. Sails were lowered. Sea anchors were dropped. Soft-song and Pinky-chew were sent out on the jolly boat to the island. They brought with them a giant peeled onion. It sat on their boat as luminous as one of Thrush’s orb portals. Stranded goblins devoured that onion with enthusiasm. Double-tears ran down their cheeks—they’d been weeping as soon as they saw Captain Soft-song and Commodore Pinky-chew, and they cried even harder after the onion was cleaved into. Much of the rest of the day was spent bringing those goblins aboard and salvaging all materials from the shipwreck.

By nightfall, Barnacle-eyes informed the crew that we would anchor for the night.

Ella and I leapt from rig to rig like flying squirrels. With our help, the galleon’s sails were lowered the fastest among all ships, even with a dozen more sails!

“Boggo, look!”

Aboard the sloops, goblins were picking up a few tricks from us. They leapt from rig to rig in flailing cartwheels of spindly limbs. They swung from line to line. A goblin occasionally fell and landed amid giant flowers and vines. …Abigail’s Aggravated Wild Growth attribute ale had turned each sloop into a wonderland of colossal plants. The fleet as a whole looked like one floating island. And each raised bed had bestie tunnel systems!

We used those tunnels at dusk when the goblins began setting up rods for night fishing. While new crewmates were being introduced and assigned work, Ella and I sought Barnacle-eyes. She was napping in the bowl of an arching onion leaf blade.

“The besties!” she said.

“Aye aye, Admiral!” said Ella. “Come play our game with us.”

“A game? A game—what kind of game?”

“It’s called…” I said.

“We don’t have a name for it,” said Ella. “Come play with us.”

“To the deckhouse,” said Barnacle-eyes. She was up and off, sprinting toward the deckhouse in the next moment.

“We’ll be right there,” Ella called. “Let’s round up some more players.”

Ella grabbed me by the hand. I was pulled through tunnels in the raised beds until we emerged between huge bulbs of garlic. We found Slow-think staring down a puffed up bluebird. Slow-think broke eye contact with the bird. The bird flew off.

“Would you like to play a game with us?” said Ella.

I wrung my hands as we explained the game. As soon as we mentioned that the Admiral was also playing, Slow-think leapt up and skipped over to the deckhouse.

We traveled along vines as thick as trees and sprawling leaves almost as wide as human blankets. I screeched to a halt when a mean green dragonfly held its ground in the middle of our path.

“Shoo!” said Ella. She waved the dragonfly away.

Just over the next hurdle of vines, we found Rumble-gut picking her nose in the shadows of plants.

Legs trembling, I went right up to her and stammered. “Would you like to play a game with us?”

Another player bolted to the deckhouse.

“Just a couple more,” said Ella.

“Let’s get Remember-not!”

“Yes, let’s not forget her!”

Chapter 63

The Rise of Slime-tooth

“The tunnel is dark,” said Ella, “except for a moving ball of light.”

“Is that the lantern?” said Rumble-gut.

“We’re not after a lantern,” said Stutter-much.

“The green flame is inside the lantern,” said Ella. “It sheds enough light in the tunnel that it looks like a ball of green light, and it’s rolling down the tunnel.”

“I grab the lantern,” said Barnacle-eyes. “We win!”

“You can try to take it,” I said, “but the tomato plant has it. Roll this die.” I passed her a d20.

The goblins leaned in as Barnacle-eyes picked up the die. She bit her tongue and shook her fist with all her might until she gritted her teeth. She let it loose on the table and rolled a 1.

“Did I get, did I scoop, did I steal—snatch the lantern?”

“You tried to,” said Ella. “Instead, you stepped on your own shoelaces and tripped.”

The goblins erupted in laughter while their Admiral checked her boots. She scratched her head and sighed; she swung her legs.

“My turn,” said Bigbig-sigh.

“It’s too late,” I said. “The walking tomato plant just turned into a running tomato plant! He’s getting away! The ball of green lantern light is getting smaller and further.”

“C’mon,” said Barnacle-eyes. “After that tomato!”

The goblins gripped the table like it was one big handle. They pedaled their feet from their seats. Boots and bare feet banged on table legs and barrel staves.

“Faster,” said Stutter-much.

“Like Slime-tooth used to say, ‘If running is faster than walking, then running faster has got to be even faster than running!”

“After that tomato,” said Slow-think.

The table somehow began to scrape across the floorboards.

“Stop!” said Ella. “You lose sight of the running tomato plant. In no time at all, you arrive in a chamber. There are two tunnels.”

“Well which one did that tomato go down?” said Barnacle-eyes.

“Let’s check them both,” said Slow-think.

“Do they both look the same?” said Rumble-gut.

“Roll a d20,” I said. Rumble-gut rolled a 10. “They look the same.”

“I’m going to check too because you missed something last time,” said Bigbig-sigh. He rolled a 9.

“Still looks the same,” said Ella.

“I’ll take a gander,” said Slow-think. He rolled a 2.

“Your gander takes you down the left tunnel.”

“Come back!” said Barnacle-eyes.

Stutter-much swiped up the die and rolled a 20.

Ella cleared her throat and presented an imaginary sign above her head. The goblins looked up with wide eyes. “Great job, Stutter-much! You found a sign carved into the cavern wall that reads ‘there’s a wrong way, and there’s a right way’.”

“Does it tell us which tunnel is the right one?” he said.

“That’s all that’s written,” I said.

“I know what to do,” said Barnacle-eyes. She covered her eyes with one hand and pointed over the table. “Slime-tooth used to say ‘whenever you have to choose between right and wrong, just don’t choose wrong.’ Mmn—that one!”

Ella and I made eye contact.

“Aye aye, Admiral,” the goblins said.

Ella flipped a coin. “Wow! All right, you run down the tunnel at full speed.” The goblins grabbed the table, and they pedaled furiously. “In just a few minutes, you see a ball of green light grow bigger.”

“Light-ho!” I said. The goblins echoed. The table legs scraped against the floorboards.

“You’re getting closer!” said Ella.

“I tackle the tomato,” said Barnacle-eyes.

“Me too,” the goblins echoed.

They all rolled. 18. 5. 20. 19. 10.

“Rumble-gut collides in the dark with Stutter-much—It was Stutter-much’s fault,” I said. The goblins glared at Stutter-much. I continued. “Barnacle-eyes was the first to tackle the tomato plant. Bigbig-sigh came next and also tackled the tomato plant to the ground.”

“Oh no!” said Barnacle-eyes. “The lantern! It can’t hit the ground!”

“-and Slow-think managed to help tackle the tomato plant and grab the lantern.”

Ella placed the figurine of a surprised tomato head on leafy vine legs in the middle of the table. She set a bright green crystal of tourmaline beside it.

The goblins sank low and peered just over the lip of the table. Their eyes were the biggest I’d ever seen them. They were the quietest I’d ever heard them!

“...Is this ours?” said Barnacle-eyes.

“You have to return it to the green face in the green bonfire,” said Ella.

Barnacle-eyes rose until her posture straightened. “Well…when you're tasked with a task, tasking the task is better than being taken to task. That’s what Slime-tooth used to say. …Let’s bring it back to the bonfire. Um, can I recruit the tomato on my fleet?”

“Roll,” said Ella.

15.

“I’d love to be part of your party, responds the tomato.”

Ella slid the tomato player piece beside the four onions carved out of wood and the bluebird that Bigbig-sigh had wanted to play as. The goblins retraced their steps until—

“—You finally exit the tunnel and breathe the sweet, fresh air,” said Ella.

“Salty, salty,” said Barnacle-eyes.

“An air without salt is like a drop of water with no water,” said Stutter-much.

“That’s what Slime-tooth used to say,” said Barnacle-eyes. “How’d you know that? Do you know Slime-tooth?”

“I might not be a good talker, but I sure am a good listener; and it sounds to me like Slime-tooth has had a lot to say over the years.”

Barnacle-eyes shifted her gaze to the corner of the deckhouse. Private thoughts crossed her eyes. She seemed wistful.

“We pedal back down the road,” said Rumble-gut.

“Which way?” said Ella.

Rumble-gut covered her eyes and pointed. I flipped a coin.

“Incredible,” said Ella. “You’ve once again chosen the correct path. By dusk, you return to camp. The green bonfire still burns tall and bright.”

I stood on the table and waved my hands in circles. “Welcome back, vegetables—the green face in the green bonfire says.”

Barnacle-eyes scrunched her brows. She massaged her forehead. She lifted a finger and exclaimed, “Oh yeah! A goblin that can count can be counted on to count when it counts.”

The other goblins made figure eights in the air with their fingers while they muttered to themselves. Slow-think stared ahead.

“Boom!” I said. “The bonfire grows mighty big. The voice in the fire gets deeper. You have returned my final flame! I shall reward you with—”

Ella nudged my elbow. She beckoned me beneath the table. We hopped down and convened in whispers.

“Boggo! This was our first real campaign! Can we do something special?”

“Absolutely! What?”

“Can we reward them with actual crystals? They seemed to really like the tourmaline.”

“I don’t have any.”

“I do.”

We shared big dimpled smiles before returning to our place as game masters.

“What’s going on?” said Barnacle-eyes.

I picked up where I left off. “—I shall reward each one of you with these.” Ella placed sparkling green tourmaline crystals before each goblin. “I want to make it clear that this is a one time thing.”

Each goblin was stunned. 50 green fingers trembled toward the tourmalines like curious snakes.

Chapter 64

Talking Pickle Talking God

“You descend the stairs,” I said. Mouth-breather, Rub-eyes, Slap-knee, and Up-nose appeared to listen attentively. “The cellar is musty—”

“—Crusty?” said Rub-eye.

“Lots of rust on lots of tools!”

“Can we scurry?” said Slap-knee.

“What is an adventure without scurrying?” said Ella. “As a unified pack of sloop rats, you scurry around the cellar. You run into walls of crates and stacks of barrels.”

“No pickles?” said Mouth-breather.

“You don’t see any jars,” I said.

“Are we in the wrong place?” said Up-nose. “It’s dingy in here like the quarters of my first sloop!”

The goblins were so engrossed in the adventure that from then on it felt like we were truly a pack of sloop rats in an old musty cellar.

As the rats scampered about the cellar, they performed perception checks. Their rolls were abominable until one sloop rat rolled an 18.

“You find enough room to squeeze through two barrels,” I said. “You discover that the cellar extends beyond, down a long corridor.”

“This must be the way,” said a sloop rat.

“Wait for us,” said another.

The rats squeezed through the barrels and made their way down the corridor. Crates were stacked two high along the walls, and they towered like buildings over the sloop rats.

The search for the talking pickle was on. Up-nose was certain the jar was hiding inside a crate. Along the way, the rats rolled 13 and above to chew through crate boards. All except for Mouth-breather who had picked up a bone pick along the way. He only had to roll an 11.

Crate after crate was empty. Some contained empty jars, some contained pottery, and some contained great big crocks of vinegar. A few crates contained funny aromatic spices!

On down the corridor they went until they felt that the corridor would stretch forever. They debated whether or not to turn back. The debate was heated and left them dazed and exhausted.

Ella and I convened beneath the table.

“Can we do something to help them?” she said.

“Barnacle-eyes was good at keeping them going.”

“We need her. She always had something to share that helped lift morale.”

“One of Slime-tooth’s things?” I chuckled. “We should just make up our own Slime-tooth things to help them out.”

We scampered back up onto the table. I stomped a foot and startled the goblins. I cleared my throat. “Just ahead, green light seeps through the boards of a crate.”

“The pickle!” said the rats. With a 2, 15, 17, and a 19, the goblins broke into the crate and discovered, not the talking pickle, but a lantern with a green flame inside.

“What is it?” said Rub-eyes.

“You see a face in the flames,” said Ella. “An old, almost ancient goblin face!”

“It’s a goblin god!” said Slap-knee.

Ella and I raised brows at each other. Looking at me, she said, “Yes! It’s a goblin god! It’s Slime-tooth himself!”

The rats gawked at the tourmaline she set on the table.

“I am the mighty Slime-tooth,” I intoned. “Whenever you are in need of aid, brandish this lantern!”

The rats seemed confused.

Ella stomped. “When you need help, help me help you help each other.”

Ah! They understood! The rats squealed with glee. They chirred with questions, the most popular of which was: “Where is the talking pickle?”

“If you haven’t found what you’re looking for, it’s best to look where you haven’t looked since looking,” I said.

“Down the corridor!” Mouth-breather said.

“You continue down the corridor. In a matter of minutes, there are no more crates and barrels.”

“I sniff,” said Up-nose.

He rolled a 20.

“You smell vinegar,” said Ella. “And pickling spices! Mustard seed, turmeric root, dill root—”

“Onion?” said Rub-eyes

“I love onions,” said Mouth-breather. His gaze turned somewhat wistful.

“Sure,” said Ella. “And onions too! Give a big whiff, Up-nose!”

Oh, what a sniff he took! It was truly a surprise that sudden gales didn’t sweep him off the galleon!

“I smell…I smell…I smell!”

“You smell pickles!” said Ella.

The sloop rats scrambled. They discovered rows of shelves that lined the walls. Jars and jars—more jars!—were packed on every single shelf.

“I brandish Slime-tooth,” said Slap-knee.

“That’s exactly what we should do,” said Mouth-breather.

“Slime-tooth’s face sheds light as green as a watermelon,” I said. “Speak little snots—”

“—rats,” Ella whispered.

“—little rats.”

“Where is the talking pickle?” said Rub-eyes.

“...ask the pickles,” said Ella.

Off the rats went! They banged into jars, climbed up shelves, and more than a handful of rolled 1s made a mess of things. They ate the pickles. Mostly, they pressed their faces to the glass and asked each one if they were a talking pickle.

“I’m over here!” I said.

But my voice was lost over the clamor. It was like I really was a pickle mumbling through brine and glass and lid! And a talking pickle’s voice could only be so small and terrified when a pack of sloop rats were sending glass jars smashing to the ground with every turn and climb they performed.

“I jump onto the shelves across the corridor from my shelf!’ said Up-nose.

He rolled a 1. He slipped, fell, grabbed the shelf, and took the whole thing down with him. Shelf after shelf after shelf crashed down. Jars cascaded to the cellar ground. Glass crashed, crackled, cracked, and pinged.

“Listen!” said Ella. “Listen, listen, listen! So much vinegar fills the corridor that the pack gets swept downstream.”

“Hold hands,” said Mouth-breather. “Sloop rats stick together!”

“But it’s difficult to tell the difference between a wet rat and a floating pickle,” I said. “Pickles and pickles and rats flood down the corridor.”

“I hold Slime-tooth above the vinegar,” said Rub-eyes.

“You save the green flame from snuffing out,” said Ella. “The river of vinegar finally settles through the ground, leaving you soaking among countless pickles. You hear a glass jar roll away.”

The rats found the glass jar. They tackled it and pinned it against the wall. They shouted over each other at the pickle, asking if it could speak. They went on for a while until Slime-tooth had to step in. Ella’s big voice silenced the pack of rats.

I gestured to the imaginary scene. “If speaking, talking, shouting, and yelling doesn’t work, then the wrong person might be speaking, talking, shouting, and yelling; it’s listening that must be done.”

Mouth-breather gawked. Rub-eyes blinked hard. Slap-knee sat still. Up-nose gulped through a stuffy nose. For a moment, all was silent save for the sound of the sea through the hull.

“As the last of the vinegar runs through cracks in the floor, the pickle opens its eyes,” said Ella. She opened her eyes wide. “I am the talking pickle, but—”

The goblins hooted, cheered, and danced around the deckhouse.

“We found the pickle!” they repeated.

They produced such a ruckus that Barnacle-eyes and dozens of goblins squeezed into the deckhouse to see the commotion. They climbed atop each other for better views until there was a wall of goblins whose eyes gleamed like crystals in a mine—all the way to the ceiling like a big wave. The volume grew!

I wrung my hands, flattened my ears, and stepped back.

“—but,” said Ella. “Listen, listen!” Her voice went unheard.

Trembling something fierce, I stepped forward and in my biggest voice said, “Listen up snots!”

Even Barnacle-eyes became quiet. I coughed and felt an ice-pick stitch near my bad rib. Ella beamed at me, but her eyes worried.

“I don’t have much longer,” said Ella.

“What’s wrong with her?” said a goblin in the audience.

“She’s a pickle,” said Mouth-breather.

“I need my magic pickling spices to keep me alive.”

As the pack of rats went exploring down the tunnel while cradling the jar with the talking pickle, the audience moved from confused to entertained to enthralled. They watched in bated breath as the pack of sloop rats could not locate the pickling spices.

“I brandish god Slime-tooth,” said Up-nose.

In my best Slime-tooth voice, I intoned. “Some things can be found by eye, some by ear, some by touch, but the worst and the tastiest things can be found by nose.”

Up-nose put his head back so that his nose stuck up like a shark’s fin. He rolled an 18.

While Ella described the wafting scent of pickling spices in cracked open crates, the audience murmured aloud.

“Slime-tooth?” they said.

“God?” they balked.

“You know another goblin god, Barnacle-eyes?” they asked.

“You’ve been sharing a goblin god’s wise words all this time?” they said.

And as the pack of rats came upon the cracked crates, the audience began recollecting all of Slime-tooth’s sayings. The party turned and shared Slime-tooth’s newest wise words.

“I didn’t know he said those things,” said Barnacle-eyes. “Wow!”

“I put the pickling spices in the jar,” said Slap-knee.

“Congratulations adventurers!” said Ella. “You have found and saved the talking pickle!”

Chapter 65

Jelly

We passed several other islands on our way straight west. A cold front had swept in. Our noses were wet, and the constant brisk wind kept tears in our eyes.

The goblins were on deck laboring over disassembling a new catch. The strangest creature lay sprawled on deck.

“You must have seen something like this before,” I said.

“Never ever,” said Ella. “Not this color; not this big.”

A massive gloop of pink slime lay at the prow of the galleon. The deck could be seen through the pink creature. Goblins wrestled long squirming tentacles that lapped around all the raised beds and tangled with the flora.

“If one goblin can’t do it, add another,” said Barnacle-eyes. “That’s what Slime-tooth used to say.”

“Also,” said Always-missing, “If another can’t do it, add another. Keep adding goblins until what can’t be done can be done.”

“All snots on deck,” hollered Barnacle-eyes.

“Please, thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“We need every snot available to chop up the monster jellyfish!”

“Please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“Sending some help!” cried Soft-song.

One of his two jolly boat crewmates clambered up the hull and leapt over the taffrail—Remember-not! Of course, she was training under Captain Soft-song this week!

She paused over a tendril of jellyfish, then dove to the deck and grappled the tentacle like a mad cat. The jellyfish slurped when it moved. Goblin elbows and knees banged against the deck. Nearly a hundred growls and grunts rose from the attack. We heard an occasional hiss too. Within the hour, the monster jellyfish had been chopped up, the sloops had been rounded in, and goblins were feasting while nursing their stung hands and stung tongues.

“I wonder what…Ella?”

She had been right beside me. She wasn’t in the crow’s nest. She wasn’t on the main mast at all! How could a yellow puffball have gone out of sight so quickly! That was when I heard squishing coming from the hollow of the mast. A slimy pink dome rose from the hole. But how could it still move after the goblins chopped it up! Trembling, teeth chattering, I scrambled for my hammer and brandished it. I would protect Ella.

The pink dome slipped right out of the hole and fell splat on the floor. Ella popped out of the hole right after it.

“Snagged a piece!” she said. “Are you excited? I’ve never had jellyfish before.”

My heart was racing. I set the hammer against the wall and plopped down. “I thought…”

“You all right?” said Ella. “Your rib?”

“You scared me, that’s all.”

With her teeth she ripped a strip of pink jelly away. “Here, let’s take this adventure together.”

Still shaking, I sat with Ella at the threshold of the crow’s nest. …What a strange food!

A goblin below said it best when he quoted Slime-tooth. “If it looks good and it tastes good and it sits well in the belly, it’s good for you!”

“I’m one hundred percent sure Slime-tooth never said half of these things,” said Ella.

“It’s all bits and pieces from the Slime-tooth in our game.”

“Even Barnacle-eyes is starting to collect them.”

She held up a strip of the pink jellyfish between us and peered through. “You look purple,” she said.

“You look orange!”

Giggling and chuckling, chuckling and giggling, we stuffed our faces with pink jellyfish. Much crunchier than I would have ever thought!

“Do you ever think about the original besties?” said Ella after we split a dreambon in half.

“From time to time and a lot more after meeting with Thrush and the elder red bestie.”

“I wonder if they really had clear coats or silver coats. I really hope to meet more besties. Wouldn’t it be nice to connect?”

“It’s a little scary…”

“Maybe the monsters! We’re bringing Belut home. There’s gotta be a lot more like him there. …But meeting besties won’t be scary!”

“I think it is. What if they reject us? What if it’s dangerous to get there?”

“I see. We’re going together, and if we ever need, we can call Thrush or Barnacle-eyes for help.”

“...Do you think we could sell more warm-warm beer?”

“The red loved Hawkin’s beer.”

“...You know what I’m looking forward to the most? Creating memories with you. Collecting moments in time and exploring where no bestie has ever gone. I want to bring stories back to the blue besties one day and share everything with them.”

“Are you missing home?”

The sun glinted in millions of pieces on the sea. The dark sea forever moved. The wind tousled our fur.

“...Just anxious.”

Barnacle-eyes called for the capstan to be churned. Sails needed to be raised. Lines needed to be tethered. The wind was strong, and we still had sea to cross. It was time to leap from rig to rig!

Chapter 66

Alone Among Eleven Thousand

Slime-tooth

Not a bad place to sleep. Not a bad place at all. The wall kept my back straight. The barrels wedged me in. Much better than waking up in a slosh of water and choking on grime.

Oh, my voice worked again! “Help!”

Rest was good. Like Old-gums used to say, rest when you can, sleep when you can, and pretend to be awake when you can’t. Oh, Old-gums…

“Help!”

Hours and hours of crying for help had done nothing before. Why would it help again? There was nothing for it but to heave and heave-ho again.

I grunted against the mountain of barrels. I heaved. My knees pushed against the staves. Some toes did too! My shoulder bravely smashed against a barrel hoop. Grimacing didn’t help, so I instead put my energy into grunting.

The ship rolled. Finally! The barrels tumbled away. I sucked breath after breath and wobbled to my feet. Oof! Better not straighten my legs all the way. Wouldn’t want that knee pain to return again. Best to keep legs bent. Oof! Better stay hunched. Best not to tighten the knot in my spine.

Things were much better since Barnacle-eyes’ human friends came to see me. Their beer didn’t taste all the best—not like what Barnacle-eyes could brew up—but they sure made pain go away. Helped me see, too! And talk about a full belly!

Seeing wasn’t surprising until you saw what you couldn’t see! For a time there I couldn’t see anything.

“That’s what you get when your head gets pinched between moving barrels! You get blind for a while!”

There were no snots around to laugh with me. Oof! It hurt to laugh. Best not to breathe too deeply. Didn’t too much like it when my lungs rattled.

Oh, my eyes stung from ptooey, sea water, and sweat. A hard blink helped refresh the view—except for the cloud that lingered in one eye. That never cleared.

But oh, to see things again! No wonder I couldn’t grasp things, clutch rims, grab jambs, pull corks, and pick nose. My fingers had all gotten confused in the beatings and smashings between barrels. They pointed every which way.

So many barrels…And where was I in all my work? I was counting, right? No, I had been testing sick batches. That’s what I’d been doing! I slapped a barrel head.

Something banged against the top deck. What used to be a familiar constant sound was now foreign to me. Splashing footsteps echoed down the halls. The cargo hatch! That must have been what slammed. That meant I had a visitor, and since I wasn’t allowed visitors until I caught up to all my work, that visitor must be none other than…

Gloom-glower’s guard emerged from the shadows. The king wasn’t ever too far behind.

“Slimey, Slimey, Slime-tooth,” said Knuckle-chin. “We hope you’ve caught up today.”

“You’d better have,” said Grip-throat. “No snot likes to see another snot tied up with the corpse figureheads. You’ve been up there enough.”

“I can’t catch up with my work if I keep getting tied up there,” I said.

“Tell that to Gloom-glower,” said Knuckle-chin.

“...At least it’s not a blistering summer sun,” I said.

Knuckle-chin kicked a barrel. “Empty? What about this one? Empty! And this one? Empty, empty!”

Big splashing footsteps marched through the corridor. The echo of Gloom-glower’s mumbling reached us like a skipping stone. Knuckle-chin kicked a particularly wet barrel that had been sitting in water for days on end. His boot smashed through a stave. Ptooey oozed out like shy honey.

Knuckle-chin gasped. He turned to the dark corridor. His ears perked as Gloom-glower’s footsteps drew nearer. He turned to me, and his eyes were round as a rabbit’s. “Please don’t tell him I did that! Please don’t! He’s been in a foul mood lately! He’s gonna make a corpse figurehead out of me now!”

Gloom-glower arrived. “Slimey, Slimey! Tell me that you’re up to date on your work, but no lying! Wait; what happened here?”

Oh, Knuckle-chin. Good thing I was used to hard work and harder punishments. Fear was a long ago thing; I didn’t fear much anymore. Hard to fear when I’ve been so busy hurting so much. Oh, Knuckle-chin. Goblins didn’t deserve to suffer. No, no, no they didn’t. Not a single one.

“That was my fault,” I said.

“Let me get this straight,” said Gloom-glower. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Instead of doing what you’re supposed to do, you’re doing what you’re not supposed to do. Show me your hands. Aha! Your blisters have only just begun to heal. You must love looking down at the sea from the prow.”

There was always a reason. Stumble-falls got to be brought down off the figurehead earlier last time after I bumped into Gloom-glower which had made the king livid. There was no room, so I had taken his place up there. Stumble-falls still had scars on his wrists from the rope.

Then there was Wrinkly-elbow. He ate more fish than he was allotted—the wrong goblin’s fish. If I hadn’t stepped on Gloom-glower’s toes, Wrinkly-elbow would have had another day tied to the prow.

There weren’t enough goblins on the ptooey sloop to bail quick enough to keep water out. The wood of the barrels suffered because of that. They rotted from the outside. I lost so many black barrels. Some deliveries of ptooey were awful. Several barrels had been destroyed during transportation at the last delivery, all because of soggy staves. Gloom-glower didn’t want to hear excuses. He would have tied fellow goblin Bert to the prow for dropping the barrels in the first place if I hadn’t spoken up and said it was me who had dropped it—no matter the fact that I wasn’t even present during delivery. I was stuck without company in the depths of the ptooey sloop at the time.

After that, I did my best to take the place of any goblin who didn’t deserve to be tied as a figurehead. I never went looking to get tied, but I tried to help my little goblins from that suffering when I could. I never received thanks from Sly-eyes who got caught stealing a tankard from Stub-toes. I took the tankard right out of Sly-eyes’ hands when Gloom-glower confronted him—no matter that the king saw me take the tankard! It was easier to punish those who confessed first. Evidence was always thereafter disregarded.

But Sly-eyes didn’t need to thank me. If I could save another snot from suffering, this body could take it. Until the day I die—hopefully around lots of little goblins carousing.

The good it would do me to hear their laughter...Even if they made fun of me! As long as somebody talked to me. I just wanted to hear goblin voices. My body could take suffering, but I was so…lonely.

“You never ever learn,” said Gloom-glower. “Make him a two day figurehead, snots.”

“Yes, King Gloom-glower,” said his guard.

Gloom-glower walked off. Goblins pulled me by the arms after him. They strode; I limped.

“Make sure no one talks to him this time!” said Gloom-glower.

“Gloom-glower!” I said.

“What do you want?”

“Who else is tied up there today?”

“Pock-scar and Meat-fist.”

“You got the wrong goblins. It was me. I did it.”

“You’re the one that called me a weasel? And you rammed my ship?”

“Yes, my king.”

I was marched out on deck. A sun I hadn’t seen in weeks blinded me. I gazed upon floorboard after floorboard as we marched to the prow. Gloom-glower commanded goblins to form green ladders and to hang over the taffrail.

“And release Pock-scar and Meat-fist,” he said. “Have them meet me aboard my ship for a warm meal and beer-and-grounds to compensate for being falsely convicted. Put Slime-tooth down there and give him an extra half day.”

Pock-scar and Meat-fist were freed. They looked numb to me, and they wearily followed Gloom-glower across deck. I tried not to think too much while my kin carried me down and tied me to the mass of dead and dying goblins that formed a bulbous mass of green limbs and faces. Wet and salted rope fibers scraped my neck, my chest, my belly, my thighs, my forehead, and my legs. The sun glinted off the crashing sea below. When it was bright in the sky, it was brighter on the sea.

“What did you do?” said a goblin.

“Shh,” said another. “That’s Slime-tooth. Not supposed to talk to him.”

“Please,” I said. “I would love someone to talk to.”

Instead, hours passed. Oh, I wish I hadn’t declined Hawkin and Abigail’s help. I wish I had taken them up on the offer to bring me ashore…But what about all the other goblins? Who was going to help them? What about Barnacle-eyes? She needed ptooey. No, I had goblins to look after. I could not abandon post. No matter what.

“Yuck,” a goblin whispered. “Old Slime-tooth is crying.”

“Don’t talk to him; don’t talk about him,” croaked another.

I wiggled an arm free and reached into my vest. Barnacle-eyes’ letter was still there. At least I had that for the next two days.

Chapter 67

The Quarotte

Ogo

Orcs were silent when handling Hawkin’s chimeric-colored barrels. Orc fingers thick as piglets traced the labels. Those colors did strange things to the mind. Every pair of orc eyes that laid upon the barrels lingered there. Mouths hung open in tusk and teeth revealing awe.

“Sixty carts!” I said. “Stack them five high!”

Barrels slammed into cart beds. Orcs hefted the barrels with less than a grunt. Carts protested with creaks and twists of hardwood grain. An orc set a barrel on the topmost stack atop one pyramid. The wood of the cart did not move, but it released a tremble of sound.

“Easy,” said Tik to the cart. “You’re built by orcs. You can handle the load.”

“Unless Iki built that one,” I said.

Iki, hefting two barrels beneath each arm, said, “I make one mistake…”

“The cart bed was upside down,” said Efg. “Just like your brain.”

Orcs erupted in laughter, even Iki. “It was my first attempt,” he said.

Iki’s laughter joined ours. Hot plumes of breath rose between pairs of orc tusks. Flurries of snow fell onto the barrels and caught onto the edges of the labels. Hawkin’s branded name gleamed. Behind us, snow slowly accumulated on the masts, taffrails, and lines. An orc saluted me. Snow fell from his shoulder.

“All set Commander,” said Upu.

I held a hand out toward the evergreen valley. Flurries flew through my fingers. The valley sloped down between terrific mountains that split the clouds. A river sloshed along it and meandered deep into cat territory. The surface of the water was filled with planks of ice the size of axe handles.

“Jix,” I said.

Jix unraveled her map. “Few days east.”

“By song it’ll feel like an hour.”

I put myself between the handles of the foremost cart with the bed to my back. Crouching put me beneath the handles. Heaving, my tongue whipped out my belly’s grunt. A roar rattled my throat and wet my tusks. The handles rose and the wheels turned. Warm air vaporized from my skin.

“Onward!”

Orcs roared with effort. Carts creaked. Wheels turned. Hawkin’s barrels jostled. A single-file line led us deep into the valley. Song was our companion. Deep song that came from the depth of bagpipe-shaped bellies.

Sound was different at night. Raw song no longer echoed. The night soaked it up. Frost collected on eyelashes. Simple blinks broke the ice crystals.

Light was different at night. No torch, no glint of eyes, no ember could match the brilliant ethereal light of Hawkin’s barrels. Each cart rolled through rough terrain in the center of a wobbling ball of chimeric light. Ground frost soaked up those colors. The sight was so breathtaking that our song softened and our pace slowed.

“Sing of Balk!” came a cry from down the line.

Ah yes! Balk, the great ancient seafarer who rowed a mastless galleon through tsunami and hurricane! That was a good and mighty song. It was a traveling song of muscle and grit and salt-worn red eyes.

“But we’ll roll instead of row!” came another voice.

Puffs of vapored chuckles rose through chimeric light. As we sang, each bubble of light rolled forward through the valley. We rolled through the nights and wheeled through the days. Flurries of snow came and went. Wind chilled the ring on my tusk. It felt as cold as tundra rock.

On our fourth day of travel, I pressed a palm to the frigid face of a boulder that blocked the path. The constant cadence of sloshing beer came to final splashes as my orcs set their carts down.

“All front!” I called.

In pairs, we punched the boulder. What humans did with chisel and hammer, we did with muscle and knuckle. Conversation was plenty as we took turns elongating fractures in the stone. Punches punctuated laughter. Great long cracks were celebrated. Huge chips of stone were hauled into the forest that was bristle-brush thick. It was Iki’s headbutt that split the boulders at last. The sound of tusk on stone hit the good nerve! A sprinkle of grunts spread through the orcs.

After a brief meal of eel and goblin spit beer, we hefted cart handles.

“Onward!”

Beer sloshed at our backs. When the trail narrowed and we slipped over stones, barrels with Hawkin’s branded name tumbled off a few carts. There was no recovering the broken barrels, nor the beer that oozed through the rocks. My bottom jaw ground circles in frustration. Each barrel was a grain of wealth!

“Care!” I bellowed. “Slow and easy! This is our money!”

That did it. No more barrels broke. Orc faces were set in concentration. Greedy smiles melted over tusks.

We traveled until the light of Hawkin’s chimeric-colored barrels lapped over split-rail fences at early dawn. The fences led into a city of tents and wood beams. The city lay sprawled across the foot of the valley. Speckles of black freckled the city as far as the eye could see. At the gates of the city, the cats congregated.

“No taller than humans,” said Jix.

“Tusks,” Tik said. He pointed at the saber fangs of an approaching cat dressed in layers of boar fur.

“Orcs,” said the cat.

“We’ve brought beer to sell.”

“Orcs.”

“Will you trade for coin?”

“Orcs.”

Jix and I shared a brief glance. “Orcs,” I said. I slapped my breast.

“Beer,” the cat said. “Humans among you?”

Iki was shoved forward. Tik grinned and said, “His brain’s human sized.”

The cat smiled as only a cat could smile. Their tail swished. “Come with me. Beer will be a hard sell, but Jeresh will welcome you. Or turn you away.”

“Heave!” I commanded. “Onward.”

What a spectacle we became. Thousands of cats emerged throughout the city to gaze upon orcs. Child cats leapt into the carts and tumbled all about. The black freckles of the city turned out to be obsidian. Obsidian hung by myriad strings. Obsidian panes had been drilled through and sewn to tent walls. Obsidian polluted the city. Obsidian was the only jewelry, the only thing for pottery, the only tools, the only weapons…Apart from the claws; long as human fingers they were.

Throughout the city, cats gawked. Even our guide.

“Magic beer?” he said.

“Just the barrel. What’s inside tastes like magic. Goblin spit beer.”

“Some Quarotte might be interested. Most will not.”

“Quarotte.”

“My people.”

“I’ll sell to those who might be interested.”

“It’s up to Jeresh. There he is.”

I set the shafts of the cart down. “Halt!”

A massive multi-domed tent stood before us. Black panes were sewn on every inch of fabric. The tent seemed almost like a giant cluster of black crystals. The early winter sun exposed the deep gold and silver sheens of the obsidian panes. A quarotte in draped white fur stood at the threshold of the tent. Minuscule diamond plates of obsidian decorated the fur. The glass sheened cold metallic green.

We followed a cobbled path into the tent.

“Welcome to Fitz-Dhis, orcs. Humans?”

“No, my lord,” our guide said.

“Then you may pass.” Jeresh turned and started away.

“Lord Jeresh,” I said. “I’ve brought beer to sell.”

He turned. He gazed at the carts. “You won’t be selling your beer in my kingdom.” He turned once more.

“I heard the golems trade for glass. Is that true?”

Lord Jeresh took a breath that made him seem annoyed. “Obsidian. And if you’ve got that, we’ll trade. Otherwise, you're free to pass through. Be on your way orcs.”

I moved to follow Lord Jeresh but several Quarotte intercepted me. Each one was relaxed and kept emotionless eye contact. I didn’t need them to brandish their claws to read the warning.

Chapter 68

True Orc

“Pull!”

The travel inland put the city of quarottes behind us. The land was arid and icy. Gnarled evergreens grew from nooks and crevices in the harsh and rocky terrain.

“Onward!”

Flurries of snow sometimes fell. At night, under the moonlight, lonely trees seemed like haunting figures. Those trees threw down long shadows.

“Song!”

Water belonged only to the river of ice slush. All else was arid. Instead of sticking to the ground, snow beaded off the rocks like oil in a hot pan.

“Push!”

Meals of eel and goblin spit beer fueled us throughout the days. The march of orc feet beat like a singular heart. Stiff cart wheels croaked. Beer sloshed within barrels. Hot breaths snaked out between tusks.

“Over hill!”

Muscles and grunts moved Hawkin’s beers over the hill and onto a boulder strewn road.

“Halt!”

Cart shafts were angled to the ground. Orcs slapped their hands, rotated their shoulders, and stretched.

“Yoop!”

“Yes, Commander!”

“Clear the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Yoop pushed his body to roll boulders off the path, I tethered the shafts of his cart to the back of mine. I put myself between my cart shafts, crouched, and wrapped my piglet-thick fingers around the handles.

“Lift!”

Every other cart creaked without problem. Wheels began turning. Pebbles began cracking. Orcs pulled their carts around me while Yoop continued to clear the path. With each of his heavy grunts, boulders crashed into the evergreen brush off the path.

Blood rushed into my face. My body strained. My tongue slipped free and tasted the cold. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Wealth was mine! With wealth I would acquire massive ships. Ships massive enough to be confused for floating cities. For wealth and beer!

As the cart shafts finally lifted off the ground, a trembling grunt escaped my snarl shaped mouth. Leaning forward, and with a lot of muscle, I pulled the carts forward. My comrades eyed me. They grunted like rhinos.

Yoop labored nonstop until the boulders tripled in size.

“Does no one travel these roads?” said Yoop.

“Halt!”

“Erf, Kil, and Gut!”

“Yes, Commander,” they sounded.

“Together with Yoop. Clear the way.”

“With our fists,” said Gut.

With fists and grunts and heaves and muscle, they split the larger boulders and shoved them off the path. I tethered their three carts to my two.

Crouched between the cart shafts with fingers clamped, I strained to lift. Blood raced to my eyes. My lips rippled.

Wealth was mine! With wealth I would expand my fleet. I would outpace Hawkin’s growing production of beer. I would hire 300 more orcs to sail the sea!

“Move!”

My roar echoed throughout the landscape. I stood and leaned forward once more. With one foot in front of the other, and my grip choking the wood grain of the cart shafts, I hauled the carts down the path behind my kin.

“Onward!”

Onward we marched. Throughout the day, the hill on the horizon slowly grew in size until it was the hill right before us. It was a hill that should have belonged on a mountain. The grade was made for sky-climbing. Even larger boulders blocked the way. The boulders seemed to be part of the rocky slope. But an orc could uproot rock like a human could uproot flowers!

“Halt!”

I stumbled when I set my cart shafts down. My head rang. I felt both light and lightheaded, but a few good self slaps turned me out all right.

“Opi, Iku, Mnu, Fek, Giet, Fithk, Cor, Wej, Pli, and Boro.”

“Yes, Commander!”

“Help them clear the path.”

Each orc paused. I raised brows at them.

Boro pointed his chin at his cart. “And leave it behind?”

“Follow orders.”

The orcs reluctantly labored to help clear the slope of boulders. I tethered their carts.

“Ten more?” said Jix. “Against a slope like that?”

I put myself between the shafts of my cart.

“Commander?”

“Heave!”

“Commander!”

My vision went black. My ears rang. My tusks shook and I felt keenly aware of my skull and bones. Muscles hardened like iron. Orc bodies were made to conquer!

Ports weren’t enough in the north! Trade was available on land. Time was of the essence.

I roared insensibly. My body shook. My heart beat like a summer hare flushed from the brush!

With great effort, I took a step forward. The wheels on the carts turned one spoke length.

Nothing could stop orc progress. Watch, young orcs! Watch your commander! Know my story! Feel the pounding of my heart! It beats like charging hooves! You must feel it wrinkle the air and scatter the pebbles! Beyond wealth, I wanted to step where no orc had stepped before. Many avenues lead to orc greatness and goddom!

As my vision slowly returned, the wheels continued to turn. The slope of the hill came nearer, until I was at the foot. My kin were climbing. My brothers and sisters!

I moved up the foot of the hill and stalled.

But what was a hill beside a future of controlling the northern sea! A hill could not break an orc. 13,000 gallons of beer could not chain me at the foot of the hill.

“The sea of Ogo,” they’ll say! “Even his heart had tusks! His blood galloped!”

I moved up the hill. Pebbles rolled down the hill between my feet.

“He conquered land and sea,” they’ll say! “No better name for a ravenous sea! He cleared the land like a tsunami!”

Yes. My sea!

My kin grew weary on the slope. When I caught up to them, they laid eyes on me. New eyes. Eyes I had never seen before. Wide eyes. Even orcs underestimated orcs.

“Over hill!”

All evening, I struggled. All night, my orcs broke rock while I hauled beer. All night, I grunted and roared and heaved.

At the top of the hill, once I cleared the edge, my kin rushed to aid me the last few feet onto flat rock.

My hands had to be pried from the shafts. The grain had taken the shape of my grip. I stumbled onto my face from sudden severe dizziness.

When I awoke, my kin gave me water and eel.

“Jix?” I said. “Map.”

“With the golem,” Fithk said. He pointed.

Jix was speaking with a creature made of marble and granite. It was like a tower gargoyle with a thousand more joints. Black eyes were tucked into deep set sockets. It pointed at the next horizon.

Chapter 69

Give Him a Knife

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 592.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,760/15,000.

The Loved Ones Mausoleum plane was slowly expanding. The man who stood at the path’s beginning could only be Evon. If by no other identification, he sported the dagger Abigail had asked Hiccup to arm him with. I approached him. He cleared his throat and offered a hand to shake. I didn’t reciprocate.

“Mr. Ballow,” said Evon.

“You stabbed Thrush.”

Evon blew a hefty sigh. “I cannot begin to convey the regret that I have. I am deeply, deeply sorry for that.”

“How did you get Thrush and Abigail to defend you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I know what I deserve, and it is to be apprehended by the guard and thrown into court…or worse.”

“Do you know why I’m meeting with you?”

“This was Abigail’s idea and at her urging. It truly is a way for me to correct my wrongs. I promise you, I aim to correct my wrongs a thousand fold. I must bite at this opportunity. Please…”

“We’ve been talking about hiring someone to manage libation beers for grievers. Your name came up. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I should agree.”

"Abigail and Thrush have beneficent hearts. They’ve given me a second chance at things. I have been out of my mind. You see—”

“—All to do with the Alik incident?”

“That’s it. I was not only banished, my entire quest path was stripped from me by the Alik because…because of your refusal…rather, because of my inability to convince you to enter the Alik jungle. The Alik wanted every task completed without fail. I spent years succeeding. My only failure cost me everything; I was so very close to diamond rank.”

“You wanted to kill me.”

“...I did.”

“And when you realized I wasn’t easy to find, you went after Thrush to hurt me.”

“Not that this is supposed to be an excuse, or really matter, but it wasn’t to hurt you. It was to hurt someone I felt was responsible. At that moment it was Thrush.”

Evon sank to his knees and then lower and groveled. Apology after apology poured out of him. He laid it out pure and simple with seeming tremendous shame. The man’s voice peaked, and he sniffled. Then he begged. With Abigail’s and Thrush’s support, he would owe us his life if I agreed to give him a second chance at things.

Memories of the time I grabbed Gloom-glower by the collar ran through my mind: the argument, shaking him, yelling, pitching Thrush into battle. I ground my teeth; my heart rate escalated. I sighed…I needed to find out…

I strode right over to the groveling man, put my boot on his shoulder and pushed him over. “Get up.”

He scrambled back. “What?”

“Get up.” When he didn’t move—he just looked at me—I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him. “I said get up.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fight me.”

“Mr. Ballow—”

With one hand I twisted his collar. The other I raised in a fist. “Fight me!”

He pulled back, cursing. His arm came up in guard. I unsheathed the dagger at his belt and put the hilt in his hands.

“Mr. Ballow!”

I put the tip of the dagger at my belly and advanced on him while he retreated.

“You wanted to stab someone! Stab me! Right here! No one will see you! This is your chance!”

“What? No! No, I don’t…no this isn’t what I want!”

Pebbles scattered at our feet.

“I’m your enemy, remember? Right through the belly! C’mon!”

With a desperate attempt to escape, Evon wrenched himself from my clutch, threw himself backward, and tossed the dagger at the base of gnarled oaks. “What is going on? Why are you doing this?”

“You have the chance to kill me here and now. Take it.”

“That’s not what I want!” He glanced around. “Is this a test? Please, you have to believe me, I’m deeply regretful of my actions. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. You have to believe me!”

We stared at each other, both panting. I put my back to him and closed my eyes. In a few moments, my heart rate cooled.

At last, Evon said, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone. You have to believe me! I was out of my mind. There are no words that can convey how sorry I am that I stabbed Thrush.”

I turned back to him. I spoke softly. “People will come here. People who have lost their pets, their loved ones. Elderly will come, parents, young men and women…Abigail and Thrush defended you. I heard that Thrush said he killed your suffering; he sees no reason in making you suffer more by bringing your crime to the authorities.”

“I don’t understand. So, this was a test? You’re considering me for the position?”

“I’m the least happy about this, and I do have conditions.”

“Anything!”

“Hiccup will have to be responsible for you. I want one of his butlers with you here at all times until I’m confident you won’t be trouble on your own.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ballow. Thank you so, so much. You have no idea what this means to me!”

“I need you to know that I’m against this. I’m this close to rejecting the idea. You have Thrush and Abigail to thank.”

“Believe me, I will not let you down.”

“You’ve already let me down, and I don’t know you. You’re never getting that from me. If there’s anyone you don’t want to let down, it’s Abigail.”

“You have my word, Mr. Ballow.”

“She means everything to me.”

“Of course.”

“I’m growing to love her.”

“I’ve known her for years. An admirable soul.”

“I trust her judgment. If you hurt her…”

“I will not. I will not hurt another soul as long as I live. The soul of my mother on that!”

Evon launched into a row of apologies and promises. My mind meanwhile went miles a minute.

Was this the right choice? Was it all foolish? The goblins had taken advantage of Thrush. Would Evon take advantage of Abigail? What of the visitors and libation beers he would have to manage. If someone got hurt…but Abigail believed in him, and Thrush…What was possibly going through his head?

“You will transfer everyone’s remains to Thrush. I’ll brew libation beers for people and you will guide them on this plane as I expand it. I want a butler with you at all times. I predict that I’ll fall behind in producing these beers and likely stay behind as long as I brew.”

I was nervous about the whole scenario. Almost without emotion, I took Evon around the plane and left him barrels of landmark ales for him to spill to expand the plane into private areas for people. I had otherwise very few things to say.

I always kept my back to him every chance I had.

When he left the plane, Abigail dropped down from the shadows of high oak branches with a bottle of Slow Time attribute in one hand and a dagger in the other.

“See?” she said.

“You were right. I’m surprised. I was ready to feel a knife prick at any moment. I still feel very uneasy about this.”

“With Hiccup’s butler and Thrush, what do you have to worry about?”

“Weren’t a whole lot of HIccup’s butlers present when Thrush got stabbed?”

“Not fair. Thrush took control of the situation.”

“Someone could have stopped Evon before that.”

“Thrush is quick. He knows things, smells things, hears things. I think he knew something was off about Evon.”

The scent of honeysuckles soothed me. Pebbles crackled as we strolled along the path arm in arm. The atmosphere of the plane seemed to extend beyond a distance of real world horizons.

“So,” said Abigail. “You’re growing to love me? This really could become something like love then?”

I stopped our stroll. I took a moment to admire her. She smiled big.

Chapter 70

First Arrival

Brewer’s Reputation: 587.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 14,444/15,000.

Hiccup was evidently selling my beer at his tavern. Judging by the increasing shards I received which were directly related to pints sold, I would need to brew a lot more beer—and quickly.

I spent the brisk morning brewing ethereal dungeon beers, goblin spit beer, warm-warm root beer, and Ethereal Stroll #1 clones.

Brewer’s Harvest rose to level 1918, Flash Ferment rose to level 1999, Kiss of Yeast rose to level 1999, Forced Carbonation rose to level 1939, and Foam Cascade rose to level 1805.

As for my Planes Cutter skills, Ethereal Dungeon Master rose to level 983, just shy of silver rank; my Forge Ethereal skills simultaneously rose to level 1960; and my Planes Cutter Master skill rose to level 1059.

Thus, two more skills hit the silver rank ceiling! It had been much easier to hit silver rank than it was trying to break into gold. Gold was feeling increasingly further from reach the more I leveled up.

After bathing in a Landmark ale of clear brook water on my Beyond the Cabin ethereal plane, I returned to the cottage and donned my favorite wool sweater.

The strong, sweet scent of smoking wood drifted through the cabin. Abigail’s laughter bubbled. Smoke? Laughter? No, it couldn’t be! I exited. Lo and behold—

“Thrush!”

The beast, tending to his smoker, turned to me. His colossal eyes were speckled with flakes of silver and wild colors of the sea. Fish scales armored his snub nose and the insides of his ears. His fangs were piranha-like.

“Hello,” the beast said.

His fur wavered. The closer I drew, the more I could discern his loud purring. Abigail sat on Thrush’s throne-like rock which daily watched the smoker.

“He’s giving me a tour of his inventory,” said Abigail. “He’s got the entire sea in there! There are monsters I don’t recognize.”

“My Composition recognizes them,” said Thrush. “Lots of names, but I just call them tasty.”

I leaned on the stone seat and listened to Thrush and Abigail talk back and forth about his recent adventures of cutting into the sea and snatching fish out of thick water.

“There are farmer’s markets in Lavenfauvish,” said Abigail. “People go there and pick out vegetables and goods to buy. Like that?”

“Yes. I cut through the sea until I find fish and monsters, and I pick them out just like that. The small ones stay in big groups. They’re easier to find. Sharks are harder. Monsters are easier; they’re mostly bigger.”

“How about a beer?” I said, unable to withhold the need to celebrate Thrush’s return.

We shared beer, and I added another entry to my Collector’s Journal. One which earned me an advancement of 1 level in my last quality tier of silver rank.

[Red Crisp Ale.]

[Silver Rank. 53/100 Grand Honorable.]

[A simple crisp style ale hued red with a bleed of dark roasted malts. Crisp malts dominate the beer. Larch hops offer a faint aroma of spice which complements the unusual rustic grain.]

Thrush gobbled the beer up in no time at all between handfuls of dreambons. Beer foamed through his fangs. His eyes pulsed out of sync. Abigail sipped hers, considered the beer for a moment, and nodded.

Thrush withdrew chunks of splintered oak from his inventory and shoved them in the offset smoke chamber. After checking the heat, he returned to giving Abigail a tour of his inventory.

“And this one’s a Klamburak,”he said. “It was as big as Barnacle-eyes’ galleon. Not for humans; it’s toxic. I find it spicy. I think I’ll try smoking it next.”

“When will you get to all your elodon meat?” said Abigail.

Thrush smiled. My hair stood on end at the sight. But it was so good to see him and even better to see him so excited to smoke meat again.

While they chatted, I crossed the clearing of flowers and built a fire in the firepit. I brought out a single lemon-size kernel of Saint Maxt barley.

So many skills were on the brink of gold rank. Would it be too unreasonable to try and brew a golden chapter beer with something that should produce a diamond chapter beer?

Before attempting another golden chapter beer yet again, I used Brewer’s Harvest to collect a few bushel’s worth of Saint Maxt barley. I went for the whole 15 gallon batch by brewing with a single grain. As soon as the water of Brewer’s Bubble came up to temperature, the single grain turned the whole bubble into a pale golden color. It looked as translucent as orange blossom honey. I chose my smurgard hops which were woody and imbued the wort with an aroma of bitter orange peel. For the foam, I used my level 1 Grains Like Sand Foam Cascade sub skill.

Alas, all my practice with Memory attribute ales, mixed with the use of such rich barley, did not yield a golden chapter beer. Even though my quality tier rose to level 58/100 Grand Honorable, I couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. I closed my eyes, sat back, and breathed the chill.

“Thrush?” said Abigail.

The beast was staring south into the cocoon laden forest. “I smell light. Big light.”

I went over and asked Thrush what he meant. He simply peered. His fishscale speckled nose bobbed as he sniffed.

Suddenly, through the distance between trees, huge shapes and columns of light drew near. It was as though a peculiar rainbow was advancing, made of white, red, yellow, green, and thick black bands of colors.

Abigail turned to me. “Remember those kingdom seekers I told you about?”

Chapter 71

Please Leave

Brewer’s Reputation: 569.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 14,698/15,000.

A white feather, large as a canoe, drifted through the wilderness. Thrush, Abigail, and I watched it lazily float between throbbing cocoons. The feather drew near, floating above the ground the way that leaves sometimes do, or the way that water striders slip. In the feather, seemingly untouched by the early winter air, a man dressed in an open vest and with no shoes poured himself a glass of what might have been tea from a steaming kettle. He raised the glass to us and caught a ray of sun in the amber liquid. He smiled and drank. When the feather came to a stop, the man disembarked, and I discovered he was barefoot.

“I guess I can say I’ve been expecting you,” I said.

The man’s chuckles came off good-natured. “Good day. You are speaking with Perage Vich, Fable rank Weapons Collector.”

“Good day,” said Abigail.

4 figures emerged from the wilderness behind Perage. Perage gestured to each one as they came into the sunlight. “May I introduce Lady Tais You, Myth rank Tongue Whip; Noble Bartu, Myth rank Linguist; Klick Hedel, Myth Rank Warlord; Fieef Eleventoes, Myth Rank Demon Hunter; and—”

“—Grafth U’ld…rank Oblivion.”

But Grafth’s voice was disembodied. Perage only smiled. Thrush eyed the ground. The blackest shadow slid over the clearing. It stopped before us and stood akimbo.

“Ah! The mighty Thrush,” said Grafth. “A pleasure to see you again. Our steeds will rest in the distance until our business with you is accomplished.”

“Pardon the intrusion through your barrier,” said Perage. “We’ve no time for knocking. I shall prepare refreshments and light fare so that we may relax our bellies and get through brass tacks.”

“You want something from me,” I said. “Just come out and say it.”

“Drink and fare.”

In less than an hour, we were crammed in my cabin around the table. Grafth was mixed into the shadows. Our guests sat on 5 gallon barrels. Exquisite confections were piled in several dishes. There was meat rolled in pickled leaves, square confections, emerald honey cake, and—

“—what’s this one?” said Thrush on picking up a round encrusted ball.

“Fried molten chocolate,” said Perage.

Thrush swung his legs and purred as he ate. Our guests could not tear their eyes off of him—except Lady Tais You who possessed no eyes.

Abigail popped the cork off an ale of hers and placed it on the table. Perage divided the beer in half-glasses for all. Grafth’s shadow hand slid up the wood of the table and knocked the beer onto the floor, but it never splashed.

“Get on with it,” said Lady Tais You. Her tongue slithered.

“Here we are!” said Perage. “In the presence of Hawkin Ballow, the champion title holder of the Oude Brewer’s Competitive. Your ethereal beers have created a splash and wave in the world of brewing and ethereal planes.”

“Due to events out of my control.”

“Nevertheless, we are quite familiar with ethereal planes; each of us own quite a few. We employ Dream Cutters.”

“I’m sorry; why are you here?”

“How quickly does it take for you to access one of your ethereal beers?”

“Blink of an eye, why?”

“Because it takes a lot longer using our current methods. We find it quite annoying. Since we’re all between pressing quests at the moment, we decided to spend some time to save time. Understand?”

“How can I help you?”

“We’d like to purchase empty ethereal planes from you.”

“Listen, I can’t say that I appreciate you trespassing. I’m going to decline. Please leave.”

Lady Tais You slapped the table. “This is why I don’t like you, Perage…letting him talk to us like that, just make him do it.”

Noble Bartu spoke in a language of Ss and THs with rolling warbles performed in the throat. Lady Tais You returned the language like she was spitting needles from her mouth. Noble Bartu began gesturing to Thrush as he spoke. Lady Tais You had been visibly upset until that point. After a shift in Noble Bartu’s tone that sounded quite like a warning, she crossed her arms, grunted, and chewed her tongue.

“Proceed,” said Noble Bartu.

“Hear us out,” said Perage. “Leaving you alone is a good idea, am I right? We’ll leave, understand? That’s what you want?”

“Thank you.”

“Before we go, we need those ethereal planes. Now, I want you to hear me. At our rank, we’re not here to coerce you.”

Thrush cocked his head.

“Oh, is it you we’re negotiating with?” said Perage. “You’re a Merchant?”

“I am,” said Thrush.

“Then let’s negotiate. I have something you want; you have something we want.”

“There’s nothing I need from you,” I said.

Perage held up a finger in front of a wide, good-natured smile. “There is something you need from us. You need us to leave you alone. So here’s my offer. In exchange for ethereal planes for each of us, we’ll leave. Simple deal, don’t you think?”

“The hell? That’s not fair.”

“Albeit true, it doesn’t matter. That is our offer.”

“If I brew these beers for you, you’ll leave?”

“See how easy it is?”

“One ethereal plane for each of you?”

“We need the master beer and several lifetimes worth of both the beer and ingredients. We’ll be employing Planes Cutter brewers for the next few centuries at least.”

“Dellia Lucerne warned me not to lose master beers to ethereal planes. I have to keep each master beer safe and sound.”

“We will be the only ones who have access to our ethereal kingdoms. Your possession of a master beer will not be tolerated.”

“Hawkin doesn’t let anyone near his master beers,” said Abigail.

“He lets himself near them,” said Perage, “and that’s exactly what we won’t tolerate.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “I think we’re done here.”

“Hawkin is unwilling to continue negotiating,” said Thrush. “Negotiation is closed.”

Fieef laughed long and loud. At last, he clutched his belly and said, “Never have I ever been so disrespected!”

Grafth’s voice came from all corners of the cabin. “This is…amusing.”

“We’re done here,” I said. “Please leave.”

I got up and left the cabin. I took deep breaths and beelined for the trail to the sea. Soft footsteps padded up behind me. Abigail slipped her arm through mine.

“Hey,” she said. “We’re in this together. I’ve got your back.”

Chapter 72

Year’s First Snow

Brewer’s Reputation: 549.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 14,898/15,000.

It snowed as Abigail and I made our way down to the port. We sat at the end of the dock and watched snowflakes meander down, with the Mist Hidden barrier in the background. The sea was more agitated than usual. We shared sips of warm-warm beer. Blood rushed to our cheeks. Heat rose from our bodies.

I sat with my back to a piling. Abigail leaned into me. There was silence between us, save for small movements of our entwined fingers.

What a beautiful sea with a deafening sound. So lovely, how the waves leapt to snatch snowflakes from midair. The sun, a bright bronze, lay its reflection on the sea where it melted. The bioluminescent mist raged like an eternal wall of flame. What a treasure the cowbell roots had been. But would it always be a trade off? Isolation from humans in exchange for the company of orcs and goblins, isolation from the orcs and goblins in exchange for the trespass of humans…Fable, Mythic, and Oblivion ranked adventurers at that…What chance did a Silver ranked Brewer have against that?

I heaved a sigh.

Abigail leaned away and turned to me. Her eyes did not convey her usual mirth. “Are you considering your options?”

“It’s the principle.” A crest of the sea slapped against the piling. A spray of saltwater sprinkled our faces. I licked the salt from my lips. “High ranking people—Oblivion? I’ve never heard of that!—they think they can just walk all over people.”

The clouds thickened over the sun. In the distance, sheets of snow fell. Throughout our time at the dock, the sun repeatedly broke through.

“But they can just walk all over people,” said Abigail. “Who’s going to stop them? Do you think I would have agreed to work with Margaux in the first place? From the start I never liked her.”

“It isn’t right. I’m not even after riches, fame, or reward. There has to be other Brewers that can provide things for them.”

“But Planes Cutter Brewers? Maybe in a few years there will be a lot, but for now…I put my foot down with her, you know—Margaux.”

“Are you saying I should put my foot down with them?”

She lay her head against my chest once more. Over her head, I could see her eyelashes flicker over her blinks as she gazed out at the sea. Another crest slapped against the piling. Snowflakes mingled with the salt on the planks of the dock.

“I’m not saying that,” said Abigail. “All I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with putting your foot down.” She pulled my arm across her collarbone in a hug. She rested her chin on my forearm. “I have your back.” She tilted her head until we made eye contact. “I will always have your back at your side.”

I pressed my lips to the top of her head. Fragrances of honeysuckle and jasmine put colors in my mind. Her cheeks bulged by smile.

How fair was it to have put all this effort into protecting these woods when powerful beings could just stride on in uninvited. And more people were apparently on the way! A necromancer too! When will contact with the outside world end?

My chest expanded big. The breath I let out came with a sound of exasperation.

Abigail chuckled. “We just want to brew beer.”

How could I not smile at that. “That’s it. That’s all. Why does it have to be so hard?”

“Will you brew those beers for them?”

“I’d have to give over the master beer.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I haven’t given it much thought. I was only heeding Dellia’s advice at that moment.”

“If you decide to brew these ethereal planes for them, do you think that they’re peerless?”

“What do you mean?”

“What would stop word from getting around that you’re willing to brew these beers for high ranked adventurers? Surely more would follow. And brave of you, by the way, for speaking to them the way you did. My heart was racing. The next high ranked arrivals may respond with violence or worse.”

“If I just got away with anything, it has to be because Thrush might have made them uneasy.”

“Can you rely on Thrush to always be there?”

“No. Remember that not too long ago we couldn’t get a hold of him for a while using his dreambon ales.”

“Does talking help? Am I helping? I want to help. You’re not alone, my…”

“Your what?”

“...My love.”

“Love.”

Her eyes were darting between mine. They were filled with something like questions. We never broke eye contact, even when a giant crest crashed against the piling. The spray of saltwater was like a drizzle. Snowflakes fell between us. Some landed upon her eyelashes and forced a blink. Another landed on the tip of her nose. More landed in my beard. I leaned my head back against the piling.

“Will there be an end?” I said. “Why can’t we just end this right now. I’ll tell them to leave. They’ll have to respect that.”

“That’s asking a lot from powerful people. Saying no might put us in danger.”

A sudden wind made all the snowflakes turn like wheels. Abigail’s hair blew across her face. I took another deep breath and gazed out at the sea.

“I don’t want to brew beer for them, just to have others seek us out. I’m afraid it will be nonstop.”

“I understand.”

“How they’re going about it is all wrong. They’re not only trespassing, they’re using the fact that I want to be left alone against me. On top of that, they’re not even offering anything on the table.”

“You can always negotiate with them. Thrush can mediate. Is there anything you would ask from them? Legendary ingredients? Legendary beers? Legendary recipes? A better barrier than the Mist Hidden? Whether you turn them down, think about what they might be able to do for you in return. That’s another way to go about things.”

“So much to think about…”

Abigail settled back against me. We listened to the sea. We watched the snowflakes spin in the wind. We sipped warm-warm beer back and forth.

Chapter 73

Mythic Pain

Perage

What were those red fruits? One after another, Thrush gobbled them up. Tsk, the claws of a nightream were so, so powerful. Without the rest of him, would the claws equal the worth more than my collection combined? Tsk, it was always the most powerful weapon out of my reach.

“You will excuse me,” I said and left the cabin. I felt Thrush’s giant eyes on me as I made my way through the flower strewn land to the trail which Hawkin and Abigail had taken.

Abigail, what with a few bottles of beer that could do some damage. What did Grafth say she had: explosive beers, something ‘slow time’, weightless flight, and dagger conjuring ales? Tsk, only a couple would fetch a few hundred gold. But I hadn’t any beer-weapons in my collection. If at all worth the novelty to further diversify my museum, that worth was only to ask and pay for a few. Certainly not the trouble of hunt-and-kill and especially not with Thrush as a potential enemy. Yes, I should ask her for some just to say I’ve got beer-weapons. Why not have a bit of fun while I’m under the thumb? Tsk.

What a meandering trail down to the sea! A low swooping whistle brought my feather to me. I threw myself into the soft vessel and leaned back against the afterfeather and calamus. Lovely pines those were; and massive oaks; and boulders cleaved with…

…Tsk, a simple forester axe. Those were the marks of a bronze ranked axe bit. Worth less than nothing. But how could easy access to ethereal planes be in the hands of someone silver ranked? Unarmed at that! Tsk, Hawkin was armed with Thrush—that was clear. And if history taught the shrewd anything, it was not to mess with nightreams.

Ha! How refreshing to see Grafth so human and patient and oddly cautious. Tsk, bastard deserves it…

Why north? It was too cold, much too cold. Nothing a good pot of puffed rice green tea couldn’t fix. But why did my tea smell like sea salt? Ah!—The Sea! There it was, and look, Hawkin was swinging one foot off the dock while he gazed upon the sea. Pouting, too, probably. Tsk, I would be pouting too if I were stuck at silver rank.

The sand was a good place to leap out of my feather, pour a second cup of tea, and travel the dock.

Tsk, no weapons on him. And where was his Mrs? Again, did Hawkin need to be armed with Thrush about? Some folks were born lucky. I doubted he had the gall or means to coerce Thrush into servitude. Tsk, what was a fabled nightream doing with such a hermit? Beyond me, really.

“Good day,” I said. “Tea?”

To my surprise, Hawkin accepted the tea. Unusual. One moment he was defying his fate by speaking back to his betters; the next, he was friendly. Tsk. Odd fellow.

“Good, no? Family recipe; not my family though.”

Hawkin did not crack a smile. “It’s nice.”

He gave me a look that said, “What do you want?”

“I would like to give you the opportunity to settle your predicament.”

“Listen, I—”

“—Before you say anything else, I’d like to confess that we have a real proposition for you. A real point of trade. A true offer.”

“I—”

“—No, no. Grafth’s orders. We are prepared to offer you tax free lodging with the Sisslks. Lady Tais You rears from the Offeff Lagoon—Yes, the very one! Total ownership of a 100 acre estate.”

“—Mr. Vich—”

Was the idiot about to decline? “—Let me stop you once more, Hawkin. I’m talking about the Sisslks. Among the Sisslks. Sisslks live for hundreds of years outside of quest paths. I couldn't bear to hear that you’re ignorant of this—Ah, ah, ah!—let me finish.” Hawkin sighed. “That longevity is half because of their race, and half because of their knack for pushing the boundaries of longevity potions, which can be freely consumed at bars and markets…in such a city such as Offeff…where humans are not allowed in…except for special circumstances…tediously negotiated beforehand…for the rest of your life…with the option to wrap that estate in a trust with beneficiaries…”

“Let me stop you this time. I’m not interested.”

What a perplexing man! Tsk, Grafth was right when he said this was all entertaining.

“There’s more,” I said.

But Hawkin wanted none of it. No rune tattooed with Klick’s blood to summon a rain of fiery battleaxes to smite his enemies with but a touch of mana, not a Lengue ring that summoned tomes of translations for several thousands of languages, no brute power from magma-born demons, and no steed made of light and shadow.

Tsk, what a difficult, difficult man.

“Will you just please sit down,” said Hawkin with that tone again.

“It has been at least a century since I’ve been spoken to like this,” I found myself sharing.

“It’s been how long since you’ve had a real conversation?”

Hawkin was silent for a moment. We finished our tea. Snowflakes twirled by and melted into the sea.

“Beer?”

I sighed. “...Sure, why not?”

Hawkin poured a pale gold beer into two silver boots. We struck the rim of our boots together. Crystalline white foam spilled down each boot with a hush and splattered on the dock. I poured one for my brothers and sisters and grandchildren who could not reach Fable rank with me. Then we drank.

Hawkin frowned at his boot. “I can’t get the roast of the crisp malts right.”

“Tell me; what do you want?”

“For you and your company to leave.”

“Besides that. There’s got to be things you need. You are in the presence of great and powerful people. Why not take advantage of that? You could ask for mostly anything.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re foolish.”

“No, of the beer.”

“Tsk, well it’s nice. Refreshing. Simple. I’ve had much, much better. Is this a serious question? Do you not realize what someone at my rank is exposed to in the world? The best of everything. Beer included. Is that what you want? I have connections. I can get you a bottle of the finest beers available.”

“I just want to brew the best beer that I can. I’m not interested in adventures—the typical kind—I just want to explore the wilderness and brew the best beer that I can.”

“You have to rank up for that.”

“I do for golden chapter beers, but after that I can take it easy for a while. Those are the beers I want to brew. I don’t care about brewing the best beer in the world…I had a beer once, made by monks. It was one of the best beers I ever had. I want to brew something like that.”

“You’re in a position of growing reputation, you’re a champion title holder, and you have the opportunity to catapult yourself into higher ranks. I have lost friends and family to old age. Do you know what it’s like to lose a grandchild to old age? To see them flash from infant to old man in eighty years? What I would give to have them in your place. I wanted long life for them; here you are actively turning it down.”

“There’s no guarantee I would even get to diamond rank.”

“Little Jiorge didn’t even have the opportunity. What a thing it is to be a grandfather. No matter how old they get, they are still little ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawkin said. He poured a libation.

Tsk, what a fool. Doesn’t understand the world at all. Ignorance is bliss; why if he knew more about the world…

“My purpose is here in these woods. Brewing beer is a hobby that I’ve picked up which I love. If I should ever lose my quest path, then I’ll continue brewing without magic. The greatness that I aspire to isn’t long life or tremendous power, Mr. Vich. I want to lay in the snow on bitter mornings and watch the gold sun melt between the trees. Hopefully while enjoying a beer near perfect.”

“There’s something I don’t understand. Why share a beer with me when you’re obviously angry?”

“I can be angry and still share beer at the same time.”

“You don’t use your anger like most people do.”

“I’m doing my best.”

There was little we could do for someone who wanted wilderness and beer. Tsk, even less we could offer for someone so stubborn. He went on and on about beer, he did. Golden chapter beers and all that involved. It was almost boring spending time with him, but I could listen and strategize at the same time.

After our beer, I hopped back into my feather and sailed to our steeds. Grafth’s black horse seemed to suck the light. Its black mane moved like it was made of the shadows of flames. Some of the trees in Hawkin’s woods stood as tall as those in the Forbidden Willow forest, so it was amusing to see something much taller than Grafth’s four story horse.

A simple lean on the calamus of my feather angled it toward the horse’s mouth. The mouth opened and I sailed straight inside, through a tunnel of throat, and into a lavish apartment. Everything was made of timber and bars of iron.

Grafth U’ld stepped out of the shadows.

“Such an entertaining enterprise,” he said.

“I know how we can acquire these planes without disturbing the mood of Thrush.”

“Yes, yes.”

“...But I think it’s time you lift your chokehold.”

“Oh, and you too have a nightream in your pocket?”

I lowered to my knees. “Great one, I have sacrificed so much, and I willingly serve you. I have lived more lives than I can sometimes bear. I’m not asking for much. Just let me progress.”

“Finally, you beg. See? Was that so hard? But tell me this, will you withhold what will get me these planes if I lift the pressure?”

“However tempting it would be, I would still tell you. I want a plane as much as our companions.”

“Your honesty is entertaining. You know how excellent Noble Bartu is at reading body language. He will be reporting to me on Hawkin’s deepest desires, the man’s deepest secrets, and the man’s greatest weaknesses. There are ways to hide torture from Thursh…entertaining ways.”

“Please, great one. Lift the pressure.”

“First tell me how we get our planes.”

“It is as he says it is. The Brewer wants to brew what’s called golden chapter beers, and he must reach gold rank for a good chance at that.”

“Give him golden chapter beers.”

“He wants to brew them himself. That’s his goal. He’s had tremendous difficulty achieving that.”

“Then I know what to do. Noble said that we have a chance of taking advantage of his kindness. Let’s do that.”

“How?”

“We’ll do something nice for him, and he’ll do something nice for us. If he is governed through kindness, let’s take advantage of that until we get what we want.”

“He could still refuse.”

“Not according to Noble.”

“It won’t be hard to see that we’re taking advantage of him.”

“We’ve already made it clear that we’re taking advantage of him. I will keep pushing until we get what we want. I will escalate our tactics until I have my plane.”

“I understand…”

“Kiss the floor.”

The charcoal floorboards tasted like oil and rust. Suddenly a pressure was lifted off my shoulders. Blood rushed my head.

[Congratulations Weapons Collector!]

[You have reached level 20,000!]

[Welcome to Mythic Rank!]

Tsk, finally! As reward after reward burdened my inventory, I interrupted my screams with bouts of vomit.

Chapter 74

Ethereal Plane Ombra U’ld.

Grafth U’ld

How…entertaining. Little Perage, growing up before my very eyes. And why not? Such an unorthodox and entertaining fellow. But we wouldn’t want him to choke on his own vomit.

I expanded my shadow to slip beneath his body. With manipulation of gravity, I rolled him onto his side. Mythic rank…so many years ago that was. But I didn’t display such weakness, did I? No, no, no, I was always strong. Ah, how entertaining!

But onto other things. Complex people required complex solutions. It was a quaint break from my monotony. Dare I say…entertaining? My own laughter came back at me in slow echoes.

In shadow form, I melted out from the skin of my black light steed and fell like a drop of night sky to the shadows of the forest. Evening shadows let me slide across the land in less than the blink of an eye. Beneath the leaves, some snow, lengths of trees, and as soundless as an owl in flight, I slipped to the horizon as far as shadows let me. When I caught up with daylight, my trek was slower, but shadows always intersected, and I slipped closer to the ground than the dead.

How…entertaining. Hawkin wanted nothing concrete, no item, no thing, no tool. He wanted to be left alone and to brew his silly gold beer. How can potential power mean nothing to people? His ambition was so small, and he was blind toward his prospects. How did you give something that was intangible to someone? How entertaining such a question was to a soul of pure shadow! Gah…even a steed of light was too tangible. Amusing that the human declined such treasures…

At last I arrived and slipped up the northside of the yellow mountain of Petumbra. There were white clouds at the summit. From them stood tall stone sentinels with eyes of flesh that roamed their sockets. They saw me! How…entertaining…. Their eyes passed harmlessly over me; they recognized me. I slipped forward in their swaths of shadows and drifted miles over land until I passed into the village. Along the outskirts where the red grass arched, I stepped into the brewery, which was nothing but a long barn.

“Karaph,” I said.

“Grafth.”

Karaph sat cross legged on a thick cushion atop a low table. Spine straight, eyes closed, his face bore no wrinkle of thought. And how…entertaining it was that Karaph still kept all his brewing equipment at his rank.

“I need something from you,” I said.

“Just take it.”

“Not so easy. There is a Brewer who crafts ethereal planes.”

“Mr. Ballow, son of Jirish and Lindelle Ballow from Lunstad.”

“I need to help him brew golden chapter beers.”

“I don’t take apprentices, Grafth.”

“He would decline the offer.”

“Ah yes, like the Alik coercion.”

“I just need something to help him brew his beer.”

“He can’t brew them for several reasons,” said Karaph. “Most often there is too much reliance on quest path skills as well as convention. The art of brewing hitherto stumbles into a grave of neglect unless a Brewer revisits their core mastery. How can a warlord exact carnage until they have opened rib cages with their bare hands? Hawkin’s weapons must be cast aside.”

“Yes, that. Whatever that is. I want to give him that.”

“I could help.”

“You have my thanks,” I said.

“I could help.”

How…entertaining. Could? What was it he wanted? The man who sat and meditated all day was for want of something. Amusing! But worldly possessions did have their own gravity, and they did interrupt mindfulness meditation at times, didn’t they!

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll turn over my current plane, Ombra U’Id, to you.”

Karaph smiled. He took a deep relaxed breath, then opened all his eyes. “I accept the trade; however, I don’t want the plane for myself.”

“For the girlfriend? How…entertaining—what when ‘fool’ and ‘romantic’ are noun synonyms—You’ll have to disclose which planet—”

“—No, I can take care of that myself. She is safer there among her kind. But I want it gift-wrapped with a little bow. Something pretty. With detailed instructions. I’ve lately considered sending her a gift, a little something, a trinket she can keep on a shelf to explore at her whim. —Oh, and I want those dreamers you’ve gone on about.”

“Dream Cutters,” I said. “I can spare no more than two dozen.”

“You should ask them.”

I skipped over a prone beam of sunlight. “I tell them what to do.”

“They’ll want to say goodbye to their families.”

“Not my problem.”

“I don’t want her around disgruntled architects.”

“Think how entertaining that would be! …Gah! This must be a Brewer thing, this weakness.”

“Different things become important the longer you live.”

“Not—”

“—Not for you, I know,” said Karaph. “I’ve given you my conditions.”

“And they will be executed flawlessly. Our conversations are always so entertaining, don’t you think? I cannot guarantee every Dream Cutter will agree. You may end up with none.”

Karaph nodded. There was suddenly a perceptible difference in the state and stillness of the Brewer’s affairs. A humidity hung in the air. The smell of resin and pine, and malt, wafted through the shafts of sunlight. The brewing tuns creaked. The mash paddle was leaned against the wall then instead of beneath the window.

“Here is a beer for Hawkin,” said Karaph.

“This will do the trick?”

“If he can read between the lines.”

“Good, very good. My friend, have you heard about his reputation?”

“The Brewer’s Reputation ladder. I hated reputation; what does it have to do with how good beer can be? Nothing at all. It should be the same as the Alchemists. They don’t have a world reputation! That’s why they do well, their names aren’t plastered for all to see! No one cares who No.1 is, nor who is No.100. They have the peace of that. I worked hard to never see my name on that list ever again. Besides, it lets the younger ones have something to be proud about. Something of a little playpen for them.”

All of Karaph’s eyes closed then. He settled back into his state of meditation and stretched his fingers before setting his hands upon his lap.

“We’re good here,” I said.

“Always, brother in rank.”

“I need a few days to prepare the plane for you. I’ll return shortly.”

Then I was gone, across the summit, past the stone sentinels, and down the mountain. Pressed into the earth’s own shadows, I slid across the world in the time it took to think half a thought.

It was daybreak and cloudy when I returned to Hawkin’s woods. He, Thrush, and Abigail sat around a firepit with my companions. Hawkin seemed to begrudgingly pass bowls of soup to everyone. All faces were grim and mean. Only Thrush smiled. How…entertaining it was that even I got chills. Yes, it was wise to tread carefully in his company.

The flames made small shadows dance beneath the stones of the firepit. I melted among them so that my form danced there too.

“Everyone seems well entertained,” I said.

“We were just arguing,” said Perage.

“Argue no more. I have something for you, Hawkin.” I pushed Karaph’s bottle of beer up from the shadows beside Perage’s boots. “Let’s toast.”

Perage whipped out short tea glasses and poured the beer for companions and lessers. He passed each glass around, but stopped when Hawkin declined.

“I insist,” I said. “You’re right, Hawkin. We were rude intruding with demands as we did. Let us toast to different opinions. It’s clear that our effort here is fruitless. Let’s go our way and leave you be. Will you toast to that?”

“I can get behind that,” he said.

Thrush splashed the back of his throat with his beer. His eyes throbbed and pulsed before taking on a far away look. Then he rubbed his belly. “Hawkin, you’ll like this. My Composition says it’s safe for humans.”

“Let us toast then,” I said.

Perage poured Thrush another. We raised our glasses.

Chapter 75

Lessons through eyes, eyes, eyes

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 546.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 14,922/15,000.

The Alik beer, the Ale from the Vale of Ara, Abigail’s Heart of Time ale…nothing came close to the beer Grafth shared with us. Just by looking at it, my vision tunneled. It possessed its own aura. Its presence was almost eerie, as though I had been dropped into a dark sea at night while blindfolded. The mere glass of beer possessed such body and vastness—presence!—that my hair stood on end. My arms became covered in goosebumps. It seemed as packed with power as the sea was with monsters and teeth.

The aroma was a living thing. It pressed to my face as tangible as cloth. Was the aroma indicative of a barleywine? Was it some shade of billy goat? If dried fruit could be shredded into fibers and those fibers wove into sheets, then that’s what I felt pressing against me. And the fruits…I could not determine what they were. Were there aged stone fruits? Some sort of banana custard? What cousin of the fig did I smell? And the spices, was that cardamom? An ancestral vanilla? How many meadows were wrung of their aromas and preserved in the aroma. Strong as a breeze, the aroma blasted my hair back.

The foam formed a pyramid over the glass with sharp angles. Lights flickered in the foam and it looked like a cityscape at night. There were flashes of mauve lights, glints of bronze lights, and sparkles of mahogany lights. Biting through the foam was like biting through spun sesame paste nougat. All the tastes in my life until then had been relegated to the tongue. After my first bite of foam, it was like my entire body became a tongue. I could taste the foam in my eyelashes, the back of my mind, my elbows, and in my eyes. The effect could only come from an attribute.

I tasted the beer.

For a moment, I knew what it meant to live by earth and water and sun. I felt what it was to learn throughout the ages that something—some creature—preferred my grain. Throughout the hottest summers, something would harvest my grain. There would be bread and beer in the air. Entire swaths of land would be made ready. I knew what it was to grow by the millions, to house mice and hide deer, to fall by scythe, and to rest in standing sheaves in swaths. My destiny lay in the care of stewards and birds and…

In the beer, there were ribbons of flavor. They came altogether, yet I tasted them each on their own. There was malt, yes, but it was spiced as though with rough black salt. The malt was as smooth as melting ice. A nectar, wrung from some summer’s haze, brought a candied strawberry musk to the beer. There were ribbons of flavors of grains of paradise: the woody and herbal peppercorn, ginger, citrus, cardamom, and coriander. Those flavors were almost knitted together. The hops were subtle yet bright. They lent a resin of grapefruit zest.

After my first gulp, I found myself in the perspective of foreign eyes—many eyes! Ah, was that how spiders saw? Something about the world made so much more sense then; there was more to see and more to keep in mind!

Suddenly I found myself moving through a desire path in a field of grain. Hands came into view—the hands of my host!—and they petted the grain heads as we moved toward a barn. In a flash we were stepping through the door to the barn. We laid down a sheaf upon a long sun-beaten table. For hours we plucked the grains off. One by one, we cracked them with exact pressure with the use of a rocking mallet. One grain, too small by the perception of so many eyes, was set aside. This went on for hours. When it was night, a fire grew in a hearth. Stars twinkled in the sky and peered between slats in the walls.

We paused my labor for bread, soup, and beer. With a snap of our fingers, we brewed a beer with different grains that took the shape of a container all on its own. It did not move, but we drank it, evident by the bubbles in our belly and by the diminishing beer. And it was this beer!

So then what were we working on that we couldn’t brew with a simple snap of our fingers? And why meander out to a mountain stream for fresh water when Brewer’s Bubble could do the trick? Why make several of those trips? Ah! It was beyond me why we were separating the water by small spoonfuls! Why toss some spoonfuls aside? Why spend an hour looking at individual cones of hops? Why use miniature blades to peer beneath the leaves—small as ladybug wings—and scratch our head right behind our topmost eyes? Why lose sleep starting and waking a dish of yeast?—and tossing some, and adding some, and splitting batches, and tasting some?...Only to start over several times over.

Over a month, with nary a drop of sleep, we put together enough ingredients to brew 250ml of beer. During that time, we found ourselves brewing hundreds of highly ranked beers.

At last it came time to brew the beer whose ingredients we tediously labored over. The brewing went as expected. We were so vigilant, I felt almost omniscient. With great care over fire, we brewed that 250ml beer. Another month later, we pulled it out from a cellar of hundreds of thousands of bottles. It was time to drink it!

But I would never taste the beer. I came to, just as I finished my first gulp of the beer Grafth had shared. Abigail and I shared the same look with big, wild eyes. While the others chatted amongst themselves about the experience, and Thrush swung his legs while he hummed, Abigail and I spoke in near whispers.

“You know what we have to do, right?” said Abigail.

“We have to brew. We have to brew now.”

“What about them?”

“I have to brew. Right now.”

We leapt up and bolted for the cabin. The echoes of Grafth’s soft laughter bounced in all the shadows of trees.

Chapter 76

Hands-On

Brewer’s Reputation: 536.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 14,990/15,000.

The large barn doors to the brewery had to be muscled open. The wilting jasmine and clematis which covered the doors were ripped from their stems. Snow piled in the persistent flowers that grew in our meadow.

“I’ll have to brew some more Sheltering Bubble attribute beers for the winter,” said Abigail.

The mash paddle with teeth marks in the handle hung above the threshold. The tuns were tarnished. Old oak barrels were derelict. Leaf matter and the debris of nature covered everything. Cobwebs hung in the corners. An abandoned bird’s nest lay empty in the rafters.

Abigail slipped her hand in mine and squeezed. As we stood together, our gazes roamed the brewery. The chatter of Thrush and the adventurers became low background noise.

“It’s been a while,” I said.

“I haven’t used equipment in years.”

“Barnacle-eyes was the last one to use the tuns.”

Abigail ascended a short staircase set before the mash tun. She peered within. “We’ll need to deep clean.”

The tuns had collected wayward leaves. The coolship was in terrible condition. It was also filled with leaves, even sticks. There were spaces between the staves that formed the rectangle.

“I have one broom,” I said.

“Just use Brewer’s Bubble. Cover everything in Brewer’s Bubble. Apply Mash Master for heat.”

After her demonstration, I did exactly that. Using my levels 1999 Brewer’s Bubble and Mash Master, I spread a huge bubble of water on the floor and rolled it around the barrels and into corners. I soaked up every infinitesimal dust into the bubble and strained the debris from the water out in the forest. Side by side we worked. It must have looked like we were dodging giant bubbles of bouncing water as we danced around the brewery.

Barnacle-eyes would have been beside herself with laughter, chasing the bubbles around. It was hard not to worry about her, and it was getting harder and harder not to worry about Slime-tooth as well.

Abigail and I inevitably bumped into each other. We fell right over into laid shafts of sunlight, laughing on the way down. We stayed there for a moment longer than we needed to with nothing but smiling eyes and almost contained laughter.

“I think everything’s just about brand new,” said Abigail.

“I’m going to fetch water from the stream up the northern trail.”

“What are we waiting for?”

She pushed herself up from my chest and helped me up. With arms around each other’s waist, we ambled out into snowfall. We shared warm-warm beer on our way.

Along the way, the sunlight faded, and the sky darkened. Larger snowflakes fell. A quick wind whistled through the trees. Remaining leaves tumbled down. We discussed styles of beer until we reached the ravine and drew water using Brewer’s Bubble. We filtered sediment until the water was crystal clear.

“My favorite thing about the north is the snow,” said Abigail.

“It snows everywhere.”

“Not like here.”

On our way back to the brewery, we admired the ever present cocoons which accumulated snow. They wriggled more fiercely now, and we took turns guessing when they would emerge. The cocoons always sheened a reflection of the sky, and they turned the wilderness into a bright silver. Through vistas in the canopy, we could see more gargantuan trees which our barrels of Aggravated Wild Growth had been affecting. So many more trees were gigantifying. A thrill of excitement crawled up my spine. The woods were changing, deepening.

As we slipped into the brewery, I picked up a few questions that the adventurers were asking Thrush. When asked if he would share the dreambons he was wolfing down, Thrush said, “No.” When questioned about his run-in with Margaux, Thrush’s belly rumbled. When asked about his history and species, Thrush never responded. The last thing I picked up was that Perage asked if Thrush would show him how to smoke meat. The scent of burning oak shortly drifted through the brewery doors and over our heads.

We sat on barrels and used barrels as tables. For the next hour, Abigail and I studiously went through our respective inventories and picked out grain, hops, and yeast.

For a brown lager, I used one of the grains that I had received alongside the Saint Maxt barley: Benting barley. The kernels were the color of rust. It was a barley cultivated on floating isles with flavors that ranged from grilled eggplant, charcoal, toasted black sesame, and cookie dough.

It was hard to argue with the feeling that Geanut hops would be the best choice for a brown lager. They were common hops and used predominantly for classic brown ales, offering earthy and nutty notes. I could work to bring out toasted acorn flavors and blend it with the charcoal profile of the benting barley, or I could work to bring out praline flavors from the hops and pair that with more cookie dough flavors of benting barley.

I stumbled over the yeast. I knew which ones were wild and which ones were earned from previous loot chests. Of course there was ethereal yeast; however, I wanted to stick with ingredients which offered more concrete flavors.

“Selected your ingredients?” said Abigail.

“I have. What are you going for?”

“Maybe it’s the cold weather; I’m finding myself wanting to brew red ales again. I’m going to try for a grand red ale.”

“Grand? What makes it grand?”

“I’m using the same red ale recipe that I’ve been fond of for so long now; however, I’m going to adjust the recipe for the first time ever to make a select version. The term Grand lets people know that in brewing my red ales, I’ve taken special care and adjusted the recipe to make a better red ale.”

“I’d like to brew a Grand ale.”

“What do you think you’re most known for?”

“Among humans, probably the ethereal dungeon beers; among monsters, goblin spit beer; and among besties, warm-warm beer.”

“So let’s say you refine your recipe for goblin spit beer. When you do something different that improves the beer above your normal recipe, then you could call it Grand. But you couldn’t really make a Grand stout at the moment because you don’t have a line of stout beers you're brewing.”

“Have you brewed a Grand ale before?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

Abigail was the first to use the mash tun. She returned from the woods after using Brewer’s Harvest to collect several bushels worth of her selected grains. She used a blend and carefully picked through them by hand. I meanwhile made fire beneath the mash tun and brought her 50 gallons of water to a near simmer. Steam seemed to struggle to rise from the water. Bubbles the size of fish eyes popped at the surface. I stirred with the mash paddle.

“Ready,” said Abigail.

The brewing process began. She dumped her hand selected grains into the mash tun and took the mash paddle. When she said, “Fire!” I stoked the fire. When she said, “Cool!” I scattered the burning logs into the embers beneath.

Oh how good it felt to brew with my hands again! Quest path skills did wonders for brewing, but there was something to be said about being hands-on as well. There was something so thrilling about wrestling with fire, stirring the mash like the mash paddle was a long wand, and constantly blowing the steam away from your face, just to brew beer. And it was exhausting. When Abigail transferred her wort into barrels for fermenting, it was my turn to wield the mash paddle.

“Fire!” I said. “Cool!”

And so it went, with deliberate care, until I too transferred the wort into barrels for fermenting. And just as I set the last wooden ball onto a bunghole for an airlock, Hiccup sold enough of my beers to complete my quest.

[Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest Complete!]

[15,000 of 15,000 shards acquired!]

[Congratulations! You have earned the Dream Cutter Stone!]

[Absorb Dream Cutter Stone to acquire Dream Cutting skill.]

Perage waltzed into the brewery. “Incredible smells!”

1500 brilliant shards flew into midair from my inventory. Like a storm of shattered ice crystals they coalesced into chandelier formation. The air rippled out from the chandelier. A moment of silence passed. The shards imploded in silence with a blinding flash of sunlight—but sunlight as seen through eyelashes in early morning.

It took a hard blink and a head shake to clear my vision. Left floating in midair was a bauble the size of a pie pumpkin. Its contents could be seen through clear walls. Storm clouds of saturated colors mixed with pastel colors in a slow moving atmosphere. Faces materialized in the drift. Pictures of objects morphed into pictures of other objects. Looking into the bauble was like looking into a thousand dreams at once.

“A Dream Cutter stone,” said Perage. “I’ve a few in my collection.”

“What does it do?”

“You haven’t any idea? Let us promenade. I’ll tell you everything.”

Chapter 77

Brass Tacks

Brewer’s Reputation: 521.

Perage and I traipsed along the trail that led to Barnacle-eyes’ old cove. The gray winter sea blended with the sky between skeletal trees. A thin layer of crystalline snowflakes laid over the land. Cocoons squirmed along the ground, writhed in high branches, wiggled over roots, and pulsed like fallen logs over the trial from time to time. We left footprints of boots and bare feet behind.

“Quite the beer that was!” said Perage.

“Do you know that man? With all the eyes?”

“Not personally, no.”

“That wasn’t a gift was it? It was to push me to brew ethereal planes for each one of you?”

“You’ll have to ask Grafth. I’m the messenger.”

We passed by a clump of cocoons. The outline of insect legs, each as big as my leg, moved beneath the layers of one cocoon. The cocoon shuddered.

“So you really don’t know the purpose of a Dream Cutter Stone?” said Perage.

“So far no.”

“You’ve built things on your planes.”

“Except for the Ethereal Dungeon planes. Dungeon cores created dungeons on each one, otherwise I used Ethereal Landmark ales. I did build a log house with some of these woods.”

“Ethereal Landmark ales. Interesting.”

The sea crashed against a rocky stretch of beach below. Surf foam hissed. Falling snowflakes melted on the water.

Perage continued. “We employ Dream Cutters to build our kingdoms. Each one is equipped with a Dream Cutter Stone. Instead of building log houses with wood, or landscaping with your Ethereal Landmark ales, Dream Cutters build kingdom worlds with these stones. If you know how clay can be baked into pottery, then you know how Dream Cutter Stones can work.” Perage withdrew a beige clay tea cup from his inventory. It was small and fit for someone the size of Boggo. He withdrew a kettle and poured himself a green-gold steaming tea. “The colors and shapes of dreams can be baked like clay, laid like brick, stacked like stone, stood like columns…. An entire swath of kingdom can be erected in less than a year with only a dozen Dream Cutters.”

“I can see the appeal.”

“The Brewer/Planes Cutter quest path is the first combination to create ethereal kingdoms that are pocket sized: a bottle of beer. Until now, it takes hours to enter these planes by ritual.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a cocoon, high up in a tree, blink yellow. We rounded a corner that took us away from the sea and into the more quiet of the woods. I listened to the snow fall as we traipsed.

“Aren’t there other Brewer/Planes Cutters?” I said.

“There has been a surge after your success. All bronze ranked. None yet manufacture ethereal planes. My companions and I have…Tsk, how shall I put this…We have competitors. Yes, competitors. I’m confident these competitors have already offered these upcoming Brewer/Planes Cutters promising opportunities in exchange for their loyalty. But they won’t be seeing their ethereal planes for some time.”

“And through me, they’re already available.”

“Precisely. And Grafth has done something nice for you, hasn’t he?”

My laughter came out bright. Perage’s laughter—mischievous knowing laughter—joined mine. Through a vista between trees, we spotted colossal trees whose branches seemed to burn in the stratosphere. Perhaps it was the glint of the horizon's sun?

“The only thing preventing you from brewing for us is what your assigned goddess has told you? That you should always keep the master beers? Is that correct?”

“It is. I have no reason not to trust her. She’s always been kind.”

“Why does she want this?”

“People could die. Someone could be stuck on a plane with no exit. There they could die without help.”

“Do you think adventurers haven’t died on your Ethereal Dungeon planes?”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right it is, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve been here thrice as long as your potential lifetime. I’ve learned a few things. People expect danger from an ethereal plane with a dungeon sprawled therein. It’s exciting and people are flocking to experience it. This is very good for a young Dellia Lucerne. Her reputation is quickly growing, spreading. On the other hand, if people were to die on your nice, little, cozy planes, her reputation might suffer. It’s very important to her that you keep your master beers so no shroud of mystery lingers on the use of ethereal planes. …They are more dangerous than you might so far have realized.”

“I understand, but that’s exactly why I’m not willing to hand them over.”

“But now that you know why she doesn’t want you to give master beers away, it must change everything, and you must realize that. We will employ Brewers who will clone your master beer. Not only will they look after our ethereal kingdoms, but each one of us will. Hawkin, it’s like selling a castle. Have you ever sold a castle before?”

It was probably the look I cast at Perage that made him frown and continue. “—Right; of course not. Well it is like selling a castle. Dangers abound in a castle, but once it’s sold, the new homeowner becomes the one responsible. They who sold it relinquish all responsibility. Each one of us is more than responsible enough to hold the master beers. That is ultimately what your goddess wanted if you read between the lines.”

I considered things as the trail brought us back to the sea. Didn’t I essentially transfer ownership of the Ethereal Dungeon beers to Hiccup? Being the sole seller, he’s taken care of everything, even employing a small party of adventurers to sweep the dungeon once a day for stragglers and human remains. I never once returned to those planes. And although it was easy to see that the gift of Grafth’s beer was not truly an act of kindness, I found myself questioning why not? Why not brew ethereal beers for them? Why not give them the master beers? After all, everything Perage said made sense. My concerns were more or less settled. But…I needed more.

“What will stop others of your rank from seeking me out? I’ll have to deal with this all over again. If others know that I’m willing to do this, I fear I'll be forever hounded.”

“Some things come at a price.”

I halted between two patches of cocoons. The sea wind scraped across my face. Perage eyed me with one eye more than the other.

“Help me with that,” I said.

Perage crossed his arms. “Beg your pardon?”

“If I brew these ethereal beers for you, will you and your companions stop others of your rank from seeking me out?”

Perage blew a breath. He looked out at the sea and fingered his bottom lip. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Grafth might find the task annoying and severely beneath him.”

A voice grew in volume from the shadows of trees. “Perage is right. The task is severely beneath me. I won’t spend the time nor the power to hide you. Instead, with my influence, my dissuasion will prevent our…competitors…from reaching out to you. On my word, you won’t have to worry about them. No one will come asking for kingdoms from you again.”

With a resigned sigh, I said, “Let me look at some recipes.”

Chapter 78

From Temple to Mausoleum

Brewer’s Reputation: 517.

Fieef was the only one to insist that I take compensation for the master copy of an ethereal plane. To all else, the deal was done after Grafth, Perage, and I had agreed on the conditions of our transaction.

…I couldn’t help but feel like I was making a mistake. I hoped my feelings were just nonsense, nothing more. Things were out of my hands where those ethereal planes were concerned.

As far as Fieef went, there was no way I could accept a demon core as compensation. I didn’t want anything to do with it. In order to put an end to his relentless insisting, I did end up accepting what I thought was a bovine drinking horn with a cork.

“Not bovine,” Fieef had whispered.

When he popped the cork out, which was strapped to the horn by a leather thong, a glow emanated from the horn.

“Don’t worry about the green,” he continued. “It’s just decoration now. Ever studied the Demon Battle at Fayrrun Glen in school as a lad? It’s history, young man. Yuklik—nasty, nasty demon—entrapped the glen and turned humans into ghouls; the whole glen was a pit of necrotic waste. This horn belonged to Yuklik—his right horn. I entered Mythic rank after that battle. It’s a small thing now, so it’s a fine gift. The efforts of others should be recognized. Though it is void of magic, keep it. Drink from it, time to time.”

Then they had gone. Their colossal and transparent steeds of light receded over the southern trees. Perage lay back in his canoe-shaped feather as he whistled a tune.

My Brewer’s Reputation rose to 445. But how could I, a mere hermit who wanted nothing of adventure, ever reach a Brewer’s reputation of 1? Especially after the beer that Grafth had shared? Ah, nonsense!

A drift of snow billowed around me. Abigail’s form suddenly appeared with a blink.

“So that’s it?” she said, gazing south.

“I hope there won’t be other kingdom seekers.”

Abigail sighed. “I couldn’t find Slime-tooth.”

“Really?”

“I left him healing beers, food beers, and some for comfort. I looked. I tried to track his footprints with libation beers, but as you could guess, it was a mess of footprints. I couldn’t find him.”

“I think we should continue to drop off attribute beers, even if he continues to decline coming with us.”

“Escaping, you mean.”

Snowflakes fell in larger clumps. Abigail donned her cloak. We shared warm-warm beer.

“At what point do we step in to save him?” I said.

“That’s been on my mind.”

“I left him Third Hand Attribute beers to help him with moving barrels.”

“Other goblins will steal them.”

“I found where he sleeps. In half a broken barrel, like a crib. It’s a small room with only his footsteps leading in and out. I stashed the beer in a barrel of his things. The barrelhead was ajar. I don’t get why there are so few goblins on his ship…Are they not allowed below deck with Slime-tooth?”

Abigail turned us from the southern oaks. She led us to the northern trail. Her hand was hot against the cold. I could feel the beat of her heart in her fingers.

“Come and see,” she said.

We hiked deep into the forest. She stopped and pointed. In the midst of a patch of cocoons, piled like misshapen balls of silver yarn, the inside of one cocoon blinked a bright fluorescent yellow-green.

I crouched. Abigail followed. We spoke in whispers, remarking on the wonder of a single blinking monstrous firefly. All around us, hundreds of thousands of cocoons throbbed and wriggled. We were leaned in close to each other. So close.

I felt Abigail’s breath on my cheek. “The Wild Growth trees, the cocoons; we could really do something with this wilderness, Hawkin. We could deepen these woods, really care for the wilderness here, help things grow.”

“More barrels of Aggravated Wild Growth? More Honey Cocoons?”

“Attributes beyond those. There is an attribute called Resident Earth Sentient. The beer gives sentience to the land. A 15.5 gallon barrel is enough to create a half inch tall golem. The golem meditates where it was born. As it meditates, new things begin to grow in its perimeter. New plants. New animals. Is that something you’d like to do with me?”

I took her hand in mine and kissed her knuckles. “I love everything we do together.”

For some time, we shared small smiles and soft gazes. And after we had our fill of watching the blinking cocoon in wonder, we returned to the cabin.

There I made tea for us while Abigail stared through the open door. Her stare seemed absent. I delivered two mugs of dandelion root tea at the table. A fire crackled in the stove. Our sips were sharp.

In the snow, just outside, Thrush appeared. He was chugging what must have been Abigail’s Anti-gravity beer straight from the barrel as he sank into the earth. The more he chugged, the slower he sank until he stopped. He climbed out of the small crater and waddled inside. We met him with hugs and cheers. I pulled out a 5 gallon barrel for him to sit on and poured him a bowl of dandelion root tea.

Thrush rubbed his belly. “My Composition is one hundred and two percent. Lots of elodon meat, lots of fish, lots of bread, lots of beer. I’ll be forced to sleep soon. I can feel it.”

It was true! His limbs were thicker. Fish scales covered his gigantic eyelids and the top of his snub nose. The pink of salmon colored the sponges of his eyes.

“How did the delivery go?” said Abigail.

“Hiccup was content. I had fun seeing Eileen. We talked a lot about elodons. Evon was there. He gave me all of these.”

Thrush began withdrawing items from his inventory. He set things on the table with great care. Each and everything was neatly labeled with two names in what I assumed with Evon’s handwriting. There were urns, lockets, wood boxes containing ash, soft boxes covered in decorated paper, bones wrapped in bundles of dyed cloth...

“I guess it begins,” I said through thick air.

[New Ongoing Quest: From Temple to Mausoleum.]

[Quest Objective: Brew 100 Loved Ones Libation beers for Dellia Lucerne.]

[Quest Details: The remains of loved ones will begin to appear in your inventory. Brew and label Loved Ones Libation beers with each ingredient. Donate each beer to Dellia Lucerne.]

[Reward: 1 rare silver ranked Brewer’s loot chest. 1 rare silver ranked Planes Cutter loot chest.]

[Quest Level: 0.]

[Accept Quest Objective? Y/N.]

Thrush toppled over and landed flat on his face. Abigail gasped. Thrush’s snoring shook the floorboards.

Chapter 79

Little Spuck

Abigail

In the beer cave beneath Hiccup’s mansion, he and Erik could not place the beer I described to them. Even my Collector’s Journal showed nothing, not even an image of the beer.

“Grafth is Oblivion ranked,” I said. “Could it be that the brewer was also oblivion rank?”

Hiccup blew a raspberry and shook his head. “There’s no such brewer beyond diamond rank.”

“That we know of,” said Erik.

“They would hide at such an impossible rank?” said Hiccup, to which Erik and I shrugged.

Over a crisp ale with marshmallow-white foam, we hypothesized what beer Hawkin and I had shared. When there was nothing left to discuss about the matter, the topic of conversation turned to Thrush’s recent delivery.

“I am quite pleased with everything,” said Hiccup. “I was expecting half what Thrush delivered.” He rubbed his hands at that.

Behind us, in the deep shadows of the cave, butlers held lit candelabras while others stacked barrels of Hawkin’s ethereal beers—not that the candles added much light against what the barrels threw.

“Back up,” said Erik. “This highly ranked beer inspired you and Hawkin to break your respective ranks by brewing beer by hand? Without the aid of Brewer skills?”

“Seven more days of fermentation,” I said. “We’ll see what happens.”

“You might be advancing to diamond rank,” said Hiccup. “We’ll have to celebrate.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

My companions raised their eyebrows at each other and nodded.

Suddenly, Erik startled. “Ah! Speaking of brewing, I drank that goblin spit beer.”

“Oh no!” I said, grimacing. “I couldn’t ever try one again.”

“Well it was better than me gravy beer and chunky beer. In fact, I saw something in it so I decided to clone it.”

“I believe you're missing a crucial ingredient,” said Hiccup. “Unless you…” He gulped.

“Yes, I did try using me own spit. Didn’t work, but me experience brewing strange beer helped. Remember that stout I told ye about? The one I brewed with okra?”

Hiccup shook his head. “I do.”

“I’ve been working with a farmer nearby. Name’s Ed. He cultivates various strains of okra. All right, let me start from the beginning! Obviously I’m going to enter next spring’s Oude Brewer’s Competitive. I wanted to brew something that would turn the judges inside out this time. All of them! I thought okra would do the trick. Anyway, Ed has three strains of okra: Little Spuck, Big Slip, and Super Ooze. The closest I could get to cloning goblin spit beer was by using the Little Spuck cultivar. The other two produced slimy beers that were too difficult to drink. They turned the beer into long strings of melted cheese.”

In the shadows, one butler dry heaved. Riggvelte whispered harshly. One other dry heaved. Someone—probably Riggvelte—sharply snapped their fingers.

Erik withdrew a bottle of beer from his inventory. “This is it. It’s different from goblin spit beer, but it was as close as I could get to cloning it. Technically it’s a different recipe; however, I decided to pay respect to the one responsible for the sudden surge of goblin spit beer in Lavenfauvish.”

Erik passed me the bottle. It was cigar-shaped. The bottom wasn’t flat, it was rounded, and the bottle would have to be laid on its side. The label, a thick sheet of cloth pasted on the glass, was decorated with sheaves of wheat in the corners. It read: Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck, Cloned by E. Skullander.

Riggvelte was by Hiccup’s side in the next instant, slightly bowed. Hiccup motioned for the bottle which I passed to him. Riggvelte popped the cork, poured himself a thimble’s worth and tasted the beer. He held onto the corner of the couch as though to brace himself from fainting.

“This is a beverage beyond my knowledge,” mustered Riggvelte against what was probably a burgeoning urge to cough. “I estimate that these might be the best to serve this beer in.” With that he withdrew a silver tray with 3 squat mugs upon it. The mugs looked like squished tankards. “Eighters,” Riggvelte called them. He poured Erik’s beer into all 3. I felt myself blanch as an eighter was passed to me.

Hiccup raised his eighter. “To Abigail’s potential advancement.”

I watched my body raise my eighter and clink it with Erik’s and Hiccup’s. I locked off airflow through my nose and dove into the foam. My lips landed on the rim and I tilted the eighter up for a sip.

To my absolute relief, the beer tasted fair. It was easy to tell that the beer was silver rank, with only the texture holding it back. The malt was green-brown, and the hops offered a hint of fresh cut grass and hard cheese rinds. It was a savory beer for sure. The liquid almost refused to behave like water. It stuck together and the tongue had to break the liquid into manageable gulps. But against authentic goblin spit beer, it was fun!

Erik must have deciphered delighted surprise from my expression. “You like it!”

“I don’t know if I’d say I like it. I have to be honest, I’m traumatized by my few experiences of goblin spit beer.”

Hiccup smacked his lips and squinted at the ceiling. “It’s…a novelty beer? Do you know what I mean? Something a bit fun and extraordinary.”

Erik laughed long and loud. “I think I will; I think I will enter this beer into the Oude Brewer’s Competitive!”

“This must have been difficult to brew,” I said.

“Figuring out the recipe put me behind schedule, but otherwise I can brew it as fast as any other beer.”

I bit off another gulp and realized, “It's like drinking bubbles of beer!”

“That’s what it is!” said Hiccup.

“Is it really that easy to brew?”

“Same as a crisp ale, or a gush ale, even a strong ale, yes,” said Erik.

I examined the contents of my eighter. “Would the goblins like this?”

“Humans would,” said Hiccup. “Beer Collectors have been making the pilgrimage to Green-fin down at the pier to try Hawkin’s goblin spit beer. I’ve sent butlers to escort some of our guests there! And I’m glad. I’ve grown quite fond of the goblins since meeting Barnacle-eyes.”

“But would the goblins like something like this? Maybe we could help Slime-tooth. He wouldn’t have to suffer so much supplying so much goblin spit.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” said Erik. “Here, take a few bottles. Give ‘em to Slime-tooth and see what he says. I’m sure he and I could come to an arrangement of some sort. He’s the one that’s being worked to death?”

I nodded. “Oh, Erik, would you be willing to see if we can help him? I feel like it’s a thing of life and death for him. He’s like a father to Barnacle-eyes. I know him. He’s such a kind thing.”

Chapter 80

Woolbane Broth

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 13%.

243 levels until fleet evolution.

“Maybe-land-ho!” cried Boggo and Ella.

Their voice came to me muffled through the wood of my galleon. I rose when I heard dozens of goblins running on deck. Whether they ran amok, I had no idea! Up, up, up! I bounced out of my bedding and into my big black Admiral boots. The laces were impossible to tie, as usual. Each day’s knot was always differently difficult!

Boggo appeared then between bags of boots set against the wall. “Admiral!” He was huffing and puffing.

“Yes?”

“Please thank you!” came Gabby’s muffled voice just beyond the door.

“There’s maybe land ahead.”

“Land-ho!”

“Admiral, Belut says he’s home.”

“Fiberthorn Cove? Are we there?”

Up, up, up on deck we went! And goblins were indeed running amok with excitement. I wrestled my way through the giant plants and tulip flowers until I finally arrived at the prow. A fog drifted on the sea. It was like a milky cloud and it almost dripped. I brought my monoscope up, wiped the lens, and peered through. The lens magnified a dark strip of land. Thousands of small fires flickered along the black strip.

“Admiral!” said Remember-not. She brought over a freshly dunked bucket filled with sea water. There was only one thing to do with that. According to Slime-tooth, knowing a know turns a know into a knew! So, I knew just what to do! Oh, Slime-tooth…I was learning all these new things about him! Well, I dunked my sea map into the bucket of sea water, rushed into the deckhouse, and laid the map out. At the top of the map, the coast of Fiberthorn Cove stretched for some distance with a depiction of black sand. Suddenly—

[Congratulations Admiral!]

[You have crossed the sea! Your fleet has reached level 760!]

[You have reached Admiral level 855!]

[Reward! 10 bronze rank Admiral loot chests, 1 silver rank Admiral loot chest.]

[All Commodores have received 1 loot chest pertaining to their quest path if applicable.]

[1 sloop may evolve into a ketch.]

[1 jolly boat may evolve into a lugger.]

[Evolve 1 sloop. Y/N?]

[Evolve 1 jolly boat. Y/N?]

[Not enough Commodores to evolve fleet.]

[Not enough resources to evolve sloop.]

[Not enough resources to evolve jolly boat.]

So much to do! Like Touch-toes said that Boggo said that Slime-tooth used to say: First things come before the second things! The first thing to do was to lower sails and lasso the docks. After each and everyone of my commands, Gabby followed up, belting “Please thank you!” Capstans were churned; sea anchors were lowered. Soft-song tossed a rock tied round with rope overboard the jolly boat. The splash sounded like a slap on a drumhead.

We moored at an empty port. The cleats were rusted; the docks were salted. Monsters like Belut—ram-faced humanoids—gathered upon the black beach with torches. In the fog, the torches glowed big with halos. They watched as gangways were slapped onto each next deck from sloop to sloop to ketch to galleon. Goblins rushed aboard the galleon with big wet eyes. I stood in the crook of the sprouted blades of a giant garlic.

“All right, snots! We’ve got spit beer to deliver. It’s time for your rewards!” All my snots gasped. It became so silent that I could hear every cold breath contribute to the fog. “Line up at the galleon gangway! Remember-not and I will distribute your rewards as you disembark.”

“Please thank you!”

The goblins lurched toward the gangway. Their hammered flower dresses ruffled. They opened their hammered flower backpacks and prepared open pockets and flaps.

I clomped on over to the gangway with Gabby on my heels. Belut was there too. The first goblin to disembark on new lands stepped up.

“Fast-heart!” said Remember-not.

“Five silver,” I said.

“Please thank you!”

With 100% glee, Fast-heart stashed the silver coins into their backpack and squealed. Their footsteps beat down the gangway.

“Look!” a few snots chorused.

Upon the black beach, goblins emerged from the fog to shake hands with Fast-heart. More goblins! My snots pressed forward.

“Clumse-step,” said Remember-not as the next goblin stepped up.

“Five silver,” I said.

“Please thank you!”

Clumse-step tumbled down the gangway.

And so it went, snot after snot, five silver after five silver. And as it went, the chance of mutiny dropped from 13% to 12% to 11%, all the way down to 01%. After Remember-not, the last to disembark were my Captains and Commodore. Each Captain received 1 gold. Pinky-chew received 2 gold.

Belut pointed down at the deck by my boots. A yellow poof of fur in black boots held the hand of a blue poof of fur in black booties. Both wore cloaks and tiny backpacks. I dropped to my knees.

“My sloop besties! It's your turn for rewards!”

“Please thank you!”

“Aye aye, Admiral,” said Ella.

The gold that I gave them fit in their hands like saucers! They slid the coin into their backpacks like a stack of books.

“Come,” said Belut. “My journey is at its end. I’ll lead.”

I followed Belut down to the black beach. Gabby trailed.

The black sand was crunchy. It felt like I was stepping on broken glass. I hopped and skipped behind Belut. Crunchy, crunchy!

Torchlight whipped and snapped in the fog. Hurlicorns drew from the fog washed in torchlight.

“Belut!” They chorused.

Streams of warm breath flew from Belut’s nostrils. “I have goblin spit beer.”

“Did you have to bring the goblins too? There are already too many here.”

Hurlicorns laughed.

“Goblins are the best!” I said.

Goblins hooted in the distance.

“This is Admiral Barnacle-eyes,” said Belut. “The best goblin I know. A true leader. And there’s another to meet. A fearsome creature. Let’s introduce her to fresh woolbane broth at BlackHill Tavern.”

With that, Belut led Gabby and I through the fog into the Hurlicorn city.

Chapter 81

Goblin and Bestie Connections

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

243 levels until fleet evolution.

The black sand never stopped! The fog was so thick that it was hard to see further than ten feet, or further than 5 black boots, step or skip. Roads of black sand led us through the city. Black water-smoothed boulders lined the roads. We passed thickly thatched buildings until arriving at BlackHill tavern. It was as big as Mr.Hiccup’s mansion in Lap-san-sandwhich! Even the walls were thatched. When we passed inside, the thatch was as deep as I was tall. Thicky, thatchy!

Inside, all the furniture was thatched! Might as well been bales of hay that made tables and chairs. Somehow, the furniture was much more pretty than simple bales. They were sheared to perfect circles and squares and other shapes with all kinds of sides and curves. And Hurlicorns filled the space! There were so many ram’s horns! Lots of snorting, too. There were two kitchens set far apart. One kitchen was guarded.

“This way,” said Belut.

I followed him to a thatched table. A gray-furred Hurlicorn spoke with Belut. Moments later, Belut’s Hurlicorn friends joined us at the table. They must have been his friends because Belut laughed and smiled and snorted and knew each one by name. I laughed too, but only because laughter was sometimes contagious. The heels of my boots crunched my bale seat as I swung my legs. Hurlicorns with stained aprons delivered tankards of water at our table. The tankards were so big, I had to use two hands to lift mine.

Mouth open, on the brink of guffaws, I listened to Belut recount his deal with Ogo and his adventure over sea on an evolving ship of goblins.

“That’s me!” I said, laughing.

The Hurlicorn with cracked ram’s horns said, “And where is this beer?”

I whipped out a dreambon ale from my inventory, wrestled the cork out with my teeth, and poured a libation upon the straw covered floor. The air split in half. A thick and furry brown leg stepped through. The rest of Thrush followed.

“Hello. I’m Thrush.”

“I’m Barnacle-eyes!”

“I’m Gabby!”

The inn fell dead silent. I choked on laughter and snorted laughter while all the Hurlicorns seemed to hold their breath. Every pair of eyes that I looked into turned beady and looked from Thrush to the exit.

Belut slapped the Hurlicorn with cracked ram’s horns on the back. “It’s all right Yulidd. Thrush has Hawkin’s beer.”

I took a moment for Yulidd to compose himself, and several gulps seemed to help him through that. At last he beckoned Thrush to the back of the inn. Down the long corridor between two kitchens, I watched Thrush unload chimeric-colored barrel after barrel.

“Belut,” I said. “Why are there two kitchens? Why is one of them guarded?”

“I’m glad you asked. I’ve ordered us a few bowls of woolbane broth!” Gabby stepped forward and licked her lips. “I’ve ordered some for you too, Gabby.”

“Oh, please thank you!” With that, Gabby hopped up onto the bale beside me. We both swung our legs.

Belut gestured to the kitchens. “One is for every other food you might want. The guarded kitchen, the one with the chef, is where woolbane juice is prepared. They’re extracting the juice right now. Watch closely, Admiral.”

I got my monoscope ready in a firm clutch. Gabby and I leaned forward and peered. In the guarded kitchen, fire suddenly exploded from the middle of a deep brick oven. A hulking Hurlicorn with wavy horns wielded long, thick tongs. With those tongs, he pulled a long gray leaf from a barrel and held the tongs so that the leaf burned in the middle of the fire. The flames turned purple, then red, then green, then blue! When the tongs were removed from the fire, the leaf had not perished! It was black and leathery. Guards leapt out of the way as the hulking Hurlicorn transported the single leaf into a cauldron above another roaring fire. The cauldron was placed on a grate. The cauldron’s lid was heaved on, and heavy metal clamps secured the lid. The fire was stoked with big snorty breaths from at least six knelt Hurlicorns. Something bubbled inside the cauldron. It shook!

“Is it ready?” said Gabby. “Is it like jelly, shark, or onion?”

“Is it like garlic?” I said.

Belut shushed us.

When the cauldron settled down, the clamps were removed. The lid was then pried off, and the leaf was again moved by tongs onto a flat wooden surface with a single groove that ran through the surface of the wood from the middle. A block of wood was heaved onto the surface. As the Hurlicorn chef watched on, Hurlicorns beat the wood block with giant wooden mallets that were all split at the end like broom bristles.

“Smish, smash!” Gabby and I chanted.

The Hurlicorns smished and smashed until the chef had had enough. He said so with a sudden, “Stop!”

Belut nudged me. “Look!”

Gabby and I rose and peered harder. So did everyone! A short stream of green liquid dripped from the groove between the blocks and into a metal bowl.

Across the inn at the other kitchen, a Hurlicorn shouted, “Bowls for woolbane broth! Six, ready!”

The chef slowly scooped the liquid with a spoon. He held it above the bowl. “Guutul, what do I have?”

“One drop of woolbane extract,” said Guutul.

The chef asked the same question to each Hurlicorn that guarded that kitchen. Liipel, Jeeja, Huntoon, Fetweer, and others all answered the same: “One drop of woolbane extract, chef!” They escorted the chef across the inn to the other kitchen while the chef protected his spoon. He tipped the spoon over 1 of six waiting bowls. A drop of green liquid fell into the soup. The soup was quickly lidded and moved to a farther table.

“Are they going to do that for every one?” said Gabby. “Why?”

“More than one drop is lethal,” said Belut. “The chef is being very careful.”

They went back and forth, protecting the spoon for every bowl. The chef was very adamant that several hurlicorns double check the quantity of woolbane juice in his spoon every single time. When all six contained one drop of woolbane juice each, the bowls were delivered to our table. By then, Thrush, Yulidd, and another Hurlicorn returned and joined us.

“What are we waiting for?” said Belut. “Welcome to Fiberthorn Cove, new friends. Drink.”

I learned from watching. I removed the lid from my bowl. A cloud the color of frog skin escaped the soup. Little bubbles popped in a green oily broth. Gabby and I watched Thrush down the whole thing in one gulp. He rubbed his belly and his eyes pulsed and throbbed in their sockets.

I sipped.

Instantly, I felt Gabby’s presence beside me. It felt like she was a sister! She meant so much to me. Giggles bubbled up from my belly. Gabby laughed too and her eyes were happy-big. Why did I feel like I’d known her all my life? I realized that she meant the world to me. I would do anything to protect her, and by extension all my goblin family!

“How do you feel?” said Belut.

“Like a warm belly rub after a good burp,” said Gabby. “That’s what Slime-tooth used to say after a good day.”

“Did he?” I said.

Wow, just thinking about Slime-tooth made my heart ache. The ache was more spikey than ever before! I missed him so much!

“Woolbane broth is a Hurlicorn custom,” said Belut. “It’s also called Kin-broth. I don’t think it works from goblin to Hurlicorn, but it works from Hurlicorn to Hurlicorn and goblin to goblin.”

Thrush’s ears switched forward. He stared at the floor. “And from bestie to bestie. I can feel them like they are brothers and sisters.”

Funny fuzzy feelings bubbled all around inside. They were happy feelings, strong feelings of camaraderie and kinship. I felt so connected to Gabby, my crew, and Slime-tooth.

“Goblins are amazing,” I blurted.

Yulidd smiled. “There’s a lot of you stranded here. All over the place. You lot can stink, you know. Wouldn’t hurt no one to take some goblins with you!” The hurlicorns laughed together.

But—oh!—that was such a good idea. Stranded goblins were the best goblins to recruit. Fleet evolutions were surely on the horizon, and that meant I would need new Captains and Commodores and sloops and ketches and jolly boats and luggers!

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take them!”

“Please thank you!”

“Where are they?” I said.

Yulidd pointed at the wall of the tavern. “There’s a shack over… Eh—easier if I show you. Let’s fill our bellies; then I’ll show you!”

Chapter 82

Goblin Come Here Inn

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

243 levels until fleet evolution.

Yulidd led me back down to the shore. In a short distance, by the water, warm light glowed from the windows of a building in the fog.

“There it is,” said Yulidd.

I ran, and Gabby followed close behind. It wasn’t until I stood right beneath a rotting wood sign that I could make out what it said.

“Goblin Come Here Inn. Wow, what a beautiful name!”

There was a ruckus inside. There was lots of clanging, lots of shouting, some screeching, lots of laughing, and lots of gulps and nose-blows. The door handle hung by a long brass pin. The latch had to be wrestled with and lifted to open the door. After thanking Yulidd, Gabby and I burst in.

At least 40 goblins filled the space. Many tables were missing legs, so they sat at a slant. The floor was filled with straw for thatching. Twine loosely ringed the furniture where there must have once been thatching.

There was a goblin standing on the counter of the bar. It was Thumb-up, one of my snots! She was waving her hands in a gesture to shush everyone.

“Then what happened?” a goblin said.

“That’s where Slime-tooth came in.”

“Slime-tooth, the god,” another one of my snots said in a reminding tone.

Thumb-up took a deep breath. “Bigger the fish, deeper the sea, thicker the line, sharper the hook. That’s what Slime-tooth said. He said it with a big voice from a big ball of green fire.”

Goblins balked. “No!”

“He did!” said Thumb-up.

“He did!” my snots corroborated.

“Listen,” said Thumb-up. “So we cast the line deep into the boiling, spitting magma!”

“Not possible because of the melting!”

“But I rolled a number twenty with this!” Thumb-up held up a small wooden die—one of Boggo’s dice! All goblins squinted. Their heads moved forward like the slight ebb of snaking snakes.

“Because I rolled a twenty, I was able to fish the blue rimmed lava manger!”

“Tell them what Slime-tooth said,” said Slur-speak.

Thumb-up cleared her throat and waved a hand really big. “If small fish can be shared, then big fish can be more shared-er.”

Goblins oohed and aahed. A goblin behind the bar, wearing a reed-woven mat for an apron, and with quills piercing her nose and ears, mouthed Slime-tooth’s words. Suddenly, Slap-knee’s voice rose above others.

“Let me tell you about the talking pickle Slime-tooth helped us find!”

Goblins bounded across the tavern like monkeys racing and leaping downhill. Laughing so hard that my belly moved in and out, I dodged the goblins and clomped over mushy floorboards and slanted tables. Gabby and I greeted the goblin at the bar.

“Well, well, welcome to Goblin Come Here Inn. At your service is me—Quill-quill-quill. You must be Admiral Barnacle-eyes, knower of Slime-tooth!”

“That’s me! I know Slime-tooth personally. Also, I miss him.”

“Can I get you some water? For anything you can trade.”

Instead, I offered to share goblin spit beer. Quill-quill-quill put her smaller assistant goblin Quill-quill at the bar to manage things while she led Gabby and I to a back room in the inn. The room was missing a wall, and the fog was inside. But holding hands, we made it altogether to a creaky thatched mattress where we sat to enjoy goblin spit beer.

“Is it true?” said Quill-quill-quill. “The giant onions and giant garlic?”

“Giant; big!”

“Is it true—the evolutions?”

“Sloop, ketch, galleon!”

“It’s true—the goblin spit beer!”

“Super good, isn’t it?”

“Hiring and recruiting? That’s true too?”

“Lots of goblins!”

“But paying goblins can’t be true.”

“It is! I promised I would pay all my goblins, and I did.”

Quill-quill-quill retrieved a silver coin from her apron pocket. She turned it over and over. “You have a good crew member in Pinky-chew. Never seen a goblin so selfless. Paid for everyone’s water.”

“She lost all her goblins in a sinking.”

“I know what that looks like. See it every warm season when goblins shipwreck. Some Captains survive. Some…”

“Some, what?”

“Banana-nose was a captain who survived a shipwreck, but his snots didn’t. Night after night, we had to wrestle him from the water; he was wading in the dark rippling starlight, making such a noise, saying Chom-chomp!, Little-toes!, Graggle-throat!, Pick-ear!, and all such other names. One day Banana-nose went too far out in the water. We had no boats to go after him. The hurlicorns were too slow in waking when we went for help. Banana-nose just kept screaming for his goblins as he swam further out to sea. You see, his ship sank just out there. He was still screaming the names of his goblins even when he was neck deep. …Then he splashed a lot.”

“A goblin’s life is a hard life, but a goblin life is still a goblin life, and that counts for something.”

“Did Slime-tooth say that?”

“So I’ve learned.”

Quill-quill-quill cast her gaze to the foggy sky. “Do you think Banana-nose is with Slime-tooth right now?”

“Uhh…No, Slime-tooth is across the sea making ptooey.”

Quill-quill-quill looked stunned all of a sudden. “Slime-tooth made the ptooey in this beer?”

“Yep!”

“I am honored, Admiral!”

“Me too! I’m so honored.”

Gabby, sipping from her tankard, said, “I’m honored too, please thank you!”

We drank from our tankards, and the spit beer seemed extra special for some reason. Moments of foggy silence passed. A floorboard above us slid when a goblin walked over it.

“We had a beer like this one day,” said Quill-quill-quill. “We found a barrel in the sea. Had the name Hawkin on it.”

“I know Hawkin! He makes these beers. Gloom-glower, a mean old stupid king goblin, had a ship that sank once. Lots of Hawkin’s barrels floated away…Wow! Floated all the way to here!”

“It couldn’t be. It was nowhere near as good as this one.”

“Like Slime-tooth used to say, getting better gets even better the better one tries. Hawkin got better-er over time.”

“Then I bet, I bet.”

Quill-quill-quill suddenly exposed how badly she wanted to serve more than just water. Her Come Here Goblin Inn was made from flotsam, and it was a nice place to collect lost goblins. Yes, the inn had holes like a sloop, and it leaned one way in the wind, but it was a safe place for goblins. Yet, if only she had beer to sell instead of water.

“Thrush can help with that! I’ll call him and we’ll sell all the beer you want.”

After preparing Quill-quill-quill for the horrific arrival of Thrush, I poured a libation of his dreambon ale. I was so, so happy to see him and hug him. Within the next hour, Thrush was pleased to complete his 3rd Merchant’s Contract. Chimeric-colored barrels were stacked to the ceiling behind the bar, column after column, and goblins switched from drinking water to slurping spit beer. And my, what fun they were having!

When Quill-quill-quill and the smaller Quill-quill had filled all the tankards, I climbed a rickety stool to announce that I was recruiting. Snots surged toward me. There were so many things said, I couldn’t make out a single said thing! But after persistent, strained listening, I began to pick out the questions.

“Where we sailing?”

“Lurk-murky marsh!”

“Please thank you!”

“Then where?”

“Float-some Barge!”

“Paid? What’s paid?”

Oh, and that was the best part. All my snots enthusiastically shared that they were paid in full by coin! No take-backs, no lies, no fake-outs; just paid.

From the crowd, Remember-not spoke up. “All crew snots get hammered flower backpacks with lots and lots of pockets and dresses with lots and lots of pockets!”

“Lots of promotions too,” said Soft-song.

I couldn’t handle the sudden rush of goblins that wanted to be the first next snot aboard. I had Remember-not and Gabby help me…and where was Pinky-chew? This was a most perfect job for my Commodore! So while my goblins hired goblins, I dodged around the inn looking for Pinky-chew. I leapt over legs, ducked under armpits, bumped into tankards, dashed through dripping foam, climbed over slanted tables, fell through rotting stools, and slipped on ptooey until I finally made it back to the bar. Quill-quill-quill was bouncing on her toes and smiling big.

“Have you been recruited yet?” I said.

“Oh no, not me. I think I should stay.”

Just then, a floorboard beneath a stack of barrels broke in half and the barrels tumbled down. Goblins were put to task to restack those barrels.

“Yes, I should stay,” Quill-quill-quill continued. “Other goblins will be stranded here, and I want them to have a place to be safe.”

That was something we bonded over as we sat to drink together at the bar. I wanted my fleet to have lots and lots of onions and garlic for all my snots to have so that they never went hungry. A home—that’s what it was!—was what I wanted.

“A home?” said Quill-quill-quill. “For goblins?”

“Somewhere that belongs to feeling belonged—like Slime-tooth was said to have said.”

“Slime-tooth said that?” Quill-quill-quill turned her gaze to the ceiling.

I looked there too, at the ceiling, and I saw straight through slats between floorboards. Through those slats, I saw between the slats of crooked shingles. Between crooked shingles I saw the stars. I thought of Hawkin’s Home Camp ethereal plane, and I wanted—all of a sudden—to write another letter to Slime-tooth.

The wind howled. Fog suddenly streamed through the holes of the inn like misty milk through comb tines. Goblins hurrahed. In the sudden cloudy inn, I heard goblins stub their toes, stools suffer cracks, and tables fall apart.

“I wish I were like you,” said Quill-quill-quill.

“Me?”

“You’re an Admiral. I want a quest thing too. Something that would help me build a big, big inn. It’s so, so broken.”

“I should help you fix it! You can borrow my skills. I have a Boat Builder skill. I can build with wood super easy.”

“Would you?”

“Thrush has lots of trees in his inventory. He’ll help too.”

As one, we turned to search for Thrush in the throng. After his delivery, the goblins had slowly warmed up to him. There were plenty still scared of him though. Thrush was in the middle of the inn with his head tilted back and his mouth wide open. One goblin stood on Thrush’s bottom fangs and held onto his upper fangs. He peered deep inside and shouted, “Hello!”

“When do we start?” said Quill-quill-quill.

“When the starting starts!”

Chapter 83

Wow What is This?

Boggo

Thrush loomed over us on the galleon amid giant fog-laced plants. Ella and I had just given him a couple of high fives. Securing a Merchant Contract deserved a good high five, and I told him as much.

…But Thrush was behaving quite unusually. He petted me on the head. He regarded me with something like fondness. He even thanked me for being alive!

“Okay, buddy,” I said. “What’s going on? You’re acting funny.”

“I ate something funny. Boggo, I think meeting you was another one of the best things that’s ever happened to me in my whole long life.”

“Aww, Thrush. Well, I feel the same about you. Happy to have you as a friend. A good, true friend.”

Thrush’s throbbing eyes turned their horrible gaze to Ella. “I feel connected to you too, Ella. To the besties underground too.”

“Underground?” said Ella. “Here?”

“Hundreds of thousands. I feel them all.” Thrush’s ears switched backward toward the coast. “I hear them.” The nostrils of his snub nose flared. He filled his lungs with air. “I smell them and their minerals too.”

Ella bounced with what could only be excitement. After Thrush announced he was going fishing, Ella and I packed for adventure! We scampered down the gangway in our boots and booties. Our backpacks jostled as we skittered down the docks. Our cloaks flapped as we trampled down the beach of black sand.

It was terrifying to pass Goblin Come Here Inn. At least a hundred goblins cavorted about. They dashed this way and that through the fog. Bare feet cleaved through the fog. Giant boots came stomping out of nowhere.

“Careful!” said Ella.

“Watch out!” I said.

“Oop!” said Ella, tugging me past the underside of a descending big black boot.

“Eep!” I shrieked when a goblin tumbled through the sand and fog, separating us for a moment too long. But we found our hands again and held tight as we raced down the shore.

“They’re sure having a blast, aren’t they?” said Ella.

My response was shaved away by a sudden gale. Air and fog blasted my fur. I squinted as water collected in the corners of my eyes. We leaned into the wind and pushed on. Ella dug one boot in the sand after the other. I dug one bootie in the sand after the other. The fog suddenly cleared; the gale stopped. And having been leaned so far forward against the wind, we fell face first.

“The sloop besties?” said a familiar forlorn voice.

“Pinky-chew?” said Ella. “What are you doing so far out by the water?”

“I’m on the Wind Shaper quest path now. I’ll never lose another goblin ever again; nope not ever again. I’ll work as hard as I can to save all the goblins from ever going under!”

With that, she took a deep breath. Her chest expanded like Thrush’s chest did when he inhaled hard. Her chest expanded to be barrel-round. Her head sat on her new chest like it was one big pillow. Then she blew! The sand before her sprayed into the wind. The waves of the sea were beaten back. Pinky-chew dug her heels into the sand, and she slid backward. Her blown breath was strong enough to move sea waves in the opposite direction! That sudden gale returned and blasted my fur.

Ella giggled and might have said something close to “C’mon!” before yanking me after her.

We spent hours—oh, hours!—scouring the foggy beach by the line of squat trees up the slope. We turned over rock after rock, sniffed spot after spot, and took break after break because my rib was starting to hurt. Always in minute intervals, sudden gales dispersed the fog. Boy was it hard to keep up with Ella. The further we strayed from Goblin Come Here Inn, the more nervous I got. I wrung my hands, I checked over my shoulder, I flattened my ears…We were too exposed! I had to say something

“Aha!” said Ella.

With a great grunt, she turned over a slab. There was a hole in the ground and it gasped. Ella gasped; I gasped. Two eyes then appeared in the dark of the tunnel.

“Whoa…” said a soothing voice. “A yellow one. A blue one. Whoa…Calla, come here. Look.”

Another pair of eyes then appeared. They blinked. “Whoa…” said a relaxed voice.

Ella introduced us. Ibbi introduced himself and his fellow guards-bestie Calla. They warmly invited us in, and the slab was slid right back into place.

For a moment all was dark, but I still had my blue bestie eyes. My sight adjusted to the darkness. The tunnel opened up to be as wide as the inside of Hawkin’s barrels. Thrush could even squeeze through! Green glowing crystals lined the walls on either side. And in that light I could make out the most spectacular pair of besties I had ever seen.

Their fur was pumpkin orange. They had tufts of fur at their necks which were longer than the rest of their fur. Most remarkable were the splashes of violet colors in their fur. It begged the question.

“Splatter besties, of course,” said Ibbi. “You’re one of the monochromes. Lots of monochromes around here. Never seen mono blue, nor mono yellow. Chief Yuyu ought to meet you two! Right this way; follow.”

As Ibbi led us through large tunnels, Calla gave us the tour. Hot aquifers lay just down this tunnel and that tunnel. Storage lay down that there tunnel. And if you went down those tunnels, that’s where the northern residences were. Tons of splatter besties trickled in from myriad tunnels.

“Everyone looks so relaxed!” said Ella.

“Not one trouble,” said Ibbi.

Everyone was so welcoming! But more than once, Ella and I exchanged glances. Every splatter bestie that said hello said so slowly. They bowed. Even the little ones were slow and unusually well behaved for besties their age. There was no clamor, only quiet oohs and aahs. It was so relaxed, we even stumbled upon besties asleep along the tunnel walls. And every one of them had half-chewed leaves in their hands.

“Here are meditation chambers,” said Ibbi.

We passed by chambers with vaulted ceilings. Each one was filled with splatter besties on poofs of splatter fur. Many held hands with their neighbors. Some were lazily engaged in soft conversations.

Suddenly, a number of construction besties crossed an intersection. “‘Scuse us,” said one of them. They were the only ones who didn’t seem so relaxed. They moved quickly, but with smiles and quick bows, carting ores and gems.

While Ibbi and Ella were engaged in a conversation about our side of the world, I gaped at the tunnels and green glowing crystals. I tuned in every now and then when Calla or Ibbi asked about the blue besties. After almost an hour of travel, we entered a chamber with vaulted ceilings and crystals that glowed a range of different colors. That room was cast in stained glass light. Meditating in the middle was one of the biggest besties I had ever seen. Ella would have to stand on my shoulders just to get at eye level with him! What’s more, the chief had a splotch of red on him!

“Chief Yuyu,” said Ibbi.

The chief took his time opening his eyes. When he did, they were bloodshot. “Boggo the blue bestie, and Ella the yellow bestie.”

“How did you know?” I said.

“I can feel you. All besties are kin. All are connected.”

“You can feel us? What do you mean you can feel us?” But the chief closed his eyes and went quiet. “What does he mean he can feel us?”

Ella shrugged.

“Please join us for a ceremonial bite,” said the chief after a moment.

Splatter besties filed in from other tunnels. At their request, Ella and I smoothed out poofs of our fur and plopped ourselves down. Long, thick green leaves were passed around. Ibbi and Calla too sat with us.

“I’d like to share something from the yellow besties,” said Ella. “Chiqui nuts!” What she fetched from her backpack looked like popcorn kernels, except they were as large as a grain of rice.

“Oh, me too!” I said. I unstrapped the water skin of warm-warm root beer from my back and pushed it between us and Chief Yuyu.

The chief smiled warmly and nodded first at the offered chiqui nut, then at the waterskin. Then he raised his thick green leaf horizontally before him.

“Welcome,” he said. He took a slow big bite from the middle of his leaf. All the attending besties did the same. After sharing looks of excitement, Ella and I began chowing down on the leaf. It tasted like sage, lavender, anise, and greater wormwood.

“Wow!’ I said. “What is this? I’m honored—we’re honored.”

“This, my new guests,” said Chief Yuyu, “is raw woolbane leaf.”

Chapter 84

Ella…

What happened? Oh boy, we didn’t even have the chance to try warm-warm beer or Ella’s chiqui nut! My senses were full, more so than they had ever been. It was like stepping onto the surface of the world all over again. Except, in this case, I stepped deep into the heart of besties. All besties. And suddenly by Chief Yuyu’s urging, and by the urging of something deep within, Ella and I wandered down the splatter bestie tunnels together.

The incandescent stones that lined every tunnel were somehow brighter and stickier. Their light seemed to stick to the floor, walls, and ceiling. Even to the splatter besties that ambled around.

Besties another world away. I love them.

Great broad splatter besties were working down one tunnel. Shedders. They shed their splattered furs onto the unusually bare floor using wide clawed rakes. They were the poofiest besties I had ever seen, more so than blue bestie shedders. I knew where those tunnels were headed toward, even though they were new.

The new subterranean river residences. I love the soothing sound of gently rolling water.

But how could I know such a thing? And to bore residential chambers near subterranean water, that was a bold idea. It was not so much that I knew where the tunnels led, but that I felt where they led.

Ella did not speak, but she told me to look ahead. Our amble had taken us to the underground gardens. Rows and rows of green glowing crystals filled a great cave. Dozens of splatter besties chirred. The chirring was melodious and as soft as sifted earth. One’s voice could put a dent in the mound of sound. So it was best to keep quiet and simply watch as we crossed through along the common path. Roots hung from the ceiling and they kept the glow from the crystals. Those roots were more exotic than warm-warm roots. Flowers grew from those roots! They were little flowers, maybe white, judging by how sticky the glow of the green crystals were on the petals. Harvester besties plucked choice flowers from the roots and piled them in baskets. Each pluck released an aroma of queen anne’s lace roots: something carrot-y and like the tincture of purple-toothed polypore mushrooms.

Ella, can you smell that? Oh boy is that divine! Love it—mm, mm, mm.

Ella did not speak, but she told me that yes they smelled divine—mmm, mmm.

Down another tunnel we went, at a gentle slope. We walked faster down the slope and the tips of our fur bounced as we rushed through the air.

The tunnel curved, but not before opening up to a collection of connected domed caverns. Sunlight touched the fur-lined floors in beams! But how? There! Deep dice-thick tunnels had been bored all the way to the surface of the world. Occasional shadows passed and blocked the sunlight. Quartz crystals looked to have been plugged into each hole. Some holes were plugged with tunneled quartz. From those I could smell fresh earth and cold air. And what’s that! A snowflake had meandered down through one of those tunnels. It landed in a great big vat of bubbling porridge. What the sunlight illuminated, and sometimes did not, were kitchens. There were fires beneath each vat. Dozens of splatter besties danced arm in arm around the vats. Ella made no sound, but she was laughing.

They’re not cooking, who’s cooking?

But what is cooking without love, said a dozen voices without speaking.

And Ella, without speaking, told me to look and that they were in love.

Couples twirled so much that they whorled. They dipped so much that they seemed to die in their dance and come back to life again.

Ella did not look at me, but I felt her eyes on me.

My heart beat so fast! I felt light as air. I felt as though a wind would shatter me at that moment.

Nearly skipping, almost dancing, Ella and I passed by the kitchens. The sounding of bubbling porridge receded. We ambled for minutes on end until we passed into a cloud of hot steam. Further ambling brought us to hot springs. Drowsy-eyed splatter besties floated on their backs in the steaming water. As they floated, they bumped into each other which activated bursts of giggling.

Oh boy, a nice bath! That’s what’ll hit the spot!

Ella did not speak, but she told me that a hot swim would do us good.

On and on we ambled. There were splatter besties everywhere. Every one of them were involved in some communal activity. I loved them all. I understood them all. Our origins were the same, and it was mind boggling to think that we had ever been so separated by land and sea.

My feelings rippled.

Rippled?

Not like water, nor like wind over fur, nor like the cycle of rushing blood to the heart. What I felt ripple was something that neither belonged to the mind, nor the body. I wondered if the heart was its closest companion.

Ella’s hand suddenly slipped into mine. We stopped in the middle of a chamber where dried flowers had been pressed and slipped into stacks all along the walls. She looked at me.

I love you, Boggo.

Wow! Me?

What a life! What a life of mine…She loved me, even though she knew I was a coward—

—You’re not a coward, Boggo.

But I was. I’ve known myself for centuries, so I ought to know. But she still loved me. My Ella. Oh boy—I was her Boggo!

My feelings rippled again. Deep in my heart, I felt something unlock.

I let go of Ella’s hand. I stepped back. The fur on my wrists poofed. My heart shuddered like an earthquake. It bounced, and it hissed like an ember touching water.

I raised my hands with a flourish. I bowed my head. I waved both hands like I was turning the pages of two different gigantic books.

Ella…

I crouched, and I twirled. I wheeled my arms and swam through the air. Pitter-patter steps took me in circles around wide-eyed Ella. I leapt through the air with pirouettes. The fur along both my arms had poofed. I moved my arms like they were crawling fuzzy caterpillars. The fur on my legs poofed. I hopped from foot to foot. I chirped and chirred and whistled.

Did she like this? I was so worried about that!

Ella…

I leapt from foot to foot like I was dodging pools of magma. I struck the air like I was snatching flies. I leaped across the room like I was a rabbit flushed from the brush; I stomped my foot like one. I shook my poofy fur like it was dancing grass in the wind.

Will you be my…

I danced the dance of devotion.

I love you. Will you be my mate? My one and only? My best?

The dance did not stop. When I had the chance to look into Ella’s eyes, she remained wide-eyed. Then the fur on her wrists poofed. Then the fur on her arms fluffed.

Yes, Boggo, I will.

We danced our blue and yellow dance of devotion.

Chapter 85

Leap-and-Snatch

What a night; I mean, what a night!

I woke from what felt like a month-long daze. Ella and I were cuddled together in our blue and yellow mixed poof. In some parts of the poof, where our fur had blended together, it seemed green. She stirred from her sleep.

“Boggo?”

I mumbled my reply.

“Where are we?”

Where were we indeed? “Someone’s private chamber?”

There were bowls for sleeping in, shelves of baskets of dried food, basins of aquifer-fresh water, and small piles of incandescent crystals. There was no other fur, no other evidence that the chamber belonged to someone. It was as though the chamber was reserved for guests.

Ella laid her chin on my blue chest. Her eyes were big, and they gleamed. “That woolbane leaf…”

“Oh boy, was that an experience! It was like magic. I could feel every splatter bestie for miles of tunnels.”

“Even Thrush,” said Ella. “I’m glad he’s around.”

“Thrush is the best. He changed my life, you know.”

“Do you think we would have met if Thrush didn’t pounce on you?”

“No, I don’t think so. I would have never even known sunlight.”

We chuckled back and forth as we lay together in the early morning. We talked softly of sweet things while we cuddled and nuzzled. When our bellies began to rumble, food was on the mind. We decided that we shall in fact get started with our day.

And just when we sat up, voices grew louder outside the chamber. A dozen footsteps padded closer. Young splatter besties rounded the chamber entrance.

“‘Scuse us,” said the eldest of the young. “Mr. Boggo? Ms. Ella?”

“That’s us,” said Ella. “Good morning!”

“We heard you have games to play? Can we play a game? Can we show you a game?”

A game! More besties with games! I shot to my feet. My tail spasmed, and my rib pinched me.

The young ones filed in. Everyone made their own poof and wiggled into it. There was a little yellow in mine and a little blue in Ella’s. The last splatter bestie to enter—the smallest and youngest—grunted as they dragged a folded board in. The board was checkered purple and orange, and it was placed in the middle. Polished cabochons were placed on two rows of the checkered pattern on either side. One set of cabochon was carnelian; the other was blue apatite.

“It’s called Leap-and-snatch,” said the youngest. “Two besties play at a time. Each cab moves one space forward, sideways, or diagonally. You can leap over any adjacent cab and claim it. Whoever claims all the other player’s cabs is the winner.”

Ella was the first to play, and she lost. I went next, and I lost. We rotated like that, losing to all the young splatter besties. And oh boy did they have a riot with winning. I’d never seen anyone laugh so hard or so much! They were clutching their bellies and rolling all around the chamber. Ella and I couldn’t help but get completely caught up in their fun.

In our last game, Ella was confident she was about to win. She had eight cabochons left, and her opponent only had two. She snatched one up, forcing her piece to end up adjacent to her opponent’s last cabochon.

“It’s your turn,” said Ella, “but I guess you know where this is headed.”

All the young besties—all of them!—stifled chuckles.

“Watch this,” said her opponent.

He leapt over her cabochon, which we all knew was going to happen. Then, her opponent leapt over another adjacent cabochon of Ella’s, which we did not see coming. With only 6 cabochons left, Ella and I gaped in horror as her opponent landed on another spot that was adjacent to another one of her cabochons. They snatched that one off the board, then another, then another, then another; and the game was over. Ella lost.

The young besties writhed on the floor with tears in their eyes.

“Okay, okay,” said Ella. “Fair game. So let’s play a new game.”

The cabochons were cleared away and the board was removed. Ella scribbled a wiry circle in the soft earth. She removed figurines from her bag, along with a collection of dice. The young besties watched in awe. The figurines were cloves of garlic with legs. They each fit together to make a whole bulb.

“Who wants to play,” said Ella.

We all raised our hands high. I was so eager, my hand went pretty high too.

And so the game began. 5 young splatter besties gave names to their figurines. We gave the others crystals that would come in handy when needed so that everyone felt included.

Ella set their figurines down in the sketched circle. She looked at me.

“Me?”

“It’s your turn to lead the game.”

All eyes were on me. My hands shook, and my ears went half mast. “All right. Listen up snots! …Oh, maybe not snots, sorry…Ahem, listen up splatters! You’re on a quest. A…hmm…Oh! A star has fallen, and it is stuck underground! You must help escort the star out of the tunnels and to the surface of the world! But be careful, there are lots of distractions lurking in the tunnels.”

“Distractions?” chorused the young splatters.

“There’s delicious warm-warm beer, hot baths, crunchy foods, pots of honey, and lots and lots of warm places for sleeping—all things that stars love.”

And what an adventure we had! The game began in a round picnic basket. Leaving the basket and exploring the crater and grubbing for the star was half of the battle. Then they needed to scour the tunnels for the star and avoid distractions, but they did it in record time.

When the game was over, we meandered down the halls. The young besties cavorted about and slung dozens of questions at us. Where did the yellow besties come from? And the blue? How come they had never heard of blue and yellow besties before, and were there red and green too?

Chief Yuyu intercepted us. The big ‘ol guy smiled warmly at us and presented the hide waterskin of warm-warm beer I had left him.

“Have you any more of this? It’s not just me. We all want more.”

“As a matter of fact, I do have more. My friend Thrush has a whole lot. He’s two percent red bestie now, and even bigger than you!”

“No!” said the amazed chief.

“Yes!” said Ella. “Big round belly too.”

“Let’s go to a much larger chamber,” I said. “I’ll call him.”

As the chief led us back the way he’d come, Ella said, “We have to warn you about Thrush…”

Chapter 86

Hawkin’s Beer

Thrush

Another Merchant Contract complete. With 3/5, I was only two more away from Merkul’s Merchant Tent Evolution Stone. And would that mean that my tent got bigger? Would I then be able to eat all I want and still fit inside, belly up?

And now Boggo was calling me from deep underground. No one else could be spilling one of my dreambon beers beneath layers of earth. I left my World Marker on the coast, where I was just about to go diving for fresh fish, before stepping through a shredding gap of air.

I stepped into a bestie tunnel, beneath the dome of a large chamber, and my ears bent against the ceiling.

“Wow-wow,” said Boggo. “Just big enough! Welcome.”

He and Ella weren’t the only besties there. Hundreds had gathered. Were my eyesight not so adept in the dark, I would have thought the tunnel walls were knobbed with glossy gems. Those were not gems; they were eyes that reflected the incandescent glow of crystals along the walls. When they blinked, it made the light look like it came from a dancing green flame. Wherever I peered, showing as warm a smile as I could, those eyes shrank into shadow.

“This is Thrush?” said a larger bestie.

“I’m Thrush,” I said.

“That’s my pal,” said Boggo. Boggo trotted over and fluffed my fur where my red bestie streak of color was. “See? Red bestie through and through.”

“I am Chief Yuyu. Pleased to meet you. Never in six centuries would I have thought four different besties would grace our tunnels. I’m not sure we could fit more than the one red bestie.”

“He’s the only one,” said Ella.

“The only red bestie?” said Yuyu.

“The only red bestie so humongous,” said Boggo.

“I’m only two percent red bestie. Otherwise I am Thrush.”

“Thrush,” said Boggo. “The splatter besties would love some warm-warm beer. There’s gotta be more, right?”

“A lot more. The blue besties haven’t been able to supply anymore hide waterskins, so they’re all in barrels.”

“The big ones like the one we keep dreambons in?”

“No, the smaller step stool size ones.”

Chief Yuyu held a hand down to his knees to gauge the size of a stool.

“Not a bestie step stool,” said Ella. “A human step stool. About as tall as you.”

“We’ll have to store them in empty aquifers,” said Yuyu.

Chief Yuyu escorted us through winding tunnels. Splatter besties followed us through parallel tunnels, and many also followed both behind and before us. It wasn’t like crawling through tunnels at all. It was like crawling between layers of fur bedding that was riddled with beady eyes.

“I’m not sure he’ll fit in some of the narrower tunnels,” said Chief Yuyu.

“I’m also ethereal. I will cut through the earth and meet you there.”

“Thrush can do anything!” said Boggo. “He’s not scared of anything.”

The splatter besties whispered among themselves.

As it turned out, I did fit through the tunnels. We made it to the empty aquifer. It was then that I thought of Boggo, and his own bravery, and the distance he and Barnacle-eyes must have traveled to arrive at Fiberthorn Cove. For me it was a mere step away. But for them it was across a wide and treacherous sea. How much farther were we from Hawkin’s camp than Lavenfauvish was to Hawkin’s camp? It had to be much farther. Hawkin’s beers had never gone this far in the world before. And not only did his beer end up so far, but they went so deep, too!

The aquifer was so big that I could not see where it ended. The incandescent crystals illuminated only so much: piles of nuts, hills of root vegetables, beams of wood…The stacks continued on into the darkness. I could smell weird fruits too.

Chief Yuyu led us into the bowl of the aquifer. Splatter besties carried glowing crystals to show the way. The further we delved, the harder the shadows seemed to press back.

At last, Chief Yuyu gestured to empty areas along a wall. “This will be the spot.”

I employed my Merchant Options and walked Chief Yuyu through the process of setting up a Merchant’s Contract. My Flattery and Coax skills earned me 5 silver’s worth of gems per 5 gallon barrel. The besties marveled over the weirdly colored barrels that threw light like their incandescent crystals did. Their splattered fur inverted colors in the new light as the workers arranged and stacked barrels.

I collected peridot gems that were as green as sunlight seen through spring leaves. The rubies were like shark’s blood diluted in sea waters. Most of the gems I was paid in were black tourmaline. And to diversify their payment, I was given a small sack of diamonds. I ate one of each crystal.

“These diamonds are also determiner diamonds,” I said, after digesting the information of my Composition.

“Determiner?” said Yuyu. “We call them Origins.”

“Well, they’re called Determiner diamonds.”

“You can call them whatever you’d like.”

“That’s what they’re called,” said Boggo. “I’ve learned to trust Thrush’s belly. It tells him things. Chief Yuta of the red besties learned the same thing. That’s how Thrush became a red bestie—he ate one.”

“Is that a truth then?” said Yuyu. “They’re called determiner diamonds?”

The besties fell into a deep and long conversation about bestie lore. When asked if I had become any percent of splatter bestie, I told them that I hadn’t. It seemed that I had picked my place among the besties, and that was that.

“Shall I sign?” said Chief Yuyu.

I produced my drafted Merchant’s Contract. He signed on the line.

[Quest Objective: Establish 5 new Merchant Contracts.]

[Reward: Merkul’s Merchant Tent Evolution Stone.]

[4/5 New Merchant Contracts complete.]

“And which of the besties is Hawkin?” said Chief Yuyu. “The warm-warm beer has been popular among us.”

“He’s a human,” said Boggo. “As human as human gets. It all began with a little roll of the dice. He lives over the blue besties.”

“Whatever is a human doing brewing beer for besties?”

“Oh, he’s friendly,” said Boggo.

Chief Yuyu turned to gaze upon the rows of stacks of chimeric-sheening barrels. Hawkin’s name was on each label.

Chapter 87

Beached

Fat flurries of snow sprinkled the sea and slowly melted. The black beach became speckled with white. I listened to the crackle and crinkle of each breaking snowflake. I also heard the busy hurlicorns and the gentle wind. The goblins were loud and active. I heard soft, sleepy breathing up the beach. Pinky-chew was laid in a fetal crumple as she slept. I could hear how deeply she slept, no doubt from all her constant work to grind her skills. Remember-not was there with her too, assigned to study under the Commodore. The goblin bounced on her toes as she blew spit into the wind and flapped her tongue and lips.

A wave came and foamed over my paws. The sea was cold enough to kill a human, but its temperature would not stop me from diving for fish. I needed a good supply to put on the smoker, and my inventory had a lot more space for fish. It was time to return to my little happiness.

I found myself purring. As I waded farther into the sea, I popped dreambons into my mouth by the handful. I crushed them with fangs and tongue and the roof of my mouth. Their shells cracked. Their honey-like juice oozed out. I felt their colors swim through my body. My fur darkened. My ears rounded. My eyes pulsed like beating hearts. The sea crashed against my chest and spit in my mammoth unblinking eyes.

There came a growling sound from up on the shore. It sounded like it came from a yelping raccoon. “Thrush, Thrush, Thrush!”

Barnacle-eyes was bounding toward the sea. Her hands were cupped around her mouth. “Thrush! Need your help!”

Gabby came clomping down after her, taking wide strides in her overly large black boots.

“Please thank you!” said Gabby, cupping her mouth.

I returned ashore.

“We need trees,” said Barnacle-eyes. “Lots and lots of trees.”

“Please thank you.”

“More ships?” I said.

“I’m fixing up Come Here Goblin Inn, and we need more wood.”

I followed the skipping goblins to Goblin Come Here Inn. There were piles of driftwood and foraged sticks. More and more goblins wore hammered flower dresses. They were all gathered around a far wall of the inn and staring. As it turned out, Barnacle-eyes had tried to repair the wall, but it seemed her Boat Builder and related skills were useful in only building boats. Some of the wall was repaired, but most of the planks were bent out in the construction of half a jolly boat. It was like the jolly boat had been cut in half and stuck to the wall.

“I messed up somewhere between here and there,” said Barnacle-eyes.

I ate a whole barrel of Anti-gravity beer. Goblins gaped in awe. Then I leapt into the half jolly boat.

“I’m not sure you did mess up,” I said. “It’s some of your best work. It’s sturdy.”

“Oh yeah; sturdy, sturdy! But it was supposed to be a wall.”

“Are there not walls inside the jolly boat?”

“Thrush, they’re too small. I needed to make one big-big wall.” She stretched her arms to frame the wall of the inn.

“I’ve seen you make walls before. Your galleon has the biggest walls.”

“Oh yeah. Those are huge. So something like that.”

“You just need to evolve the jolly boat. Then the walls will get bigger.”

Barnacle-eyes gasped. She stood stupefied for a moment. Suddenly she said, “More trees!”

“Please thank you!”

I unloaded tree after tree from my inventory and laid them through the doorway.

“Perfect!” said Barnacle-eyes. Then the trees shredded apart into planks and splinters. The wood moved like debris in a tornado toward the jolly boat. Goblins fled the inn. As the jolly boat evolved, growing longer and wider and deeper, it began also absorbing the wood of the inn. Goblins fled from the second floor. Some fell through new gaps in the ceiling. I caught them and threw them away. Soon, the jolly boat was no longer a jolly boat. It was a sloop, and it was much larger than the inn had been.

“More trees,” said Barnacle-eyes.

I gave her more trees with hundreds to spare.

The jolly boat evolved into a sloop and then a ketch, and it sank into the sand at a very small angle. For the moment that it took to hear my own breath, it was silent. Wide-eyed, cautious goblins began filtering back in. Quill-quill-quill bounded in and hugged Barnacle-eyes.

The Admiral held out a glowing turquoise stone. Goblins climbed over each other to get a closer look.

“Quill-quill-quill, I am promoting you to Captain of this ship. I have to promote someone; my system said so.”

“Please thank you!”

“I can’t,” said Quill-quill-quill. “I want to stay here. I can’t go sailing.”

“We should leave the ketch on land right where it is. Now it can be Goblin Come Here Inn, and you can be its Captain…All my ships have to have Captains or else I can’t reach my next fleet evolution milestone.”

Quill-quill-quill stood a little straighter. She grabbed the stone. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and came back down.

“I’m on an adventure now!” she said. “I’m officially an Innkeeper! I got to see Peg-tooth and Fork-spear, too! I picked Eat-sleep! Guess who I picked? Eat-sleep! Oh, he had such good things to say! Eating…And sleeping too…”

And though there were no longer chairs for sitting on, nor benches for sitting on, nor tables for sitting on, nor window sills for sitting on, nor a bar for sitting on, tankards were filled with goblin spit beer and passed around. Raw fish was shared. Gigantic slices of onion and fist-size chunks of garlic were passed around. Each chunk of garlic had buttery bite marks in them. Goblins explored the ketch from top to bottom. During the celebration, Quill-quill-quill pulled the smaller Quill-quill aside and promoted her with a newly sewn hammered flower backpack and a pair of black boots. Quill-quill was blind with tears. She bumped into everything the rest of the day.

“We need a new sign,” said Quill-quill-quill amid the celebration.

I snapped a tree in half, and in half again, and peeled away the wood until I was left with a rough, curved plank. With her charcoal utensil, Barnacle-eyes helped scrawl Come Here Goblin Inn on the board.

“Can Slime-tooth bless my new inn?” said Quill-quill-quill.

It didn’t take long for the goblins to settle on one of Slime-tooth’s sayings. Barnacle-eyes leaped onto the shoulders of a staggering green ladder and scrawled ‘If lost, close eyes. There u are. Good luck. Said Slime-tooth’ along the wall above the portholes that faced the sea.

“Slime-tooth was the best,” said one of the native goblins.

“You knew him too?” said Barnacle-eyes.

Chapter 88

Return to Purpose

At last, I welcomed the cold of the sea through my fur. There was no reason to blink in the water. I paddled into the depths, I swam down the continental shelf, and I slid down into the abyssal plain. My lungs took in water when I forgot to cut to the surface for air. The burning of saltwater was little matter. What really mattered was fish!

I sensed schools of fish, spied dark shapes in the darkness, and felt the currents of fleeing monsters. The chase was the fun of it. Discovering new creatures and monsters was a delight. More than once I was scooped up by behemoth creatures and swallowed whole.

The first one to have eaten me turned out to be a Blahtawana. It was so fast that we could race together. I wondered if I had come upon it before in ancient times when it had been just a tadpole. Whether that was the case, the Blahtawana was the longest creature I had ever come across. Its tail was covered in fins as large as masts. When it had swallowed me whole, it took nearly half an hour until I arrived at its stomach. I climbed back up until I came near to its beating heart. Its heartbeat was so loud that my eardrums broke time and time again. I purred to heal myself as I broke through flesh and sank my teeth into its heart.

It thrashed as I chomped. When it died I put the whole thing in my inventory. I sank like lead as my Composition changed.

Satiation:

112%

Composition:

71% Dreambon

10% Blahtawana

06% Precious gems

01% Woolbane

12% World

100% Ethereal

02% Red Bestie

When my bottom hit the bed of the sea, I was still chewing my last bite of Blahtawana heart. My system asked if I wanted to Appraise Item.

[Appraisal level 1218.]

[Blahtawana.]

[Value: 20 gold per pound/ 2 silver per pound at market saturation.]

My most expensive and crunchiest fish.

My eyelids began to droop. I was so heavy that I began sinking into the sand of the sea bottom. I yawned and released a giant bubble. It was so dark I could not see it.

I woke a day or two later with sand and saltwater in my lungs. I cut through the world onto dry land in some summer woods. I hacked sand and seawater at my feet. I coughed and coughed and coughed. I put the trees in my inventory and cut through the world to return to the frigid deep sea.

I fished for days on end.

04x Lantern Fish

54x Bristlemouths

77x Eelpouts

87x Decapods

01x King Crab

47x Yeti Crabs

85x Blob Spined Throwmouths

Of my catch, only the Blob Spined Throwmouth was spicy—unfit for humans. The king crab held the least value. Blahtawana still held the most.

My inventory was burgeoning! Inventory Management was at level 3999, more than 1000 levels above my next highest skill. Quests kept coming; but, like promises, I only wanted to do one at a time.

Next to my other fish, I had so much to smoke! And eating the fish had changed me. My Composition had changed. My palms had become soft as eel skin. My nose and the inside of my ears had grown copper fish scales. My fur shortened. My eyes took on layers upon layers of silver sheens. Sunlight bounced off my eyeballs. My fingers and toes had become slightly webbed. Fins had emerged along my spine. While my dreambon Composition had reduced to 50%, my fish Composition had increased from 10% to 31%.

After battling a frenzy of blue sharks, and eating one, my skin took on a tough and gritty layer. And just as I put 4 of them into my inventory, a gash appeared in the sea, through which I could see Abigail in Hawkin’s snow covered clearing. I stepped through.

As soon as I set foot, blue jays fled the nearby canopies. Abigail and Hawkin greeted me warmly.

“Looks like you’ve been fishing,” said Abigail.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with fins,” said Hawkin.

“Deep sea fishing,” I said. “I will smoke some of my biggest catch.”

“Hawkin and I have more beer to give you. Would you mind meeting me at Hiccup’s mansion to make a delivery? I’m sure Evon will have a lot of items to give you.”

“I would love to. That’s where elodon meat awaits me.”

“I’ll go prepare,” said Abigail. She entered the cabin.

“I must prepare too,” I said. “Let’s put some fish to smoke.”

Hawkin helped me fire up the offset chamber of the smoker. When the temperature was just hot enough, I laid down a slab of Blahtawana. Its skin sizzled on the rack. I shut the door. My eyes pulsed and throbbed as I watched blue smoke fly from the smokestack.

“Dreambon?” I said.

“Good timing,” said Hawkin. “We’ve just run out.”

“I’ll fill the barrel with more when we return.”

Abigail returned a few moments later, all ready to go. She would stay the night at Hiccup’s mansion because the travel would tire her. Just before we set off, Hawkin transported groups of barrels from his ethereal plane: ethereal dungeon beers, ethereal stroll beers, goblin spit beers, warm-warm beers, and warm-warm spit beers.

By the time I had stuffed everything into my inventory, I was ankle deep in the ground. Abigail was surprised to find out that I was nearly out of Anti-gravity beers. She made a few barrels for the meantime and suggested we talk to Hiccup about providing me a massive quantity of the beer.

She sipped from a Brewer’s Portal attribute beer and vanished. I cut through the world to Lavenfauvish, and I already missed the aroma of smoked fish.

Chapter 89

Hawkin in the Mountains

Ogo

Aerie high, at new altitudes, I slept. I slept for 3 days. When I awoke, I found that I was the first to wake. My orcs were sleeping upon down-filled hide by tended fire. I had not believed the greffles when they said they’d tend the fires, but the warmth of the cave proved that they had. There was one arriving with a 20 foot wingspan. It alighted at the mouth of the cave. The cave went dark in its shadow. Its talons dropped logs which clattered about.

“The Ogo is awake,” it said.

“Kloklak?” I said.

“Orcs sleep long time.”

Kloklak turned her wings in. Her gray plumage rustled. With her talons, she tended the fire with the new logs. The cave filled with light.

“Hungry?” she said. “For rabbit? Raw.”

“I will eat,” I said.

“Come.”

We left the cave. The wind held flakes of ice in it and it scratched my skin and pinged against the ring on my tusk. I could hear the ice pitter on her long crooked orange beak. The mountainside terrain was rough. I could only traverse using both hands, almost crawling along. Kloklak leaped from boulder to boulder with a few flaps of her wings. The sun spilled over the eastern ridge and filled the corrie far below. But the sun would rise above almost black clouds in less than an hour. Snow fell.

After a short climb, we arrived at a peak which held gargantuan nests made of the bones of animals and monsters—and I thought the mountains had been snowcapped. We entered through the ribs of one shelter and into the heart of the dwelling.

Kloklak and I sat across each other from the hearth.

“I am the matriarch,” said Kloklak. “This is a good time, yes? To continue our transaction?”

“I figured you held authority. Yes. Your shelter and warmth was what we needed.”

“We enjoyed the beer.”

“I’d prefer to trade for coin.”

“What do you think we do with coin around here? No, we have bones; we have moss.”

“Bones are useless to me.”

“Not for house? Not for weapon? Not for broth; for mineral?”

“I don’t want to trade for moss.”

“Bryo moss is the best moss. Better than good-moss.”

“I can’t sell it. I need obsidian or pearls at least.”

“No pearls. No Obsidian.”

Kloklak regurgitated three dead rabbits. She caught the first one and tossed it to me over the embers of the hearth. Like unspooling thread, she peeled off the fur and pecked at the meat.

The hide was easy to puncture over a tusk. After that it tore easily. We chewed in the dawn light that made the bones of the dwelling seem to glow.

“Take the moss, orc,” said Kloklak. “Trade it with the golems. They have obsidian.”

“So it’s true. Then the orcs will trade for moss. The tzards were honest.”

“The tzards are delicious, goblins too. Have you goblin meat?”

“That’s why you like the beer. There’s some goblin in it.”

“Oh, the beer is good.”

“For one barrel, how much moss?”

“Ten platforms.”

After our meal, Kloklak escorted me back outdoors. We traversed more inhospitable mountain terrain until we arrived at a chasm filled with moss. By Kloklak’s command, greffles gathered enough moss to form a single bale—ten platforms worth of moss. It was more moss than the tzards had traded us.

With the amount of beer the greffles wanted, I would be taking on a huge gamble with moss. What reason would both the greffles and the tzards have to lie about moss? With so much moss, I could trade with the golems for obsidian, then trade obsidian with the quarottes for coin. What other way was there?

“Where are your legkeds?” said Klaklok.

“Legkeds?”

“You couldn’t have braved here without the speed of legkeds. You will be crushed by the winter.”

“How can weather crush an orc?”

“I have seen it crush many things with lips and noses.”

“You’ve never heard of mighty orc, Hin. He sleeps beneath Mount Juhty.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“When it rumbles, it is because he snores. And when the earth shakes, it is because he is hungry. He coughs ash into the sky. His tongue erupts from the crater and rolls down the mountain side as fast and as red as magma. He eats everything with his tongue. He sleeps with his belly full and the mountain never crushes him.”

“Let’s say that explains one volcano. Orcs sleep beneath the other volcanoes?”

“They are Hin’s brothers and sisters. It runs in the family.”

Kloklak became enamored with the lore of orcs. She asked about the birth of the sky, and I explained that the first orc, Wom, opened an eye one day, and from then on we could see the stars at night. And the sun? Well the sun was punched by Dak. The punch was so filled with rage that the sun took the brunt of that rage and burns in it.

“Ah, but that isn’t possible,” said Kloklak.

“Yes, it is.”

“No, because the sun is Poktak, the brooder of greffles. Poktak was born from her own skull. During the day, she preens her coat. As she rustles her plumage, the warmth of her brooding falls on the world.”

Back and forth we went, sharing lore, eating raw rabbit, and drinking goblin spit beer. By mid morning, orcs and greffles filtered in to listen, eat, and snooze. Much laughter shook bones.

By afternoon, barrels of beer were unloaded from our carts and hauled up the mountain. Moss was flown to our carts and stacked by the bale. One by one, Hawkin’s branded name speckled the mountain crags and chasms with ethereal colors. The mountain went from bone-capped to glistening with weird colors in fish scale patterns.

Chapter 90

But Not When Orc Keep Strong Together

A ferocious blizzard may one day kill an orc…

The line between disaster and monster was a blurry one. Why shouldn’t humans call blizzards monsters? Blizzards could kill. With ice instead of teeth, and size instead of limbs, only orcs could survive such a brutal thing!

For days now we traveled in the eye of the blizzard. With how long it raged, there was no sense in thinking about its edge or a world outside of it. Life was one foot in front of the other while keeping the tongue thawed.

We plowed through the land. Would we recognize our destination among the boulders? We couldn’t have passed the golems already. I knocked on snow covered stone rubble when I chanced upon them. Although none had been golems, they could have been.

Then came the whiteout. With speed we had tethered each cart together, and our wrists were slipped into loops in the rope. Onward we plowed through knee high snow. There were ice crystals in our armor that chimed as we trekked.

Visibility was so low that when my knees came up out of the snow, they sometimes surprised me. The wind was like an eternally punching fist. It hit the snow so hard that it made the whiteout milky thick. It was not only harsh like sandpaper, it was deafening. The roll of cart wheels, and the chime of ice crystals and armor had soon become overpowered. It screamed. At times it sounded like the bellow of an orc.

Was that Jix I heard? She must be answering. I had asked her about the legkeds.

“North!” she hollered. “Faster by sea!”

I turned to project at her through white snowfall. “What are they?”

“The head is closer to human than orc, and it’s on legs.”

“Eggs?”

“On legs! Head on legs!”

“Hens on eggs!”

She stepped close so that we were inches away. She pointed at my legs. “Head! Legs! Long legs!”

“Beer?”

“No spears! Legs.”

I filled my chest and projected. “Do they drink beer?”

A blast of wind and snow separated us. I felt the rope go taut. It was impossible to keep my eyes open, so I blindly plowed forth. The temperature dropped like a difference between day and night.

I turned to my orcs and put all my strength in my voice. “Chew your tongues!”

As I chewed mine, I heard the ice crack upon it through my skull. I felt the ice break off in flakes. It was going numb, and I chewed it to keep it thawed.

My breath plumed out in long thick puffs that were twice my size. I plowed on. The load became heavier. The rope became taut, and with each step forward it was only getting tauter. Something was wrong. I set the handles of my cart down. After removing my wrist from the loop, I followed the rope through the line of orcs and carts. My hands felt orc hands upon the rope. They belonged to Jix and Heg. I startled them.

“How are your spirits?” I shouted.

I leaned into the whiteout until we were eyelashes away. Jix and Heg, huddled together, nodded.

I made my way down the assembly until I startled Uil.

“Spirits?”

Uil must have been shouting back, but it seemed to be that he was only mouthing his words. At least I could understand a nod.

I continued down the line and stopped at orc after orc. All spirits were high. When I arrived between the last carts, there was an absence of orc. I continued, but stopped when my knee struck a boulder—not a boulder; an orc. Ath was knelt in the snow. I touched him, but he didn’t startle. A headbutt was the only thing that brought him out from his stupor. He lifted his head and looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Spirits?”

Ath stared. His mouth twitched, but he mouthed no words.

I shoved a finger between his tusks. “Chew your tongue! Get the blood flowing. It leads straight to the heart!”

Ath stared at me. His eyes ambled between mine.

Ath…

Between icicle and armor plating, I was able to reach my tunic. I tore off a hardcover-stiff shred of my tunic. I wrapped it around Ath’s face and tied it at the back.

“Chew! Keep chewing!”

Ath stared at me. His jaw worked beneath his new mask.

“Thawing?” I said.

Ath nodded.

I crouched so that we were eye level. “I will stay with you until you stand.”

Ath shook his head. He tried to stand but nearly tipped over. I gripped his armor and pulled him back to me.

“I will stay with you until you stand.”

Ath trembled as he attempted to stand again.

“I will stay with you until you thaw.”

Shivering, Ath chewed faster. His eyes became wild. Once again he tried to speak. Meanwhile the tethered ropes wiggled.

I leaned in. “What’s that?”

“Don’t leave me…”

“I will stay with you until you thaw.”

As the tethered ropes wiggled more and more, orcs began to appear beside us. They stood around us, robbing us from the wind. In the pocket of the storm, I could just make out grim faces. My orcs seemed older just then. Those faces…were they my ancestors? Did they sense weakness in Ath? He should be left to die, shouldn’t he? A weak orc is no orc. But no, a hard blink returned me to my senses. Those were not my ancestors. They were my orcs. And even if they sensed a weak link…

…I rubbed my hands and breathed hot into them. I placed my hands on Ath’s cheeks. “I will stay with you until you thaw.”

Jix breathed hot into her hands. She placed her hands on Ath’s shoulders. She mouthed “I will stay with you until you thaw.”

Uil breathed hot into his hands. “I will stay with you until you thaw.”

Orc hands, thick as rising bread dough, alighted upon Ath. “I will stay with you until you thaw.”

“I will stay with you until you thaw.”

“I will stay with you until you thaw.”

Whether brother, sister, I will stay with you until you thaw.

Chapter 91

Golden Honey

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 481.

Winter had never appeared so round as a ball, nor as large as another planet. It rolled on down from the north as if another planet rolled upon the earth. It took nearly a week for it to reach the cabin, and it rolled onto us deafeningly. Its wind was icy and sharp, and it both howled and shrieked. Were birds not prepared, I feared they may have been caught in the blizzard and been frozen in midair. The storm was thrice as fast as birds in haste. It was the first storm I had ever seen of its kind. Snow didn’t so much as fall upon the land as it was laid down in thick sheets. I felt like a mouse beneath a descending white comforter. When it rolled over the cabin, it popped Abigail’s Sheltering attribute effect. We struggled for days to maintain the shelter and remove the snow from the cabin and clearing with the skills Fire and Roast and Brewer’s Bubble.

But with the snow cleared from our camp, we still strayed into the snow, tunneling with our skills.

“The trick is to create a hollow space within Brewer’s Bubble,” said Abigail as she led us north through an old path that Thrush had plowed when he had acquired his goblin ship. “Like a hollow bubble so that we remain dry.”

Our tunnel was as wide as our cabin. As we tunneled along, we exposed many things of nature. Mostly, we exposed the Honey Cocoons. Boy had they grown! Were they not tethered to root or branch or rock, they would be writhing so much that they would be mobile.

We exposed a tremendous root. What I had first thought to have been a fallen tree was in fact a root. We traveled beside it for an hour and it never ended. It snaked through the wilderness. It had broken rock and pushed down trees in its sudden growth. For the root had not been there a few weeks ago. We surmised that it must be the root of one of the trees affected by the Aggravated Wild Growth attribute beers. Would we have to relocate our cabin? Put it up in a tree?

Abigail and I shared warm-warm beer as we tunneled over the root, leaving it behind, and meandered through the wilderness. As we performed constant discoveries of parts of the wood, our conversation turned to our quest paths.

It was my turn to manage Brewer’s Bubble. “Silver rank is much more brutal than bronze.”

“Gold—obviously—is worse. What’s funny is how close we both are to progressing.”

“I don’t get it. Tediously picking and caring for ingredients the way that we have has substantially improved the quality of beers. I’m at 70/100 Grand Honorable. I haven’t jumped that far so suddenly in a quality tier since I was bronze rank, but none of that is yet good enough to break into gold.”

“I’m at one hundred of one hundred mythic; last level in gold. One more push and I’ll reach diamond.”

“Wow! One more push…”

“Oh yeah, one more push, like pushing a tree over with your pinky.”

“Do you think it’ll happen?”

Abigail took a moment for herself. Softly she said, “I doubt it...”

Was she upset that she couldn’t break into diamond? That it was so hard? She had always expressed more of a disinterest in breaking into diamond rank. …She would reveal her feelings in time, I was sure.

I turned us westward. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ve returned to brewing attribute beers with things we’ve foraged, and I’ve been working on my Thewwy’s Puncheon shards—currently have one thousand four hundred and seventy-eight. …I’m content. All I could ask for was to get as high as I could in gold. Why don’t you take a break from trying to break into gold? Brew something with me. Something fun.”

“…I love brewing with you.”

“What would you like to brew? Something dark? Something so light it floats?”

Suddenly I tunneled upon a sight to behold. I expanded Brewer’s Bubble to get a better look. Snow melted at the edge of the bubble and trickled all around the clear sphere. There were masses upon masses of Honey Cocoons. Not only did they throb, every single one pulsed with a golden light. Some of the giant cocoons glowed with a tinge of green, others glowed with a tinge of orange. Their insect limbs moved beneath the cocoon like bodies tossing beneath sheets.

The symphony of gold colors and various hues reminded me of the color of pale and hoppy beer. The snow crinkled at the border of my Brewer’s Bubble. Snow fell upon the bubble in great clusters of flakes and slid off in heaps that looked a lot like bubble bath foam. The walls of snow glittered in the golden honey light.

With my eyes fixated on the scene, I said, “How about something really really really foamy?”

Chapter 92

Gold Ranked Brewer

Brewer’s Reputation: 478.

The myriad flowers in our meadow did not survive the blizzard which had broken Abigail’s Sheltering Bubble attribute. In the mornings, while we waited for our coolship collaboration beer to finish fermenting, we tilled the land and transplanted flowers from our ethereal planes. All the while, it had only gotten much colder. We each kept an ethereal forged waterskin of warm-warm root beer at the ready.

We put an apple tree in the middle of the clearing which had been growing in Abigail’s Gift #1 ethereal plane. After patting the fresh earth around the buried trunk, we heard a giant pop from inside the brewery. It sounded like a heavy door being slammed shut.

We frowned at each other.

The brewery doors burst open. Foam hushed out of the huge square doorway. Foam also seeped between spaces in the boards of the walls.

“So that’s what happens when you mix two Foam Cascade sub skills,” said Abigail.

Glittering beer foam surfed across the earth and hissed at our ankles. The mix of Pearl Bubbles and Downy Dew had created a remarkably sparkling foam. It was white as bone and seemed to emit its own light from the surface of every micro bubble. There was a pearly sheen to the foam, as though abalone shells had been crushed by mortar and pestle and sprinkled throughout. The foam expanded in a surge. It rose to our thighs. Abigail laughed with delight.

We waded to the brewery. Every stride forward sounded like silk dragging over silk. All the while, foam continued to rush out of the brewery. With arms above our heads, we battled the foam as we entered the brewery. The foam was so loud that it sounded like some sort of ogre sighing without stop.

The coolship, being large enough that four could swim in it, was easy to find. I bumped into one side and shouted through the foam until Abigail found me. We put up a fight against the burgeoning foam. Great sweeps of our arms parried the rush of foam until we were able to make a little cave. Every half minute or so, we had to use our hands to shovel more foam out of the way.

“I’m trying to get to the beer!” Abigail shouted.

I dunked my face in the foam, but my lips could not reach the beer. My cupped hands should have been able to scoop the beer, but I could not find it!

“I can smell it,” said Abigail.

“It’s very biscuit,” I said. “And grapefruit.”

“I should hope so with Togo hops!”

“Ah, it smells like caramelized waffle!”

“Then the Galisha Canyon barley was a good pick!”

“I can’t get to it!”

Abigail suddenly burst with joy. “Hawkin! Try the foam!”

At that point I had been trying to reach the beer with a large soup spoon. I leaned back out of the coolship until my feet were on the floor once more. I scooped from the atmosphere of cascading foam and ate it.

It was soft as wet meringue. The foam was thick enough to chew! I could hear it sparkle and pop through my jaw. The taste had a fragrance of wet sky just after a light drizzle. If sunlight could be poured like hot sugar to stiffen meringue, that's what I tasted. I had never tasted a beer so soul-relaxing. I was so relaxed, I had to steady myself against the wall of the coolship. I was so relaxed, I dropped my spoon; but I heard no splash!

I searched through the foam for my spoon.

“I still can’t get to the beer,” said Abigail. “Brewer’s Bubble is only getting the foam!”

Aha! I felt the handle of my spoon, deep down. But when I pulled the spoon out of the foam—

“—We have a problem,” I said. “This isn’t my spoon.”

Abigail doubled over in laughter. Her hand appeared upon the coolship wall like she was hanging from a cliff. She pulled herself up, and it looked like she was emerging from a lake of foam. “That’s my spoon! I lost mine too!”

We laughed hard, soundless laughs. And every now and then as we searched for the other spoon, we burst into small laughter. By the time we found it, suspended in the foam, we no longer had to battle the rush of foam all around us. It was smoothing away.

Once more we cut as deep into the foam of the coolship as we could with our spoons. The spoons sounded like they were blades being dragged through sand. At last, Abigail came up with pale-wheat colored beer in her spoon. Her eyes went big with excitement. I dunked once more for a scoop and finally came up successful too.

The beer tasted like rye waffles made of cake batter straight off the iron.

“I think this is the best beer I’ve ever brewed,” said Abigail.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Let’s call it Cake Waffle.”

“Shall we barrel it? Bottle it?”

“Ethereal forged bottles. How about that?”

Soaking wet, with beer foam crackling in our hair and behind our ears, we bottled every last drop of Cake Waffle beer in the coolship.

Though it wasn’t a golden chapter beer…

[Congratulations! You have reached gold rank!]

[You have reached Brewer Level 2012.]

[Alchemical Control will now work on gold rank recipes.]

[Skill acquired: Dual Ribbons.]

[Skill acquired: Paired Stars.]

[Skill acquired: Carbonation Manipulation.]

[Your mana pool has doubled.]

[Previously brewed and cellared beers will not evolve into gold rank, Lesser Chimeric Quality. They will evolve into the highest quality tier in silver rank. Grand Honorable 100/100.]

In the falling whispers of residual foam, I stood stupefied. My gaze eventually found Abigail’s.

“I…reached gold,” I whispered.

Abigail had tears in the corners of her eyes. Her expression conveyed agony. Suddenly she seemed different. Something about her seemed smoother. I felt an aura emanate from her. Her eye color was more vivid. Despite the seeming agony in her visage, she seemed to have shed a lifetime of small stresses from her shoulders.

She crumpled to the floor, put her face in her hands, and softly cried.

I joined her by her side. “Abigail, what happened?”

“I’m diamond.”

“Diamond rank! Abigail, diamond rank!” Then, “I don’t understand, isn’t that wonderful?”

“You don’t understand. …You don’t understand.”

Chapter 93

Fires Die

Brewer’s Reputation: 478.

When was the last time I’d made such a large bonfire? Several trips worth of old oak burned furiously. Flames leapt above my head. The air wavered above the bonfire. Atop the dome of our Sheltering Bubble, snow rapidly melted where the smoke pooled. Water ran in branching rivulets down the bubble around the whole thing. The world outside the bubble bent through each rivulet.

And within, upon a log close to the bonfire, my Abigail wept. She wasn’t heaving breaths, nor sobbing; but she wept in silence. Her eyelashes held water, through which I’m sure she couldn’t see anything. Her lips trembled, and her cheeks were red from wiping tears. She’d been inconsolable.

In our storage cabin, I rifled through jars. I wasn’t after sage, nor hemlock needle, nor chestnut. And what were those?—Ah, wild oats. Not what I was looking for. Oh, where was it? Dandelion root—okay, some of that…And that was mullein leaf. And was that ash? Why did I keep ash on hand? No matter—moving on…it couldn’t be in the square jar could it? Ah, it was in the square jar all along! I hefted the jar of dandelion root and the jar of chicory root against my ribs and hustled across the clearing.

In the cabin I made fire in the stove, scooped fresh water into a pot to boil, and leaned against the jamb while I waited. There was always Mash Master to speed up bringing water to boil, but I thought Abigail might get something out of some time to herself. Her blurry gaze never drifted from the fire. She moved only to sniffle.

The smell of humus and freshly ground coffee billowed from the boiling pot. Water sizzled on the stove. I rushed to lower the flames and briefly remove the pot from the heat. I returned several times to lean on the jamb throughout the steeping. It was a good place to chew my lip and worry about her.

With the tea ready, I brought over her tin mug of tea and placed mine upon the log beside her.

“Thank you,” she said. She wrapped her hands round the mug, ignoring the handle.

“What don’t I understand?”

Oh, Abigail.

I abandoned my tea upon the log and knelt between the fire and her. The heat of the bonfire radiated through my clothes. It was too hot against my back. In my shade, she composed herself with a deep breath. I removed the mug of tea from her hands and set it aside. I took her hands in mine. When Abigail looked at me, it was as though the sky flew into me.

She squeezed my hands. “I love you.”

I burned at the edge of the bonfire. Where did my breath go? What timing was this? And why was she so distraught!

I kissed her hands. “I love you.”

But why was she bringing this up? Was our love at risk? Did she have to leave? Did the world require more of her?

She spoke softly while the fire raged. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“Talk to me. I will understand.”

“I want to spend my life with you. I want that. But Hawkin, diamond rank means I’ll outlive you.”

“So it’s true. Even for Brewers.”

“By a couple of centuries now.”

I had to stretch against the flames at my back. My skin must have been singed red. It would mean pain to outlive her…and she faced that pain ahead…

“I don’t care that you’ll age faster,” she said. “I don’t care that you’ll grow old much faster than me. That’s fine, but I can't bury you and live a century more without you.”

I held onto her hands and they answered. For moments, we clutched at something.

She wiped a tear and said, “The chances of anyone reaching diamond is less than five percent. And that’s if you dedicated yourself. And I know you, and you’re not concerned with ranking up, and I admire that—and you shouldn’t if you don’t want to—but now one day I’m going to be heartbroken.”

“I love you.”

She fell into me; we embraced. I was nudged ever closer to the bonfire that ripped at my ears. Logs collapsed and embers twirled round us. In my shoulder was the sound of her breath. In my ears was the crackle of flaming woods.

She looked up at me. “Can we watch more sunsets and stay there a little longer? Can we drink more tea? Can we go on longer walks? Can we kiss more? Can I write you poems and leave them in your things for you? Can we grow flowers together?”

I broke our embrace so that I could gather her hands in mine. They were hot from the fire and the heat on my back. As I held her hands, I mused that I was like the fire, and her hands had touched my life so deeply; but fire was also like life, and it went fast.

All I could say was, “And we can hold hands everyday.”

Chapter 94

Minion Master

Brewer’s Reputation: 470.

I floated through the atmosphere on Beyond the Cabin with heavy, heavy thoughts. For at least an hour, I mulled things over. Even when I put myself to brewing, I still felt gloomy.

Yet there was much to be done. After cloning a number of ethereal beers, one of my skills finally broke into silver rank.

[Congratulations!]

[Ethereal Dungeon Master has reached level 1001!]

[You are now able to work with Greater Dungeon Cores.]

[New skill acquired: Minion Master.]

[Greater Dungeon Cores require 1 Minion Master.]

Bringing that skill to silver rank had been a long time in coming. Hiccup was going to be thrilled about receiving a new Ethereal Dungeon beer. It would be #4, and a Greater core could only mean a harsher dungeon.

I whipped out the fourth core from my inventory, gazed into the rough sides and polished facets, and used Alchemical Control to imbue it into a double crisp ale. The ingredients were all ethereal, and the implosion cast pearlescent light upon all the other master beers in my log house. The brew was a success!

…So it was a greater dungeon core after all.

I bottled the master beer into an acorn squash gourd, using my Gourd Blower skill, and labeled it Dungeon Beer #4: Enter to Die. I hoped that Abigail would be pleased to find I’ve put more thought into naming my beers. And if she only laughed and smiled, that would still be worth it.

As soon as I placed the lid upon the gourd, a system prompt came up.

[Enter to Die requires a Minion Master.]

[Enter Dungeon plane and create 1 Minion Master.]

I brought the cumbersome container to my lips and sipped. The foam was Crumble Cloud. The malt was thick and reminded me of buttered biscuit tops. The hops were creamy with a hint of orange marmalade.

I blinked and found myself floating in another plane with a shredded atmosphere. The light of the plane was almost a ghostly glow. Before me floated a massive boulder the size of a goblin freebooter sloop.

The information I had from my level 1 Minion Master skill was that it required the Dream Cutter stone to use. So if the stone could build things made of dreams, and help create minions, what else could it do?

Dream Cutter Stone in hand, I activated Minion Master. I used nearly 90% of my mana for the low level skill, and it knocked the breath out of me. My eyes closed of their own volition, and I imagined a minion in my mind. From childhood stories, I imagined a red imp with a long tail. I imagined parts of Thrush too: his eyes and when he had returned with a turkey wattle beneath his chin one day.

When I opened my eyes, a small thing, the size of a mouse, was born from a flash of light before me. It was almost made of light, and almost made of flesh. Various hues of orange flagged in its form like it was a mirage. One of its eyes was too big for its head and clearly influenced by my thoughts of Thrush. It had a ponytail instead of a tail on its butt. Its mouth ran from chin to ear instead of across its face. A turkey’s wattle hung from its chin.

It scrambled in midair. Then it slowly drifted toward the floating rock. When it landed upon the surface, it blew a hole in the stone. A wave of rippling air blasted past me. Suddenly the boulder was a dungeon entrance. The minion stopped at the threshold, waved its hands, and a more corporeal and much larger version of itself was born from a flash of light. The Minion Master knelt over and panted to catch its breath. After a moment, it righted itself, walked deeper into the tunnel, and another explosion boomed within. The back of the rock stretched into the distance some dozen feet.

The larger imp, once it got its bearings, snarled and lunged after me.

I quickly returned to Beyond the Cabin where my mana slowly replenished, and I cloned Enter to Die over and over until I had several hundred barrels for Hiccup. The barrels floated among the rivers of ethereal ingredients and rows of barrels of goblin spit beer.

But my time on the plane wasn’t yet over for the day. I flew through the sand and sumac leaves, over the fourrure blancs and black cohosh, and past the woven ball of moss clad oak.

The oak had grown out so much that it took me a few minutes to fly through the tangle of branches. Outside, I brought out my Dream Cutter Stone, cupped it in both hands, and closed my eyes.

I imagined a tree: the old oak that I felled a couple of years ago. I found myself wondering how it looked when it was full of leaves and out-competing its neighbors. I imagined how many acorns rained down from its boughs. I thought of apples too. Visions which I had seen in dreams flew through my mind.

When I opened my eyes, there was a young tree in front of me. A haze of sky hung around the top of it. Its leaves were long like the handle of my axe. Acorns the size of apples hung from its branches. Colors of a pastel rainbow moved through the tree like wind through grass. To my astonishment, the dream-like tree was growing before my very eyes. In just a few moments, two new leaves had sprouted out from a new bud at its top. What’s more, the apple-sized acorns were heavy! I plucked one off and turned the strange, almost transparent nut in my hands.

I just had to show Abigail, but for the moment, I couldn’t tear myself away from the strange tree.

Chapter 95

Burnt Potatoes

Brewer’s Reputation: 455.

Potatoes baked in the embers of the fire. The flames were low. Only a couple of logs slowly burned.

And while the Sheltering Bubble attribute kept the vicious blizzard still at bay, Abigail and I brewed beer. She was diligently working on her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap quest. Her grain of choice was amaranth.

She pulled out a few bottles of mana beer and set them on the log between us. “Here goes. New skill.”

She took a deep breath and snapped her fingers. There sounded a pop and a tinkle of liquid and a hush of foam. Suddenly, in her hand, was an amber bottle whose label was etched into the glass.

“Ah, that was more than I should have done,” she said, and she looked suddenly exhausted.

“Did-did you just brew that?”

“Flash Brew is the skill. Level one for me.” She rubbed her temples. “I should have started at 100ml.”

Her posture slackened, and she let out a heavy breath. Then she popped off the cork from one of the bottles of mana beer. Blue foam sizzled out and ran down the length of the bottle and then over the round of the log. As Abigail drank, she straightened her posture.

“All right,” she said, “five thousand three hundred and ten more shards to go.”

Quite the skill she had. If that was only the beginning of diamond rank, what else was in store for her? I was eager to be there with her to find out…as much as I had the time to.

As Abigail returned to brewing amaranth beers using gold rank skills, I focused on brewing Loved Ones Libation beers with remains that Dellia had been leaving in my inventory.

I used simple lager recipes with ethereal ingredients and bottled them with the corresponding name to each item. My 100th libation was a small pendant that had been sealed which probably contained ashes. The pendant belonged to a Joy S. Thus—

[Ongoing Quest: Brew 100 Loved Ones Libation beers complete!]

[Reward: 1 rare silver ranked Brewer’s loot chest. 1 rare silver ranked Planes Cutter loot chest.]

[New quest objective: Brew 150 Loved Ones Libation ales for Dellia Lucerne.]

[Reward: 1 gold ranked Brewer’s loot chest. 1 bronze rank Cooper’s loot chest, 1 rare silver rank Planes Cutter loot chest.]

[Quest Level: 1]

All 100 bottles vanished from my inventory. Dellia would probably be rushing those libation ales out to her followers at her newest temple. Where did she say that was…

I supposed it was also time to pass off Loved Ones Libation beers to Thrush and therefore to Evon as well, so I opened a bottle of dreambon ale to call the furry beast.

He cut through the world and arrived soaked. His mouth was wider than usual; his lips were like the top and bottom of an oyster shell. His eyes held abalone colors in their sponges. His claws were as crusty as barnacles, and he was shorter and wider than usual. His tongue was the color of a scallop. Of course, there was always his red stripe.

As water dripped from his fur and ran over his gigantic eyeballs, he smiled. “Hawkin, Abigail, good timing. I’ve missed my smoker.”

“Welcome back,” I said. “I’ve got potatoes in the fire. I’ve also got those Loved Ones beers for you to pass off.”

“Yes,” he said. “I should also retrieve more elodon meat from Eileen and Hiccup. Good, good timing indeed.”

As I prepared a large shipment of beer, Thrush made fire in the offset chamber of his smoker and laid out various chunks of meat that would have had me struggling to lift on my own. Once I was ready, Thrush—who was purring—collected the shipment into his inventory and cut through the world.

“Potatoes are burnt,” said Abigail.

I took the blackest ones and let them cool before breaking the blackened skin off. Chips of potato skin flaked away. Steam rose from the cotton-colored flesh. There was also cabbage salad to be had with dreambon vinaigrette. The dreambon was a salty one with flavors of plum. We tossed in chopped chestnuts, sliced peppers, and apple slices.

Thrush returned, just as we washed our bowls.

“Abigail,” he said. “I’m near out of Anti-gravity ales.”

“I’ve been working on a whole new batch for you,” she said. “I’ll bring them down.”

For the next several minutes, Abigail went back and forth from Gift #1 Ethereal plane and brought back barrel after barrel of Anti-gravity ales. Every time she disappeared, Thrush’s mammoth eyes looked to the sky as if he were following the trail of a bird. He purred the whole while and put every barrel into his inventory.

When Abigail was done with all the back and forth, the three of us huddled around Thrush’s smoker while he tended the fire and sniffed nonstop.

“I have something for you,” said Thrush.

He closed the harpoon-handled smoker door and then withdrew a firkin of beer.

A parchment label hugged the whole thing. On it was an illustration of red moss in the shape of a skull.

“I’m scared,” said Abigail.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know if he’s been brewing with gravy, cheese rinds, mustard, leeks, or what else…he’s always brewing the strangest things.”

“...She says after helping me brew ptooey beer all morning.”

Abigail laughed and then said, “I’ll still try it, of course! I’ve just got to mentally prepare myself.”

Thrush held the firkin in one paw like it was a mere ball—not something made of metal that had to be hugged to lift—while I poured the three of us full tankards.

I brought out my Collector’s Journal, we clinked tankards, and then we sipped.

Chapter 96

Wood Pie

Brewer’s Reputation: 435.

[Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck Clone brew.]

[Brewed by Erik Skullander.]

[Silver rank. 98/100 Grand Honorable.]

[Brewed with Quartz valley barley, wheat, and rye in the light lager style with Little Spuck okra. This beer holds a smooth chewy caramel undertone. The hops contain a fragrance of freshly kilned cedar. The foam is Taffmallow. Something for the esoteric beer collector, this beer is 300% more viscous than other lagers, and if a beer could be chewed, this one is a contender. Slimy and not quite slimy all at once.]

Beneath the dome of bone white snow, the foam was a mix of yellow and white, as though turmeric powder had been sifted over white foam. The beer was orange-brown. Erik had somehow turned taffy into something quaffable. The okra gave it the thickness of watery soup.

“This is not goblin spit beer,” said Thrush.

“It’s incredibly close though,” I said.

“Not close.”

“I’m impressed,” said Abigail.

“There’s no goblin spit,” said Thrush, but he was smiling as he stared into his empty tankard. His eyes pulsed and throbbed, one after the other. His toes danced, and his belly gurgled. “I like this.” Orange-brown and yellow colors began to fleck his irises.

“But will the goblins,” said Abigail.

“The goblins already like it,” said Thrush.

“How do you know?” I said.

“Erik gave a barrel to Green-fin, and the goblins drank it up like spit beer.”

“It’s settled,” said Abigail. “Let’s clone this and brew as much as we can to take the burden off Slime-tooth.”

I considered for a beat. Thrush withdrew a chunk of splintered tree trunk from his inventory. He peeled a log-size chunk off the trunk and sniffed it.

“I’m all for it,” I said. “…Would Gloom-glower know the difference?”

“We’ll have to see. I’ll need to talk with Erik about cloning his beer. We’ll have to share profits with him.”

Thrush dropped the log beneath the smoker. He withdrew another chunk of tree, red oak by the look of it, and turned to Abigail. “Yes, a royalty! I will be your merchant.” He passed the red wood beneath his nose, sniffed it like a dog on the scent, and dropped the log beside the first.

“Fine by me,” said Abigail. “All we have to do now is acquire some little spuck okra seeds.”

“We’ll plant them on Beyond the Cabin. We can use a barrel of Aggravated Wild Growth to make them huge. That’ll go a long way. They’ll grow faster there too.”

Abigail heaved a sigh. “I’ll go see if I can find Slime-tooth again and give him some more food and healing beers. Afterward, I’ll travel to Lavenfauvish and talk with Erik. If he doesn’t have seeds, Corylus will.”

“And I’ll spend some time with my smoker!” said Thrush.

He was passing another log of wood beneath his nose and inhaling deeply.

“You’ve got new wood to smoke?” I said. “Is that one red oak?”

“Yes. Yes. And post oak and hickory.”

“Choice wood, I think.”

“This one’s apple wood. Smell.”

Thrush passed around a rough log of apple wood. It smelled like a freshly crushed apple. The wood had an aroma that had a tinge of syrup to it. Part of me wanted to lick the wood to see if it was sweet.

“Oh, that’s apple wood for sure,” said Abigail.

“Smell this one,” said Thrush.

Another rough log was passed between us.

“Another fruit wood?” I said.

“Fig,” said Abigail. “Definitely fig.”

“Not fig,” said Thrush.

“Has to be pear,” I said.

“It has to be cherry because it’s cherry wood,” said Thrush.

Now that he mentioned it, it was most certainly cherry wood. It was much more tart-smelling than the apple wood, and I still wanted to put my tongue to it. When the log returned to Thrush’s possession, he bit off a huge chunk and chewed the wood. It sounded like wood tumbling down a barren cliff. The more he chewed, the smaller it got. All the while, his toes were dancing.

But there was more wood! After swallowing, he withdrew another tree trunk section. With his claws, he peeled off a log and passed it around.

Abigail put her nose to the wood and laughed. “Smells like pie!”

“Wow, you’re right,” I said, careful to avoid splinters. “I’ve never smelled wood like this. What is it?”

Thrush bit off a chunk of the trunk and chewed like a beast munching through bone. I could hear the crunches in my own skull.

“My Composition tells me this is pecan wood,” he said. “I had pie once…in Omes Arbor. Tomato pie. I don’t think it tasted like tomato pie.”

“There are all kinds of pie,” said Abigail. “Fig pie, chocolate pie, banana pie, pecan pie.”

“Wood pie. I already like the sound of it. But why are humans making wood pie? It’s difficult for humans to eat?”

“Pecans are nuts.”

Thrush withdrew canopy branches of a pecan tree from his inventory. Abigail and I leapt back to dodge the sudden bush. Thrush crashed through the entangled wood and ripped ripe pecans from the branches. “These.”

After popping a whole pecan nut into his mouth—shell, too—he gave the rest to Abigail.

“I’ll be traveling to Lavenfauvish anyway,” she said. “I might as well bring back some ingredients for pie.”

“For pecan nut pie?” said Thrush. “I’ll smoke extra fish for the occasion. I’ll use pecan wood and we can become ten percent pecan together.”

With that, Thrush began rifling through his inventory for his next pick of fish.

Chapter 97

Knock Knock

Dellia Lucerne

Oh, but to be an oarsman. And as such, it was time to be more corporeal once again. Not too corporeal; there was no sense in being seen.

To Sweet Gale I flew as a mere wrinkle of air. The scene upon pasture land was profound. A massive crowd circled my temple. Almost all of them were grievers. It was my name that they said. Dellia Lucerne’s Loved Ones Mausoleum. The libation beers that Hawkin had been brewing were delivered via the system to Ryi’s inventory.

There he was now, upon a dais. And he was doing so well filling Brien’s shoes. I should hope so, since I helped make his loot chests more rewarding.

“A Ms. Lausteen?” Ryi said to the crowd. The woman’s name was repeated by other disciple Dream Cutters in the temple grounds until a raised hand sailed through the crowd. It was Ms. Lausteen’s raised hand, and she emerged from the crowd with tears in her eyes. She bowed several times before Ryi. She was given a small bottle of beer with a forged label and directed over to another disciple beside Ryi.

“Drink this,” said the disciple, and poured another bottle of beer into a small wooden cup. “It will transport you to Dellia Lucerne’s Loved Ones Mausoleum. A man in a gold cape will greet you. His name is Evon, and he will escort you to a private garden. You may take your time there. All you need to do is pour a drop of the beer Ryi has given you.”

The woman nodded emphatically while she wept. She sipped from the wooden cup and disappeared.

“Rodney and Cindy Akams?” said Ryi.

A young, tortured couple emerged from the crowd. The woman held a small folded cloth at her breast. The man stared ahead without obvious emotion. His eyes seemed shell-shocked.

The disciple told them my name and gave them instructions. They too disappeared a moment later.

And at the edge of the crowd, farther up the road which led to the city center of Sweet Gale, Dream Cutter disciples were directing others to travel to Lavenfauvish.

With but a thought, I traveled to Lavenfauvish and peered down at the Rose Quartz tavern on Rue St. Kinni. Another crowd had amassed around the building, and they packed the neighboring intersections. That lot was a mix of adventurers and grievers.

On the outskirts of Lavenfauvish, I found Brien. It was good to see his plump cheeks. He’d eaten much on his journey to Lavenfauvish and his spirits seemed good and high.

He would need all the energy he could get to watch over the construction of my second temple. And already a small crowd had gathered, repeating my name!

Stone blocks were lifted and stacked for walls. Drums of quartz crystal were stacked and carved into columns. Quarried stone was delivered and unloaded from wagons. He had a shard quest in store for him once the temple was complete. And soon, he would be able to perform ritual in order to craft ethereal planes.

With a little push—a little incentive—humans became much more receptive to adventure. Some needed a greater push more than others.

It was time to see how far my adventurers had traveled. I flew north along the coast until I passed Greditch City. On the plains there, I found them. A crowd of 50 humans were tunneling through the tree-deep snow. They traveled at such a pace that it made no sense to stay mounted on horse or donkey. Dungeon seekers, beer Collectors, Brewers, Dream Cutters, Planes Cutters, Alchemists, and others slowly crossed the plains. The storm had delayed their travel by a few weeks, but they would soon arrive at Hawkin’s base. And would he mentor these Dream Cutters as I had already asked several times? What could I do to push him to do more for me?

Two temples were not nearly enough.

And the other Brewers whom I’d been assigned to their quest paths, how were they doing? Ah, Garrett was the only one close to silver now. He would soon be forging ethereal ingredients and brewing ethereal planes himself. Though that should speed things up, it wasn’t enough. No other Brewer was in the position of bringing as much beer to market as Hawkin. Nor as fast. If Hawkin hadn’t befriended Thrush and the goblins…I would be a decade or more out from rising to greatness. It was really them I had to thank—those colorful besties too.

I thought of Potere and cackled wildly. Was it true what I’d been hearing? He was working with another god—Khos, was it?—to bring about a new carbonation for beer.

Like that was enough to compete with me!

Go forth adventurers! Knock on Hawkin’s door!

Chapter 98

You are why I left

Brewer’s Reputation: 420.

At the firepit, Abigail toggled her cloak on. The fabric was pillow thick, and the hood hung like a high backpack.

She was emotionless for a moment, probably taking inventory. Her gaze then fell upon me. “See you soon.”

She snapped her fingers, and a series of incorporeal sounds followed. Glass shattered, liquid tinkled, and beer foam hushed. She vanished. It seemed that all she left behind was a column of blue-ish smoke, but that smoke was drifting out from the smokestack of Thrush’s smoker.

Thrush was enthralled by his smoker. His purring was loud enough to be heard over the fire. It wasn’t thunder that rolled over the dome over the Sheltering Bubble, it was the gurgling of his belly. The flowers in the meadow and upon the brewery twitched at the sound and at Thrush’s stomping. The beast moved over to the offset chamber and stuffed more pecan wood over orange blue-tipped flames.

The smoke turned white before returning to its blue-ish color moments later. Thrush stomped back and put a paw on the handle of the smoker door. Flesh sizzled, black smoke squeezed out between his digits. In his massive eyes there was excitement. He never failed to open the smoker door like it was the lid to a legendary loot chest. Melting fat rolled over blackening meat. Thrush’s toes danced, his eyes pulsed, and he showed his fangs with what was supposed to be a smile. Ah, but no other loot chest could contain such a treasure to Thrush.

And now that I had loot chests on my mind, and brewing beer was without a doubt what I treasured, it was time to open my two latest chests on Beyond the Cabin.

One sip took me to that plane. In the log house, Chimeric colors screamed from the shelves full of master beers. Sitting on the floor, I pulled out my rare silver ranked Brewer and Planes Cutter loot chests.

The wood of each chest was cheap, soft pine. The metal brackets on each corner reflected the colors of forged ethereal labels from the shelves. Each chest seemed rather magical at that moment, and Barnacle-eyes came to mind. She always reacted to her loot chests like they were just as magical, and she loved them, and she stuffed them full of found treasures.

The Planes Cutter loot chest opened with a creak. There were Modify Ethereal Plane skill books, a Forge Ethereal Wheat skill book, a dungeon core, and a jar. The dungeon core was no larger than a human skull. Its surface was rough basalt with glassy inclusions that seemed to go from one end to the other like arrows stuck in a tight quiver. Ah, Dungeon Core #5 then. Perhaps an ice billy goat lager would suit it.

[Insufficient Minion Master level.]

[Insufficient Ethereal Dungeon Master level.]

Ah, of course.

The last item was a jar with a tag that read Planes-mana Collection Jar. The glass was thick and clear, and it was as large as a pie pumpkin. The cork was just as wide and I could fit my whole hand inside the jar.

Barnacle-eyes would have loved this. At the first thought of her getting her hands on the jar, I burst with laughter. The jar would have occupied her for a whole day! From morning to dusk, she would have spent her time putting things in, taking things out, and putting things in again, and taking things out again.

She would have carried it with her everywhere. It would have been tucked into her armpit while she mashed grain in the brewery. It would have broken the seams of one of her pockets—that’s for sure! And if her hands were full, she would prioritize the jar.

I rocked back and chuckled. This jar would have replaced her tankard for the day. After chewing on the cork, she would have drunk goblin spit beer from it.

Oh, what a goblin…And while my mind imagined her with the jar for a day, I found myself laughing and chuckling along.

“Oh, Barnacle-eyes.”

Luckily, since the tag hadn’t been chewed off and made into paste, I could read the instructions. So I placed the jar in midair on the ethereal plane. It hovered there with the cork beside it. After only a moment, a bead of condensation developed on the inside of the neck. When it fattened, it rolled down to the bottom. The liquid was the color of blue topaz and it sparkled like a cut gem. Another bead of condensation formed. How long would it take to fill?

Certainly enough time to at least see what my Brewer’s loot chest was filled with. And it had been such a long time since opening loot chests had been so much fun! Inside, I found coils of new hops, new burlap purses of grain, and a bottle of beer. Looking at the bottle of beer, it was easy to guess what the little goblin would have to say if she were here.

“Um, does this have ptooey in it?”

“Not likely.”

“Then it might not be good because good means ptooey.”

“Everyone has different tastes. And wouldn’t a gold rank spit beer taste better than a bronze rank spit beer?”

“But a bronze rank ptooey tastes better than a gold rank any-other-beer.”

And so the conversation would go, until she had too many thoughts going on at once, and then she’d ask for an onion to splash into her beer.

And as always, while coming up for air once in a while, she would offer to share her beer. It was a good beer, and it should be shared immediately because it was so good, and she would smile and offer her entire tankard earnestly.

Laughter once more bounced around the log house. Oh, that goblin. I spent a minute letting the rest of my imagination run wild while my laughter ran its course.

In that time, condensation had run down the length of the new bottle of beer. I opened it and drank.

[Blue Ballet.]

[Silver rank. 74/100 Greater Legendary.]

[Brewed by Bergam Ilema.]

[Brewed from the blue hop yards in Kalefet. Both the foam and beer sparkle like azurite. One of the bluest beers on the market. Hops are grown in the lush wild hummocks of rural Kalefet.]

With all the items put away, I brought the empty loot chests out into the ethereal atmosphere. They would mark the start of a new pile and would be filled with fruit, or beer, or anything else that I could give to Barnacle-eyes and Remember-not—couldn’t forget about her too, of course. They were bound to return for a visit, weren’t they?

Just like I was bound to return to my cabin grounds. There, blue smoke drifted over the flowers and up to the top of our Sheltering Bubble where a dome of snow still blocked the sky. Had I been so busy, or did Abigail return much earlier than expected? How was her visit to Lavenfauvish? She slumped onto one of the firepit logs.

She was out of breath. A chill must have reddened her cheeks. I fueled the fire.

“I couldn’t find Slime-tooth again,” she said.

“You had time to look for him?”

“I dropped off more sustenance and healing beers.”

“I’m glad,” I said. She heaved a deep breath. Gently, I said, “Are you all right?”

“Since I’ve reached diamond, long distance Brewer’s Portals are much more tolerable, but they still take their toll. I’m beat.”

“I thought you’d be tired.” I squatted before her and took her cold hand. Softly I said, “I’ve put extra blankets on the bed. I’ll put a fire in the stove.”

We gazed, and we gazed, and we gazed at each other. Flames burned in our half eyes. Blue smoke drifted around us.

“Oh, try this!” I said and brought out the rest of Blue Ballet to share.

“Not bad for silver rank! It’s so blue! This is like gemstone blue.”

Her eyes lit with excitement. As she explored the beer, I began to pick up on the flavors she masterfully identified.

“It’s viciously raspberry, wouldn’t you say? I think this is the first time I’ve ever tasted the color blue. It’s almost like candy gum and spun sugar?”

It was true. I tasted the beer as though for the first time. Why hadn’t it tasted nearly as good before? Only after she mentioned those flavors could I pinpoint them, and I had to agree with her. It was as if she unlocked my taste buds.

The ground shook beneath us. Thunder rolled underground. The wood pile rattled. …Thrush drew near.

“Smoked fish is almost ready!” said Thrush. “I want you to have first pick of the fish. Take the best parts!”

Abigail shot up. “Quick, let’s make that pecan pie for my favorite people!”

“At zero percent human, I’m no longer people.”

“Well, you’re still one hundred percent my favorite.”

“At one point, all by myself I was people…”

Any more of us, and it would have been tough to fit in the cabin. Especially with all the space Abigail needed to make pie. She hurled ingredients from her inventory and nearly filled up the table. Thrush came right up to the edge of the table. HIs eyes came just over the table, and his claws clutched the edge. There, he purred.

Abigail gave me instructions on the filling while she worked on the dough. The smell of roasting pecans, like buttered wood and roasting chestnuts, filled the cabin. Abigail cut a giant circle into her rolled out pie dough and set the cut ends to the side.

Thrush put the tip of a claw into the discarded dough. “Can I eat this?”

Abigail nodded and slid more pieces over. Thrush opened his mouth, like it was a hinged lid, and scooped the dough into his mouth. His purring became deeper, and his eyes began to pulse.

And I stirred the roasting pecans until they were done and I was ready for the next few instructions. I brought our wood oven stove to temp.

“Can I eat this?” said Thrush.

“Go ahead,” said Abigail.”

And as the filling came closer together, and more pie dough was rolled out…

“Can I eat this?”

“No.”

And soon, in the rhythm of things, Abigail told me all about her trip to Lavenfauvish before seeking out Slime-tooth. Erik Skullander was all on board with our idea. He had asked for a paltry cut with each cloned brew and was very adamant about Slime-tooth’s name remaining on the title. Corylus helped us acquire the seeds—anything for Hawkin, he’d said—and first thing tomorrow…

“How about this?” said Thrush.

“No—uhm, actually, yes, it’s all yours, enjoy.”

…We could start planting little spuck okra on the ethereal plane. It would be fantastic to work on gardening again, and maybe we could tend to the flowers that needed attention on the cabin grounds.

“Can I eat the spoon?”

“Lick. Lick the spoon.”

Thrush licked the long wooden spoon. His tongue brought it into his mouth. There was a loud crunch.

“Sorry,” he said. But there came another loud crunch. “Sorry.” Another crunch. “I’m so hungry.”

We assured Thrush that it was all right, the thing was old and too used anyway.

Sending the spoon to the depths of Thrush’s belly must have been what made Abigail remember something else from her visit to Lavenfauvish. Hiccup had been beyond excited to receive the latest dungeon beer with the Minion Master. And since he knew it was going to be more dangerous, they consulted with the city of Lavenfauvish, who dispatched a dungeon inspector to explore with them. It caused a stir among the eager dungeon seekers who’d been waiting for the next ethereal dungeon to hit market.

“Can I eat the rest of this?” said Thrush.

“Here you go.”

And Corylus had been focusing on evolving walking plants lately, and that had been so much fun to see.

Thrush’s belly gurgled. He burped.

“Yes, Thrush, all yours,” said Abigail, giving him the bowl with the rest of the filling.

And the pies were placed in the wood oven on racks.

While Abigail explained to Thrush that the pie had to bake, and it would take time—yes, like smoking fish—I couldn’t help but feel something suddenly sit right with me.

Thrush treasured his smoked fish, but here he was eating scraps from the table and waiting for pie to bake while he had a massive slab of smoked fish in his smoker ready to eat. While Abigail was exhausted after traveling long distance, she had gone to look for Slime-tooth, and here she was making pie for everyone, instead of recovering.

And while loot chests were just loot chests, thinking about Barnacle-eyes had turned the loot chests into something else, something much more fun. Even sharing a beer with Abigail had brought out more flavors than before.

I sat and admired my companions at the window of the wood oven stove.

How exciting would loot chests have been without having had Barnacle-eyes in my life? And without her, Abigail, and Thrush, brewing beer would only be half the treasure it had become.

How strange it was to realize this. Lunstad had been filled with people. How was it that this human and those creatures had brought a tremendous amount of joy to the life of a hermit?

Ah, but it wasn’t just being around people and creatures that brought joy.

I left Lunstad because of the unkindness of people. And it wasn’t that Barnacle-eyes would share her ptooey with me; Thrush his smoked meats; Abigail her soul. People in Lunstad had shared things too.

Oh, how clear it was…

To some, all their lives, kindness is a fantasy. And some people, some creatures, some goblins, were truly rare magics.

Chapter 99

Different Homes

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 11%.

150 levels until fleet evolution.

From atop the deckhouse of the galleon, the view was enthralling. All that was needed to get a better, closer view was a quick wipe of cloth over the cracked lens of my monoscope. The sea sparkled orange in the early morning sun. Snow melted off all my ships.

One, two, three…Fifteen sloops sliced the sea in the wake of two ketches. All that my fleet was missing was Goblin Come Here Inn and the recently evolved jolly boat. It was no longer towed behind the galleon. Ah, but where was it?

After counting my ships once more, I turned my stretched eye westward toward the marshes ahead. The water was clear, and the sea was deep. Yet long bamboo stalks grew from the depths and breathed the air. Sea wind rushed through the leaves. Dragonflies and big flying things rushed about. The birds that lived among the plants of my fleet charged for the insects. There were thousands of patches of bamboo. Here a patch, there a patch, over there a patch, all the way there were more patches…And they were getting taller and taller.

Some of the patches were swaying as though a heavy gust had suddenly hit them. Suddenly, between two swaying patches, out came the lugger bursting across the water. There it was! And standing at the prow was Pinky-chew. A crew of goblins held tight to the thwarts. Though the lugger’s sail was eased, it raced toward the fleet as fast as Thrush could run!

The lugger slowed to a stop and all the goblins aboard wrung their hands from maybe gripping the thwarts so tightly. Captain Pinky-chew waded through the goblins to the stern.

“Heave,” she commanded.

Two goblins at the stern righted a floppy burlap sack with a drawstring at the end. Pinky-chew took a deep breath that lasted at least two minutes. Her chest became round as a barrel. Her head nearly disappeared as it sank between her shoulders. Then she blew into the sack. First it filled with air, then it bulged, then it stretched and bulged again. She drew the drawstrings closed.

“Down!” she commanded.

The two goblins tipped the bag over so that the top faced out the stern and at the sea. After Captain Pinky-chew resumed her place at the bow, she said, “Loose!”

The drawstrings of the sack were loosened and air blasted out, spraying water for hundreds of feet. The lugger lurched forward. The prow lifted off the sea, and the lugger raced across the water with incredible speed. Her crew gripped the thwarts tightly. Their cheeks flapped around their gums; their ears bent back.

“Draw!” Pinky-chew said as the lugger came up alongside the galleon after performing a turning circle. The drawstrings were tightened, and the lugger slowed to match our speed. “All clear, Admiral! Lurk-murky is just ahead! Water’s deep enough! Follow us.”

“Bring us in, Commodore!” I said.

“Please thank you!” said Gabby.

While Pinky-chew led half the fleet under her command, Spickle-Spack—my newly appointed Commodore—led the other half. With signal flags, my ships fell in line behind the galleon into new, deeply marshy waters.

“Sun-burn, fetch a bucket of sea water!”

“Please thank you.”

Sun-burn bent over the portside taffrail for a minute, and then he returned with a bucket of sloshing sea water. Bamboo leaves floated in there. I dunked my sea map within, splashing water on my dress, on my boots, in my hair, on Gabby, on Sun-burn, and all over the deck…

[Congratulations! You have reached New Waters!]

[You have reached Admiral level 851!]

[All sloops in your fleet now travel as fast as your fastest ketch.]

“Ease the sails,” I said.

“Please thank you!”

Once the signal flags were waved, the fleet slowed. The waters were calmer through the deep marsh and quieter. It was smooth sailing. And as we went deeper, we came to taller and taller bamboo, and it was colder.

“Maybe-land-ho!” cried Boggo and Ella from the crow’s nest.

As the bamboo suddenly gave way to open water, I stretched my eye through the monoscope and blinked big. We had sailed into a bay where the marshes really began. There were dozens of other freebooter ships with hundreds of goblins bailing water from each one. The shore was muddy and there were grasses all along the inlet. I spied reed and bamboo buildings on land. Goblins waded through the inlet and wrestled with eels.

Pinky-chew led us into the bay until, “As far as we can go!”

“Churn the capstans!”

“Please thank you!”

Having moored, I kept an eye on my Chance of Mutiny. It went down to 10%, but no less. But why? From experience, Chance of Mutiny was always higher at sea than near land, but why did it stop at 10% this time?

Down! Down—go down!

It seemed that no matter how long I held my breath, Chance of Mutiny was stuck at 10%. 10% was much much better than 33%, which was the highest it had been from Fiberthorn Cove to Lurk-murky. Was that why Gloom-glower stayed at Hawkin’s camp? Was his Chance of Mutiny always too high to risk going back to sea? His fleet was indeed massive! Was that the purpose of beer? To distract my fellow snots?

“Disembarking!” called Pinky-chew.

Thus began the long process of lugging goblins from ship to marshy dock. And on dock, I gave each of my snots their fair share of pay.

“Missing one!” said Gabby.

Pinky-chew blanched. Upon furiously looking back at the ships, I spotted Remember-not aboard the galleon waving desperately. Oh, how sad she looked! Pinky-chew raced to lug her to shore.

With Gabby trailing, we skipped up the dock. My goblins swarmed the shore outside the village. Hundreds of lime-green goblins welcomed my crew. Among the throng, I witnessed delightful reunions.

“Bear-feet! Long-tussle!”

Big Bear-feet said, “Ah! Squint-to-see! Long time! Long, long time!”

Flap-ears squeezed between two goblins. “Admiral, I wanted to say thank you for bringing me back home. I didn’t think I’d ever leave Laven-forks-ish. You’re a good Admiral. I bet you’d become queen goblin one day.”

Without another word, Flap-ears squeezed between goblins and disappeared in the crowd. Gabby clung to my dress as we squeezed through toward the village. Along the way, a goblin crawled out from under goblin legs.

“You be Admiral Barnacle-eyes!”

“How’d you know?”

“Wrinkle-knuckle said you had ships with giant onions!”

“Wow, Wrinkle-knuckle! Haven’t seen him since Ladden-chow-miss! Him and Pock-ears!”

“Follow me, he’s in the middle of a lore.”

The goblin was fast! I had to battle my way under armpit and leg-pit, between shoulders and bellies, over knees and boots! Gabby followed like the tail end of a scarf. We had a long way to go through goblins that laughed and greeted each other.

“Welcome home!”

“Did you see the humans? Stab any?”

“What happened to your ears?”

“Silver-snot? Silver-snot! I thought you died!”

“Bend-thumb, you’ve got a backpack? You get one for me too?”

“I can’t believe my eyes! It’s Snap-fingers!”

“Blue-tongue, is it really you? Ah, let me buy you a soup at Toad Sk’inn!”

The goblin escorting us said, “Toad Sk’inn! That’s where we’re going!”

“Taller-than! I knew that was you in the crowd! Come, come for a drink!”

What an obstacle course! Ah, it was so much fun to hear all the goblins smile and laugh and be happy. It felt so good to bring goblins together, to bring them home. Ha! How funny was that! All kinds of goblins had all kinds of homes. Yes, I knew first hand how important it was to have a home to come home to. Even Gabby was laughing and snorting and burping as she bounced off of thigh and boot and back and arm while she fiercely held tight to my dress. I knew I was losing some of my crew to Lurk-murky, but I’m glad she was staying. She was part of my home, and I hoped that I was part of her home too. Wow! She was even like a little sister! Yes, that’s the kind of smile she had: A following-big-sister smile.

Chapter 100

Farther and Further

Chance of Mutiny: 11%.

150 levels until fleet evolution.

I was part of the flood of goblins that surged through the door into Toad Sk’Inn. The inn had already been packed, and with the deluge of new goblins, patrons climbed up bamboo ladders in droves.

There was lashed-together bamboo everywhere. The most common construction was the ladder. Up, up the ceiling went. It was the tallest goblin building I had ever seen. My galleon’s mast could have fit inside with Boggo and Ella only barely able to touch the ceiling. Goblins perched on the hundreds of rungs above. Occasional bits of food and dribblings rained down. So many feet bottoms! It was so loud, I had to think even louder.

Behind the bar, brown beer and liquor were being poured from pillage-earned barrels. Those were certainly human names branded on the staves.

I had only just got my bearings when a loud goblin slung his beer in an arc. He stood on a ladder rung in the middle of the inn and leaned out toward the crowd. Hundreds of goblins quieted. I knew that face! Was it really Wrinkle-knuckle from Lap-some-sandwich?

Wrinkle-knuckle pointed at a goblin high near the ceiling. “It didn’t matter that the harpoon turret was broken!”

Oh, it was lore time! I leaned upon the back of a stranger goblin and put my chin in my hands. What were we in store for?

“How’d he get the whale?” someone asked.

“King Slime-tooth took the harpoon out himself and he went starboard!”

This was a Slime-tooth lore! All the way in Lurk-Murky?

“Not true,” said Some-two. “Harpoons are heavy!”

“That’s what you have to understand. Harpoons are as heavy as a horse, but King Slime-tooth has the strength of two hundred and one hundred goblins! He raised the harpoon higher than he could reach and launched it!”

“What kind of a sort of type of whale?”

“It had big eyes! Each as tall as a goblin! And it had teeth as long as orc tusks! And it had bear claws!

“Wow! What a whale!”

“That’s not the end…It was King Slime-tooth who single-handedly hoisted the whale aboard. The whale stood on two legs and ate a whole ship’s worth of goblins!”

“Did King Slime-tooth die?”

I gasped as the crowd froze as one. The goblin I rested my elbows upon stiffened. Oh no! Did something happen to Slime-tooth? King? How have I not heard this story before?

“King Slime-tooth battled the whale with his fists! They fought for a whole month while the ship slowly sank.

“Did he die?”

“King Slime-tooth defeated the whale, and thousands of goblins had whale meat for ten years!…And that was the battle of Slime-tooth and the whale-bear.”

Goblins broke into their own conversations. It was like time had thawed and was warm and goblins came back to life. I heard Slime-tooth’s name so many times at once, I couldn’t count fast enough to keep up.

A tug on my dress brought me out of my thoughts. I was escorted to the bar with Gabby trailing behind. As we made our way through the choppy sea of goblins, I picked up tons of Slime-tooth lore.

“I heard Slime-tooth made a frog once. That’s where frogs come from.”

“King Slime-tooth gives free beer to all his snots.”

“They say he’s this tall!”

“I met him once. The kingest goblin I ever met.”

“He rides a horse like humans do. On his ship.”

I arrived at the bar. Wrinkle-knuckle was there refilling.

“Barnacle-eyes! It’s you!”

“I know it’s me! Wrinkle-knuckle!”

We embraced with a hug and a couple of jumps. Gabby clapped and hopped beside us. Wrinkle-knuckle grabbed the attention of the bartender.

“Reed-eater, this is Barnacle-eyes. She knows King Slime-tooth personally.”

Wow! Reed-eater had the most beautiful smile I ever saw. It went everywhere at once!

“You do?” said Reed-eater. “Wow, you do? Pleased to meet you!”

Wrinkle-knuckle put an elbow on the bar. “Say, do you still have any spit beer?”

“Of course I do, I have lots.”

To Reed-eater, Wrinkle-knuckle said, “You see? That’s how she knows King Slime-tooth. She’s got goblin spit beer.”

Reed-eater narrowed her eyes. “Heard of it. What’s it got to do with King Slime-tooth?”

“Well, Slime-tooth manages ptooey production,” I said.

“Really? From Slime-tooth himself?”

“She sold some to Green-fin,” said Wrinkle-knuckle. “Why don’t you sell some here?”

“Oh, could you?” Reed-eater said with something like stars in her eyes. “The human stuff is okay, but some nice goblin stuff would be a dream! But go easy on me; I don’t know if I could afford something from a king goblin.”

“I’ll have to summon Thrush to sell the beer. He writes the contracts and sells the beer and transports the beer. But wait, what happened to King Gloom-glower?”

Another goblin leaned down from the bottom of a hanging ladder. “Died. I think by smite. Slime-tooth’s meteor smashed him.”

All this new information about Slime-tooth! He did it. He really did it. Just as I was leveling up and becoming the best goblin I could be, so was Slime-tooth! How amazing was it that he rose through the ranks and defeated Gloom-glower with a smite? Ah, I knew he could do it! He was the best goblin of course!

But then my heart felt heavy and sharp, like I’d swallowed a pointy. I should have been there to be proud of him when he became King. We should have celebrated together.

My heart then felt sharper. I missed him so, so much. It seemed that the farther I traveled, not only did I feel farther from Slime-tooth, I felt further from him too. One by distance, the other from knowing him.

Months and months and weeks and days of hearing all these new stories about him. The first dozen new stories about Slime-tooth had been so exciting. It had been a chance for me to feel closer to him and miss him a little less. But as more and more new stories came out, It turned out I was learning new things about Slime-tooth left and right and up and down. Everyone else seemed to know Slime-tooth better than me.

And now, with every new story, things felt like they were going backwards—that was the further and further part of it all—I was actually knowing him less and less than I thought I did.

Some of the stories were from when I was a snot on Gloom-glower’s fleet. Did Slime-tooth hide things from me? Was he going through the same thing? I doubted there were stories about me, but was Slime-tooth forgetting about me? Especially now that he was king?

I’m getting to know him less and less everyday…It feels like my heart is further out to sea than my ship…

Chapter 101

Before and After

Chance of Mutiny: 10%.

150 levels until fleet evolution.

An amazing feat brought me out of my thoughts. Candy-glare had picked a monster of a booger. It was being passed around and celebrated as a fine achievement. A true trophy, honestly.

“Didn’t pick my nose for two weeks,” said Candy-glare.

Most of Toad Sk’Inn burst into sudden competition. The hunt for the next biggest booger of the day lurched into full swing.

“Before you summon your Thrush, I gotta try some…See if it’s any good,” said Reed-eater.

“I’ve got a barrel. You’ll see; it’s the best.”

“Bring it round, up, and over.”

The only way round, up, and over was to go through goblins. Every “Excuse me!” was followed by a smaller “Please thank you.” What a maze the journey was. Not only did progress require squeezing between goblins, but backs had to be climbed, legs had to be crawled under, elbows needed to be dodged, Gabby had to be hefted over a wall of goblins, ladder rungs had to be passed between, and chins and pointy ears needed to be turned away like they were tree branches out to poke vulnerable eyeballs!

Gabby was so out of breath by the end, I had to drag her by one arm. On her back, she slithered over boots and feet until we arrived back round the bar. I hefted her onto the rung of a ladder so that she was off the floor.

“At least she’s a light one!” said Reed-eater, coming over.

“Unlike this,” I said and removed a 5 gallon chimeric barrel of ptooey beer from my inventory. With a grunt—and shaking with effort—I lifted the barrel onto the counter.

Toad Sk’Inn fell silent. Weird colors reflected off hundreds of goblin eyes. There were so many eyes that I thought of spiders.

I tapped the barrel. Reed-eater filled us each a tankard.

“To Toad Sk’Inn and King Slime-tooth!” said Reed-eater.

To Slime-tooth, the best goblin a goblin could ask for.

We slurped.

Slime-tooth, how are you? How big would your booger be if you were here? We should have defected together. I don’t like feeling hurt, and I hurt missing you. It’s not fun; no, not fun at all.

My heart felt weighted. Missing Slime-tooth was like churning a capstan and dropping a huge and heavy anchor on an infinite chain.

“Oh, that’s good-goodie!” said Reed-eater. “Yes, summon Thrush. Let’s make a trade.”

I poured a libation of dreambon ale and waited but nothing happened.

“Is your Thrush coming?”

“Yeah, he usually comes. I’ll wait a minute and try again.”

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Reed-eater whistled into the crowd. A commotion later, a goblin came down a ladder which was overflowing with goblins. She climbed down with her arm through the legs of two squat stools.

All there was to do was to wait for Thrush and take in all the goblins. For every unknown goblin, there was a goblin dressed in hammered flower canvas. With tuned ears, little bits of conversation could be caught. Tales of giant onions and promotions were shared. Tales of giant jellyfish and bulging garlic were repeated. Tales of promotions and payments were hard to believe. There were also unfamiliar tales. Tales of raids at Kohob Bay were reenacted. Tales of the search for Float-some Barge were confusing. Tales of sinking sloops were aplenty.

And while every snot slurped and exchanged stories, one goblin, in a spacious corner, could not get a word in. Try as she might, Remember-not couldn’t squeeze into groups. She patted backs and nudged elbows and spoke at the backs of heads. Slowly, she seemed to give up. She went from stretching on her tiptoes to standing flat on her feet. She went from trying to pry herself through goblins to wringing her own hands. She went from raising her voice to muttering. Her eyes went from big to small.

But there was only a brief moment to glimpse Remember-not. Any parts in the crowd were soon swamped with goblins and dripping tankards. There were so many feet splashing on spilled liquid, it sounded like rain pummeling the floor.

Wow, was it so wet! The air was humid, what with so many goblins. It was so humid, I felt it like a thick lather in my hair and on the back of my neck. I was getting blasts of hot humidity on my neck. Beads of water dripped down my back. I had to wipe my neck, but the blasts of humidity kept coming! Was it really so humid? And why was it so garlic-y? Then I heard a loud, close gulp. I turned around.

“Gabby! You’re breathing down my neck!”

Her eyes and smile were gigantic. “Sorry, please thank you. Why isn’t Thrush coming?”

“He’ll come, he’ll come.”

“What if he doesn’t? Can we go to him?”

No, no, not with Thrush. …Maybe Hawkin, but only on Home Camp. Even then, it would be hard to go there at the same time as him. I didn’t see him last time when I wrote Slime-tooth a letter and left it for him. Oh!—Slime-tooth! I should write another letter to him. That should fix some feelings.

I whipped out my charcoal utensil and a long scrap of canvas. Holding the utensil like the hilt of a dagger, I scrawled.

Hello Slime-tooth! Kongradulations on King promotion! Wow your the best! I made my fleet bigger and I have lots more gobblins too.

“What is that?” said a goblin.

“A letter to Slime-tooth.”

“What are you saying? What does it say?”

“I’m telling him all about my adventures over sea and on land. All the spit beer we’ve been selling. All the fish we’ve been catching and onions we’ve been growing.

“Is it really for Slime-tooth? The Slime-tooth?”

“Of course!”

“C-can I sign it?”

My gaze bounced around while I did some thinking. Why couldn’t he sign it?

I tried to flip the long canvas over. It was difficult to maneuver, like trying to flip over a ribbon. Gabby held onto the other end like she was the kite, nearly launching through the air when the whole thing finally flipped. The waiting goblin, while biting his tongue, scribbled his name in the middle.

Up in the lower part of a hanging ladder, a goblin said, “Can I sign too?”

Well why not? Why-not-couldn’t-he sign it?

Up I went, dragging the canvas behind me with Gabby following like a crashed and stumbling kite. The goblin signed it upon the back of another snot.

“Could I sign?”

“Me too?”

“I wanna sign!”

Well why not, why not, why not? Slime-tooth loves goblins!

But it was an obstacle course to get to every snot who wanted to sign. Everytime Gabby was yanked from her feet, she giggled madly. And not only did every snot want to sign my letter to Slime-tooth, but they all had questions for me!

“Did we sell the beer yet?” said Soft-song.

“Working on it!”

“I heard you’re hiring,” said Amble-round. “Is that true?”

“Oh yes! I’m hiring. Talk to Pinky-chew! She’s got the crew member contracts.”

“When are you sailing out again?” said Lisp-Crispy. “Where to?”

“Float-some Barge! Week or so from now.”

“Is it true you’ve got giant onions and garlics?” Dog-head said.

“As big as a barrel!”

“Admiral,” said Missing-toes, “I heard that you give promotions out? I was wondering if I could be promoted.”

“You have to be part of the crew for that. I recently promoted Red-eye to Captain. Always promoting! Always hiring; talk to Pinky-chew.”

“Admiral Barnacle-eyes!” blurted Huffing-puffing. “How come your ships don’t need bailing? Second fleet I’ve seen in all my sailing that doesn’t need bailing.”

“I’ve got Boat Builder skills.” And of course I had to use blocks of wood from my inventory to show off my skills. “So you take two planks of wood like this…and you use your Boat Builder skill. A lot of pieces need a butt block, so you use your skills again and make a butt joint. No leaks!”

“Could I hire you to help take out leaks from my ship? I’ll trade you for your labor.”

“Why not? I love being valuable!”

Gabby screamed “Wee!” as we leapt from ladder to ladder. Goblin hands helped pass her along as she clutched the end of the canvas letter like her fingers were clamping teeth.

I had only a moment to wonder if Gabby was helping or heavy because all the questions seemed endless. Up and down ladders we climbed. Under and over goblins we crawled. By the time we ended up back at the bar, the charcoal utensil was half its length, and the back of the canvas letter was one big scrawl of black. Gabby had crumbs of charcoal smeared all over her face. She picked a black booger.

After a few finishing touches, I pulled out a bottle of Home Camp. Just before taking a sip, I felt a tug at my dress. It was Gabby, and her eyes were like big, black, bulky, marble bubbles.

She didn’t have to say that she wanted to come too. I knew what I was to her, like a big sister. I’d never brought another goblin with me to the ethereal plane, but today was a day for all sorts of why-nots! So I poured a sip for Gabby in a huge tankard.

Again, just before we drank, I stopped Gabby. There was another part in the crowd through which I could see Remember-not with her head in her hands alone at a table.

“Go grab Remember-not.”

“Please thank you!” said Gabby, running off.

She climbed the nearest goblin and walked across the crowd, using heads like they were stones across a green lake.

She returned with a beaming Remember-not. We all sipped.

On the endless plane, both goblins gawked in awe. There was no sign of Slime-tooth or Hawkin. The next best thing was to fold up my canvas letter, brush the charcoal dust from my hands, and set the letter on the big stump.

Gabby and Remember-not joined me on the cot, and we watched the atmosphere.

“Is this where you can see great goblins?” said Remember-not. “Why is it called Home Camp? Doesn’t feel like a home.”

“Not like the Galleon,” said Gabby. “The galleon feels like a home. Best home.”

“But this is home,” I said. “It’s as close as I can get to Slime-tooth.”

Remember-not swung her legs. “Is he really a king? That’s so very important of him!”

I supposed he really was a king. But that’s not why he was so important, and I suddenly didn’t think my voice would work.

They didn’t know him like I did. It wasn’t being king that made him important. He was my first family before I left Gloom-glower’s fleet. How strange. How strange it was to have Remember-not and Gabby with me, because they were my family too. Slime-tooth was my Before family, and they were part of my After family, like a 1st and then 2nd family.

And if my Before and After families could be together, I wouldn’t have to be standing in the middle with things feeling farther and further, because that felt like heartbreak.

I think that growing up with a before family, and then making an after family has gotta be one of the toughest things in the world. While I do feel closer to my goblins, I feel further from others. Am I the only one who feels like this?

“Barnacle-eyes…” said Remember-not. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Yes! Please thank you!”

Chapter 102

Toad Sk’Inn Madness

Thrush

“Barnacle-eyes?”

Amid the hundred goblins, I inhaled to capture the scent of Barnacle-eyes. Every one of the goblins carried unique scents, but it was for the absence of sudden fear that I hunted. She would be the goblin most unafraid of me. She had been here, that I could smell. There was also the smell of dreambon beer, ethereal beer, and Hawkin’s goblin spit beer.

For an inn run by goblins, it was still. I could not see the walls or windows for the stacks of goblins. Twinkling eyes, as many as drops in a rain, gleamed.

“Hello.”

Goblins wailed. Screams of terror lit the inn and rang my ears. Like hail, goblins bounced down ladders. In all the bouncing, ladders fell, and goblins began tumbling up and down rungs. Parts in the crowd revealed tables. A goblin skidded beneath one. Panting, they turned to me and our eyes locked. It screamed.

“I am not here to eat you,” I said.

Two goblins took the pole of a horizontal ladder to their necks. They fell, clutching their throats. Their eyes bulged as they looked at me.

Half of the goblins wailed like cats fighting cats. For all their effort to escape, they could not manage through the door. Every other goblin was left running from wall to wall, scampering across ladders, dangling from rungs, and mewling at window panes. The windows were so covered with goblins, not a single one could bash the glass.

A stool was launched at one of the windows. It hit goblins instead. Those that took the brunt of the stool looked at me and their screams rose.

“It’s attacking!” they cried, and they paddled like swimming cats at the window.

A broom handle seemed to appear out of nowhere. It was shoved into my eye, denting my vision. I gazed down its long length and then at its wielder. She beat my head with the broom handle four times. She bared her teeth and belted a battle cry.

An itch upon my ankle drew my attention. There I found a goblin gnawing into my leg. I grabbed them by the nape of their neck and held them aloft.

“You must be hungry. I get hungry too. I understand.”

The broom wielding goblin said, “Out! Out!”

“Where is Barnacle-eyes?”

“You know Barnacle-eyes?”

“She’s my friend. Best goblin I ever met. She said she’d be the best, and as it turns out, she is.” A moment passed. “I’m Thrush.”

Blood curdling screams continued to sound. The goblin I held by the nape of their neck was running in midair.

“Thrush!” said the broom wielder. “Seller of spit beer? I was expecting an ugly goblin, not a monster bear.”

“There’s a few goblins in my World Mix. Some part of thirteen percent.”

“What? Are you selling spit beer or not?” She turned to the crowd. “Calm it! This is the Thrush, friend of Barnacle-eyes. He’s got all the beer!”

“And smoked fish.”

The goblins settled down in waves. The spreading mention of spit beer was evident by the growing number of lips smacking of thirst. Beaten and bruised by the chaos, goblins gathered around in stacks, rows, columns, and piles.

After introducing herself, Reed-eater said, “Come round. Let’s business. Have a seat.”

I downed two barrels of Anti-gravity beer. “I can sit now.” The stool creaked, but it held together. “There we go.”

A commotion began in the deep of my belly. My stomach squirmed like a python. I knew what was coming. It was going to be a big one. The burp shot up my body and forced my jaw wide. The sound was so loud that goblins toppled off ladders like the drip of green candle wax. Two barrels worth of Anti-gravity beer foam erupted from my mouth and gushed out in a silky bubbly flood.

There was so much foam, and it was so high, goblins waved their arms about like they were swimming. Lips began smacking, tongues began slurping, throats began gulping, and goblins began floating.

Reed-eater, whose legs were rising above her head, held onto the bar. “Yuck, not spit beer. Do you really have spit beer? How long have you been selling beer for the Admiral? Not that I’m curious. We do all right with what we’ve got. Probably expensive too. Why am I flying? Why flying?”

[Merchant Options.]

[You have entered negotiations.]

“Wee!” screamed a passing goblin.

[Merchant’s Bribe. Level 1448.]

[Merchant’s Reason. Level 1818.]

[Merchant’s Flirt. Level 212.]

[More…]

Let’s give flirt some attention.

“Going up!” said a levitating goblin.

“Coming down!” said a sinking one.

As the effects began wearing off, Reed-eater slowly returned to her feet in the settling beer foam.

“My, what pointy ears you have,” I said.

“What?” Reed-eater said. “Me? What?”

“Your ears are pointy.”

Reed-eater went wide-eyed. She cocked her head and tried to look at one of her own ears from the corner of her eyes.. With a crunchy fingernail, she began clearing out that ear.

“You were saying?” she said, smiling. Her smile showed teeth in the shape of a shipwreck.

“My, what smile you have.”

“Yes, it’s nice, nice, nice…But tell me about my ears some more.”

“Your ear hair…”

“Yes?”

“Long and coarse.”

“...Yes?”

“...Wiry.”

Reed-eater twirled her ear hair round with a finger. She batted her eyelashes and said, “Yes?”

“Crusty.”

Another goblin fell from on high and landed between us. They got up, looked at me and said, “What about me?”

Reed-eater shoved the goblin away. “That’s enough. Thrush and I are doing business. Out of here!” She then turned back to me. “Where were we?”

“Buying beer.”

[Congratulations!]

[Merchant’s Flirt has reached level 213!]

“You know what? I’d love to buy. Problem is, coin be scarce around here.”

“Harder to get your paws on than gems?”

“Lots of jasper, some jade; otherwise, its fish and frog spawn. And lot’s of earwax candles; and pearls.”

“Let me see an assortment.”

It took as long as it took for Reed-eater to amass everything at the bar. After using my Merchant’s Appraisal skill, I found that earwax candles were worth half a silver! Jade was the most expensive item at 20 silver per ounce followed by jasper at 2 silver per pound. Spawn was negligible. There were pearls too, at ten silver per.

“How many barrels?” I said.

“One full hundred.”

But Reed-eater balked when I suggested that we trade for 40 pearls, 400 lbs. of spawn, 200 candles, 1.5 lbs. of jade, and 200 lbs. of jasper. My aim was to earn 20 silver per barrel.

“Too much! Too much! Your Appraisal skill has got to be wrong!”

My list of Merchant Options came up once more. Since Flirt had worked to begin with, I used it once more. But the first thing to do was to listen, and Reed-eater had said my Appraisal was wrong.

“Is it wrong?” I said. “Let’s try appraising something else. How about I try appraising you?”

Reed-eater took a moment to calculate what I’d said. Then she smiled, cleared her throat, and took a pose.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Hmm…It’s not working.”

“See? Broken.”

“Well, last time I couldn’t appraise something, it was beyond valuable.”

Reed-eater was the first goblin I had ever seen turn red in the face.

“Well, Mr. Thrush. Never have I been so complimented. Me? Valuable? I like you. I do. You have a way about you. A goblin-ish charm about you. …Knock off two hundred pounds of spawn, and you have a deal.”

[Congratulations!]

[Merchant’s Flirt has reached level 214!]

I began dropping barrels of goblin spit beer from my inventory. Weird colors lit the inn and sheened on the gloss of goblin eyeballs. Reed-eater commanded a dozen goblins to cart the barrels off and ordered a dozen goblins to fetch spawn and pearl and jade and jasper and earwax candle. Goblins came to gawk at the impossible colors of the barrels.

“So much spit beer!”

“The Thrush works for Barnacle-eyes.”

“The-Thrush, is Barnacle-eyes still hiring?”

“Would she be able to fix my sloop?”

“Do you think she’d hire Captains too? Is it too late?”

“How long is she staying?”

“Where are you going next? I heard Float-some Barge. Is that true?”

While the questions went on and on, Reed-eater signed on the line of our Merchant’s Contract.

[Quest Complete! Establish 5 new Merchant Contracts.]

[5/5 New Merchant Contracts signed!]

[Reward: Merkul’s Merchant Tent Evolution Stone.]

Candles arrived by the armload. As I began depositing everything into my inventory, I paused to pick up one of the malformed candles. I found myself reflecting for a moment.

Reed-eater had said that coin was scarce. But coin had never been a bother for me. One of my first trades had been for a very similar candle. How far would I have been able to go if I had only traded for coin? How many high fives would I have missed with Boggo? And Hawkin’s beer would have never been distributed so far into the world of goblins and besties.

It had been clear, on the road in my search for cowbell roots, that coin was very important to humans…But with Hawkin…Hawkin knew how valuable an inventory was to me, and how valuable Barnacle-eyes was for just being herself. He traded his beer for me and traded space in his woods for my favorite goblin. Those kinds of trades were my favorite.

My system brought me out of my thoughts.

[Use Merchant Tent Evolution Stone?]

[Y/N?]

Chapter 103

Wherein to Gather

The tall grasses had to be bent to be passed through. Beads of dew on grass heads sparkled under the sun. It rained in short splatters when the grasses were budged. Along the way, spring’s earliest insects scattered away. Spiders were among the first. Little black ones moved like trickling water over the marsh grounds. The midges did not come near; they hovered in clouds. Birds squawked and leapt from the grass with startling suddenness.

Far enough through the grasses there was a clearing; and goblins that toiled there, digging for mud-loving creatures, scattered. They were quick to dive through the grasses. The scent of fear was like a fishing line hooked upon each goblin. But with Satiation at 93%, there was no need to chase goblins down for a quick snack. Especially not with an inventory full of dreambons and smoked fish, however alluring the scent of fear was.

With all creatures gone from the clearing, whether by hide or by flight, the light of the sun was perfect to inspect the evolution stone with. Rolling it from paw to paw, it seemed like it could have come from a split crystal ball. One side was rounded, and the other was like rough kyanite.

[Use Merchant’s Tent Evolution Stone?]

[Y/N?]

Yes!

The stone melted like warmed ice. It glowed like heated white glass. Like the last blink of an old star, the light vanished.

Slung upon the ground, the Merchant’s Tent backpack changed. It wriggled like a hatching egg. Suddenly there were grommets punched into the burlap. Leather thong cords snaked out and terminated in wooden toggles. The straps became adjustable with gliding buckles. And after the transformation, on inspection, there was more space within, and it was heavier.

…Not much of an evolution.

The backpack required more mana than usual to open. Unlike the tent, the burlap kept unfolding, kept unrolling. Somewhere in the seemingly infinite folds there were sapling thick poles. As if a great wind suddenly billowed, long sections of burlap suddenly rose up to form a near circular wall.The poles sank into the ground to stabilize the walls. The backpack continued to unfold over the wall as if crossing a glass ceiling until the whole structure was covered. The entrance flaps were the last to unroll, and they closed over the entryway like closing curtains.

[Congratulations! Your Merchant’s Tent has evolved into a Merchant’s Yurt!]

On entering, the yurt smelled of oak tar and freshly spun fibers. It was quite the surprise to find furniture inside! There were chests, cushioned seats around a low table, a bed of cushions, and a chest of drawers.

[Merchant’s Essential Chest of Drawers acquired!]

[Both lock and key will only appear in your inventory.]

There were three drawers with symbols etched onto the wood face of each one: music notes on the top drawer, a flame beside a snowflake on the middle drawer, sun and spokes on the bottom drawer.

Each drawer slid out with ease and contained only a short letter.

Drawer of Ambience.

Place sheet music within for ambient music. Remove sheet music to cease ambient music, or leave drawer ajar to pause ambient music. Sheet music will not be swallowed.

Drawer of Comfort.

Place coals, ice, or temperature radiating item within to affect ambient temperature. All items will be swallowed. Merchant’s Essential Chest of Drawers will not burn, nor be hot or cold to touch, nor take damage from swallowed items.

Drawer of Light.

Place anything that emits light to affect lighting. Items will be swallowed.

With the front flaps of the yurt closed, it needed light. The burlap was thick, thickest on the ceiling. Though the day offered only a glimpse of the coming spring, it was still cold. It was quite quiet.

The next thing to explore were the cushions. But which one? They all looked comfortable, like one of Hawkin’s folded wool blankets he had offered me many times to sleep on in his cabin. Hmm… which one to try? The collection that made a bed, or the singular ones around the table?

Hawkin’s wool blanket had been easier to choose because it was the only one, and he had always slept in his cot. All that was missing were friends to occupy each cushion. Only then would it be easier to pick that one which was left. Yes, there were two for Boggo, two for Hawkin, a few for sprawling Barnacle-eyes…

With enough space for friends, it was huge. Yes, what a huge yurt! But why did it seem bigger than Hiccup’s mansion, more comfortable than Hawkin’s cabin, cozier than Bestie tunnels, and homey like Barnacle-eyes’ galleon?

In all my long life…never has there been such a home to offer for friends. Yes, it was meant to trade and barter within; but surely it didn’t take with such gargantuan eyes to see that it was a perfect place for gathering friends. That was its value.

[Merchant’s Yurt. Level 1.]

[11/12 Furnishing.]

[1 more furniture piece may be added to Merchant’s tent without affecting backpack weight.]

[Level up Merchant’s Yurt to unlock amenities and room for more furnishing.]

[Furniture actions do not cease when backpack is folded.]

What a perfect place for the smoker! Yes, right there at the back. It should be a centerpiece like a smoke-breathing shrine. And I shall feed it daily sacrifices!

The sound of a hungry, falling Satiation rumbled through the yurt. It was followed with a burp that displaced the cushions and rattled drawers and chest latches.

…Speaking of smoked fish…

Chapter 104

Satiation 100%

The desire to share the yurt with a good friend could not be ignored. So after fetching them, a yellow ball of shiny fur and a blue ball of poofy blue fur scampered around.

Boggo’s eyes were huge. “When did your tent get so big?”

And Ella’s gaze darted around like a bird’s. “May we look around?”

It was Boggo who answered, “Of course! Be my guest.”

“Roam, little friends.”

Boggo wrung his hands as he explored. “I feel like I don’t see you anymore, Thrush.”

“Then come look at me.”

“We don’t spend time together anymore. I miss you.”

I chugged another barrel of Anti-gravity ale from among the dozens left. It was creamy when it rushed down over fang and tongue. What lingered was close to the aroma of fennel. But all that was enough to leap up to the rafters of the yurt. Boggo, whose waterskin got stuck between two poles, could not wiggle himself free. Lifted free by the nape of his neck, he paddled the air until his little feet were gently set back on the ground.

“I have lots of time, little Boggo. Let’s spend it. In exchange we can make memories. A fair trade.”

“Whew! This place is so big! Not like an aquifer.”

“Nor like a tent.”

Ella’s voice sounded muffled. “There’s nothing in here!”

The drawers of my Merchant’s Chest of Drawers rattled in place.

Wood over wood, the music drawer easily slid open. Ella wasn’t within.

“Not yet,” I said. “But it’s for music…”

And wood over wood, the divided drawer for heat and cold easily slid open. Ella wasn’t within.

“...and comfort and heat and shade…”

At last, wood over wood, the drawer of light easily slid open. Yet Ella wasn’t within!

“...and light.”

Where did the little bestie go? Her yellow scent radiated from the drawers. Upon inspection, after hefting the whole thing up, she couldn’t be found beneath or behind.

Ella’s muffled voice still came from the chest of drawers. “Music?”

Wood over wood, the music drawer easily slid open, and at last, there she was! She didn’t seem to mind being picked up beneath her armpits and set on the ground.

“I must buy sheet music to play some.”

Boggo scampered beneath my legs and sped across the yurt. “How do you like Lurk-murky? Pretty pretty wet.”

“With you and Barnacle-eyes, I like it very much. I will remember here always.”

“It’s so watery! Sheesh, it’s so watery! Do you think—” Boggo’s voice sounded suddenly defeated.

A lump in the gathered cushions bounced. Come to find out, they were quite heavy. Beneath was Boggo. He took a deep breath once the cushion was lifted off of him.

“Ah! Thank you.” He coughed and held his rib. “Too heavy! Comfortable, but feels like a cave-in.”

“Do I think what?”

Then Ella sounded like she was struggling. “Hnh! Hnhh!”

Over on the other side of the yurt, she was stuck between a pole and the canvas wall. She had to be lifted by the nape and then pulled up and squeezed out.

She smiled shyly. “Thank you, sir Thrush. …Do you think there are any besties here? I feel like they should be everywhere. But what with all the water around here…”

My giant eyes followed Ella as she scampered across the yurt. “Underground you mean?”

Following the slam of a chest lid and the jingle of a chest’s latch, Boggo’s voice came muffled. “Where else?”

The chest began to shake, then banging emitted through the wood, then the lid began to rattle.

“Wait a moment, little Boggo. The latch needs to be lifted. There you go.”

Boggo exploded from the chest. He swung over the side and fell to his butt.

He brushed himself off and then looked at me. “So? Are there besties? Do you know? C’mon Thrush, you have to know!”

“I’ll use my nose.”

Ella’s voice was suddenly disembodied and muffled at the same time. It moved across the yurt. “What if they’re underwater?”

Wet loose earth suddenly surged in a lump through the flattened grass. The lump of earth, leaving a trail, shot across the ground to the other side of the yurt where it stopped with a bang at the base of a pole. The soil there tasted gritty, like sand, and aromatic like spent tea leaves. But it only took a few pawfuls and mouthfuls until Ella could be exhumed by the nape from her burrow.

“Let’s find out if there are besties here.”

Boggo scrambled over. “Wait! Before you do, let’s barter!”

“Barter. Hmm. What would you like to barter?”

“Or maybe trade. In exchange for some time with you, we’ll play the game Ella and I have been working on.”

∞

Boggo and Ella had laid out their board game. And being so deep into the long campaign, rough carved figurines had amassed. Dice lay scattered. Boggo and Ella towered over the game pieces and awaited my next course of action.

But with a grumbling belly, things were already decided. “I eat it!”

Boggo picked up the carved game piece of a pie which was to the imagination a rhubarb pie. And after all the descriptions of baked rhubarb aroma and its flaky crust and its buttery air, it was a question of whether the rising steam was real. Fresh out of the oven? Oh, it sounded fresh. Yet Boggo and Ella stared agape at me.

Boggo gulped. “...But this is why you ventured into the Borakus jungle!”

Ella pointed at the delicious wooden token. “...To retrieve Ms. Icci Acca’s rhubarb pie!”

That no longer mattered. “Does it taste delicious? How delicious does it taste? Do I roll for that too?”

What the besties then did was panic. They rolled out their rough-bound rule book and scoured the pages. Both balls of fur had to step on the corners of each curl-prone page.

Ella smacked the page like she’d seen a mosquito. “Here it is!”

Boggo fetched a d12. “Roll this.”

The fastest thing to learn in their game was that rolling a 1 was unfortunate.

Ella stifled a laugh and clucked her tongue. “Well Thrush, you have no idea how it tastes.”

“Why not?”

“Because you bit your tongue.” She rolled a d6. “You bit your tongue five times. Never got to taste the pie.”

Boggo rolled a d4. “And you bit your cheek one time.”

“Now what do I do?”

“That’s for you to decide; continue exploring the jungle, return to the yellow-footed forest and explain yourself to Ms. Icci Acca…”

“And she’s the strawberry wearing the apron, and she has a straw hat on.”

Ella beamed. “The one who sent you on this quest.”

“Then I return to her garden and explain myself.”

The jungle turned out to be just as mysterious delving out of it as it was delving into it. Roll after roll, scenario after scenario, Boggo and Ella helped to move the orange character piece across the board. It was a simple character piece, an orange with piranha teeth.

The biting orange eventually rolled all the way back to the hamlet where Ms. Icci Acca lived. The strawberry’s garden was twice the size of Hawkin’s garden, and her cottage was said to be made of curved sticks and straw.

Ella rolled the chomping orange up to the gate of the garden fence. “It’s locked!”

“Then I eat it!”

With a good shake and a gentle release, the d20 landed on 15.

Boggo took a moment to ponder. “It tastes like wood.”

Ella moved the apron clad strawberry onto the board. “‘What’s all this ruckus’ says Ms. Icci Acca.”

Boggo seemed taken back at Ella’s strong tone. “Oh, you’re in trouble now, Thrush! She’s angry!”

Ella moved the strawberry figurine closer to the smiling orange. “Ms. Icci Acca is so angry, she is just red in the face!”

“I eat her!”

Boggo and Ella conferred in whispers. Their eyes were wide.

Ella wrapped her little hands around the strawberry, as if to protect Ms. Icci Acca. “Are you sure?”

“She’s a strawberry, and I’m hungry. I eat her!”

Once again, the d20 went tumbling across the board. It showed a 4.

Boggo gulped and glanced at Ella. “Your first bite misses.”

Ella put the strawberry inside the cottage. “‘Help! Vegetables! Fruits! Help!’ shouts Ms. Icci Acca.”

Wth a surge of excitement, Boggo hurled scatter dice onto the board. Arrows pointed everywhere.

Boggo grabbed a fistful of wooden potatoes. “Are you ready, Thrush?”

Where the arrows pointed, potatoes turned themselves upside down.

“I eat them!”

The besties placed an assortment of figurines on the board. The leaks were first, and they looked down at the orange.

“I eat them!”

Peppers glared at the grinning orange.

“I eat them!”

Eggplants swooped in from the shadows.

“I eat them! Now where is that strawberry?”

∞

With all the game pieces carefully put away, beer foamed from one big tankard and two little glasses. Dreambons lay scattered among the cushions. Smoked fish lay in heaps upon the low table. Boggo’s belly was getting rounder and rounder.

He picked up a dreambon. “What a game!”

Ella took half of the dreambon he broke. “We need to put penalties for eating too much. …Stomach ache, poison, dulled senses…”

Boggo moved onto his third dreambon. “Last time I ate too many dreambons, I ended up at sea. Talk about a penalty.”

As Boggo and Ella chatted back and forth, I began to consider my friends deeply.

Yes, whatever the purpose of the yurt, I would mean for it to be shared with friends. It was my house. And a house isn’t too bad of a place for a home. No matter its shape, or whether it floats. Ah, what a feeling, the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. A deep purr rumbled at my core.

The besties’ conversation had moved to the carved figurines they had both been working hard on.

“You two have carved a tremendous amount.”

Boggo broke a dreambon over his belly. “Lots of fish and whale and monster teeth are easy to carve before they get too dry. These are the last of the wood pieces.”

Ella expertly picked the bones from a slab of smoked fish. “To tell the truth, the crow’s nest is so full we barely have room for ourselves.”

“And Barnacle-eyes has been hiring a lot of goblins. A lot, Thrush! And some of the goblins think our game pieces are rewards to be trickled down. And there’s a lot of taking and stealing among goblins.”

“Why don’t you store your things in one of the chests in my yurt? They’ll be safe and forever yours.”

Boggo drank the juice from an open half of a dreambon and wiped his mouth. “What if we need something?”

“Well, I miss you too little bestie. I’ll make time to be available, and I’ll come see you much more often.”

“Can I still summon you?”

“Seeing you will have priority.”

Ella ripped fish skin with her teeth. “And will you stay? Not just for a short visit? Stay for a game or two?”

“For as long as we want.”

The besties were relaxed, full, and happy. Their soothed heart beats were easy to hear. Between themselves, they eagerly agreed to move their game pieces into the chests in my yurt. They began piling everything in.

It was then that I noticed how gentle Ella was with Boggo. She gave him his time. They laughed together, and Boggo returned her gentleness. The pear shaped creatures cared for each other.

My gaze fell, not to the ground, but through all things. And as such an ancient nightream, I decided that I was wrong. For a creature like me, it wasn’t making space for a home that was the best feeling I ever had.

It was the laughing and tumbling besties before me. It was Ella’s care for Boggo; yes, his for hers too…but it was her gentleness that stirred some knowing thing within me.

Boggo, my little blue best friend. I care about you. And knowing that someone cares for you and loves you…

Ah, what was this feeling? There was something about knowing that my best friend was safe and in good hands. There was something about seeing someone I care for be cared for by someone they love. That was it. That was the best feeling I ever had, and I would trade a place to put a home anyday for that. As someone who will outlive you, Boggo, I wish exactly all this for you and for her too.

Without a doubt, our friendship has been the most nourishing thing I’ve ever experienced.

Chapter 105

Let’s Switch

Boggo

Whether we preferred to sleep while sailing or to sleep while anchored was a tough one. Anchored at Lurk-murky port meant that the galleon didn’t heave or roll as much. But it also meant a lot more commotion on deck every day.

In the early mornings, just before the nesting birds sang themselves awake, Ella and I opened the door and hatches. When we chirped good morning and chittered sweet things to each other, the sound of our voices seemed to almost echo in the newly emptied crow’s nest. There was so much space now thanks to best pal Thrush. What a guy, that guy.

The murky air filled my lungs. “Ah! What a salty morning!”

“Almost warm enough to feel like spring.”

When I poked my snout out into the sunlight, birds leapt from the crow’s nest roof. Their flapping wings startled me, and I fell back into the bedding of our fur. Ella giggled.

I rolled onto my belly. “How did you sleep, oh love of my life, best of the best, absolute favorite?”

She—wild like a weasel—tackled me. We rolled and rolled and rolled in the newly clear space. We giggled and cooed and lay in the sunlight that had stepped in. And as we stared into each other’s eyes, a strong breeze whistled up the center of the mast in the tunnel we maintained. It also carried the green and yellow scent of goblins from its entrance below deck.

“Can you believe it?” said Ella. “More besties!”

“I trust Thrush. If he says he can smell them, they’ve gotta be here. I can’t believe how everywhere they are.”

“But he said he smelled them up high in the bamboo tops.”

I lay my snout across Ella’s belly and gazed at the tunnel of the mast while the sun warmed my blue fur. It was a tunnel that we had clambered up and down thousands of times. On clear days at sea when the deck hatch was left open, it brought in fresh air. But there were eerie moments too when the cackling and grackle-voices of goblins echoed up. And one too many times we forever lost dice down the tunnel.

My eyes went half sail as Ella pet the bridge of my snout. From the change of pattern of her pets, I could tell whether she was thinking quickly or slowly.

She stopped. “Let’s go on an adventure. The weather is so nice!”

“You want to find those besties, don’t you?”

“Do you?”

I lifted my snout from her belly like I was a waking dragon from his pile of sun-touched, gleaming, yellow treasure. My gaze fell to the active goblins below who stomped about—some of them in big black boots. My gaze rose to the marsh, and my imagination went wild filling the grasses with danger. In the distance there were humongous white clouds piled like infinite beer foam. …Oh boy, was it a beautiful day! Yet that didn’t mean danger didn’t lurk in the tall bamboo that rose from marsh edges where the ground lay beneath deep water.

Like the sudden blaring of seagulls, I heard Barnacle-eyes’ and Gabby’s voices on deck. The Admiral and a trail of following goblins carried chests and burlap sacks up from below deck. They stacked everything high against the starboard taffrail.

If we did go searching for besties…

“I think we’re going to need some help.”

∞

The goblins did not stop carting chests and sacks out from Barnacle-eyes’ forecastle. It seemed that they brought on deck everything they could get their hands on. Goblins gathered to watch as chests were piled high, and sacks were slumped in what seemed to me like a rugged burlap mountain. The wind and the rolling of the sloop made the piles seem to come alive as they tipped and creaked and seemed too close to falling overboard.

From the shroud netting which draped like a skirt around the main mast, Ella and I watched the commotion.

At last when all the chests had been piled scarily high, Barnacle-eyes cleared her throat and performed a pirouette of delight.

“All right, snots! We’ve got some new crewmates! That means it's promotion time!”

The shroud netting bounced like a spider’s web in the wind as goblins leapt upon it. They fit their butts into the holes of the netting where giant vines had crept through over the months. Every one of them were out of their mind excited.

One by one, goblin names were called. Those that scampered over to Barnacle-eyes were given new hammered flower dresses and backpacks. Other rewards were handed out. Coin clinked every now and then.

The Admiral clapped her hands. “Snipper-snap, come forward!”

Gabby was ever there. “Please thank you!”

Ella ushered me into the white world of the inside of a giant trumpet flower. “Hammer?”

I rummaged. “Check.”

She bit her lip and gave what I thought was a dubious look at the hammer handle that poked from my bag. “Are you sure you want to bring that?

“It might be heavy and unwieldy, but it makes me feel just a little bit safer. And I’ll take all of those feelings I can!”

The Admiral’s sea-salty voice rose again. “Long-spit, come right up!”

“Please thank you.”

Ella nudged me. “Boots and booties?”

“Check. Cloaks?”

“Check. Who’s wearing the backpack, and who’s slinging the waterskin?”

Barnacle-eyes’ voice pierced the sky like the call of a swooping seagull. “Pretty-nails!”

Although promotions were truly an exciting event aboard the galleon, I had to focus. “I’ll take the warm-warm beer and the backpack.”

“All right, I’ll take the dreambon ale. …Dreambon ale?”

“Check. And the Anti-gravity ale?”

“Anti-gravity, check. Looks like we’re armed and ready, my dear Boggo.”

“Cloaks!”

“Yes, check!”

Barnacle-eyes sang like a falling bell. “Wise-eye! Come get promotion.”

“Please thank you!”

Ella pecked my furry cheek. “Let’s see if we can make things happen!”

She slid down the long petal of the flower and began descending the shroud.

“Right now?” I wrung my hands. Suddenly our adventure seemed so soon! My toes wrung themselves too.

But Ella was already halfway down the shroud, and goblins were shouting about the yellow sloop bestie! Then they began shouting about the blue bestie that tumbled down the shroud while bouncing from belly to butt to back to chin to belly.

A single misstep had me rolling down the shroud, and I could only help myself by saying, “Excuse me; pardon me; squeeze right by; your foot—lift your foot; climb right over you; oop; if everyone could…please let me through!”

I landed upon the deck and winced from the sting in my rib. With a gasp, I rose to my feet and skittered over to Ella and Barnacle-eyes who chatted before the wall of wavering chests. Gee, one strong wind would knock those into the water…

It seemed as though a whole conversation had been had between the goblin and my bestie while I had been racing to catch up.

Barnacle-eyes was holding her chin and nodding. “You make some great points; perfectly reasonable.” She promptly rode high at the top of a green ladder and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Pinky-chew, Spickle-spack! Calling my Commodores!”

Gabby’s voice always echoed after.

Pinky-chew arrived a moment later, bursting through the throng. There was an air about her, an actual air—a twisting breeze. her nose was twitching, and she was sniffling. Spickle-spack’s boots slapped the deck as he bolted between goblins.

Barnacle-eyes gestured to the teetering tower of chests and burlap sacks. “Handle promotions.” She handed them an illegible list on an unraveling scroll of canvas. “I’ll be right back!”

As if already agreed upon, Ella and Barnacle-eyes bolted toward the bow.

Oh boy, swinging over the heads of goblins was a lot easier than scurrying between their legs. And some of them wore big black boots that stomped the deck with sharp wet slaps. …Boots made me nervous…

By the best of the blue, it was incredible how fast Ella and the Admiral were…Or perhaps it was rather incredible how slow I was.

“Out of the way! C’mon! Let me through! Move, please! Move, move!”

Running beneath legs and bumping from green shin to green-ish shin was like tumbling from the top of a tree to its bottom. When I slipped over the shiny black leather of a boot, like I had to hurdle over a giant black beetle, my heart raced.

Please don’t kick me, please don’t kick me!

Barnacle-eyes and Ella were starboard near the prow, with the Admiral on her knees before a shifting pile of wood. The goblin placed a butt block between two boards at the stern of a little boat. The wood sounded like it was stretching.

Barnacle-eyes stood, clapped, and beamed down at Ella. “I hereto-hereby-wherewith promote you to Captain of this Craft. Congratulations, bestie Ella!”

Ella stomped one little black boot. “Aye aye, Admiral!”

“I hereby-wherein-overhere promote Stumble-not as Midshipman under Captain Ella.”

A sudden sneeze, loud as the smack of a whale tail on the sea blasted through the galleon. All the plants trembled. A gargantuan onion popped out of its raised bed. A sneeze of that size could only have come from Pinky-chew. A great clamor rose from down the dock. Chests and sacks were suddenly floating out at sea. Barnacle-eyes bolted off in a hurry.

Ella paid the clamor no mind; instead, she gathered a handful of goblins together under her new command. “Listen up snots! Let’s form a green ladder.”

The roundest goblin I had ever seen formed the first rung. Ella clambered up the big goblin and climbed to the very top.

She gave her little voice as much power as she could. “Stumble-not! Report for duty!”

The round goblin, seemingly unburdened by the green tower he carried, tilted his head up. “Present, Captain!”

If ever there was any bestie meant to be Captain, it was Ella. She masterfully requested Stumble-not’s help in putting the Craft in the water. Following Ella’s lead, I scaled the hull and leapt into the Craft. Paddling out, we turned as one to gaze at Stumble-not at the taffrail. He waved ferociously at us.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” he shouted.

“Aye aye, Midshipman!” Ella hollered.

“I’ll wait right here, Captain! No matter what!”

The Craft was the size of our crow’s nest. Ella paddled starboard, and I paddled port side. The sound of our oars dipping in the water offered a relaxing trickle. Ella veered our Craft toward the marsh. White clouds in the far distance hugged the horizon. They were magnificent and bulbous and cotton-thick.

We peered at the distant marsh for any sign of besties. Ah, it was such a gorgeous day. And with Ella near the prow, her fur gleamed like she was a fluffy ball of sunlight. She paddled tirelessly. Wow, what a bestie! If I could just ignore the stitch in my rib, I could match her strength and speed…But she wouldn’t be too mad if I took a moment to take a break would she? She must have felt the absence of my paddling, because she looked back and smiled.

“Take the break you need.”

I held my rib and caught my breath as I turned my gaze from open water to goblins fetching floating chests and then to the marsh ahead of us. And the water was so placid and quiet; perfect for thinking.

I cleared my throat. “How does it feel, Captain?”

“You know, Boggo, I never thought I’d work with goblins, not in a thousand bestie generations.”

“I’m your first crew member!”

“How are you feeling? Nervous? Scared?”

“My leg is shaking.”

The gunwale was much, much, much-much closer to the water than the galleon. Peering over the capping was nerve-racking. I’d seen so many creatures and monsters since leaving the blue besties. They could be lurking!

I sank back into the middle of the Craft by the stern. The sound of my oar dipping into the water joined Ella’s once more. The Craft picked up speed. The marsh seemed to be coming to us. Wow, what an adventure. And with Ella as Captain! Oh, I bet she was having a blast. And with it being a nice day too. There were barely any waves. Yes, a calm day, once again perfect for thinking.

“Ella?”

“Yes, crewmate?” She giggled. “Best mate?”

“Since it’s so nice out, and we’re close to the marsh, and we know there are besties around, and we have a dreambon ale, and I feel safe with you, do you think I could try being Captain for an hour? I’ll give it right back. I just want to see how it feels.”

Ella pulled her oar in and leaned it against the thwart between us. She scampered over, and the Craft jiggled. My stomach flipped, and my heart beat hard.

She gave me a smooch on my snout. “All right, Captain Boggo, let’s switch.”

Chapter 106

Boggo the Captain

Ella shouted in panic. “Bail! Bail!”

The sky was nearly the color of charcoal. Waves reared from the sea in slapping, chopping chaos. Rain plummeted in fat drops. The sea screamed and hissed from the rain. Those fat drops beat my ears flat and beat my snout down. Nothing could be seen through the rain, but we had made it to the marsh. Bamboo branches and leaves came whipping at us from the storm. A bamboo stalk whacked the Craft and dented the gunwale. The dent was deep enough to hold the handle of an oar.

I dropped my oar. I hunkered down like a wet cat and hunched against the rain.

“You can do it, Boggo! Bail!”

It wasn’t just me that was in trouble. Ella…Trembling fiercely, I gripped the oar and battled the sea. We had to paddle. What was there to bail with? We needed to stay close to the bamboo. And every so often when a stormy gust blew the rain, I caught glimpses of bamboo above deep water. Ella bailed, and I paddled, and Ella bailed, and I searched for safety in the bamboo.

The Craft took a hit. Had we hit land? I looked starboard and peered under the cover of my paw. The Craft took another hit. There in the water was a floating chest! There were more chests all around us. And there were great, big, round luminous orbs in the water too. Gigantic onions and gigantic garlic! Our Craft was barely afloat amid what seemed like wreckage.

Ella continued splashing water with her little bestie paws. “Which way? Can you see the fleet?”

I couldn’t answer. I could barely breathe! The Craft received a massive hit that nearly rolled us sideways. Then we began bumping into everything all at once. The corners of Barnacle-eyes’ loot chests stabbed at the hull. Chest latches scraped against the wood. Chest lids banged at the prow and cracked.

Then my worst fears came to life. Those chests came beating and ramming and knocking so hard against the Craft that they opened. Latches swung open and lids flung out.

No…No…No!

Big black boots floated out of those chests. They came kicking and stomping at the Craft and tumbling along the hull. I looked at Ella for help. We needed to get away from the boots! But she was bringing one aboard, fishing it out by the laces.

Ella was up to her waist in water. She scooped up water with the boot and looked at me with the widest eyes. “Bail!” With her boot, she began bailing.

I trembled so much that my oar fell from my paws. It floated in the water that the Craft had taken on. There was no doubt about it, I had to help bail. But bailing with paws was useless.

The floating boots leapt with the waves. They surfed at the Craft as black as the backs of killer whales. My attempt to grab one was thwarted when it lunged at me, and I fell back in fear, protecting my ribs.

We sailed right into an onion. It revolved in the water along the gunwale. As it turned, a shark bite was revealed. Around the luminous vegetable, shark fins spiked the waves, making the sea seem like it had grown thorns.

Ella dumped another boot full of water overboard. “The dreambon ale!”

I fetched the slippery bottle of dreambon ale. With the craft pitching and heaving, with chests and onions bumping into us, and with boots attacking me, I did my best to hold onto that bottle.

But I fumbled it overboard. It rolled in the waves and clinked against shark fins.

I reached out as the colors of the bottle dimmed behind the curtains of rain. “Thrush! Thrush!”

Ella and I looked at each other for a long moment while the Craft heaved up a wave. Rain beat our ears flat. The wind made us squint. Water dripped from Ella’s bailing boot. Chaos surrounded us. The noise of the rain was deafening.

“...I don’t want to be Captain anymore.”

Something passed over Ella’s eyes. I knew my bestie, and I recognized the love and understanding in her gaze just then.

She had nearly bailed out the Craft completely. After throwing her bailing boot down she raced over the thwarts and rummaged through our things.

She took a deep breath. “I need you to drink this.” And she handed me the Anti-gravity ale. “Drink this, and hold onto tight to the thwart.”

“Oh no! Not again! I can’t!”

“I need you to start drinking and hold on.”

The uncorked bottle was thrust into my arms. I held it with all my might while my snout chased the lip of the trembling bottle. I drank and I drank. While shark fins slipped through the water, and the Craft crashed into debris, and Ella shooed the water, foam dribbled between my canines.

I began floating, and I scrambled for the closest thwart. I wrapped my limbs and tail around it. With every little burp, the Craft began rising from the water. The thwart pressed against my arms and legs until I could feel it pinch my skin against my bones. It was too painful to keep hold.

“I’m slipping! Don’t leave me!”

“Hold on! You have to hold on!”

“I can’t! Thrush!”

Ella stopped bailing to gaze at the boot in her paws. Her gaze rose, and she looked at me like she’d never been so determined.

“E-Ella?”

She pounced upon the boot like a feral cat and dragged the laces from the eyelets. She held the freed laces before her and looked at me with a gaze that went soft. She came at me with those laces.

“Ella, no!”

“I love you, Boggo!”

She strapped me to the thwart, and then she brought the bottle of Anti-gravity to my snout. “Drink! Little sips!”

I took breaths like I was barely treading water between sips. Burp after burp, the Craft began lifting out of the water. It rose at an angle, as though hooked upon fishing line.

“Keep drinking, Boggo!”

Chapter 107

Me?

My head was throbbing like one of Thrush’s eyes. I could hear my blood pump and rush in my skull. When I coughed, phlegm escaped my lungs. There was a faint glow in the absolute darkness which I could barely perceive through the squint of my eyes. It was an eerie glow that seemed to come from every single grain of air. With a groan, I rolled over.

Ella’s paw landed soft on my back. “How are you feeling?” Where she ran her paw, water trickled off my fur. We were soaked.

“We made it? What happened?”

Thrush’s sudden voice scared me so bad, my tail went poofy. “Barnacle-eyes’ hoard was blown overboard. Pinky-chew went to fetch it all and to look for missing goblins. She found a dreambon ale among the chests at sea. Barnacle-eyes knew it wasn’t hers. Stumble-not told her you set sail. She summoned me to help.”

Ella fell onto me with a desperate hug. “Oh, Boggo! It was so scary!”

After a few blinks, I could just make out Thrush’s enormous eyes. They were the only thing of him I could see, and they bobbed when he spoke. “It makes me smile to see you two safe. Thank you for surviving the storm. You—”

I grunted as I rose to my knees. “—I know, I know…be more careful next time…”

Here comes the scolding, just like the elder blue besties used to give me. I already felt so, so bad. Scoldings only made me feel worse! I had been the Captain, and I had to let Ella down. Why me? Why did I have to keep sailing with those big huge clouds on the horizon? I should have known they were menacing and that they moved quickly. Of all the besties I let down, why did it have to be Ella and Thrush? If something were to have happened to Ella…because of me...

Stupid Boggo! Oh, my heart hurt worse than my pounding headache!

Ella rubbed my back. She scurried up to Thrush and spoke up at his seemingly floating eyes. “You should have seen us! Boggo was Captain when the rain and wind and sea started crashing! The waves got higher and higher, and they splashed into the Craft.” With her paws, and with a dance, Ella painted the picture. “There was water everywhere. We jumped into action! No hesitation! When it was time to bail and paddle, I bailed while Boggo paddled! He was right there with me. Believe me, I was with the right bestie at the worst time!”

Of all the besties? All of them? You think I was the right one to be with?

“Then we couldn’t see anything! Then there were onions and garlics and vines and leaves and lots of chests and everything attacked us! We banged into everything. Thrush, it was so scary! I lost my footing, but guess who never lost their footing! Boggo paddled with all he was worth! Not twice did he falter. He seemed so determined that I felt I had to work twice as hard to match him! His strength was my strength.”

Me? You drew strength from me? Me?

“Then the chests opened and all the promotion boots came at us. It was a good thing because they were perfect for bailing with.”

Here it comes…That was when I had failed us…

“You can imagine how Boggo feels about boots. He even faced off with one, and it was a slippery one! My Boggo never backed down—no sir! Even when the sharks came at us! No other bestie I know would have kept a straight sense of what we needed to do! It was Boggo who leapt for the dreambon ale! He even reached over the frenzy of sharks, over all their fins when we lost the bottle. He-he reached out like this—” And Ella stretched on tiptoe, bit her lip, and reached as far as she could. “But, Thrush? Our bravest moment had yet to happen! Boggo sacrificed himself. He passed the title of Captain back to me, just like he said he would. What other bestie would have trusted someone else to strap them to the thwarts? Do you know how brave you have to be to trust someone with your life? To step down when it was time to step down? No, sir, I have never met someone braver than my Boggo. Oh, golly, just the best! He let me tie him down with shoelaces! Shoelaces, Thrush! The belt of his sworn enemy! What other bestie would have drank a whole waterskin of Anti-gravity ale to save their crew? …I tell you, Thrush, if you ever find yourself in trouble, you would be lucky to have Boggo by your side.”

Ella. Is this how you see me?

Ah, but listening to Ella say all these things…It defied everything I’ve ever been told, everything I’ve ever been scolded about, all the things blue besties and the elders have yelled at me for throughout the centuries. Was this it? Did I officially obtain some color of bravery in my fur? Had bravery become even a small part of me? Like a feeling? Or a scar? Something deep that can stay with me?

As Ella further evolved as the best storyteller there ever was, I found myself smiling. That was me in her story! Me! Gee, the way she put it, I did sound a little bit brave. How odd it was to hear something heroic about…me.

Oh boy, I wanted to stand up as tall as I could, and floof my fur, and puff my chest, and say, “You see what Boggo can do when it counts? Everyone everywhere was wrong about Boggo!”

The light of the…Where the heck were we?…Well, the eerie glow of the space dimmed by half when Thrush blinked his massive eyes. It took seconds for his blink to finish.

When he spoke, the airy glow fell on his fangs. “I think we should celebrate with smoked fish and dreambons.”

Oh man, oh man! As it turned out, we were in Thrush’s yurt. The glow was coming from an angler fish he had committed to his Merchant's Chest of Drawers.

Happiness was soon spread out upon the table. Ella and I were both the size of Thrush’s paws, and the four of us blasted through smoked fish and dreambons while Thrush’s eyes and reappearing fangs seemed to hover above.

Chapter 108

The Thing About Besties

What a pal Thrush was to help us find the Craft. It had been wedged between bamboo which he had snapped apart. The bamboo had opened with long, splitting, deafening cracks.

Now, Ella and I rowed in quiet waters once again. Our oars dipped into the water, and water trickled over the blade and handle. We rowed deeper into the marsh. It was really, really humid. It was so humid, my fur felt thicker and heavier. A slight sea wind pushed small clouds across the surface of marsh waters. When I craned my neck, I could see the fleet through the stripes of bamboo.

Ella’s oar scraped against the gunwale as she pulled it in. “There it is!”

I craned my neck all the way back around to look over her shoulder. Yes! There it was, the boulders which together resembled a goblin skull. They looked as big as a sloop from our distance. Bamboo stood all around the skull, even through an eye socket.

I couldn’t contain my excitement. “That must be them! Thrush said he could smell them around here!…But it’s all water…”

Our oars splashed into the marsh. We paddled closer, but not without me feeling a stitch in my side. The rustling of bamboo leaves and the creaking of bamboo stalks became louder as we rowed closer. Less of the sun fell on us. Now we alternated which sides of the Craft we paddled by to navigate the marsh. Bamboo was close enough that we could spot scratches running up and down the stalks.

It was Ella who had first spotted those marks. “Well, something must live around here. And Thrush did say they smelled like besties.”

“Well, we know we can trust Thrush.”

The skull loomed over us, and a gap of bamboo revealed the sea and the fleet. Sunlight lit the skull and made its black stone appear gray where it was dry.

Just before we rowed under the overbite of the skull, our Craft slid upon soil and roots. We both tumbled in the Craft as it slid to a sudden stop. The paddles rattled against the deck and struck the bitts.

Ella giggled while she righted herself. “Oops. Wasn’t paying attention.”

Water trickled over the land and came up to my butt when I plopped overboard. I worried tremendously over dangers lurking in the shallow water. There were snakes; there had to be snakes, why wouldn’t there be snakes, and all the submerged roots looked a lot like snakes! No matter how far we explored, those worries didn’t lessen—they seemed to amplify. Every step ahead of Ella felt more certain to land me on a snake. There was no escape; there wasn’t dry land to be found anywhere! As we went, I splashed extra hard to scare off the snakes.

Ella splashed just as much after me, shouting. “There’s just no way! How can there be besties?”

But the bamboo had lots and lots of scratches all up and down the stalks. The ones as thick as a mainmast had the most scratches. There were notches that both of us had been able to fit our claws into. But as much as we strained to see against the bright sky, there were no structures at the top of the thickest bamboo. There were no crow’s nests or huts or leafy roofs.

When the sun had just risen enough that daylight was no longer soft and dim, the wind died, and the waters fell asleep. Our splashing ceased as we halted in the sudden still life.

Then the bamboo began rattling! All of them! The thinner ones rattled and shook, and the thicker ones rattled but did not tremble. Hundreds of scratches came muffled through the stalks.

Together we raced to the top of a thick stalk. We pushed through leaves and hurdled over branches until we reached the highest point. The top had been cut off. The hole was plugged with straw and leaves and shredded bamboo. All around us, the tops of stalks had been cut off and stuffed.

I beat the plug with my hind paw. “Hello? Besties? Are there besties in here?”

We climbed several others, and everytime we knocked on bamboo, the stalk went quiet. We rapped on different plugs, we splashed here and there, we tried digging at wet bases, and we even tried shaking some stalks. For days, return after return, we searched for the besties. The only thing left was to dig at the plugs, but we couldn’t do that! How awful an entrance that would be!

We would not be meeting the bamboo besties; however, it wasn’t a bad idea to leave them something. So, upon the forehead of the giant goblin skull stone, we left a weird-color waterskin of warm warm beer for the besties to find. With tails drooping like sunken spirits, Ella and I paddled back to the galleon for the last time.

∞

Barnacle-eyes was installing a davit at the fore, starboard.

She commanded a ring of goblins. “Ropes!”

“Please thank you!”

Ropes were quickly snaked across deck, over vines, and fed into pulleys at the davit, which extended overboard. The lengths were coiled into the Craft after tying them to davit tackles and clipping them through the bow and stern eyes. The Craft could now be lifted from the water by pulley!

Barnacle-eyes motioned for Ella and I to enter the Craft as it hung beside the taffrail. Stumble-not gently placed us inside.

Ella scurried in a circle. “Thank you!”

I was placed inside, and the Craft began to swing. My fur stood on end, and I steadied myself on all fours. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”

But Ella stood, holding on to a thwart. “All right, Stumble-not! Lower the Craft!”

Goblins amassed at the taffrails. They peered overboard and watched as we descended. The pulleys squeaked, and rope fibers stretched and creaked. The volume of goblins began to lower, and the volume of the sea began to increase. The sun was beginning to descend, and its color shifted from bright white to a soft orange.

Ella cupped her hands and called up. “Halt!”

Our descent halted midway. For a few moments, the Craft swung, but it seemed as if the sun and the sea were swinging instead! It didn’t help when Ella bolted to the stern. With a key, she opened the chest which contained our hoard. There were materials for a quick mast at the top. She removed the decoy items, and then removed a false bottom.

Gems sparkled in the glowing orange of the sun. Buried beneath the gems were goblin ear wax candles. With friction between sticks, we labored to light a candle which we stuck in the middle of the Craft. We brushed out our fur and mixed them together to make green poofs to sit upon. At last, the Craft stopped swinging so madly. Ella whipped out a bundle of canvas. She unfolded the roll to reveal a smear of smoked fish and a handful of dreambons. The dreambons looked super, super fresh.

I held one up that was nearly the size of my head. “Oh, these have lasted so long below deck!”

“Thrush gave me these.”

“Thrush gave you them? Really? He doesn’t just give dreambons to anyone. I think he likes you a lot. Gee, I’m so happy you and Thrush get along!”

We broke dreambons in half and shared them. We explored their varied tastes. We dove into the fish and gobbled everything up. The sea crashed below, and goblins unleashed their nightly chaos above. The sun continued sinking, and its orange color deepened until it was coral. And in the setting light, our gazes roved the marsh.

I peered hard at the skull. “Can you still see the waterskin?”

Ella leaned and peered. “Is that it? At the top?”

“What else would have weird colors?”

The sea calmed. Occasional slaps of waves sent a light spray over us, and the salt further seasoned the fish. When the sun dipped over the horizon, its body swam like hot red eels in the sea. Birds murmured over the marsh and over the galleon. A giant leaf tumbled down from one of the vines. It floated upon the water, as big as our Craft.

Ella laid back against a thwart and rubbed her tummy. “I’ve been thinking of some of our mechanics.”

“The last time…we were stuck, right?”

“How many skills or abilities do we let our players have?”

“I’ve been mulling it over, you see…What if we made every action an ability?”

“Even something as simple as walking?”

“Why not? What would it hurt?”

Ella nibbled at the shell of a recently slurped dreambon. “...And what if you gained a level in walking every time you rolled a 20?”

“And lost a level everytime you rolled a 1?”

“Maybe…”

I chomped on the other half of the dreambon shell. “Can you imagine rolling ten 20s in a row?”

Ella wiggled her toes. “You’re no longer walking at that point.”

“You’re strutting; one, two, and step. And one, two and—”

“—and turn.”

“And everybody’s looking.”

“You're turning heads.”

I cackled. “Now your charm is leveling up!”

“Next thing you know, you’re dancing through the campaign.”

“Thrusting a hip here—”

“—a hip there!”

Oh, boy! What a day we were having! We talked and joked and laughed back and forth. Sometimes we laughed so hard, the Craft swung, and the flame of the candle whooshed to catch up. And as the sun went down, the candle cast an orange bubble around us. The night cooled into a spring chill. We combined our poofs and lay in each other’s arms at the helm. Sea spray extinguished the candle, but the moon was bright enough to cast shadows.

Ella stirred. “Boggo, look!”

I lay my snout upon the gunwale beside hers. In the marsh, upon the goblin skull, Hawkin’s chimeric-colored waterskin was moving! It looked like it was being dragged across the forehead. Then it disappeared as though a star had blinked off for the night.

I couldn’t help but keep my voice at a whisper. “The besties, you think?”

“Wasn’t a bird! Couldn’t be a fish!”

“Oh, do you think it was a snake? Those waterskins are pear shaped, bestie shaped! I hope it was besties! Did you see? Did you see what they looked like?”

“All I saw was the waterskin move.”

However hard I squinted, I could not make out any movement around the skull. “This is so annoying! We tried so hard! Why didn’t they come out? I bet they’ve never seen a blue or yellow bestie before. What do you think they looked like?”

Ella didn’t answer right away, not until she took my paw in hers. “Some besties may not be ready for some things. Sometimes the best thing you can do is give them time and a safe space so that they’ll always have the opportunity when they decide that they’re ready. You’ll be surprised what such a little thing can do to bring out the best in besties.”

“So you think we did the right thing? Just leaving them something?”

Ella leaned back and sank into the fur of my belly.

Oh Ella, you are the absolute best—100%! You know so much about the world! I wish I did too. I wish I knew things like you did. All I know is that when you are with the right bestie, you keep falling in love.

I curled my limbs around her and gave her a squeaky nuzzle.

Chapter 109

Goodbye Goodmoss

Ogo

No land, not even the volcanic isles, were as barren as the comb. The land from the tundra on was nothing but rolling hills of basalt. The distant mountains were jagged and looked to be snowcapped, but that was a lie for the granite tops. A long line upon the mountains made the granite tops look like they floated upon another horizon and that was if it could be spotted in rare breaks of the raging winter storm.

Without our golem guide, we would not have found the valley of golems. They called the valley rock their comb. Innumerous tunnels, round as curling waves, led underground. How deep into the earth did such tunnels go? But what sense did it make to say this place had earth? There was no soil.

We were led into one of the smooth tunnels. Our golem guide stretched its bulbous arm and ran its hand along the walls. As its fingers grazed the wall, dust and fragments rained between those fingers.

There were boulders along the way, and they began to uncurl. The tunnel was suddenly filled with golems. As they began moving, the world felt like a constant earthquake. The sound became droning and nearly intolerable. I couldn’t help from squinting against the sound, and lifting my shoulders, and feeling my neck go tense.

Some of the golems rose to reveal that they seamlessly blocked tunnels. It seemed to be that they were guardians. Against what? What would disturb the golems in this landscape?

As tunnels opened, acidic, warm air blasted up. What a relief warmth was!

Yet we could not go too far within, for our carts would not fit. In our carts, only a few piles of barrels remained. But the light that those barrels threw against the tunnel entrance was magic. They were colors I was still not used to seeing. The rest of the carts hauled goodmoss and the rest of our collected trade treasures.

The goodmoss and the beer and the food needed to come inside. Stepping back into the raging snow storm was like navigating through curtains of shifting sand. The cold was something else. It was so deep, it could be seen in the air because it had its own color. It was a cold that shrunk the lungs. It was a drowsy cold; the dangerous kind of cold.

Pilo’s singing voice guided the orcs that unleashed from their carts.

Lost under lake

Where sparrows fly,

Clear water shows bones

Yet, to me he’s alive!

Oh, the mighty Tusk Kade

Sailed from womb to his grave!

Like the needle of a compass, that song kept my orcs from wandering to their deaths in the storm. With our hands full, and our shoulders bearing barrels, we brought our treasures in.

Golems by the dozens began appearing with armfuls of obsidian. There it was: Jix’s negotiation with the golem was successful. Without consulting me on anything, they must have agreed to pound for pound. The golems seemed untroubled by the unnavigable storm. Obsidian heaped most of our carts.

As the golems rambled by, I snatched a stone of obsidian from one of the armfuls. Touching the stone filled me with visions of home back on the volcanic isles and the annual swims during venting season. I went through memories of fresh magma cooling into glass.

I wrapped my fist around the stone. Blood raced through me. Veins throbbed in my arm which shook. A long grunt began to escape my throat. My lips rolled over my tusks, and I felt my face wrinkle.

Faf, watching, regarded me with a grin. “Thought it was like the crumbly stuff back home, didn’t you?”

“It is impressive,” I said. With a giant pop, the stone crumbled through my fingers. “I can see why the cats work with it.”

Perhaps crushing that stone was the reason the orcs and golems later clashed together in a friendly brawl. The strength of the moving rocks against the strength of the meat-wrapped skeletons of orcs.

Golems could throw a punch. But no knuckle of quartzite nor elbow of granite could wipe the smiles off of my orcs. Unconscious orcs, still smiling, were laid away for more brawls to sprawl.

Against the blows of two golems at once, it had become hard to breathe. Those two golems were the only ones laid to rest unconscious.

Wiq sat beside me, nursing her shoulder. She hacked blood and took in a rattling breath. Then she eyed me. “How’s the jaw?”

“Jaw’s fine. It’s my knuckles that throb.”

My throat throbbed too, but from thirst, and the air was dry. The light from Hawkin’s barrel swirled against the tunnel as I knocked it over. I caught the barrel with a leg, but I was unable to lift it. My fingers wouldn’t bend, and the barrel kept rolling off the lump of flesh I had for a palm.

Exhaustion had me pausing my efforts, and laughter bellowed between my tusks. What a brawl! And what would a tournament like this be upon the Sea of Ogo, where all creatures could fight tusk to tusk!

I licked my tusks once my laughter died. Perhaps my tongue was reaching for beer. I opened my eyes to find that one of the golems had squatted before me.

It pointed to a barrel and ground its jaw.

Jix translated. “What’s that say?”

“Name of the brewer.”

“One of you?”

“Might as well be. The Sea of Ogo might not have happened without him.”

Like the sound of bare flesh falling splat from the sky, fists continued to fly into fists.

“Drink!” I bellowed.

Impossible colors were hefted. A barrel was punctured and offered to me.

Chapter 110

Well, There it is

The relentless storm was thinning. We traveled north with warmer blood in our bodies. Our pace increased, and the pitch of creaking wood turned higher.

“Are the scarpadae really so far north?”

Jix translated for the golem we had befriended. “Straight there is faster than what your ships would have to sail around.”

Just then, we came around a mound of white rock. Finally able to purchase distant views through the weakened storm, I saw our destination ahead. It lay down in a plateau of crumbles of rock where water streamed.

How much north had we gone since the port we lost to Hawkin? The volcanic isles were already far north, but this was insane. Any more north…would the sky become brittle? Would everything be eternal ice? Would even an orc freeze, when a single orc is stronger than the world?

The path soon cleared on the western side, where it continued around a corrie. Laid upon the west was the sea. My sea!

“Halt! For meal!”

The golem, whose name I could not pronounce, turned to me. As always, Jix translated. “I knew that the orcs were not like golem. Golem can go on. Orcs must rest.”

“We stop for you.”

“That is needless.”

“I want to show you something.”

The wheels of our carts screamed as they came to a stop. The orcs hastily set up hanging pots over cooking fires. They managed boiling eel and started puncturing barrels. The spray of beer foam floated in clumps in the little snowfall.

“Follow me,” I told Golem and by extension, Jix.

“Where to?”

“Closer to my sea where our view is wider.”

My sea was a beautiful sea. She was mean today, and the rocks were like her tusks. She was empty of ships.

“What do you call it?” I said.

“The sea? It is the sea.”

“The prow of my ship will one day ply these waters so deeply, the sea will look like something which can be folded like a map, and it will read The Sea of Ogo.”

“How fascinating it is to learn that orcs are half muscle, half imagination.”

“If not imagination, what has built your city?”

“Effort.”

“I have the muscle for that part.”

A bowl of eel was placed in my palms, and a bowl of goodmoss was given to the golem.

“I have imagination as well,” the golem said. “I hope you have your sea. It will be the same sea to me either way. So why not help you.”

“Your escort is a small but helpful thing.”

“...Perhaps I shall join your crew…”

“If you fall overboard, there’s nothing I can do for that.”

“Yes, it will be a great splash, but I will take the fall, the plunge, and I will visit the old ones. Then I’ll return to my clan by foot and await another trade of goodmoss to join your crew once more.”

“Old ones?”

“Before green growing things there were golems. The oldest clan dwell at the bottom of the sea. They are closest to home there.”

“I shall sink crates of goodmoss for good relations. We’ll have to look at a map together, and you’ll have to mark where they are.”

“Show me a map, orc.”

“Jix?”

Jix laid out our map. The drifting dust of dry snow skittered across the map. The golem studied the map for minutes on end. It wasn’t beneath me to offer some help.

“We are here,” I said.

“...I know.”

But he kept his stare upon the map.

“You don’t know where your old ones are?”

“I know where they are.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“For our journey, you have gone on and on…but nowhere on this map does it say The Sea of Ogo.”

My belly rolled with laughter. With a fat finger, I said, “It’s this one.”

“I understand that, but it is not written, nor is it in the legend. And in that case, I’m afraid this map is worthless.”

I leaned back—bracing against the stone—with laughter. “Fur! Come!”

Fur, the thickest of the group, strolled over. His breath smacked of hot, slick eel. “Commander!”

“Amend this map.”

Fur turned the map and sat with his back to the sea. He sprawled his leather tools upon the stone. He tucked the bottle of ink under his armpit. After a dusting of cuttlebone, he brushed the map clean and made eye contact.

“How shall I amend, Commander?”

The ink was fresh where Fur had detailed the golem comb.

I hovered my thumb over the sea. “The Sea of Ogo.”

Fur’s eyes were the color of green mold. His polished tusks bobbed for a moment. His brows made his forehead wrinkle like fallen cloth.

“I am honored, Commander.”

From deep within a leather pouch of utensils, Fur traded his quill for a finer, meerschaum quill.

“Gather round,” said Fur. “Gather round! This day, orcs change the world!”

Boots scuffed the stone. Billowing steam blasted from orc nostrils. The smell of eel became humid-thick.

With his writing helped by a crossing finger, Fur dragged his quill in long loops upon the map. A powder of cuttlebone was dropped over the letters, which raised above the parchment.

“Well there it is,” the golem said. “That’s where you’ll find them.”

Chapter 111

They Emerge

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 418.

It had been a red oak which soaked up the trickling beer with the Aggravated Wild Growth attribute. Branches thick as rivers cast miles long shadows upon the woods. Above, they hid the rest of the tree. Frozen leaves fell from the terrible heights beyond where mountains might reach.

In the early morning, where we saw the sun before the sleeping birds did, Abigail and I stirred awake. Though we camped upon one of the lowest branches of the colossal oak, the drop made my head ring. The northern Mist Hidden barrier was a hair-thin bioluminescent strand. The top of it swayed with the wind, so it sometimes seemed thicker along its way.

The wind at our height was sharp, so Abigail replenished our warmth and wind shield with a couple of Sheltering attribute beers. We lay back upon a bedding made of compacted cloud. It was the foam of a beer, and it held our weight without wetting our clothes. Abigail lay back, and she snapped her fingers. Liquid tinkled everytime she snapped, and bottle by bottle, she was making headway on her puncheon shard quest.

I lay at her side. We ate berries off her navel.

As I took my pick from the bursting currants, I pinched the cones on a coil of hops. My fingers smelled like toasted pine needles and lemon zest. My gaze slipped to the Mist Hidden wall that sprayed the air when gusts of wind blew against it.

Then it was the sun that beat against the wilderness. It came up enough, suddenly, and instantly lay upon the canopy with a gentle early orange and blue. Sunlight showed us the green canopy of spring.

What was this excitement for spring that I felt? Ah, but all the flowers bloom in spring. Wild foods come out of the ground. Life becomes gentler on the bones.

And from deep within, I felt more driven to brew beer. What a perfect season for beer. And why not begin by brewing something to explore this coil? A beer, light on the malt, was the perfect brew to discover an ingredient.

[Peacock hops. These colorful hops offer a minty, spicy aroma. Despite their flashy color, they are a mild flavoring hop and considered excellent among Brewers!]

I poured Abigail the beer which brought my Grains Like Sand sub skill to level 120. She continued the soft pattern of softly snapping her fingers.

“How many do you have left?” I asked.

“Around four thousand. I’m looking forward to it.” She paused her brewing and lifted her silver boot. “The hops are excellent. Not the best beer style for them, though.”

“I picked the cleanest style I could so that I could better taste the hops. Get to know them better.”

We sipped and shared berries, and there were smiles between us. Our gazes wandered. Over the rim and foam of my beer, I saw a pulsing light in the forest. Abigail’s fingers landed upon my head and she spread them through my hair.

“Hmm?” I said.

“Do you think we’ll ever run out of things to talk about?”

“No.”

“Do you think we’ll ever get bored of each other?”

“No.”

I pointed at the pulsing light.

Abigail snaked her fingers through my hair. “I don’t want this to change.”

I turned to her. “I think things will change. Our feelings will strengthen. We’ll grow closer. That sounds like change right? …Abigail, look there.”

A monster firefly cleared the canopy and bobbed over the trees. Though it was morning, its body lit up lighthouse-bright.

Abigail sat up. “Gah! How big do you think it is?”

“Hard to tell from way up here. Big as Thrush?”

“Bigger? Like a horse?”

“A horse? You think it’s that big?”

Lights sparkled in the forest.

Abigail hugged me tight. “Oh, Hawkin, it’s beginning! We did this!”

Below us, though the new green growth of spring caught my attention, there was still the unmistakable silver web of Honey Cocoon which covered the forest. In the distance, trees towered, and more were growing from the effects of Aggravated Wild Growth. Across the wilderness, more monster fireflies were emerging.

And in my ear, I treasured Abigail’s soft giggles. She squirmed in delight until it seemed she could no longer contain an excitement. She pushed me to my back and straddled me.

“Corylus said he’s working on a gift for you.”

“Me?”

“He wouldn’t tell me what it is.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

She leaned. Her hair fell and grazed my cheeks. She braced her hands on my chest.

“Shall we?” she said.

“Breakfast first? Then we head off to the next libation location.”

“You sure you want to make the Mist Hidden wall permanent now that you’re gold? You won’t want to expand it? Now’s the time to consider that decision.”

“I’m sure.”

Chapter 112

Apple with a Cinnamon Knife

Brewer’s Reputation: 416.

Along our hike, we came upon burgeoning spring buds and honey cocoons. There weren’t gigantic trees for miles, so we camped in the forest and watched insects begin to come to life. The gnats were the first to swarm our shelter. Was it the smell of our divine breakfast that drew them?

We piled razor clam shells together. The fragrance of tomato broth lingered on our breaths. With a wave of Brewer’s Bubble, we extinguished our fire. After our things were neatly gathered, we set off.

Monster fireflies crossed our paths. The smallest ones slammed into trees, like they should have been bumblebees. The larger ones beat a deep thrum and steadily wove through the forest.

Abigail took my hand. “How about some new beer?”

“You’ve brewed something?”

“Well, we’ve been enjoying our own beer lately. How about something new from a different brewer?” She passed me a bottle.

The glass was cold. I turned the bottle over and read the label. “Lee’s Gentle Fist. Spiced Billy Goat Lager.”

Abigail requested goblets. The dark garnet malt swirled against the glass and pushed out a fox-red foam that mushroomed over the rim, cascaded over our knuckles, and hit the forest floor with splats. Foam drenched the ground when we clinked goblets. I sipped, and watched my Collection Journal fill out a new page.

[Lee’s Gentle Fist.]

[Gold rank. 04/100 Lesser Chimeric.]

[Brewed by Three Masked Kings Brewery.]

[Last year’s Spring Billy Goat after freeze distillation. The beer begins with the mellow sweetness of roasted apples. Caramel hops coat the malt in a buttery sweetness with an undertone of roasted almonds. The lingering taste packs a burn of cinnamon, cardamom, and chili pepper.]

[Special Attributes: None.]

Abigail’s eyes almost spoke before she did. “Oh, I’m definitely getting the spice!”

“Now that’s a knock out. Whew! I’m already sweating from the pepper heat.”

She frowned with some amusement. “It’s like an angry apple.”

“Yeah, one that’s trying to climb out of my throat with a cinnamon dagger.”

“I’ve been wanting to try this one for a while. Sure woke me up.”

“Ah, but it’s so good!” I said. “Perfect morning for it, honestly. Going back into the ring for another sip.”

“Sure kicked my butt into gear. We’re all packed up for the hike?”

We walked a circle around our campsite while our gazes scoured for anything we might have left. Knowing we would leave no trace, I said, “Onward!”

Yet our angry, dagger-wielding apple beers were not finished. We choked on cinnamon spice as we hiked. …A sparkle of fireflies crossed our paths. Abigail turned to me and mimed holding a pumpkin—they were that big. The fireflies dimmed in the distance between trees. The foam of our beer hushed away to reveal the bottom of our goblets.

“How many more bottles do you have like that?” I said.

“From Three Masked Kings?”

“Yeah, or maybe from other brewers? Since you often travel to Lavenfauvish, you probably get to try new beers all the time.”

“Ah, the hermit wants beer from around the world!”

“It’s more exciting sharing something new with you than on my own. The only thing I can buy around here is goblin spit beer. And I haven’t been completing quests for loot chests either.”

“I have a cellar full. Is that something you’d like to do? Stuff your Collector’s Journal? We could compare ours. Have I ever shown you mine?”

“Just one journal? You probably have entire volumes by now.”

“Nope, just a massive tome.”

“Wow…You have to show me. I’ve been inspired by so many good beers. Experiencing new ones helps me consider what I want to brew next.”

There was a world of beer out there. From where my Brewer’s Reputation started, there were hundreds of thousands of Brewers. To be in the top 500 was mind boggling.

It was a treasure to experience other Brewer’s beers. Abigail had taken advantage of exploring other beers throughout her quest path. I knew how lucky I was as a hermit to experience even bronze ranked beers from around the world. I would be a fool to scoff at anything I could get my hands on.

Abigail clapped like she was catching an idea the size of a mosquito. “Let’s brew something. How about a collaboration brew? My favorites have been ones we’ve brewed together.”

A blush accompanied my smile. “Mine too. Have a style in mind?”

Like our thoughts, fireflies crossed our paths. We stepped back from one which looked like it could hold a saddle. We crouched to watch another one emerge from its stringy cocoon. We meandered through occasional swarms.

Abigail added her voice to the beauty of the wilderness. “Let’s add a memory attribute to it.”

“Both of us at the same time? How does that work?”

“You’re after golden chapter beers. How about you create the memory? It’s another chance at brewing the beer you want.”

“Then you choose the style.”

Abigail grinned, and I wondered if it was with mischief. “Do we dare include some apples? They might get spunky.”

“I think we can weed out the rotten ones. Why not?”

She laughed. “Then a spontaneity apple beer it is! Wait just a moment.”

She withdrew a chimeric-colored bottle of beer. Gift #1. The pop of the cork resonated through the land. It made one flat echo in the distance. Abigail sipped and vanished.

The evergreen trees were pushing bright green growth at branch tips. Two fireflies collided with a chaotic thrum. They hit the ground and thrashed about until they turned onto their legs. Then they kicked off, sending twigs and leaves flying in their wake. As all the smaller ones seemed prone to do, they crashed into trees.

Abigail returned with an apple. “Grabbed a whole bunch.”

I slipped my arm around her waist, and we staggered forward until we found a good pace between us.

After being lost in thought for some time, I said, “I’d like to use the Saint Maxt Barley. The one that’s supposed to have a chance at producing a diamond chapter beer.”

“Are we all right with flavors of sage?”

“Sounds like a nice, savory contrast.”

“Let’s add Tuffull barley. That should add a creamy, walnut flavor.”

“Hops? I’ve got jungle-green hops. They’re called El Delta. They should offer up a woody, ginger kick. Some citrus notes, too.”

She nodded. “Now, the foam…”

“I got it! Whipped white.”

We separated to begin our brew. There was no mistaking the Kiss of Yeast skill Abigail was using. It looked like dust was collecting before her. We managed different Brewer’s Bubbles for each barley before mixing them together.

“Fatten Cone is a new one,” said Abigail. “A diamond rank skill.”

The hops brightened in color. The cones opened up like pinecones in hot water. Their fragrance became rich and humid. After the boil, she pitched the beer. I used my Foam Cascade skill and listened to the whipping hush form within Brewer’s Bubble.

Abigail was so focused, she looked mean. “One last step—the memory.”

I employed Alchemical Control without any ingredients to contribute. My system asked if I’d like to imbue the beer with the Imbue Memory attribute.

[Begin memory.]

Cool morning air streamed over the land, over all of it; over the leaf laden forest floor, through undergrowth, between trees, through my hair, and across my brow and eyelashes and lips. Above a reflecting silver land, enormous fireflies frenzied their wings. They flashed hued lights so brilliantly that they should have exploded with each flash.

A hand slipped into mine. It was hot, like the surface of a sleeping stove with embers in its belly. Between our palms was her heartbeat. It beat hot against my palm, hot enough to widen my eyes. Secret lips kissed my cheek.

[End memory.]

We bottled the beer in Ethereal Forged waterskins the size of burlap sacks. My Whipped White Foam Cascade sub skill saw a massive increase in levels, and it was now at level 512. But I didn’t spend too much time thinking of my skills. Apart from the disappointment of not brewing a golden chapter beer, my thoughts were preoccupied by our hike. We laughed back and forth as we went. Before I knew it, we had picked up the pace.

“We’ve been hiking so much that I’ve started hiking in my dreams, too,” I said. “For half the day I was certain we’d crossed the path of wild boars yesterday, until I realized I had only dreamed that.”

“Remember that stump that looked like a pig? That’s probably why you dreamed of boar.”

“That’s gotta be it. But I like it. My favorite days are hiking with you, and I get to dream about it too.”

It was almost confusing to go from ethereal planes full of spreading landmarks, to having dreams of the forests, to the silvery and green and bark-brown world in front of me now.

As Abigail resumed work toward her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap quest, I took the lead to the next libation location.

Chapter 113

Goblins?

Brewer’s Reputation: 413.

[El Delta Mist.]

[Gold rank. 99/100 Lesser Chimeric.]

[Pale and biscuit malts blend crisp and sweet into a crystal smooth body. El Delta hops color the beer hazy gold. It smacks of resin and grated limes. Tinges of garden-green appear when sunlight squeezes through the belly of the ale.]

[Attribute: Mist Hidden; Supplements: Attribute Permanence.]

The liquid that flowed out of the weird bottle seemed to glow like sunlight striking a green pond. The Mist Hidden wall flapped, and wisps lashed out on selfish adventures. The bioluminescence colored half of my body and made a purple, homey haze beneath my irises. As the new beer fell and splashed as though it fell from the mouth of a fountain, the libation location lightened in color. It went from phosphorescent blue and purple to an almost colorless fog; farther down, it still held its color. The Mist Hidden wall grew higher. It was done, another libation location was made permanent. No more annual upkeep. Although the hike was soul-touching. The same corner of woods was never really the same corner. Growing did that.

“So, one more eastward,” said Abigail.

“The furthest one,” I said.

We hiked eastward. The number of white oaks dwindled until the number of larch trees proliferated. Abigail snapped her fingers every dozen paces. Without a doubt she was working on her quest.

“You’ve got to be making strides on your quest.”

“Just about two thousand more to go.”

“And you'll be getting a puncheon barrel right? With the tap in your inventory? What are you going to do with it?”

“Maybe fill with Anti-gravity beer for quick refills when Thrush needs more? Maybe just store mana beer? I'm still considering the best way to use it.”

She’d been working on that quest for nearly a year, it seemed. If she had any other quests, she never mentioned them. The higher the rank, it seemed the fewer quests came along. That certainly was the case for gold rank. Quest notifications were more infrequent. There was a backlog waiting for approval or denial. With Abigail hard at work, there were fewer better times to see what quests had been accruing.

[New quest! Brett Collection.]

[Travel to the Granite Spires mountain range. Seek out Henrietta's 3 famous Brett Ales: Gallop Delight, Barnhouse Rafters, Sweat & Saddle.]

[Reward: 100 gold rank Brewer's loot chests.]

Travel? No.

…I paused. Abigail had been so distraught—heartbroken—to have reached diamond rank. I replayed our conversation. She was going to outlive me. The love of her life would grow much older than her and die in her arms.

Declining these quests was not only saying no to travel. It was now also saying no to a chance at reaching diamond rank with the love of my life; saying no to a chance at longevity with her…

Sweating, I declined the quest.

[New quest! Navigate the swamps of Mordutha in search of Lutumcress. Brew and sell a beer using Lutumcress.]

[Reward: 1 legendary gold rank Brewer's loot chest. 10 bronze rank Forager's loot chests.]

I sighed deeply and declined. There had to be more which didn’t involve travel! C’mon…

[New Quest! Locate the lost beer of Kel Androus in the catacombs beneath the ghost city in the Vale of Teth.]

[Reward: 1 diamond rank Brewer's loot chest. 30 Adventurer's loot chests. 5 gold rank Brewer's loot chests.]

I blew a raspberry, pinched the bridge of my nose, looked somewhere inward, and declined.

I felt heavy, and the walls of my heart felt stiff. My pace had slowed. Abigail was twice as far ahead of me as before. She hummed cheerfully and snapped her fingers. How strange it was to think that I was going to be the one to miss her.

Ah, there has to be more local quests! But going through quest notifications yielded nothing helpful. I punted coltsfoot flowers. My leg arced to chest height. Yellow dandelion look-alike flowers rained. Blades of grass twirled and tumbled down.

But up where the flowers had been kicked, over the mist wall, columns of smoke were rising high.

“Abigail.”

“I see them too.”

I jogged over to her side. The columns of smoke were white and contained. Clean wood was burning, most likely in rings.

“Brush fire?” said Abigail.

“This early in spring?”

Our gazes met and then we were off down the trail. We gradually closed in on the smoke, though it was always on the other side of the mist. Just when we neared, a tree on that side toppled over. The canopy arced down, leaving a clone of leaves and debris and pollen for nary a moment.

“Goblins?” said Abigail.

Nodding at the wall of mist, I said, “Shall we?”

Abigail first offered me a sip of her Chameleon Stealth beer. We then sipped from my inferior key beer.

The mist felt like it should have doused us in a spray of water. Dew should have collected on our eyelashes and tendrils of hair, but we remained dry. The sounds of the birds and rustling canopies behind us began to fade away. Before us, the sound of saws and voices began to assault us.

We came through the mist, transparent but more a faint outline. We stopped as one. I stood agape. It wasn’t more than two dozen downed trees that shocked me. There were nearly one hundred people. Log houses were under construction. Tents were halfway raised. Cooking fires were as big around as my cabin. Axes tattooed into wood, saws slept through trunks. Horses whinnied under the care of several young men and women.

Nearest the wall, a failed ladder lay in splintered pieces. It lay as though it had been abandoned in favor of the catapult beside it whose construction was nearly complete. Folk were fusing rope together.

A man in scholastic robes pinched his chin. As if addressing only the catapult, he said, “What’s the chance of success?”

An older fellow stepped out of his shadow. He gazed up at the heights of the mist wall. “Do you mean going over, or surviving?”

Chapter 114

Base Building

Brewer’s Reputation: 410.

We returned through the mist. Fireflies the size of apples swirled through the forest. One firefly, the size of Thrush, beat a deep drone with its wings as it ambled north over the wall. At the foot of the woods, fireflies gushed out of the crack of a silver cocoon. In a line of blinking lights they formed a moving wavelength down our path.

Abigail and I looked at each other for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Me too.”

“This is the last thing you want.”

“Hiccup did warn us.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s turn them away.”

With that I made to cross through the mist wall until I felt Abigail’s fingers on my arm. Her grip pulled me to a stop.

“Hold on,” she said. “Will you do that the next time? And the next time? This probably won't be the last time people seek you out.”

We searched each other’s eyes. I couldn’t communicate my hopeless frustration with words, nor with a shrug and shake of my head.

“It’s unreasonable,” she said. “How will you monitor this area?”

“...And they're building like they're settling.”

“We can't ignore them. The Mist Hidden wall is good, but it can only do so much.”

“Right now it feels like it’s not doing much of anything.”

“They’re having a lot of trouble crossing it,” she said. “It looks like it’s bought us some time. Considering the sheer number of people, I’d say it’s a damn good wall.”

Perhaps there was something in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients.

The pages were crisp, and they sounded like cracking, dried leaves as I thumbed through the book. When I licked my thumb, I felt the coolness of the spring breeze. The pages reflected silver from the cocoon strewn forest and gleamed blue-purple from the Mist Hidden wall.

“There has to be other base building attributes that can help,” I said. “Something.”

Abigail’s guide book was thicker. The spine creaked when she opened it. Her finger grazed down the pages in soft hushes.

I cleared my throat. “Clammy Locust Flower. When open fully, these flowers always appear pink. The trees on which they bloom grow in thick clusters and quickly overtake open areas. Midday, the flowers release enough moisture to produce a humid haze. Their aroma is sulfuric, similar to rotten eggs. Primarily used in the defensive base building attribute: Fermented Fumes.”

Abigail flipped through a dozen pages in her book. “I’m already in the glossary. F…f…f…Here we are, Fermented Fumes. When imbued with Clammy Locust Flowers, beer foam becomes noxious. Requires 1 week for attribute to settle. Beer must be contained. When opened, noxious gas is dispensed to cover 1 acre per gallon. Inhaling the noxious gas of Fermented Fumes results in permanent paralysis and eventual death.”

“It’s good to know there’s some base building stuff in here, but there’s gotta be something that won’t kill people.”

Abigail chewed her lip, and she frowned. “I ran into another one a few months ago.” She thumbed pages to one side. “Aspen…Azalweed…Cawwo…Here it is, Downy Arrowwort. Found in the iron swamps of Ilhusta in Cape Sodwod, Downy Arrowwort is a parasitic plant with a fuzzy stem and leaf. It can be found feasting on the roots of decaying trees. When young, this plant shouts a bright, orange-crimson color. Once wilted, the stem and leaves become a dull shade of brown. For full effect, harvest young just after plants display their first set of arrow-shaped leaves. Used predominantly for the Spent Moat attribute. Base Building. Used seldom in conjunction with blue cheese for the Bubbling Tar Pit attribute. Base Building.” She flipped to the glossary at the end of the book while keeping her thumb as a bookmark. “Spent Moat: Unfiltered beer brewed with Downy Arrowwort will imbue the moat with flesh-peeling acidity. Beer must be brewed in place using stone vats made from the cliffs of Fearstone. Base Building. Location permanence.” After perusing back through the glossary, she paused, read silently to herself, and said, “…Bubbling Tar Pit isn’t any better…”

“Well that’s not happening,” I said. “What about this one from the Is. It’s called Imp’s Wrinkle pepper. A rare pepper, solely cultivated by diamond ranked botanists in humid, tropical areas, and sold by the seed at specialty garden markets. This pepper is used to imbue beer with the Birdie’s Beer Bomb attribute. The pepper is likened to the manic figure, Yuk Blaggerbolt, a 300 year old imp that wore a wrinkled smile while head-bashing his enemies to death. Choice pepper for excellent flavor. Sweet, with a hint of spice and ripe orange fruit. Slight metallic aftertaste. Pepper efficacy varies by crop and season.”

Abigail put herself so deep in the glossary, her bookmark thumb slipped from its split. “Birdie’s Beer Bomb…I know this one, but let me double check just to make sure. Beer Bomb attribute. Gold rank attribute. When imbued with Imp’s Wrinkle pepper, containers of beer must be broken or pierced to cause explosions. Explosion size and heat depend on the quantity of peppers used in the beer. Weapon. When combined with shavings of iron, Beer Bomb takes on a base building effect. These barrels can be placed around a base and set to explode when marked enemies venture within one dozen feet. Marked: See Scoping Eye Attribute.”

The sigh that left my lungs was heavy enough to touch fallen leaves. I ran a hand through my growing beard, and then I ran my fingers through my hair. I felt dappled sunlight dance across my eyelids. “There’s gotta be nonviolent base building beers.”

A rope, looped at the end, flew over the Mist Hidden wall. The lasso soared short and fell into the mist. It rustled forest floor debris as it was pulled back through the mist.

We promptly returned to scouring our books with haste.

“No…” said Abigail as her eyes scanned down a page. “No…No…No…”

“No,” I muttered as I turned page after page. “No…No…”

“Ooh! How about…Oh no, that’s no good…Oh, that’s gruesome!”

I flicked a glance up at her from my book. “Skeleton, Bull. Used with Wortzbite crocodile skin for the Summon Spear Bull attribute. Can you tell me—”

Abigail was already there, wrestling a chunk of pages to one side. “—Summon Spear Bull attribute. Diamond rank attribute. Brewed using the entire skeleton of a bull and the skin of a Wortzbite crocodile, this beer summons a Hosta Spear Bull from the ancient Aggra-hosta order of Turshnecks, ancient priests of agriculture from the lost city of Hosta. Up to thirty Hosta Spear Bulls may be summoned within ten hectares. Hosta Spear Bulls are generally used to patrol and defend base walls. Unrivaled sensory ability among summoned beasts. Combative with exceptionally high pain tolerance. These bulls trample any moving creature within their defined territory. Summons last 2 days. Bulls may leave necrotic hide in their wake.”

A straight black line zipped over the mist. It was an arrow that thunked into a tree trunk. Rope was tied through the loop behind the feathers. The rope twanged as it was pulled taught. The rope began to tremble. It shook with fury.

Ah, there was nothing useful in the book! “I’ve heard enough. Can’t we make our own?”

“Our own attribute? The best we could do is commission Alchemists to design one. For something of this caliber, it may take several years. Not even mentioning the cost.”

The arrowhead was easy to pry from the tree with the bit of my axe. Both arrow and rope speedily slithered back through the mist.

“What else can we do?” I said.

In our time thinking and thinking and chewing our cheeks, another arrow whizzed over the mist. It hit the dirt and was promptly pulled free. It too was reeled back through the mist.

Abigail and I paced and kept an eye to the sky. An arrow whooshed over the mist and slammed into a nearby tree.

“That would’ve left a mark,” I said and wedged the arrowhead out. “So our options are to either kill people…”

A flailing figure soared over the mist, silhouetted against the bright sky. It came down with its limbs bent at odd angles before slamming into the ground and bouncing once. Abigail covered her mouth with both hands, over which her eyes were huge. We rushed to the figure.

With my foot, I nudged the dummy of grass-stuffed clothes. I flipped it over and it rolled onto its back. The dummy wore a smile, and it seemed to be aimed directly at me.

“…Or wait around until they find a way through.”

Chapter 115

A Decoy A Diversion

Brewer’s Reputation: 409.

A slight nudge of my boot turned the dummy’s face and mocking smile away. For as broken-limbed and burst as it was, the smile felt like the intruders on the other side of the mist had put their foot in the door in victory.

“I wish our woods weren’t a destination,” I said.

Abigail turned her gaze up at the flapping mists of the brilliantly colored mist wall. “We don’t blend in very well…”

“Neither by land, nor by sea.”

“Corylus has a similar problem in Hiccup’s garden. There are these bushes that he grows in huge pots. They put out flowers that change color depending on the mood of the person smelling them. People are absolutely fascinated by the effect. They’ve become a main spectacle and draw huge crowds; however, they’re never in the same spot. The thing is, he uses these flowers to his advantage. He moves the flowers away from the parts of the garden where he wants to work in peace. He says they’re fussy and annoying to keep tame, but he still keeps them around.”

“Seems like they’re worth keeping if they make such a good diversion.”

Abigail snapped her fingers and stepped closer. Her eyes held an intensity. “A diversion, yes! Let’s consider the facts. We know people will come, right? It’s obvious they’ll approach the wall once they see it. So what if we made a diversion? A decoy destination?”

“A decoy for a massive bioluminescent wall?”

“What if we made an actual destination that people can go to instead?”

“Like what?”

With a shrug she said, “A fake brewery?”

“And when they find out it's fake?”

“Okay…Well, then what if it’s not exactly fake?”

“We don’t need another brewery, but these people could use a place to stay that’s not my woods. Something like an inn. Nevermind, I’m not sure I want to encourage them to stay.” And if not a brewery, nor an inn… “How about a tavern to keep them occupied?”

Abigail made a face. “Neither of us would want to manage it.”

“Then there must be something else we can do.”

“Well, I know Hiccup is eager to make amends with us. I’m sure he would be happy to manage your tavern. And think about it. It would be a perfect diversion. We could stay completely out of it. You could provide exclusive beer for the place so that people still get their worth having traveled so far.”

“A decoy tavern…”

“You already provide beer to the rest of the world. It would be such a subtle and powerful defense.”

I rubbed my chin, took a deep breath, and stretched. My mind was too full. Stress was creeping into my muscles. “What if Hiccup doesn’t want to help?”

“He will. I’m sure of it. But let’s say he won’t. Why not hire goblins? Look how far Barnacle-eyes has come.”

“Given our options, it sounds like the best defense we can put up. But where? If people are coming through the forest, they’re bound to sail here too. Should we put it on the coast?”

Looking westward, Abigail said, “We can make a trail that leads to the coast from any direction around the wall.”

I nodded at the mist. “What about them?”

The silhouette of another bent-limbed dummy soared over the mist. Rope had been tied around its waist. It crashed into the trees and took out a handful of branches on the way down. Leaves pelted the forest floor. Branches cracked against branches. Bark rained. The dummy hit the ground on its chest. A puff of dirt flew from its face. The rope was then pulled, and the dummy was dragged through the mist, raking leaves beneath its butt, its heels, its elbows, and its head.

After a moment of silence I said, “What do we do in the meantime?”

“We’ll ask them to help us build the path. That’ll be the condition if they want to talk with you.”

There were a lot of people on the other side. A lot. Altogether managing a forest trail… “It’ll take weeks. But, I’m afraid if we don’t act now, things may get worse later.”

Abigail took my hand in both of hers. “We can do this.”

I shook my head slowly; but I said, “All right.”

I couldn’t take my hand from hers. For a moment too little, we gazed at each other. I wondered if I looked as tired as I felt. Having to come up with an idea like a decoy tavern in such little time zapped the energy straight out of me.

Abigail gave me a small smile.

These people…They were here because they wanted something from me. They were like the kingdom seekers. Did not one of them think that I didn’t want to be bothered? It would be impossible to come upon a wall of mist, whose purpose was so blatantly explained in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients and not wonder why it was erected. That only meant that these people were probably just as selfish as the kingdom seekers. And now I had to give these unwelcome guests my time. Ah, it was hard not to be so annoyed.

Abigail slipped an arm around mine and guided us forth. We strolled into the mist. Like the lick of heatless flames and slapping sheets of fog, the mist flapped around us.

We emerged on the other side. The first thing we saw was the catapult arm being cranked back. A young man sat curled up in the bucket. He was hyperventilating, and his eyes were fixed to the sky. He had big round eyes.

We took in the rest of the scene. Adventurers were digging at the base of the wall. Construction had begun on a tower. The trunks of trees were being rammed into the mist. Down the way, balls of fire the size of my cabin rushed into the mist. Blasts of heavy magic-born winds parted the mist for only a moment. Another gush of fire and rush of wind simultaneously attacked the mist. The wind enraged the fire which flew back into the faces of three young men. They threw their arms across their faces, turned their heads, and fell back screaming. Fireflies had been wrangled from the air, and the biggest one was bucking as folks attempted to saddle it. Others tried to hold onto the legs of the next biggest fireflies.

Slowly the chaos began to die down. Folks began turning their heads to the sudden quiet that was spreading.

A scholar before us scuttled closer. “…You…”

“I’m Hawkin. This is Abigail Yak, diamond rank Brewer.”

In the next few breaths we were swarmed. Abigail and I exchanged looks. I wondered if we were making the right move. Abigail held her arms out to stop the press of the crowd. They shouted in earnest. I couldn’t hear one damn word as they all spoke at once. At the back, adventurers were trying to swim through everyone else.

“Everyone! Wait! Hold on! I can’t understand you! Please!”

They continued. I could barely hear my own voice. Bottles of beer appeared in outreached hands. Bones appeared in some. A scroll appeared. I saw a locket, a box, a bundle, and there was even a firkin hoisted above everyone’s heads. A Collector’s Journal was waved about, and its pages flapped together.

I gesticulated as hard as I could to get the crowd to quiet for just one moment. I shushed them with a finger to my lips which seemed to finally do the trick. Those at the front of the crowd turned and shushed those behind. Like a ripple, the shushing spread through the crowd until the sounds of the forest could be discerned.

“You’re all here to see me?”

And—Bam!—the crowd was in another uproar. I shook my head and began gesticulating once more, like I was trying to flatten the waves of a crashing sea.

“Guys, please! Hold on!”

At least it was easier to quiet everyone down the second time.

“And I assume you’re here for different reasons?”

The volume of the crowd began to rise, as once more, everyone began speaking at once.

“Hold on, please, just a moment. I know you all want things from me. I promise to spend time with each and every one of you, but first, I need some help. If you all agree to my proposal, I’ll make myself available for the next few weeks.”

Someone said, “Anything! How can we help?”

I closed my eyes and ground my teeth together. There was no going back, especially not without a better plan.

Chapter 116

They Just Want Things From Me

Brewer’s Reputation: 405.

Full midday sunlight dappled the forest. The logged clearing was under full sun, and that was where all manner of adventurers toiled. Everyone was breaking camp and packing up. There were all manner of adventurers. Some were cloaked for woodland travel, some were in simple pants and tunics, some were in full battle gear, and some wore long robes befitting monks. As adventurers slowly came around to having nothing more to do and were waiting for others, Abigail and I asked for their help.

The repeating stamp of a battle hammer drove a wooden sign into the earth by the Mist Hidden wall. Alchemists ground ingredients for a white paste which they used to paint a west-pointing arrow onto the sign. The crack of each blow echoed far through the forest.

Abigail thanked the large man who wielded the hammer, and then she smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up.

I turned to the forest of holly trees and began slamming my axe through their trunks. Because the path needed to be wide enough for wagons, I directed others on which trees to fell. With Abigail’s Third Hand attribute beers, divided logs were stacked alongside the trail as an intermittent fence. The youngest folk cleared the trails of branches and holly debris. Elderly offered water and small bites throughout the afternoon as we made our slow way west.

When we were truly in the swing of things, a Brewer approached me. Sweat streamed from his brow. He clutched the translucent blue handle of a summoned axe in his hands.

“An honor to work with you! I’m Matoos. Bangaroo Brewery.”

“Pleasure,” I said.

“I’m on a quest to work with you.”

“Ah, I’m not really…The timing…I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said Matoos and waved the matter aside like he was tabling it. “Will you be competing this year? The date’s fast approaching.”

“Competing?”

“Exactly, Ha! What could compete with your ethereal stroll beer? The Oude Brewer’s Competitive is going to be different this year, I hear.”

“Oh, the Oude Brewer’s. No, I’m not competing. I didn’t want to last year. It was a mistake.”

Matoos laughed. “A mistake! Yes, your beer deserved a medal higher than gold! They should’ve invented a new medal for such genius!”

I moved to part the branches of the next holly tree, but another man intercepted me.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry, hi.” He forced a handshake out of me. “Albert. Hi, nice to meet you. I happened to overhear. We should collaborate on a beer, you and I, but we’ll talk about that later, Yeah? Yeah! Oh, Matoos is right; the competitive is going to be different this year. They've invited a monster judge.”

“Monster?” I said.

“Absolutely. It’s all thanks to you. You’ve been collaborating with monsters to make goblin beer. I’m the same way. I try to collaborate as much as I can—it’s the best way to level up, you know. Do you have a favorite style? We should brew something right now!”

“I…”

Albert perceptibly narrowed his eyes like he was assessing me—like he was sensing what my response would be. And before I could say more, he said, “We’ll circle back to that, no worries. Well, since you’ve been collaborating with monsters, Collectors have been seeking out the goblin beers in Lavenfauvish at Green-fin. They’ve been trading beers with the goblins, and the goblins have been showing up to taverns around the city. When the competitive got wind of this, they wanted to include more monsters, so there’s going to be a half-orc judge. I’m no monster, but I can brew some mean stuff, you know. Still, even with my caliber of expertise, I can only shoot so high. We could be an incredible team, you and I.” He nudged me with his elbow while grinning stupidly.

I took a step away. “Huh, a monster judge. This the first?”

Matoos, who had been fidgeting, cleared his throat. “Never seen one before. Trust me, I pay attention to this stuff. It’s good to have someone with all the industry knowledge at their fingertips. If we worked together, I could keep you informed of anything that relates to beer. I know how to live in the woods, too, so you wouldn’t need to worry about housing.”

I lifted my chin to the holly tree before us. “Let’s take this guy down. We’ve got a ways to go.”

Albert and Matoos, overzealous, spread their arms and herded folks away from the holly tree. After clipping enough branches to get close enough to the trunk, a single swing took the tree down. Folks moved in to clear the branches and chop the trunk.

I was then approached by a bearded fellow.

“Nice one!” he said. “Name’s Durrell. It’s an honor to finally meet you. Will you accept this beer? It’s a spontaneity berry beer.”

I had almost no choice. He thrust the bottle into my belly, and I grabbed it on reflex. The glass of the bottle was lake-blue, and the label read Blueberry Blast. Durrell turned a journal around and held it out for me to read.

“—So that you know what you’re in for,” he said.

His Collector’s Journal showed an illustration of the beer and its foam. Beneath was the description.

[Durrell’s Blueberry Blast.]

[Bronze rank. 44/100 Greater Tavern Ale.]

[Brewed by Durrell Scrapper.]

[Spontaneity beer brewed with ripe summer blueberries foraged from the abandoned waste lot in the parish of Reedsborrow. A deep purple foam gives way quickly once poured. The aroma is dominated by fruity notes of blueberries mixed with a stale muskiness. The flavor is dominantly tart and metallic with a lingering gummy mouthfeel. Low carbonation, almost flat.]

[No attributes.]

I popped the bottle into my inventory, and Durrell’s eyes lit up in a familiar way.

“I appreciate the beer,” I said. “Did you level up?”

“I’m one of the lucky ones. All my quests require wildland foraging, so my Hawkin the Hermit quest just fit right in.”

Before I could say anything, Durrell turned around and ambled a few steps. He stood akimbo, gazed around, waved at a group of folk, and then set south.

South? That was it? The man had traveled so far just to pass off a bottle for a quest. And not even a single word of gratitude.

The rest of us continued lumbering westward. Holly trees spilled their bright red berries underfoot. Pricked and scratched skin was tended to by a variety of healing means: potions, poultices, pours of beer, and salves...More wooden signs with painted arrows were hammered into the earth. Our pace began to slow, lagging of energy, until Abigail’s voice rose to call for a break.

Cold lunches were prepared and shared. There was an order to everything which must have been born from the group’s travel north. The task of preparing and distributing food was swift. Folk sought me out and offered to share their rations. It was a battle to try and remain beside Abigail. More than a handful of times, adventurers tried to squeeze between us. Abigail found it humorous…

It took a great deal of energy to converse with so many different folk. After only a few hours, I wasn’t the only tired one, and we still had days of trail-management to put behind us. Hoping not to draw out the time our trek would take, I fetched my mana collection jar from Beyond the Cabin and brewed 15.5 gallons of mana ale for everyone. I forged an ethereal label barrel for the beer, set it in the middle of our day-camp, and Abigail fit the barrel with a spigot.

Adventurers lined up to pour draughts of electric-blue beer. The chimeric-colored barrel seemed to amaze nearly everyone, and they swarmed the weird light. Some attempted to bottle more than their fair share of the mana beer which led to shouting and shoving. When those arguments arose, heavily armed men and women stepped in to squash any fights. Further arguing was deterred, and everyone carried on.

With the rest of the daylight, our efforts too carried on. We cleared a path that wound through the forest parallel with the mist. We were cutting down so many trees, but it was all for base building. I would return for the cut logs for winter, which would save me a lot of time later. And at least the logging wasn’t out of control like when the goblins had been destroying acres of woods.

Abigail’s voice once more rose with the first evidence of a peachy dusk. Camp was quickly put up. Cooking fires soon roared. Tents were hastily pitched, and most were crowding the fire where Abigail and I sat.

I had only a moment to listen for the woodland birds before I was swarmed by adventurers. I shook hands, accepted bottles of beer, traded beer, traded hops and other ingredients, and even brewed a few beers for folk.

…I found comfort in the familiarity of brewing beer.

But in all the chaos of dealing with everyone, I was somehow on my feet and separated from Abigail. I’d been pulled away from my campfire.

It was almost night when I finally fought my way back to her. I felt exhausted, and I slumped beside her. She was laughing in the company of two boisterous adventurers.

I arrived just in time to hear the younger man say, “…The whole time, it was in his shoe!”

Abigail and the two men cackled. Seeing Abigail laugh so freely brought a smile out of me. I chuckled along with them.

“Why, if it isn't Hawkin himself!” said the older of the pair. “Sit, sit. Seems as though the mob’s been running you in circles. I’m Alastair, silver rank Collector with a specialization in beer.”

“Duncan,” the other said. “Nice to finally meet the man in charge! That mana beer you brewed earlier—” He whistled. “—What a beaut of a beer.”

“Ah, indeed!” said Alastair. “Such a vivid hue. By the gods, your mana beer rivals the depths of any ocean this world has to offer!”

“And the barrel! I didn’t know colors like that even existed…Do you come by those barrels a lot? Have a whole stock of them? I’d like to get my hands on a couple. How much are you asking for one—a fifteen gallon?”

Alastair leaned toward Duncan. “Just as I told you. You’ve only seen a peak of the unimaginable. The colors on the planes in his Ethereal Stroll beer have no equal. That mana barrel was nothing.”

“You can keep blabbering about it all you like,” said Duncan. “I never got a chance at his Ethereal Stroll beer. It sold out immediately. Why would I believe the nonsense everyone was spreading? Colors that don’t exist?” He waved a hand like he was swatting at a fly. “Sounded like pure foolishness to me. But now that I’ve seen one of the barrels with my own eyes, well, I suppose all those lucky folk were telling the truth.”

Alastair seemed to take a bit of an offense to that. “Now, Duncan, I know we’ve only known each other these past few months, but why would I fib?”

Duncan put on a mischievous grin. “We have come to know each other quite well, haven’t we? Then why don’t you help out a new pal by trading one of your vintages for one of Hawkin’s awesome barrels.”

Alastair nearly rose from his seat. “For a vintage! That’s absurd!”

“You see, old man, that’s your problem. You only care about your precious collection. What’s the point of hoarding all that musty old beer if you’re never going to have one?”

“Musty old beer? Ludicrous! You young people are the problem. No concept of value whatsoever.” With that, Alastair crossed his arms and turned slightly to put his back to Duncan.

“Value?” said Duncan. “You’ve only talked about value when it comes to coin. Let me ask you this: Is there anything you value that gold couldn’t be stacked upon?”

Abigail stopped bouncing her leg. Alastair stared at the fire with a faraway gaze. Duncan rubbed his chin. I turned my gaze to the trees around us and the stars.

In the sudden silence, save for the gentle murmur of folk at other campfires, I could discern the sounds of the forest. Beetles clicked, crickets chirped, mayfly’s trilled, and I thought I heard a passing bat squeak a few times.

Ah, but those were the best sounds. They had been new sounds to Barnacle-eyes when she spent her first spring in these woods. And they were all too familiar to Thrush who realized that he often tuned them out. That of course had led to the two of them going on nightly adventures to track down the sources. I chortled when I remembered nearly tripping over Barnacle-eyes who had gone hunting for a neighboring cricket one day…

Abigail must have heard my chortle. Her hand landed gently upon mine.

To Duncan and Alastair I said, “That’s a big question. As for me—”

“—I’ve settled it!” Alastair blurted. “There is something quite dear to me that I’m after.” He rubbed his hands together, and he seemed to become somewhat bashful. “It’s a beer, of course, and it’s rare. A limited edition vintage, signed by the Brewer himself.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “Not at all where I thought you were going with this.”

Alastair softened, and his age could be heard in his voice. “Only one hundred have ever been brewed. And yet, though very rare, it’s not a sought-after beer. The Brewer never amounted to much. One hundred out of one hundred no longer circulate market. They’re either all in the hands of individuals, or they’ve all passed through bladders. My Collector’s Compilation has never failed me.”

“The floppy book you’re always reading? That’s what it tells you?”

“By the gods, you’re a horrible listener. Another trait of youth these days. I suppose I’ll cater to your shortcomings and show you instead.”

Alastair withdrew from his inventory a square tome. It was leatherbound, and the edges were gilded. There were marks which cast small shadows in the edges where it might have banged into the corners of other books. The reflected fire on the gilding looked like flashing brass. A single page smothered a bookmark, and Alastair slipped his finger in with the bookmark and flipped the book open.

Alastair put his fingertip on a page and said, “Look here.”

Duncan scooted to him and craned his neck. “Wow, that’s better than my Collector’s Journal. This dingy thing of yours tells you the edition, whether it’s circulating, discontinued, and the last highest bid.”

I left my seat and leaned around the fire to get a good look. “Handy little tool,” I said. “I wish I—”

Alastair’s brows lifted, and to Duncan he said, “—What I really like about the Compilation are the notes. Take a look.”

The tome was tilted away from my view where Duncan could assume a better view. I returned to my seat, nearly throwing my hands up.

“Note,” read Duncan. “Bottle 83/100 has been marked as beneath system.” And he scratched his head.

Alastair nodded. “Beneath system means that the beer was not tradable by market standards for a variety of reasons. These rejected beers have a chance at winding up in bronze rank loot chests and are most often untraceable. They’re as good as gone as far as Collectors are concerned.”

“Oh, I’ve got a ton like that. It’s always me that gets them. Well, what’s this beer of yours called?”

Alastair gazed into the trees behind me. His eyes became wide. He put his hands up as though to paint a picture. “The copper barleywine of Vavkin!”

Duncan leaned away, and stretched. “Oh, that thing. Yeah, I think it’s still kicking around in my inventory. Had a messed up label. Big piece of it was torn off, but I could still read the name of the beer. I remember the very day I got my hands on it.”

“You-you have it?” said Alastair.

Duncan shrugged. “Yup. Been saving it for a special moment. But maybe I’d be up for a trade. How much are you willing to pay for it?”

“Oh, anything! I’ll drop all my coin for it!”

“Well, now that it’s got some value to someone…I’ll need more than that.”

“You mad lad! I won’t go any further unless you show me.”

Duncan whipped out the very beer. The glass of the bottle was olive, and it was warped. The label looked like it had seen some terrible days.

Alastair reached for the bottle, but he stopped short as though he were afraid to touch it. “By Ughhi! By Potere!” Duncan still held the bottle out, and Alastair slowly hovered his hands over until he gingerly took it. “Indeed, the label was torn. Right here, where the count and signature should be. But this is it! It’s just as I remember. What do you want for it?”

Duncan lifted a brow. “I can’t imagine anything you could trade for a beer this priceless.”

“Duncan, please. We’ve become friends, haven’t we?”

“Then tell me, friend, why is a Collector interested in something like this? Your book said it’s not worth anything, so maybe it's time I take a sip and spare you a bad trade.”

Duncan snatched the bottle and took the cork in one hand. Just as he made to pull the cork—

“—No!” said Alastair, rising from his seat. “No, wait!”

Swallowing his laughter, Duncan said, “Why shouldn’t I pop it?”

“...About two decades ago I laid my hands on one. It was my first barleywine.” Then to Abigail and I, he said, “Barleywines can be very aggressive; very syrupy when young, but very punchy when aged.” He punched his palm. “I chose to keep it in hopes that the Brewer would make something of himself. He didn’t. Because the beer didn’t hold much worth, it was an easy decision to open it when my son came of age. Yet sharing this beer with him has grown to become one of my dearest memories…The house became so quiet after he left…At any rate, he became wedded last summer, and he and his wife are expecting in a couple of months. I’d like to keep that same beer to share with my grandson when he comes of age.”

Duncan shook his head in what seemed like mock disappointment. “You’ve told me countless stories about the beers you’ve tried, but never this one. Is your memory slipping, old man?”

“Ah, you see, failures aren’t something to flaunt, and I’d judged this side quest to be unachievable, so I’d put it to rest.”

Duncan nodded with gravity. He eyed his friend for a moment, and then he promptly handed the bottle over like it was but a simple flask of water. “It’s all yours.”

Alastair fell to stammering.

“I like you, Alastair. Consider it a fair trade for sharing your story. There’s no charge among friends.”

Alastair bubbled with joy as only an old man could bubble with joy.

Abigail slipped her fingers between mine and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. She smiled with her eyes. Their interaction had warmed her heart, and I was touched to see that.

And while Alastair turned the bottle round and round, speechless, I took in the night sky once more. Another silence had fallen over us, and I could again discern the chorus of nightlife. Every note was a treasure…

“—We’ve certainly gone off trail,” said Duncan. “Haven’t we, Hawkin? Let’s get back to the task at hand! I'd like to purchase one of those ethereal barrels from you. Empty, if that’s all right. That’s some fine art, there.”

Alastair’s tongue darted to wet his lip. “As long as we’re trading, I’d like a few bottles of that Ethereal Stroll beer. How about it, young man? Surely, a mighty fine Brewer at your level you must have spare ones in your coffers.”

Chapter 117

This is an Apple, Mr. Ballow

Brewer’s Reputation: 404.

What the Alchemists had been able to put together in what felt like the blink of an eye was astounding. They had fit a dozen tents on the trail and between the trees. Each tent was filled with tables, cabinets, glassware, mortar and pestles, scales, burners...Fires raged in other tents with flames that climbed the sides of cauldrons. Boiling liquid bubbled, and it sounded like heavy rain pummeled the forest. Steam and smoke vaporized beneath the canopy.

All that for plaster. But that plaster had me shaking my head in disbelief.

“What is it?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes from the bright orange plaster.

“Lumantium,” said an Alchemist. “It emits a glow, day or night.”

For every thirty striped maple we lumbered, lumantium was slapped onto tree trunks in rectangles the size of a man’s hand. The thick plaster dried instantly. It was a much better trail marker than hammering signs into the earth, especially where it was rooty.

For such young striped maples that were sparse along the particular route, it was exceptionally rooty. It was good timing. All I had to do was mark which trees we needed to clear, and adventurers would rush in to make it happen. Our trail management was in full swing.

Our midday breaks came faster, and when the sun was at zenith, I left the trail and clambered up the southern ridge. Looking north over the Mist Hidden wall, I could see mountains in the distance greatly obscured by blue hazes.

I was alone, not even for a moment, before an old man in elaborate scholastic robes beetled up the ridge. In tow, a young man crawled after him with the bottom of his robes slithering over leaves. He wore a bulging pack upon his back like a carapace.

“My good man!” said the older man. “Spare a moment so that we may wander this path of enlightenment together!” He panted and seemed chuffed with himself as he gazed out across the world. “I too seek such vistas. Such expanses of the mind.”

I leaned back against a tree and said, “Yeah, it’s usually peaceful up on the ridges…”

“Barnaby Whittlebeethus the XI, at your service.”

The younger fellow took Barnaby’s offered hand and pulled himself up beside us. “Pleasure to finally meet with you, Mr. Ballow. I’m Thomas.”

With what I thought might have been a shushing tone, Barnaby said, “Water, Thomas.”

Thomas rummaged through his pack. He popped out the cork of a dark waterskin. Crystal clear water splashed out and speckled the ground.

“Our acquaintance is imperative!” said Barnaby. “Long has the journey been, and the order of Ortus Scholars hopes to make a leaping advance in our understanding of the universe with your aid. I implore you, my good man, to introduce us to the nightream. Thrush is the name you’ve given him?”

“It’s his own name. And I can try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Ah, yes, life holds no promises. That much is true, Mr. Ballow. Let me make a promise to you instead. I shall relieve you of the ignorance you’ve suffered in your short breath of time. Take a look at this. Thomas, page 1114.”

Thomas rummaged once more. With a grunt he hefted a tome, and its removal deflated the pack. With muscle he opened the tome. Barnaby snatched the huge thing from Thomas.

“Recognize this, Mr. Ballow?” said Barnaby and turned his whole body so that pages 1114 and 1115 faced me.

The man took up a stance to hold the book. His limbs trembled and there was strain in his face. I held my hands out, palms up.

“May I?”

“By all means, Mr. Ballow!”

He lowered the tome onto my hands. I was not prepared for it to be that heavy! I felt my eyes go wide, and I had to step forward into a stance to brace myself. The tome teetered forward. Thomas caught the other end and helped hold it up.

I wanted to say thank you to the beaming young man, but the lavish illuminations drew more than my immediate attention. It provoked questions within me. Within the vining gold borders of the illumination, there was an illustration of the dreambon. Except it wasn’t any dreambon I had ever seen. It was dark green, and it was freckled with squares of brass. There was an illustration of a split dreambon which showed the seeds in a lathered cream. The seeds were needle-like; not at all like the round seeds in Thrush’s dreambons. Could it even be a dreambon?

Barnaby’s wide eyes and pocked nose almost landed upon the edge of the left page like a grasshopper would arrive—suddenly; almost out of thin air. “The dreambon has finally appeared in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients. We gathered that you were responsible for that. You must recognize this fruit.”

My brows furrowed. “It’s…different.”

Barnaby lifted his perched nose from the tome. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Ballow. The fruit has been faithfully recorded in the utmost detail.”

“Thrush’s dreambons are red with silver stripes. The colors are almost metallic, and they reflect light.”

The man stroked his chin, turned around, and muttered. “…Red?...Silver?...Stripes?” Aloud he said, “In every other aspect, this is the dreambon as you know it?”

“Absolutely. It has a distinct shape.”

“Have you any?”

“Thrush is particular about that. You’d have to ask him.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to meet the first creature of lore! The order of Otus must study him! Now is our chance!”

I returned the tome to Thomas and then took a seat at the base of the tree at my back.

“Hassocks, Thomas.”

Thomas wrenched hassocks from his pack and set them beside me. Barnaby lowered himself onto one with a squeezed wheeze. “Mr. Ballow. We have the chance to finally understand what the system is, of greeting it! We can discover how it came to be, and where it is going.”

My eyebrows bolted up. “Understanding the system…through Thrush?”

“The meaning of it all! Myths of nightreams have been recorded since the first histories of man—since before there was ever a mention of the system. Some records attest that your Thrush is a manifestation of the system, but others claim he is the system itself!”

There was dead silence between us. I gawked. “Come again?”

“One theory—well, my celebrated Origin theory which has been dutifully embraced by all—is that the system births itself every millenia into a nightream. At the end of that nightream’s life, they awaken and achieve complete consciousness. That consciousness combines with the old system. Then the nightream is reborn and the process repeats, further improving the system consciousness. All my studies have led me to this ultimate truth!”

Things were not adding up. Even Abigail had shared myths about Thrush that had turned out to be false. All I said was, “Thrush told me he couldn’t die.”

“Impossible. You must introduce us. Thrush’s long lived knowledge is the key to all understanding.” Barnaby became bug-eyed just then. His gaze darted like he was trying to catch his own thoughts. He seemed maniacally frantic for a moment. He turned his bug-eyes to me. “Tell me Mr. Ballow, has he spoken of the gods? How they are pieces of him?”

“All I know is that gods are afraid of him, and he’s caught one before.”

Somewhere in his muttering he said, “...I see, I see.”

Thomas burst with excitement. “What is it you see, Master?”

Barnaby ignored Thomas. “Let me explain something, Mr. Ballow. Our thoughts do not originate in the mind.” He pulled an apple out from the pocket of his robe. He held it up and put on an aposematic smile—something that felt uncanny. What the hell?

“…Do you want me to take it?”

“This is an apple, Mr. Ballow!”

It was so ridiculous that I laughed. “That is an apple, yes.”

Finally, his smile turned human. “What were you thinking just now?”

There were several thoughts I could have divulged, but I told him the most prominent one. “…That you pulled out a tasty looking apple…and it's lunchtime.”

“You did not produce that thought on your own. I presented the apple, which affected your thoughts. You see, thought does not originate in the mind. It is a result of everything around you, even beyond our senses. Thought is an interaction between us and everything outside of us.”

“You’re losing me.”

“Bear with me. System notifications appear in our minds, similar to our thoughts, yes?”

“I can follow that.”

“Thoughts are not a thing. If the system appears like thoughts, then whose thoughts are they? Not our own. Not the gods—there is ample evidence of that. Whose?”

“…The system’s?”

Barnaby snapped his fingers. “My good man, this begs the question not of what is the system, but who is the system…Who is interacting with us?”

I had to shut my eyes to follow his trail of thought. After a moment I said, “Hold on. You can’t possibly think it’s Thrush…”

Barnaby tilted his head and made a face that read, “Why not?”

“But Thrush has a system. He’s assigned a god to a Merchant quest path. How would that make sense?”

“You’re mistaken. A nightream can’t have a system.”

There it was again; things were not adding up. “I was with Thrush when he used his first Fable Stone and received his quest path.”

Barnaby almost went pale, and his hands cupped his stomach like he had received an arrow through his belly. “No, no, no…This doesn’t make any sense…”

Barnaby made fists, and Thomas copied him.

He continued. “Now see here, Mr. Ballow. It is imperative that we speak with Thrush! Such contradictions cannot stand!”

A holler from below had us glancing down. One of the Alchemists was on all fours and speeding up the ridge. He came up fast—spider fast.

I felt a prick on my knuckle and slapped the mosquito. Everything was swarming me!

Chapter 118

Throughout the Ages

Brewer’s Reputation: 403.

The Alchemist arrived with sweat on his brow. He clapped his hands to clear his palms of forest debris.

Barnaby paid him no mind. “Please, Mr. Ballow. Thrush is the system—he will become the new system. Soon. Very soon. Introduce us for the sake of mankind. We must speak to him before the next evolution of existence comes to pass!”

The Alchemist made a grand gesture of weariness and rolled his eyes. “You twit. This again? A nightream is a monster, not a system. If you actually had the welfare of man in mind, studying the dreambon would be your most pressing quest!”

Barnaby stumbled to his feet. “Call me a twit one more time!”

Thomas darted between the men and looked imploringly up at Barnaby. “Master, you taught me that anger leaves a hot-blooded scrim over the mind’s eye. An Otus Scholar sees beyond malice…Please, Master. You know how you get around Jasper.”

Like Thomas was but a passing fly, the two men ignored him and began talking over the other. They weren’t quite raising their voice; they were whisper-shouting. Thomas turned his back to the men and smiled at me, chagrinned.

Rubbing the back of his head, Thomas said, “Passion fuels one’s purpose! Obviously, this pilgrimage means more than life to Master Whittlebeethus.”

The two men delved a few paces farther down the ridge. To Thomas I said, “Are they always like this? You must’ve been exhausted on your journey here.”

“I’ve learned to keep them as far apart as the eastern and western sea corridors.”

On another matter, I was curious. “What about you? Do you think Thrush has anything to do with the system?”

Thomas dropped to his knees and muscled the tome open. He had to handle each page with a full fist. The edges were wrinkled, and he could only turn maybe twenty at a time.

“See here, Mr. Ballow,” he said.

I crouched. “Hawkin is fine with me. No need for formalities.”

Thomas handled a few stacks of pages. “I would be thoroughly lectured if Master Whittlebeethus overhears me calling you anything other than Mr. Ballow.” He shook his hand out, stretched his fingers, and then grappled more pages. “This is what I want to show you. Will you hold this for a moment?”

While I balanced the tome in my arms, Thomas fetched rug-thick cloth. He whipped the cloth flat and draped it upon the ground. Together we set the tome down, careful not to crush our fingers. Dappled afternoon sunlight slipped over the illuminations. Upon the odd numbered page was an illustration of a…fish-bear.

Thomas whispered reverently. “This is the first recorded instance of the nightream: ‘The Tale of the Awakening Eyes’.” He slid his finger one foot across the page and stopped it beneath an ornate word that looked like it had been written with wrought iron filigree…Was that why the tome was so heavy? Illuminations were scribed with metals?

“This word here translates to ‘world-eater’. The nightream is said to have tasted everything in existence. During the reign of King Austen the Catalyst, he encountered the nightream while in the gallop of a hunt. Curiosity piqued, he pursued the creature. The nightream fought against the king and his men with unparalleled strength and power. Now, this sentence here translates to ‘oblivious to pain and mortal wound’.”

Illustrated lances by the dozens pierced through the body of the nightream. A flood of humans battled it. On the next page, the nightream had fattened considerably, and even more lances pierced through its fur. On the next page, even greater detail had gone into the illumination. The next pages were gatefold pages. As soon as Thomas unfolded the pages out past the cloth, like he was slamming open double doors of a cathedral, I understood why they were gatefolds. The nightream’s bulbous bulging body needed the two extra pages of space. Its size dwarfed the humans, and the lances seemed more like whiskers.

Thomas massaged his probably sore palms. “Every one of the king’s men was viciously eaten. Over a hundred were said to have followed the king on his hunt that day. King Austen the Catalyst was spared, by the will of the gods.”

On the next set of gatefold pages, a figure—which was clearly a most lavish depiction of the king—stood at the foot of the planet-round nightream. The nightream’s mouth was open and its maw seemed as big as the moon.

“That’s this part?” I said.

“And this word roughly translates to ‘almighty scream’. This next one is something like ‘shaking earth’. The nightream is said to have swayed all the trees in the forest with his mighty roar.”

I was able to hold back my laughter, but not a smile. “Huh, I recognize that stance. Thrush does that to brace himself against an awesomely huge burp.”

Thomas regarded me blankly, and he blinked. “…This is serious, Mr. Ballow.” He dropped his gaze to the map of the battle aftermath. “Look at the detail in the mouth.”

I recognized the finger-thick fangs that fenced the bottom of the page above the king. Those fangs hung like icicles at the top of the page. Instead of a warty toad-ish tongue, there was a hill-shaped sea of blood strewn with floating human parts. Limbs flopped with leaping fish. Head-filled helmets pooled in the troughs of waves.

Behind the sea was an island, flourishing with flora. A sun was setting beside the island, and in the middle of the sun hundreds of tree branches were silhouetted. The branches were filled with all manner of animal: from monkey to elephant; from starfish to leopard. The roof of the nightream’s mouth was no mouth at all. It was a swirl of cloud-shaped gods who looked out in face-grasping fear and agony.

Thomas flicked his eyes up at me for a moment, and then he pulled up the next page and pushed it over. The following illumination was simply double-paged. The king’s face was in the center, and his eyes reflected all that he saw. Complex filigree flew from the king’s head. There were numbers, myriad symbols, the names of gods, inlaid malachite Fable Stones, and ancient words.

“The sheer terror which King Austen the Catalyst experienced opened his mind to the very first imprint of the system, which he passed on to his great armies. Thus his moniker. This is the first record of the system!”

“These are just myths,” I said.

“Scholars do not dismiss records as mere myths. Truths are hidden in the shadows of fantasy. The wise men of Otus are able to illuminate the wisdom in these long forgotten tales and share them with the world. This is a recorded instance of the nightream monster, Mr. Ballow! And my master has deciphered its true meaning!”

“I mean…” and I scratched my head. “There are some similarities…”

“What’s unique about the nightream is that they appear in the oldest of records. The first of records! They are documented by civilizations that are worlds apart. No other creature appears in ancient historical records as universally as the nightream. What spectacular things he must have witnessed so long ago in history!”

“Well, Thrush has talked about a time when the world was very different. He’s mentioned the stars, the earth, the way things smelled and tasted.”

Thomas took a look over his shoulder at the arguing men. He seemed to shrink from them for a moment before turning back to me. He lowered his voice even more. “I have some private questions I’d love to ask him. But they are insignificant to the mysteries that my Master wishes to uncover.”

“I gotta say, it’s really hard to talk to Thrush about his past. He stares off in thought, and he rarely ever answers. I’ve never pressed him to tell me more than he’s willing.”

“We must try, because Thrush may be the only living witness to the origin of humanity. I tell you this with utmost certainty, Mr. Ballow: The records we have of the nightream are not retellings of an old tale. Whereas all other records of mythological creatures are merely reimagined stories of the same legend, each record of the nightream is unique. For example, the Pinthus appears throughout history. The intent of its story is to teach young children to respect their elders. But when the nightream appears, it is always as a sighting, with no purpose to teach a lesson or perpetuate a belief.”

Put that way, that was an interesting anomaly. “I can see where you’re coming from.”

“Wouldn’t it be something to hear Thrush’s telling of the birth of mankind? Please; try to understand the significance of such a perspective.”

A lovely strong voice rose above the midday’s camp. Abigail was calling for a return to trail-management. Ah, a rescue!

I stood and brushed debris from my pants. Not a moment later, adventurers must have immediately gone to work because a tree crashed at the head of the trail. A flock of birds shot from the tree and circled above us. They split back down into the trees. A few alighted on the ridge a few paces away. One of the birds tilted its head at me. I mused that perhaps I seemed familiar to it. Perhaps I’d fed it before?

“Well, it’s about time I got back to it. Thank you for the tale, Thomas.”

“Wait! Please, Mr. Ballow. Let me fetch my Master.”

Thomas, like a nervous puppy, tried to interrupt the argument. Barnaby turned lurid eyes at his apprentice. “Just a moment, Thomas. Today is the day I settle things with this imposter once and for all!”

Tail between his legs, Thomas scurried back over, stammering and wringing his hands. “My apologies, Mr. Ballow. I—” His stomach gurgled with a twist like it was wringing a wet cloth.

“Have you had a chance to eat?” I said.

“Meeting with the nightream is Master’s sole life purpose, Mr. Ballow.”

I’d been saving the bread the adventurers had made over the past few days, but what would it hurt to share some? With all that Thomas had to deal with, maybe he needed an excuse to scarf something down. I gestured that we should sit, and I shared bread with him. Crumbs tumbled a few feet down the ridge, and the nearby birds flew to our feet. A couple more birds landed nearby. They stared at us from their profiles.

Thomas gazed at his bread. “Tell me…what’s your purpose?”

After our conversation, I was too beat to get deep with him. I simply took a deep breath and tore at my bread.

“My apologies again, Mr. Ballow. It’s not my place to ask such a question of you.”

“That’s all right, Thomas.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Right now, my purpose is to finish this trail. Eat, and please enjoy the ridge for a while longer.”

I stood and stretched. Instead of eating, and despite another stomach rumble, Thomas crumbled his bread and tossed the bits to the birds.

Then his tone changed. He seemed somewhat more like himself when he said, “Have you always wanted to be a Brewer?”

Something in that change made me pause and sit down again.

“I had no idea what I wanted to do.”

“How did you end up all the way out here?”

“It had everything I wanted.”

“You just up and chose to make a home here?”

“To put it simply, yes.”

“I wish things had been simple like that for me.”

We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. It was not so much a look of understanding, but more so a look of presence. That pure presence lasted a moment before he seemed to return to his thoughts. I gave him space by silence.

He fed his bread to the birds. “I wish I’d known how to survive in the wild. But I didn’t. All I ever knew was the city where I was born. I taught myself how to steal, and the people at the Otus cathedral had more food than they needed.”

Barnaby and Jasper raised their voices in sudden tension. They must have noticed that the heat of their exchange drew our attention because they paused and gave us the most bullshit smiles I had ever seen. Then they returned to whisper-shouting.

“Master Whittlebeethus isn’t all that bad, you know. He’s obsessive at times, and he can be moody, and he might say things that are sharp, and he occasionally gets very loud when he shares his favorite teaching…But he’s been really good to me.”

“How long have you known him?”

“The order of Otus are all scholars of familial lines. Fourteen families comprise the order. Well, fourteen before I came along.”

Ah. “So they caught you stealing, and you still owe them.”

Thomas leaned over. “I got too good to get caught.”

The birds kicked the leaves on the ridge. They danced and made small circling flights at our feet. Thomas’ share of bread was dwindling.

“Master knew I was ‘feral,’ as the other families called it. He would go out of his way to share food with me. Said I reminded him of the son he lost. Like I said, I was never caught stealing; but he must’ve known what I was doing. He was easy to talk to because he was the only one who talked to me.”

I eyed the bickering men. “Otherwise, he’s not the easiest to talk to?”

Thomas looked away. “His theories have given him a high rank among the order. I think that’s the only reason he was able to convince the others to take me in. Technically, I make up the fifteenth familial line. He really fought for that.”

“He means a lot to you.”

“There are so many volumes that speak of the heroics of people at the order of Otus—too many to read within a lifetime. Those stories are nice; I’ve seen lots of people inspired by them, but to me, Master’s kindness represents the best of humanity…Being taught how to read…Being given some warm food and a place to sleep at night…Just having someone to talk to…I know the very definition of life-changing.”

In the following pause, the forest filled with the sound of folk working together.

I reflected on the day I met Thrush. I remembered being excited to talk to him when I learned he spoke the same language. Time had since flown by in the company of Thrush, Barnacle-eyes, and in Abigail’s arms. I listened for her voice and thought I heard her doling directions.

“The creatures and people we meet have a funny way of changing our lives, don’t they,” I said.

“Do you think mankind has changed the nightream’s life throughout history?”

“Oh yeah. People have definitely changed him, inside and out.”

“Mr. Ballow…” Thomas chewed his lower lip. He shifted and appeared quite uncomfortable in his own skin. “…Hawkin, about what I’ve shared with you; will you please not say anything to my Master?”

“Not a word. And about Thrush...I’ll talk to him when I see him, but I can’t promise anything.”

Thomas sighed like he was setting down heavy burlap sacks of potatoes which he’d been carrying for months. He came alive then and began telling me about his life, his aspirations, and his voice was wide with wonder and spirit.

Eventually Abigail appeared at the bottom of the ridge. “Looking a little too cozy up there! Come give us a hand!”

Scholars arrived beside her and called for Barnaby and Thomas.

We all descended. The birds took flight. Jasper took his clumsy descent beside me.

“Hawkin, sir. Alchemists have curated many a life-saving item. Cure wounds, cure poison; healing the afore unhealable…I wanted to speak with you about the dreambon. By Forgan, we must study this item. It may have the potential to save countless lives, to better our existence!”

It was much more humid down in the trees, and I swatted a couple mosquitoes that sought me straight away.

While Jasper went on and on, I withdrew my axe from my inventory and laid the handle against my shoulder. It was back to chopping trees and slapping lumantium plaster onto bark.

Chapter 119

Dungeon Beers?

Brewer’s Reputation: 400.

The creek at its widest flowed through the base of the Mist Hidden wall. Through its waters the mist could be discerned. Its muddy bioluminescence wavered like seaweed disturbed by current. With the warmth of spring, a humidity hung above the creek and swamped the air. Willow branches hung like they were wet and heavy. The willows were massive, and their tops commanded everyone’s gaze. Their canopy was like leaf-beaded curtains which rustled in blusters.

Silver cocoons tore open in the forest and unleashed tens of monster fireflies. Even under such strong daylight, their lights blinked with brilliance.

I returned to the task of planing wood beams and planks for the bridge. Over the hours, beams and planks were joined over the bank of the creek. Everyone perspired from the labor. Posts were descended into dug holes, joinery was cut; and up the creek, others snatched crawfish from the water.

With my palm smote to the butt of my axehead, and with even pressure, peels of wood scraped up the beard of the axe. Those rolled peels amassed beside me like piles of miniature scrolls. Sweat dripped from my chin and wet my clothes, wet my axe handle, wet the toes of my boots, and stained the scrolls.

My effort was not unending, and I had to pause for longer than a moment to catch my breath. Everyone was downstream, and perhaps that’s why I found myself gazing upstream. My chest heaved as I panted and moved upstream through the sprawl of fern and cardinal flowers. When I stepped into shafts of sunlight, I felt the heat of the sun on my sweat on my shoulders. My skin gleamed in the corner of my eyes.

Ahead, I tucked my socks into my boots and left them dry before wading into the creek. The water trickled around large flat rocks where I took my seat. The cold water gripped my ankles and the current pulled at the hair on my legs. My bare feet were my eyes in the water. Behind me there was the sound of hammers striking wood the way that rain patters.

Behind closed eyes I saw the static red of the sun through my eyelids. I heard the constant water, I felt the wind stick in my sweat, and I heard adventurers nearby.

“Oye, wee ducklin’, I was here first! Ya best swim on back.”

“No you weren’t!”

“If ya keep quackin’ on, ya might be in for a drownin’ today!”

My eyelids were heavy, but I opened them as far as I could and searched the bank for the close commotion. Folk had amassed by my boots, and I knew why they had come upstream. At the fore of the sudden group, a farm boy and an armored young man faced off. The farm boy received a punch in his face, and he fell back in a sprawl. A dungeon crawler burst through the crowd as the farm boy staggered to his feet.

“Enough!” said the dungeon crawler. “That’s enough!”

A little girl, thin as a stick, rushed to the water’s edge. She clamped her nails between her teeth. The armored young man tackled the farm boy into the water.

“Get off me!” said the farm boy. “I was here first!”

“Liar!”

The dungeon crawler lifted the armored young man out of the water like he was pulling a cat off a tree. “That’s enough! Come on lads, you've been at each other’s throats for weeks!” The farm boy sputtered as he splashed to his feet. The dungeon crawler looked at him. “Mally, you’re barely the size of this man’s pinky. What’re you hoping to accomplish?”

Slipped free from the dungeon crawler’s grasp, the armored young man rushed Mally; but the dungeon crawler’s reach was faster, and he pulled him back.

“I said that’s enough!”

From the crowd emerged a hunched, round woman. She hobbled on see-saw hips and thrust a finger in the armored young man’s face. “At it again with that sweet young boy, are you! He’s been giving us grain for bread every day, and this is the thanks you show him?”

Her hand was as hunched at the wrist, curled like a lobster, and she pinched the boy’s ear. He whined like a wronged puppy as she towed him off.

The dungeon crawler crouched before Mally. “You know better.”

Blood ran from Mally’s nose. “I can’t let 'em down. If I don’t hurry—”

“—If you keep challenging men like that, you’ll only hurry to your grave.”

“But I gotta—”

The dungeon crawler leveled a menacing glare at Mally who then seemed defeated.

“Sorry,” muttered Mally.

The dungeon crawler pointed at the line of folk. “Back you go.”

Mally moved downstream, crouched in the water, and washed his face. His blood tinged the water around his ankles.

The little girl who had been so nervous was now at the front of the line. She grinned with smashed eyes and all her teeth. She took the dungeon crawler’s hand in hers and pulled him out across the water. The dungeon crawler stumbled along.

I was half expecting to lose my little break on the water. There were dozens of adventurers who still wanted something from me. There was no use in putting things off.

The pair splashed through the water and hobbled onto the nearest flat boulder. Up close, the dungeon crawler looked mean. He was quite roughly shaven, probably due to the raised scars which interrupted a razor’s glide.

I pointed my chin where the two boys had fought. “Thanks for breaking that up. I’m doing my best to make myself available so that everyone’s got a chance to talk.”

“We couldn’t be more grateful,” said the dungeon crawler. He looked down at the girl who had begun to chew her nails once more. She had the same jaw, and I reasoned they were father and daughter.

“So, what can I do for you? Dungeon beer, I’m guessing.”

“Oh! Yes, yes. Well, actually no, that’s not what I…” The man turned his gaze down and it seemed like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. “...Sorry to bother you like this.”

“It’s all right. I could give you a bottle of Ethereal Dungeon Beer #1 if you’d like?”

He perceptibly stuttered. He and his daughter shared looks.

While they shared their silent conversation, I began cloning my dungeon beer. After labeling the beer, I handed it over.

“Ah, thank you…for this.”

The man sat there with the bottle in his hand, but he seemed to stare through it. I had the feeling he wasn’t quite happy.

“More?” I said and quickly brewed a few more bottles.

“Oh, this is more than enough, thank you so much. It’s just not what I-”

Ah! Of course! Armed as he was, he would want the more dangerous dungeon beers. “—I get it,” I said. In a few moments, I cloned Ethereal Dungeon Beers #1, #2, #3, and #4.

The little girl’s eyes got wider with every bottle I passed her father.

He blew a raspberry and scratched the back of his head. “This is incredibly generous of you. I’m not sure I can accept all these. Are you sure?”

“I really don’t mind.”

The little girl frowned and poked her father between his plate armor at his side. He cleared his throat. “…I…uh…thank you…”

“Anytime.”

…But they didn’t leave. Water trickled around our ankles. The canopy rustled. Dappled sunlight searched the bottom of the creek. The little girl nudged him.

“Do you want more of each dungeon?” I said.

The man waved his hand. “No, no! I’m very much grateful for these.”

“Careful in #4. I’ve had to install a Minion Dungeon Master in that one. It’s much more brutal of a dungeon than the previous three.”

The sounds of construction ricocheted through the forest. Voices were only murmurs below the sound of running water.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see what everyone else needs.”

I slipped off the rock and began wading ashore. The little girl leapt into the water and intercepted me.

“Ellette!” her father cried, and he reached out for her.

She dodged her father’s grasp. “Please, Mr. Hawkin. This is my dad. His name is Wayan.” To her father she said, “I told you, you should start by introducing yourself.” To me she said, “My dad’s not good at talking about himself.”

Wayan slipped into the water and splashed over to his daughter. “Ellette, please, let’s leave the man to his task. He’s already given us too much.”

Ellette battled her father back. “And my name is Ellette. My dad doesn’t want your dungeon beers. Dad, show him the stone.” She fished a stone out from her father’s pocket, shoved it into his hands, and pulled his hands out toward me. “My dad is really nice once you get to know him. He just looks big and mean.” She took a deep and shaky breath. “But he’s not really mean. He’s just been a slave for a long time because his dad was a slave too because that’s what my grandpa did to raise his family.” Tears streamed down her cheeks and her voice trembled. “And I hate it, and this is our only chance. My dad tries hard. Really, really hard, and he’s doing his best. It’s not fair, and I wish we’d had a chance like this years ago. He’s really nice to me and my grandpa and he does his best to take care of us. He goes out of his way to help other people too, and he’s really, really strong. He’s the strongest person I know. But we need your help. Please Mr. Hawkin. He needs you to make a beer with the stone he brought with us.” Her hands were in fists and her knuckles were white. Her voice was near shouting—in it was something desperate. “I don’t want my dad to be a slave anymore. He’s gone for a long time sometimes and he tries to go into more dangerous dungeons to make more money and I’m afraid he won’t come home one day!”

Ellette was heaving breaths. All sounds paused, save for the trickle of water. All eyes, from bridge to the bottleneck of folk on the bank were on Ellette. She sobbed with a fierceness in her gaze. She’d even taken up a stance as if I were some monster she was sworn to take down. It was clear—she was fighting for something which meant the world to her.

Chapter 120

Next in Line

Brewer’s Reputation: 398.

Construction resumed. Heavily armored men and women hauled more wood to the edge of the bridge which nearly reached the opposite bank. Others had to use Abigail’s Third Hand attribute ales. The armored ones were a boisterous lot, heaving and grunting with no reason, it seemed, than to make it a competition between each other on who the strongest and loudest could be. They were the most carefree of the adventurers.

The evidence was there that Wayan was unlike them all.

We resumed our seats upon the boulders on the water. Having exhausted herself, Ellette sat upon her father’s knees and leaned back upon his chest. She ran her sleeve under her eyes.

Ashore, Abigail threw a wondering glance my way. I waved a hand to say that everything was all right.

“That was very brave of you to speak up for your dad,” I said.

Wayan tousled her hair. “She’s the bravest kiddo I know. Love her to death.”

“You're a…slave?”

“Ellette sees it that way, and I suppose that’s mostly true. My father was a Maceman and his income came from dungeon crawling. He would go through mace after mace after mace, and because he didn’t want me crawling with him, I became a blacksmith so that I could forge his weapons.”

“I have much respect for blacksmiths. I spent all my coin on an axehead before coming up here.”

Wayan kissed the top of his little girl’s head. “My father was proud.” His face, mean—only because of the revealed weight in his heart—showed defeat. “Then he joined a guild so that he could access private dungeons with much more valuable loot. They made him sign a contract which would have him split his loot for ten years.”

“Ten? Ten years?”

“There was also a stipulation: If my father should ever fail to relinquish seventy percent of his run’s worth of loot—no less than eighty gold coins—the guild would modify the contract in whatever way they saw fit.”

“That sounds…Your father agreed to that?”

“He did. He had some friends who’d joined the guild, and they’d hit their marks, always. Their success was enough to convince him that the loot was worth the risk.”

I rubbed my chin. “You’re here now, so I’m guessing the dice didn’t roll in his favor.”

“His friends were seasoned adventurers with an inventory to show for it. They’d gotten off to a good start. But my father was too eager to profit and went in alone one day. He became diseased after a nasty encounter with an imp mage and fell ill. He began to miss his quotas. The first modification made by the guild was to extend the contract by twenty years.”

I rolled the stone, which Ellette had made Wayan give me, in my hands. It looked like a crumpled ball of melted glass. The surface was matte and black like it had received the soot of a flame. Geometric faces revealed a deep green in certain secrets of light.

Wayan sighed, and his armor rustled. “A sick man can only do so much…Less and less as the years pass by…Still remember the day he asked me for help. I’d never seen my father cry before.”

“And the blacksmith became the crawler.” I hefted the stone. “Selling this wasn’t enough to break the contract?”

“It’s a level four dungeon core. It fetches a good price, but it’s only the beginning of the animate dungeons. In short, selling it wouldn’t help much. Might knock off a few years at best. Since I started crawling for him, I’ve been hitting my marks and then some. But my family can’t last for thirty years in that contract. My father needs special care now, and I can’t afford to keep him at home with us. Ellette is left alone day after day. She cooks for herself and…” He cleared his throat, and on his second attempt to continue he said, “…often eats alone. I want to change our lives. We don’t have the land to bury the core. But I’ve fought through your ethereal dungeons…All it took was one sip to get there.”

“You're lucky this isn’t higher than a level four core. That’s at the max of my skills.”

Wayan clenched his fist and smiled. Ellette seemed to fill with hope. Her eyes came alive and she smiled up at her father.

“Oh, wow, I would be forever indebted to you.”

“Well, let’s not repeat the past. I’d be happy with just a thanks.”

“We plan to go through it ourselves mostly and charge adventurers a fair fee per run. And with your reputation, we could pay off my father’s contract in no time.”

Stone in hand, I prepared to begin by using my level 2040 Brewer’s Bubble skill.

“Can you make it candy apple flavored!” said Ellette. “I heard your beer tastes like candy. My dad loves apples, so I was wondering if you could make his beer flavored like candy apple.”

“I can brew something like that, sure.”

With apples plucked from the Gift #1 ethereal plane, and ethereal ingredients, I brewed a master beer. I forged a label into the shape of a teardrop squash. Outside of requiring Dellia’s name on the label…

“Do you have a name for it?” I said.

“Face Basher!” said Ellette. “That’s what Grandpa calls his favorite Mace. It was the first one that Dad ever made. But he names them all Face Basher!”

I completed the label; yet, the beer was incomplete.

[Dellia Lucerne’s Ethereal Dungeon #6, Face Basher: Requires one Minion Master.]

“I’ll be right back.”

I sipped from the master beer and entered the ethereal plane. Considering Ellette, I employed my Modify Ethereal Plane skills to modify the light, color, texture, and atmosphere. Each skill improved to level 124.

With such alien colors, I did my best to make things seem apple-ish. The atmosphere now held speckles of micaceous luster, like the freckles on the bottoms of some apples. The light was somewhere between dawn through a window pane and of firelight at the bottom of a glass.

Arriving at the floating rocky core was a simple matter of swimming over.

[Minion Master Level 02.]

[Your Minion Master skill has gained a level.]

The pores of the rocky core perspired a muddy slime. The slime coalesced and took the shape of a horror. The slime hardened into a creature that rose to its feet as slime dripped from it. It had long drooping limbs, with a nose that drooped just as long. In the middle, its belly opened and revealed canines. The thing slammed belly first onto the rock and spread itself out as though for a hug. The grating of rock could only be its teeth against the core. When it lifted its belly, it spit crumbs of gravel at its feet. In just a few moments the beginning of a tunnel had been bored.

I couldn’t help but watch the horror bore further into the core as the core expanded on the other side. Just when it delved into the shadows of its own tunnel, I heard the sound of dry heaving, like a cat about to vomit. The floor of the tunnel was hit with a wet splash before some new creature thrashed in the liquid and squealed. I heard the sound of slapping flesh. Then the new creature emerged from the tunnel. It looked like the trunk of an elephant but with lamprey teeth. It rose like a snake and sniffed the air like a dog.

I returned to the creek and held up the new beer. “Face Basher.”

Before handing it over, I frowned. What would the master beer of their dungeon mean for them? It’s not something they could clone, which means they would run out of it quickly. And will they be the only case like this? Would I be brewing Ethereal Dungeon beers for others too?

“Dad, I think he wants us to pay,” said Ellette.

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out a few things. Yours is a unique situation. This is the master beer for your dungeon, and what I’m going to do is keep it on one of my other planes with the rest of the master beers I’ve brewed. In the meantime I’ll clone-brew as many bottles as your inventory can hold.”

“Shouldn’t I hold on to the master beer?” said Wayan.

“You wouldn’t be able to access the dungeon again when it runs out. If I keep it, I can clone-brew as much as you want. I don’t think there are any other brewers capable of that yet. There will be, I’m sure, but it may take some time.”

“How would I get a hold of you once I run out?”

“We can figure out the logistics later once the tavern is up and running. How about that?”

Ellette was now beaming and almost bouncing. How funny was it that one of my beers brought such happiness to someone who didn’t really care about the beer…

In under a minute I cloned Face Basher and filled their inventory with as much as they could comfortably hold.

There was a light in Wayan’s eyes now. “You know, I’m actually not much of a drinker. I’ve got a massive collection of beers from crawling. Been weighing down my inventory for some time now. The Collectors have been all over me about them. I’d love to gift them to you and your lady.” He nodded toward those that were working on the bridge; toward Abigail. “I think she might have actually brewed one of them.”

After a minute of chatting, Wayan and Ellette gave a final thanks and splashed across the creek. They headed down to the bridge. Wood supports were beginning to be removed.

I motioned for the next person in line. Another dungeon crawler splashed into the creek. His face looked to have been permanently beaten rough like he’d had experience against Face Basher.

“Name’s Jedrick. Level 2001, newly minted gold ranked Dungeon Crawler. I’ve been clearing floors since I could walk. Nothing survives this deadly duo.” He kissed an armored bicep. “Yup, no monster has nor ever will stand a chance against me. And let me tell you why, Hawkin.”

Jedrick was the best. Jedrick was an absolute monster. The world better watch out for Jedrick. No one could mess with Jedrick. Jedrick was the smartest, and Jedrick was the fiercest. Jedrick’s friends called him Jedrick the Great. His girlfriends called him Jedrick the Big. Jedrick deserved copies of ethereal dungeons because Jedrick was the Chosen One.

I glanced back at the line of folk. There were quite a few more of Jedrick’s build.

I exhausted myself making quick work of everyone’s requests and needs, making quite a bit of gold in the process. I accepted payment for most everything I brewed…Brewing for the grievers was heart wrenching…

I went through enough mana beer to ask Abigail for some Drunk Defiance ales. Near the end of the line, beer was sloshing in my belly.

Late in the afternoon, the last in line trudged over. It was the farm boy who’d gotten into a fist fight. His eye was swollen, there was a gash across that eyebrow, and his lip had a small split.

“How’s your eye?”

He slumped onto the rock opposite me. “It’s fine.”

“That cut’s pretty deep.”

“Ain’t nothin’. I need your help.”

“What’s going on?”

“I hail from Nulibi. Bet you never heard of us.”

“You would be right. Where is that?”

“Halfway ‘tween your sea and my sea.”

He had to be joking! Such a distance! I couldn’t keep the astonishment off my face. “Damn, how long have you been on the road?”

“I reckon road may be just beginning for me. Ma and Pa’s village ain't doing too good. O’er years, young’uns just like me been wandering long, long roads to cities, ne’er coming home e’er after. Which means ain’t no new muscle to help till, and ol’ folks come out their retirement to help sheaf the stalks and silo on up the grain. ‘N Jerda says whole village fixin to starve come two winters when the oldest folks fall out their rockin chairs ‘n never get back up ‘gain. ‘N ol’ Missus Maerbelle sighs lots and says sumthin's gotta be done, sumthin’s gotta be done—E’er morning: Sumthin’s gotta be done. Then poor Missus Maerbelle been getting all sort of flak from her ma and her grandma and her great grandma, tellin’ her ‘If you had been poppin ‘em kids out when you was pretty and perky, more farm hands would be running around helping out ‘stead of ol’ people working themselves to death!’. ‘N ol’ man Richard—I strongly dislike ol’ man Richard cause he smacked his Ma once—looks at me like it gotta be me that does the sumthin…Ne’er said that in those words, but you know how eyes and looks can talk. Well his eyes and the way he looks at me does a whole lot of talking that I can see through. I may be one of ‘em rural boys, but I can still read more than words, Mister Hawkin.”

But the boy wasn’t done. He had much more to say. His voice went on with a cadence like a cowbell on a lone cow crossing pasture. It was so much to listen to, to take in, to thread together, that I had to squint to keep track.

There was nothing to do but to halt him with a wave. “Let’s see if I got this right. Your village is having a hard time harvesting grain, right?”

“Mm.”

“Some years there’s too much grain, but there aren’t enough young people who can make the journey to the far away cities?”

“Mm.”

“Some years there’s not enough grain, and your people starve?”

“Mm.”

“And you gave up half of your share this year—a very plentiful year—so that you could come here to see me?”

“Mm.”

“Why me?”

“Well, I heard you was a rural boy too. But you made a name for yourself. Folk travel a long ways just to see you, not the other way ‘round. I thought maybe if you had the gumption to make sumthin o’ yourself with all your grain, who better for me to learn from than another rural boy? Sure I spoke with ‘em city Brewers on the way up here, but they ain’t have nuthin figured out like you do. They ain’t got no heart for the folk round ‘em.”

“You came all this way just to learn something from me?”

“My community is aging out, Mister. With what I can learn from you, I could make my village a destination so that families can settle down there instead of leavin’ their homes behind. Then the ol’ folks won’t have it so hard on their backs; and well, I may not look like much, but tell you what—I can be the best there is too!”

Memories came to the fore of some beers that I experienced. The brew could be so good that I would see lands in my mind’s eye. I remembered many times where I had imagined swathes of barley and wheat at various imagined elevations and imagined parts of the world. So many wild images had been born in my imagination, evoked by fantastic beers.

“...What is it you want to learn from me exactly?”

“All ‘em ropes, as they say. Even brought the village Fable Stone with me.” Mally held out a fiercely turquoise stone.

There were other better Brewers to seek out, and I told him as much. There were Brewers who dedicated themselves to all the quests laid available to them. I told him what I had heard about Erik Skullander; of course there was Hiccup. I told him about some of my favorite Brewers based on beers that I had acquired from local quests. Mally shook his head at every mention of another name.

I would not lose my ground; however, there was one last tactic.

At last I said, “Mally, I understand why it’s so important for you to work only with me, but there’s a lot I’m not willing to do. How about a solution we'd both be happy with?”

“Mm?”

“I have tuns which I don’t use much anymore. I’d be willing to put them on the ethereal tavern when it’s up and running. There’s a man named Evon that I see about once a week to discuss distributing various beers. Evon and I could meet up at the ethereal tavern, and while I’m there, I could spend some time brewing with you. Hiccup, as I’ve mentioned, could help us find the perfect Brewer for you to mentor with between my visits; someone very accomplished, who can give you their full attention.”

Mally paused like a cow lifting its head and bobbing its head to smell a shift in the wind. He finally frowned quite seriously and nodded. He went through his thoughts aloud. He liked that he could travel back to his home, drink the ethereal beer which would bring him to the ethereal tavern, and that he could return home.

Spending some time here and there throughout the course of a month to brew with Mally wouldn’t be so bad. And if I couldn’t fulfill that, I’d have another chat with him—and at least he wouldn’t be displaced from his village because of that.

Mally smiled big. “Lemme show you what I’m workin’ with.”

I followed him out of the creek and over to the wagons. Burlap sacks were stacked in the back of his. He unrolled the top of a half-filled sac, reached in, and cupped barley.

“Do you have a favorite beer style?” I said, handling the kernels he shared.

“I ain’t familiar with no styles, Mister Hawkin.”

With his grains and with melony armadillo hops, I brewed a crisp lager. The quality of the beer hit 06/100 Chimeric, up from the Lesser Chimeric quality.

“I just broke a quality barrier, which means this is my best beer so far. Let’s give it a try.”

Oh, how smooth lagers could be. The chill was like beaded water atop a block of ice under the sun. The aroma was sweet like melons just cracked in half. Faint pine turned the melon green, like moving from cantaloupe to honeydew. The malt was almost like corn cereal, or red quinoa fried into chips. There was a sweetness that was otherwise found in bread baked with poppyseed. I imagined that the barley came from land that sat in the middle of one flat horizon. Some land where the sun dried the grasses, and when it rained it flooded. Some land where herds of buffalo trampled the barley, and the air smelled like crisping cereal in an oven.

I had used one of my newest Gold rank skills: Dual Ribbons. In the hazy light of the beer, which was the color of frosted brown mercury, there were two twirling ribbons of mauve. They hit the tongue like syrups of wholegrain wheeled around grape and fig filling.

Ah!—But it was a good beer!

We named the beer Pluck O’ Nulibi.

And on our final sip, where we lapped up the last of the level 630 Warm Nougat beer foam, a commotion rose from the bridge.

In the creek, Wayan hefted Ellette on his shoulder beside the bridge. Hammer in hand, she helped knock the last remaining support, and the bridge stood. Voices rose in celebration.

…One more steep hill, and it was straight to the sea.

Chapter 121

Sharp Age

Brewer’s Reputation: 395.

There it was, the sudden slope of the land. It was like a giant had tucked in under the earth, and it lay frozen for eons. It was the last major hurdle. However steep, a little trail management could fix that.

As trail markers were slapped to tree trunks, I worked to fell the broadleaves whose canopies soared there. With my axe I cut faster than anyone. This led to competition among the dungeon crawlers which inevitably led to injuries. I put a stop to that right away and took up more of the labor to carve our way west.

The wood of the forester axe handle took the shockwaves of each strike and sent them up my arm. My hands sometimes suffered pins and needles, and often I had to shake them out. Blisters had begun to form again, but a few sips of healing beers returned the skin to thick and woods-ready.

“Down!” I called.

The tree took five whole seconds to fall. It slammed into the ground and put a boom through my chest. Branches were ripped down from other trees as though a hurricane had squeezed through. A couple dozen axe-wielding adventurers swooped in to divide the tree.

“Down!” I called a minute later. “Down! Down! Down!” I called throughout the hour, and at last I was at the top of the slope. I put the bit of my axe halfway through an oak. On my next swing, the handle exploded in my hands. Splinters of wood, as many as bristles on a straw broom, burst away. A single crack hit my ears like a rip of lightning. The force blew me back and I tumbled down the slope.

A commotion rose, as when anyone received an injury. Those with healing capabilities surrounded me immediately. Abigail was there so quickly, tendrils of her hair arrived a moment after.

The fall and the roll had taken the breath from me.

Abigail’s eyes and hands scanned me. “Breathe!”

It took a moment, but I rasped a breath. It sounded like I was coming up for water from the deep.

I was helped up to my butt. Abigail propped me up against her and I heaved breath after breath. I tried to pat my chest, but only managed to stab myself repeatedly. As it turned out, I had a hard grip on a piece of the handle and didn’t realize. Abigail wrenched it from my hand.

I recovered within the next half hour.

Gazing at the broken handle, I said, “Fifteen years of abuse…I suppose this was well overdue. The handle could never quite match the force of that blade.”

Folk tried to offer their own axes, but I patted the air each time and declined everyone’s insistence.

“I appreciate all the offers, but the bit’s still solid. “

“Are you truly all right?” said Abigail.

I guided us away from the crowd. “I’m gonna take a break and try to carve out a new handle. I’ve got plenty of blocks of wood in my inventory to choose from.”

“We’ll keep at it. Take your time.” She embraced me with strength, like she had suffered worry.

I made my way east back down the trail. It seemed that everyone could now tell when I wanted some peace and quiet, because they left me be. It had taken days for folk to learn that of me.

Away from the sound of everything, where they were probably just installing the first step of the stair, I breathed one big sigh.

It used to always be this quiet.

I sat upon a wide clean-cut stump of oak. Fresh wood-spice aroma fountained from the rings. From my inventory I brought out blocks of wood which I hadn’t thought about since my system became enabled after Thrush had first shown up. I leaned them against my legs. There was ebony, oak burl, pink ivory, osage, and hickory.

…Now, which one…

I heard just then the faint creak of wood. It was repetitive, and it was increasing in volume. Movement down the trail caught my attention. There was a butler, dressed pristine, pulling a rickshaw behind him. An old woman in all black wobbled in her seat upon the rickshaw. I squinted. Was it a woman? Was it black sacks of potatoes in a stack? No, those were arms, even if the skin had liver spots like freckles of dirt on potatoes. There were warts on her face like the eyes on potatoes.

The butler must have spotted me. “Madam, we have caught them!” he said.

Like a croaking toad, the old woman said, “Good boy. Perceptive as ever.”

The pulled rickshaw bounced over roots and shreds of bark. They slowed to a stop beside me. The old woman leaned over, and I was afraid for a beat that she would fall out.

“Young man, where might I find…” She paused as her eyes took me in. “What’s happened?”

“I shattered the handle taking down some trees.”

She turned to the butler and whipped the air with a saggy arm. “Put me down!”

“Yes, Madam…”

The rickshaw handles were lowered until they touched the ground. With grace, the butler helped the old woman step down from her inclined seat. A fat cushioned stool was scooted under her, and she sat across from me.

She scoffed like she was annoyed. “What’s another fool to bear along this foolish journey? Indulge me. What’s happened to your axe?”

“Tough tree.”

She aimed a crooked finger at the blocks of wood leaned against my thighs. “Osage? For an axe handle?”

“You know wood?”

“Been carving all my life. Was even birthed through the belly.”

“All right, well what handle should I go with then?”

“Ebony is thrice as durable as hickory. A mighty fine cut of it, too. Shame you don’t have any snakewood or camelthorn.”

“Then ebony it is.”

The old woman extended a saggy arm. “May I?”

I handed her the long block of ebony. “Been holding on to that piece for some time now.”

“Lucky I got to it before you did.” Seemingly of its own accord, one of her eyes strayed from its shared vision with the other’s and gazed at my lap. “By the character of those hands, you best stick to breaking the handle, not making it.”

“Y-you want to carve it?”

“Time has taken some of my speed, but none of my skill.”

“Uh…I suppose it’s all right.”

Turning the bit of the axe away from her, I passed the wedge over.

“You were planning on using this?”

“I leveled it up for almost five years. It’s sharp.”

She held the axehead like she was pinching the cheek of a rambunctious child who’d been thrice scolded to behave. She ran the bit down the block of wood along a corner. Pencil-shaving thin sheets of black wood peeled off and broke away to float off like flower petals.

The old woman shook her head. “…Calling this sharp is like calling me young.”

What was the meaning of this? What a preposterous woman. What a sudden thing she decided to do. Did she know who I was? Was this an attempt to butter me up? What an upfront woman! The circumstance was so curious, I couldn’t help half smile.

“It’s a forester axe. Well, at least it was.”

“Why thank you, dear. And here I thought it was a metal door stop. How precious of you to enlighten me.”

My half smile was the open door for my laughter to stumble out of. “No, I meant to say that the handle for the bit should be curved. You might not have known.”

“One who’s worked with snakewood and camelthorn hasn’t the ability to discern something so basic?”

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

She replied with a grunt and a clearing throat. Positioning the wood between her legs like it was a cello, she began a pile of black shavings.

“What level are you?” I said.

“At my age it doesn’t matter.”

“My grandfather would have been silver.”

“He gave you this axe?”

“No. He gave me a pocket knife when I was a child. He taught me how to whittle. He used to sit like you and I are sitting. We would whittle for hours together. I’d get these little knicks on the tip of my fingers.”

The old woman nodded the way that someone nods when they already know an answer. “The ones that don’t make themselves known while the work is being done? Only the next day can the lines be felt and the dried blood be seen. It’s a wonder how such little pains can sneak in over time; and a curse when their scars are revealed.”

“I guess that’s what a sharp knife will do.”

She held out a hand and shook it like it was a limp octopus with knuckles. “No, a sharp knife will limit how high you can count. It’s a dull knife that creeps in to leave the knicks.”

“My grandfather used to say that kind of stuff all the time.” In the rhythm of her work, I admired her alternating techniques. “…You’re quite skilled. I’m impressed.”

“Bah. This dull blade is no match for the toolset I’d sold before I started on this foolish quest. But it’ll do.”

“That’s going to turn out to be something my grandfather would be proud of.”

She worked, swift as a wind, while black petals fell from the wood. The unmistakable curve of the forester axe quickly became apparent. She worked ruthlessly at the top notch before testing its fit through the axehead. After two repetitions of that, she fit the axehead snug. She drove a wedge of ebony into the eyelet, put the axe head on the leaves between us, and flipped the handle to me. I took it up and rolled the handle in my hands. The wood was so smooth, it made the sound of a sigh as it rubbed against my palm.

“Absolutely amazing,” I said. “Better than the prior handle! What’s your name? How can I thank you?”

“Gertrude. Just tell me which one is Hawkin.” She smiled, and it was a crooked smile. “I’m going to shove my cane so far up his ass, he’ll look like a skewered pig. That fool deserves to be roasted.”

“…I’m Hawkin.”

She became full of expression just then. Her entire face wrinkled to hold the shape of a snarl. “You!”

Chapter 122

For Those They Loved

Brewer’s Reputation: 389.

Oh, what a glare! Was I suddenly a hare beneath the ending fangs of a mad wolf? Would I have to fight my first human? Of course not, but that’s what the tension felt like! Ah, I had never seen someone’s face turn so mean ever before. Would the orcs blanch?

“Do you have any idea what you’ve put an old lady through?” Gertrude whispered. Flecks of spit flew from her lips. “Any idea?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

She rummaged within her garb and withdrew one of my ethereal beers. The chimeric light reflected on her teeth and in her scleras. “Take it.” She shoved the bottle in my direction, and the liquid within tinkled. “I want nothing to do with it anymore.” She forced it into my hands.

I turned the bottle and read the label. It was one of the mausoleum beers which I had brewed and passed to Evon. Gertrude’s name was on it.

“Where did you get this?” I needed to make sure I had a firm grasp on things.

“Lavenfauvish.”

“It didn’t work?” I inspected the bottle, checking to see whether the seal had been broken. “Doesn’t seem like you've opened it yet. You should’ve been given instructions along with an ethereal plane beer.”

“All that you’ve put me through has me—” She pinched the air with a violent shake. “—this close to death! I should’ve carved you a handle for the sickle you’ve dangled over my head.”

“Slow down, slow down. What’s the matter?”

“How could you do this to me? To my daughter? Do you think this offers her any rest? Any peace? She was angry with me, but what if she’s already made her peace? What if I see her and she gets angry all over again? You brought this curse down on me! You did it! And she shouldn’t be budged from her peace!”

I had always expected sadness from folk, not anger. Was this the first time that someone was angry with me over the mausoleum beers? Had Evon been confronted with this? He never mentioned anything when we met to trade beers with ingredients.

Gah, she was upset! But who was I to expect emotions from folk when it came to the deceased? She must have her reasons, but I couldn’t help from wondering for the hundredth time if what I was doing was right. I sighed from the deep of me.

“…I thought it would give people a chance to say goodbye.”

“One goodbye isn’t enough? I have to say goodbye again? I don’t want to say goodbye again, but I can’t live through the end of my life without telling my daughter what she needed so badly to hear. What I couldn’t say then. Something important. Very important.” Gertrude turned her glare to the bottle. “I wish a great many things, young man, but what I wish above all else is that this bottle didn’t exist.”

“I can take this back if that helps.”

“You fool!” Suddenly she produced a cane from her inventory and began whacking me with it. “You fool! You fool!” The cane clattered, but her arms still swung. Her eyes were closed and tears were squeezed from them. “You…fool…”

I lowered an arm from parrying. Gertrude slumped into her hands. Her shoulders trembled. Poor woman.

I retrieved her cane, but she wouldn’t come out for it. All I could offer was to come around and pat her back. She didn’t respond so I tried rubbing gently.

I tried to be soft with her. “Please, tell me how I can help you.”

She lifted her face from her snot-wet hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I expected. I raised hell until that lavish fellow offered to transport me north.” A horrendous sob tore through her. “…I’m so afraid.”

“You’re still not sure if you want to see your daughter again?”

She looked at the bottle, then at me. In pained eyes I saw her humanity. She seemed shed of all her life, and she seemed like a child whose soul was woebegone. “Why did you have to make something like this? Why couldn’t you just leave it be?”

“I…I thought I was helping people.”

“Well, you’re not helping me. Why bring my daughter back if you can’t bring her back?”

“I—”

“—This is too cruel. Too cruel.”

In a burst of what felt like defiance, she scooped up her cane and rose. She tumbled forward, and I rushed to catch her. Her limbs shuddered as though all her strength had left her. In my arms she wept. She wept so hard, with such gravity, that it drew tears from me as well. Her cane hit the ground once more.

In the cloth at my shoulder she said, “It’s not right…”

There was nothing I could do but bear her weight and be with her. We sat in a small huddle upon the ground. When strength returned to her, she lifted her face from my shoulder. She seemed different. I could now say that I’ve witnessed someone double in age in mere minutes. Oh, how tired she looked.

Her gaze fell away for a moment. She lifted her eyebrows as though to point. “Your grandfather. What was he like?”

I turned to find that she’d been gazing at the forester axe.

My grandfather? Oh, wow. “Well, he passed away when I was a kid. He was quiet. …Maybe quiet’s not the best word. He talked with me a lot, but he was a soft talker. If you didn’t lean in to listen, you’d miss things.”

“Seems you’ve caught the important things. Your first handle might’ve failed you, but you’re still eager to carve.”

“I always had so many questions, and he never got sick of answering. I was little, but I still knew when he was making stuff up. It didn’t matter, because he told amazing stories.”

Gertrude listened deeply—raptly—as I recounted stories. I must have turned wistful because I found that I could not stop talking.

What a treasure it was to revisit the days where my grandfather would amble through Lunstad parks with me. He would point out brass mercurial cicada shells clutching bark. When I would curiously peer at insects he would nudge me and encourage me to gently pick them up. What an adventure it was to grow the nerve to pick up insects!

There were cooler days with calmer adventures too. In the spring he would lead us on walks where spring flowers brimmed path sides. Those were tasty days, because he always produced persimmons from a small knapsack in his pocket.

What a soothing soul that man was. He would plant himself on park benches and whistle—just whistle. But you had to hear him whistle, because it was with skill beyond birds. His lungs knew old songs. And of course, being such a better whistler than birds, he could mimic whichever species you mentioned. The proof was that they’d arrive in the middle of his songs. It would make him smile when I spit between my lips. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he’d say.

Ah, what a grandfather to have! My fondest memories were spent with him in our backyard garden. He would find me playing in the pebbles and arrive in a crouch with an umph. We would pick out the best pebbles and pile them together. What made them the best? Oh, this one was clear, this one was shaped like an arrowhead, this one had two stripes…

And I loved to hear him talk. He had stories to tell, adventures to recount. I couldn’t remember a single one, but I didn’t think that was important. Hearing his voice was important. It was the sound of him, the gentleness of an old voice. But as life went on, I heard that voice less and less…and less…

All that I shared put a silence between us. Gertrude was looking through things. She took the bottle, touched it with her fingers and her gaze, then held it close to her chest.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” I said.

“I’m at the end of things. Seeing my daughter for one more last time deserved a big adventure. Maybe it’s much easier for other people. But not for me.”

“We’re making our way to the sea. We’re going to build a tavern there.”

“Bah. I’m going to speak with my daughter. Then…” She gazed off into the woods. “I think I’ll let that sickle blade fall. It’s been dangling over my head for too long now.”

“You want to die?”

She gripped her cane and began to rise. I helped her up.

“I’ve been holding on to life as hard as I can. I’m ill beyond what I care to share, and the potions I’ve been taking have reached their limits. A body that is failing like mine means death, Hawkin…And no need to make beer out of me. I’m the only one left; the useless one that got left behind.”

Just like that, the strange encounter came to a close. She waddled to the rickshaw, and the butler helped her up. The wheels creaked as the rickshaw was turned, and the wood groaned as it was pulled away.

I watched the trail of the forest where they left for longer than I could see them.

Such a journey for the sake of her daughter’s peace at a tremendous toll on herself. Ah…Was I doing the right thing? It was something I mulled over without coming to an answer.

But an understanding bloomed within me.

It had seemed at first that people were just in it for themselves. Yet, almost everyone had proven otherwise. They had come because they were willing to sacrifice so much for those they loved.

Chapter 123

Goblin Kind

Abigail

The ship in which Slime-tooth labored was eerily quiet. I squeezed through haphazard corridors and climbed step ladders to navigate through the barrel-filled spaces. There was little light below deck. I was lucky when moonlight pierced the hull or the deck above through slats or between gaps where two different materials adjoined.

The Chameleon Stealth attribute wore off. I now saw my tunic and pants, my boots, and Barnacle-eyes’ most recent letter in my hand. Since Hawkin had found it on Home Camp just this morning, I thought it was a perfect opportunity to scout out Slime-tooth and see what I could do to help him. Oh, Slime-tooth…

Again there were no other goblins. The chaos of barrels would have said otherwise, but that was only because of how hard Slime-tooth labored.

“Slime-tooth?”

He was definitely around. I stumbled upon wet canvas which must have served as bedding. Some of it looked to have been propped as a pillow; the rest lay folded as though to slip in. It was in the middle of the largest hallway. I supposed that if Slime-tooth were by himself, he was able to choose anywhere to sleep. In a gap between barrels I found some of Hawkin’s ethereal bottles which had contained healing and sustenance beers.

“Slime-tooth? I know you’re here.”

The sound of goblin footsteps marched along the upper deck. Obviously not Slime-tooth, but the sudden sound of other goblins echoed through the corridors.

“It’s me, Abigail. I just want to see how you’re doing. I have more sustenance beers for you; more healing beers.”

I held my breath to listen. I swore I could hear goblins bailing water near the hatch at the other end of the cargo hold. I moved on, sweeping room after room.

“There’s something else for you—something special.”

For a brief moment there was silence. I opened a door which produced a long shaking creak. The room was quite dark compared to others.

“I have a letter from Barnacle-eyes.”

Something rustled in the room. The ship yawed and the starboard side was suddenly exposed to the moon. Moonlight came in through slats in the walls of mixed materials. Water sloshed along the floor.

Slime-tooth spoke from the shadows in a corner, and it sounded like he hadn’t used his voice in months. “What’s all this hollering! How’s an old goblin supposed to get any sleep?”

I peered to try and discern him. “Come out, let me see how you’re doing.”

“Oh no. You don’t need to see me. Every time you see me you’ve got something to say. Slime-tooth this; Slime-tooth that. What happened to your fingers? What happened to your eyes? Where did all these scars come from? Are you eating? Is this broken? Is that broken? No thank you! I’ll stay right here. A goblin worries when someone worries over him, and I’ve enough to worry over without worrying you’re worried.”

“Are the healing beers helping?”

“They’re helping to keep me here.”

“Do you have enough food?”

“Enough to keep me here.”

Oh, Slime-tooth! “We can help you. We have a safe place for you. Come with us.”

“I deal enough with humans as it is. I’m thankful that Hawkin befriended my dear, dear Barnacle-eyes, but you humans do too much. I know where the line is when I draw it.”

“Haven’t our okra spit beers helped to lighten some of your burden? That recipe comes from a human friend of mine. And the furnace attribute and spit-warm beers that we’ve brewed for the goblins—haven’t they helped?”

“…I know, I know…”

“If you come with us, we can lift away all that weight you’re carrying, Slime-tooth. Please, will you come with us?”

“…You said you had a letter?”

“Gloom-glower is still forcing an impossible workload on you, isn’t he?”

“Leave things be, Abigail. Our world might not be perfect, but it's our world; and goblin problems are for goblins to fix.”

The ship groaned, but did it groan from the heaviness between us? Did it groan from the weight on Slime-tooth’s shoulders?

“…Letter?” said Slime-tooth very, very nicely.

I held the letter in a shaft of moonlight so that the goblin could see it. I felt like I was passing a glowing scroll with enough worth to draw the curiosity of gods. I wanted to see him in that light, but he must have caught on. With a sigh I stepped deeper and held the letter in the shadow beyond the shafts of light. It was slowly pulled from my hand.

I heard the paper crinkle against cloth. Slime-tooth sniffled. I tried to block the shaft of light with an extended hand, palm out, but I still could not discern him. Was that his shape in the corner on the floor? Was he hugging the letter? Surely, he’d want to read it, first thing.

“Slime-tooth? Can you read it?”

In the moments that passed, Slime-tooth only sniffled, the letter crinkled, and the ship gently rolled.

I lowered to my knees. “Would you like me to read it?”

The end of the letter suddenly appeared in a shaft of light. I took it, and it unraveled all the way, but Slime-tooth would not let go of the bottom corner. I tugged, but he would not let go. I moved near the shaft of light so that I could read. I cleared my throat. It was difficult to read, but I persisted, slowly, so that Slime-tooth could take in each word.

At the end of it, he said, “Congratulations? King? Me? Oh, I don’t know anything about that…But how amazing that her fleet has gotten bigger!”

I noticed scribbles on the back. “There’s more…I think? Do you mind letting go so I can flip it?”

Slime-tooth went silent, and he held onto a corner.

“All right. Then turn it with me. One, two, three.”

We turned it, and charcoal dust grayed the moonlight. There was no order to the scribbles, so I took a moment to scan for anything that made sense. Aha! “I think these are names. Would you like me to read them?”

I pulled the letter more into the light, and the bottom came free. I wondered why he let go just then.

“Here goes. Ready? Pat-belly, Trumpet-snore, Jag-tongue, Elbow-elbow, Laugh-riot, Pimples-dimples, Slip-says, Wise-eye, Ptoo-launch, Hides-lots, Never-sleeps…”

The back had a long list. No wonder the letter was as tall as a goblin. It had to be to fit all those names. And after I listed them all—to the best of my ability—there was again silence between us, until Slime-tooth reached into the light.

A shiver born of horror swept under my skin when I saw his hand. Tears instantly touched my cheeks. I choked on a gasp.

“Oh, Slime-tooth!…”

What should have been a finger lifted, and he touched one of the names. “What’s this one?”

I evened my voice. “Sorry-lied.”

His finger dropped and landed upon another name.

“Bubble-maker.”

His finger dragged up the letter and stopped.

“Night-hoot.”

Slime-tooth’s hand bobbed midair, then receded into the shadow. “Are these all her friends? They’re all working for her?”

“I think they signed the letter to say hello to you.”

Slime-tooth shifted in the corner. His voice came directly at me this time, and I realized he must have been speaking at the floor until then. “…Hello, little ones…”

I threw the tears off my cheeks. “Do you know any of them?”

“Oh no, no. Are they nice to her? I hope they’re nice to her.”

“I would think so. I hear she’s doing very well.”

Slime-tooth shifted again.

“…Could you…Could you read them one more time, please? I want to picture all of them again, like they’re all around my Barnacle-eyes.”

“I’ll start from the bottom this time. Wonder-round, Flop-luck, Dont-knows, Stripe-scar, Drip-lobe, Tender-to-see, Cloud-think…”

I sometimes had to pause so that my voice wouldn’t break, but I got through the list again. I took my time, sometimes going back to repeat some of the names so that Slime-tooth could hear them all a little longer.

“Can I still have the letter?”

I handed the letter over with an, “Of course.” Then, “Are you all right?”

“I can’t leave them behind. All we have is each other. Most of the time I’m the only goblin between them and Gloom-glower. I have to do my best…I can't come with you.”

I sat with him, and we talked of the goblins. I would have stayed all night, but Slime-tooth said he needed to get back to work. I gave him everything I had: All my sustenance beers, all my healing beers, Third Hand attributes, extra apples that I had, all the water, my sleeping roll; I gave him everything.

…I returned to camp, via Brewer’s Portal and found Hawkin in a tree enwrapped by Sheltering attributes. He bolted up when I arrived, and he looked into my eyes.

“Abigail? What happened?” His thumb gently swiped the top of my cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Oh, Slime-tooth. How did such creatures come to break my heart over and over? They were goblins! Oh such tender creatures, some of them. Without force, what could we do for Slime-tooth? Mixed emotions battled within.

Hawkin became tender. “Abigail, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Do you think you could clone some of those Home Camp beers? I want to give some to Slime-tooth. And maybe we can make it more comfortable there? It would be a great place for him to rest and recover.”

“Yes, of course. Is he all right?”

I went in for a hug. I wanted Hawkin to hug me deeply. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to hug, and to listen to the multitude of crackling fires, and to watch innumerable blinking fireflies, and to listen to someone strum their instrument below, and to just…to just…

“It’s all right, Abigail. I’m here. It’s okay. I love you.”

Chapter 124

Legkeds

Ogo

What a mood my orcs were in! Several songs were sung at once. Laughter rumbled in our chests. Eyes shone bright over smiles. Several orcs massaged fractured tusks. Beneath armor, every limb was wrapped in bandage. Blood dripped from a healing wound at my side, but I wasn’t the only one staining the snow red. In the far north, a long trail of blood lay behind us. Even the golem cracked smiles while his totem legs plowed the snow. In this place, there would never be spring.

“What were they called?” said the golem, translated by Jix.

“Scarpadae,” I said.

“Orcs are tougher than they look.”

“Is your vision starting to crack? You should get that boulder you have for a head checked out.”

“No other creature I’ve seen would have survived such an encounter.”

“We trade or we fight. The barrels are running low anyway.”

On we hauled our carts, filled with traded treasures. Only a few carts still had barrels of beer. In the vast white of white sky and white land and white wind, we hoped to find our last destination. We made good pace with high morale after our recent battle. Somewhere in the short days, we saw things move before us.

White legs, two stories tall, came striding toward us. Squinting, I could see hundreds more pairs. The snow was thin between the bottom of our boots and the ice beneath. Those legs moved over the land in strides as wide as mature trees were tall.

I halted our trek as one pair of legs came right up to me. The knees bent, and a torso which resembled a furry monkey, descended as though from clouds. The torso was no bigger than I, yet its arms were as long as its legs.

It spoke with a voice that bordered on a shriek through cracking ice, and once again Jix applied mental strength to translate. “Orcs in the flesh. You lot are a long way from home.”

Dozens of pairs of legs trundled over. Their torsos hung high, and they peered down at us. What curious monsters. And in the barren world here, how did they subsist? What food was there? What shelter? What water?

The standing legs moved by us like pendulums. They strode along our carts, and long arms swung down. Spear-long fingers poked at our treasures in the carts. Around Hawkin’s barrels, their limbs glowed with chimeric colors as they tapped against the ethereal labels.

“Come,” I said.

Beneath the falling gazes of those gathered monsters, I tapped a barrel to share with these strange creatures—these supposed legkeds.

∞

The legkeds squatted amongst us, and their legs formed sharp arches. Their smaller torsos against such long limbs made them appear like spiders. Several barrels of beer were now tapped, and we drank from blocks of ice crudely carved by teeth and tusk into chalices.

The legkeds were ravished with beer! Judging by the expressions of my orcs, I wasn’t the only one amazed by their thirst. Their taste for the beer even surpassed goblin fervor. What I couldn’t trade with the hostile scarpadae would most certainly go to the legkeds. They were sure to eagerly trade.

“This is all you have?” said an elder legked. His gaze had settled on our carts.

“We’ve left a few barrels in cargo, but this is the last of our trade.”

“We’ll never have anything to trade with you. We don’t keep anything.”

“How do you survive?”

Jix wasn’t able to translate so quickly. She and the legked spoke back and forth for less than a minute before she at last turned to me. There was a word she had trouble translating, and she couldn't interpret their gestures. She threw up a waving hand, seemingly baffled into irritation.

Overhead, barrels were passed from legked to legked. They dazzled over the colors and checked thrice each barrel for last shy drops of beer. Meanwhile, the sky grayed with dusk. Fur came to find me and groaned as he slumped beside me.

He unraveled his cartography supplies into the dust of the snow. With ink which he had to thaw in his palm he began expanding his master map of its missing north. He moved on to replicating the expansion onto scroll-rolled copies. Of the colors on his maps, the swaths of blue in the west drew my focus. I couldn’t help but grin when I saw the gold letters that spelled Ogo upon the sea.

A heavy sigh blew between my tusks.

Fur gandered at me and said, “You’re the one that chose to take us by land.”

I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. Cold wind wicked my armpits beneath my armor. “Do you remember the burnt orcs?”

“I thought you didn’t want to sail to Fiberthorn Cove again.”

“I want Barnacle-eyes to sail there for me, but that’s not it. It feels killing to be so far from water. I wonder if all orcs feel that way.”

Fur grunted. He capped his bottle of ink and wrapped his fist around the bottle.

“This is as far north as we go,” I said. “I want to smell the salt again; feel the wind; hear the seabirds; hunt the fish.”

“How will you continue trading by land?”

“By hire and by command. How else?”

After a moment, with eyes to the sky, Fur said, “Night comes quick here.”

The clouds must not have been so thick during the day because the stars were bright and filled the sky. The torso of a striding legked blocked a path through the stars. It crossed in mere moments at astonishing speed.

Its silhouette passed over the constellation of Filtic’s frayed mallet. Images suddenly came to mind of the orc’s lore. I saw him, centuries ago as tales told, beating his own face with his mallet on the eve of horizon-long battles. The wood of his mallet lent him the chance at unparalleled speed, and where the edges frayed, the wood was stained red. He knocked upon the enemy faster than the rhythm of beat war drums. To such a large orc, battle was like putting down nails in soft wood.

Ah, such stories!

“You seem relaxed,” said Fur.

“This is our last point of trade. Then we’re seabound once more.”

The plume of my breath dissipated, revealing the stars. I felt a weariness come over me. As my blinks became slower over the constellation of Filtic, my eyes roamed the other constellations and stars, and I mused that there were still more shapes to make among them.

Chapter 125

Speed

The dust of snow billowed at our ankles. Sheets of snow-dust swept across the land which applied the dizzying impression that we moved through the world on an infinite floe.

The legkeds had absolutely nothing to trade; no scrap of food, no drop to quench thirst. There was also no further destination over the final horizon of the world. What lay beyond, the legkeds shook their heads at. With swaths of their arms, they simply gestured at the land around us when asked.

Were we the first orc to travel so far, so high to the top of the world? Ah, how could I not tap what barrels of beer remained in our carts? My orcs deserved a few days to relish at the turning point in my conquest to claim the northern sea.

With seemingly nothing to subsist on, no wonder the legkeds devoured goblin spit beer. They were ravished with it! Their long legs surrounded us like a forest. It really seemed then that the land moved with a life of its own. Several times, an orc stumbled from what I assumed was disorientation.

Jix approached between limbs. “They want to challenge us.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “One on one? A brawl?”

“Not with fists, unfortunately. A foot match.”

She turned, and she led me off with a wave through a dribbling rain of spit beer. Barrels were passed so high overhead that they seemed like shooting stars. When we stepped through the last of birch-thick legs, we were faced with an uninterrupted view of the horizon, save one lone legked striding north. They carried one of Hawkin’s barrels, and they set it down at nearly half a quarter of a mile away.

A question struck me just then. Was that the farthest any beer had ever been transported? Its weird colors seemed so suited against the sky that seemed like a low ceiling. The lone legked returned, having left the barrel. Would the barrel be a marker for the footrace?

“We will win,” I said.

“Let's see what we’re up against. They’ll demonstrate.”

After quick chatter, legkeds amassed around us. A line was drawn by dragged foot in the snow, and two legkeds crouched at the line. Together they looked like one split spider. Their knees and elbows hovered high above their heads. A sharp clap shot through me, and the legkeds bolted toward the far barrel.

My jaw hung slack, and at the corners of my eyes I noticed that my orcs lurched forward at the insane speed of the legkeds.

“By Hil!” they said.

“We’ve already lost.”

“Ogo can take them!”

“What happened? I blinked.”

“Sticks for bones are worth something after all.”

I shouldn't have blinked. When my eyelids lifted, the runners were now facing us, returning. Hot orc breath turned to vapor when nearly all of us gasped. I struggled to comprehend their speed.

An arm descended like a falling tree from on high. It stopped midair, and at the end, a finger pointed to my tallest orc.

“Olp,” said Jix. “They choose you.”

Olp’s armor clattered around him as he shed weight. He charged Jix, and they butted heads several times over with sick cracks. After a few slaps on his shoulders, Olp shook out his arms and approached the drawn start line.

A clap shot through me, and Olp’s opponent raced away. Olp slipped, and his face caught his fall.

Laughter bubbled between my tusks. “Just decapitate him.”

Gasps sounded around me as the legked runner touched the barrel, and turned back as if he could swivel his torso without turning his legs before Olp had really picked himself up. One never to give up, Olp staggered the quarter mile to the barrel. He often slipped. At the barrel, he slipped again and his body hit the snow and ice.

“Shall we send a search party?” said an orc.

“We did tell him it was a race, right?”

“He’s as fast as his brain. They must have known who they picked.”

Just before the finish line, Olp slipped once more. I heard his breath leave his lungs with a grunt. Every orc threw their hands up.

To Jix I said, “Tell them he’s a goblin we picked up, not an orc.”

Appearing from on high like descending limbs of small gods, legked hands picked out orcs one by one to race. We each returned, hacking bitter air.

The races were a joke to the legkeds, but we took the humor in stride. How good it was to pump blood, to feel its heat, to sweat through green! Ah, but what camaraderie!

Throughout the days, we shared beer with the legkeds, until I had to explain with Jix’s help that we belonged at sea, and it was time.

“More beer?” said Dromus, the legked elder.

“I can only spare a few more barrels. The rest we need for the journey back.”

The last few barrels I was willing to part with were tapped. Dromus forwent the beer and instead asked to stroll into the endless white with Jix and I. He wanted conversation, and for that he had to hang upside down at the waist to speak at eye level with me as we walked.

“I’d run the earth from tip to tip for spit beer,” said Dromus as his torso swung. “It’s worth the stride.”

“This trade route has been profitable up until the scarpadae. But it takes so much of the year by land, and our place is at sea.”

“The only way to acquire beer from you is to trade?”

“I keep telling you,” I said. “Beer isn’t free. We’ve accepted hard coins, soft moss, round pearls, sharp obsidian, slippery monster parts…”

“Will you trade for an item that can’t be touched?”

“Can’t be touched? You mean something like credit? No, I won’t consider credit.”

“Will you trade for speed?”

Dromus spoke at length, and it seemed Jix had questions she needed answered before translating to me.

At last she said, “They’re proposing to man your trade route on land in exchange for beer.”

“Man our trade route? They would take up the trade with the greffles, the tzards, the slugs, the cats, and the golems? Just for beer?”

Dromus nodded.

“Would you be willing to meet with us on a schedule?” I said.

“Show me where.”

“Fur!” I blared.

Fur hustled over. At my gesture, he dropped to his knees in the snow and unraveled his maps. We all crouched with him. I dropped a fat finger on the map.

“Here.”

Dromus took his time reading the map. “That’s not too far,” he said. “When I stand I can see it.”

My belly rolled as I laughed. Was this my answer? Could this be something viable? And how would the legkeds fare trading with all these monsters? Would Jix have to be with them to translate?…Prices would need to be firm. The legkeds were not capable of that…Were they? It was all really the job for an orc.

“I’ve got to chew on this,” I said.

Chapter 126

Big Ella Small Fry

Boggo

Every ship carried huge bulbous sacks of Pinky-chew’s breaths. They were such big sacks that they reminded me of underground chambers back north. A whole bestie family could live inside, or it could be used to fit four goblins, or it could be filled with enough fish to last Thrush an hour! The sacks were instead each filled to bursting with something like gales. In use, every ship of the Admiral’s fleet skipped over troughs from crest to crest. The speed was enough to keep my ears back and pull water from the corners of my eyes.

The goblins weren’t the only ones working hard. Ella and I had been the absolute best lookouts along the voyage. We’d been the ones to first spot the wreckage of goblin freebooter ships. Pinky-chew had been very thankful that we screeched from our crow’s nest. Goblins—desperately treading water—had been fished out and swiftly put to work, and the wreckage had been pulled in by net to be towed.

I worried that our calls weren’t loud enough at times. What could two besties do with such small chests? Especially when one had a bum rib that pinched his lung every once in a while? Still, we had our duties!

Ahead, lying like a well hidden island, was Float-some Barge—had to be!

Ella and I pulled in deep breaths. “Maybe-land-ho!”

After a moment, goblins rushed to the prow, but I heard no command. Oh, where was she?

“Barnacle-eyes!” I yelped.

We scanned the galleon.

Ella pointed. “Admiral!…Oh, she’s in a deep sleep.”

Barnacle-eyes was curled up in the hammock-wide leaf of a gigantic onion. Ella pulled another fish-on-stick out of the mug I carried, slurped down a fry, and then entered the crow’s nest. I followed her down the tunnel of the mast, out of the tunnel which led us on deck, through tunnels in the raised beds, and then we dug ourselves out of the dirt at the giant onion where Barnacle-eyes slept. We climbed the onion and walked on the long bobbing leaf.

I marched right over Barnacle-eyes’ belly. “Hey! Pst! Wake up!”

Ella nudged her, and Barnacle-eyes stirred. “Level…level 900…Almost…silver…almost…mmm…onion…good, so good…” Ella poked her.

The goblin bolted up. “Up! I’m up!” She peered at Ella and then blinked at her. “Wow, Ella!” Barnacle-eyes poked Ella back. “You’re getting bigger and bigger.”

Why, what a thing to say to my dear Ella! If she thinks she’s getting away with something like that…even a truthful thing…“Geez, Barnacle-eyes! She’s just a little poofy today.”

Ella closed her teeth over one small fry and pulled it from the stick. “It’s the humidity,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s the humidity,” I said.

Barnacle-eyes squinted at Ella’s poofy belly. “You look like Thrush after he’s eaten a field of Elodon.”

Ella waved her empty stick around. “Don’t worry about me.” She handed me the bare stick, and she snatched out another fish-on-stick from the mug. “Maybe-land-ho, Admiral! We think it’s Float-some Barge.”

Barnacle-eyes flipped off the leaf which bounced high enough to almost knock Ella and me off our feet. The Admiral hit the deck running, shouting. “Spickle-Spack! Pinky-chew! Soft-song!”

Gabby fell from a higher leaf and landed in the dirt with a thud. She woke, gasping out a startled, “Please thank you,” and then she stumbled after Barnacle-eyes.

Stumble-not was suddenly there, rounding the onion. “As requested, Captain Ella!” He held out another mug of fish-on-sticks, and I traded my empty one with his.

“Back to our posts!” said Ella.

∞

The sails were lowered as we approached. Goblins crowded both port and starboard. The fleet tightened formation.

Float-some Barge had us speechless. It was like one big goblin freebooter ship; but it was an island, not a ship. Mixed material constructed the floating base and the buildings atop it. There were trunks of bleached trees, the perimeter was stuffed with sticks, scraps of metal shone in the sun every here and there, rope-bound boards were erected atop similar structures, and hundreds of canvases flapped in the sea wind. The foundation was uneven, and it seemed that for every goblin on the island, another was constructing or deconstructing some structure.

Ella nudged me and pointed at the water. A raft, filled with goblins, sailed straight for the galleon from Float-some Barge. They hauled a long tinkling chain. A stocky goblin stood and crossed his arms.

“I be The-pushes! Who be yer big ‘un?”

Barnacle-eyes scratched her head and then said, “Uh, I think I’m the big ‘un.” Her goblins nodded vigorously. “Yup, that’s me! I’m Admiral Barnacle-eyes.”

“Don’t come any closer!” said The-pushes. “It be for yer safety. We’ve got beavers.”

“Beavers?”

“The beavers will disassemble yer ships. Anchor on the chain!” The-pushes heaved the end of the hauled chain out of the water. Dark sea water sluiced over the links.

“Churn the capstan!” said Barnacle-eyes, and flags were waved to communicate with the rest of the fleet.

“Please thank you!”

“Moor on the chain!”

“Please thank you!”

The-pushes and his goblins must have arrived at the hull port side—I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him.

“We be boarding?” he said.

Barnacle-eyes leaned over the taffrail as the ship lurched. “I’ll give you the galleon tour!”

Goblins climbed the netting which held wreckage. Goblin hands pulled up goblin hands and feet and ears. The ears came up with ouch-es. Barnacle-eyes was pulling goblins aboard like she was reeling rope.

One of the goblins embraced her in a flash. “Barnacle-eyes? Barnacle-eyes from Lavenfauvish! It’s me, Pock-ears! Wasn’t sure if you were just telling me what I wanted to hear back then!” Pock-ears helped pull The-pushes up behind him. “She’s the Admiral with the spit beer I was telling you about.”

“Promise fulfilled!” said Barnacle-eyes, performing a pirouette. “Come to the deckhouse.”

Boots and bare feet slapped the wet deck. Barnacle-eyes led the goblins with a skip and a hum.

“Do you remember Pock-ears?” said Ella.

“I didn’t spend much time at Green-fin.”

Ella rummaged the now almost empty mug of fish-on-sticks. “Let’s go get some dreambons.”

Dreambons? “We had a dozen this morning!”

Round as a barrel, Ella dove head first down the tunnel of the mast. I scampered after her, careful not to lose any fish-on-sticks. With claws digging into the wood, we spiraled down. Through the wood I heard the shroud brush the mast. And as the ship swayed with the waves, it felt like I was climbing down the shaft of a swinging pendulum.

Near the tunnels which met at the cargo hold, goblin laughter pealed from the deckhouse; so did their muffled conversation.

“Brought some mud oysters to share,” said The-pushes.

Ella skidded to a halt, turned, and ran down the tunnel which led to the deckhouse. “Did you hear that? Oysters!”

“Ella, stop. Wait!…I’m not sure we’re invited.”

We paused at the tunnel exit which dumped us out into the corner of the deckhouse behind a stack of barrels filled with planks. We only paused because I held Ella back.

“There’s several things you need to know before you set toe on Float-some Barge,” said The-pushes.

“Several, several things!” said Pock-ears.

“It’s constantly under construction,” said The-pushes

“Constantly! Like, all the time; even now,” said Pock-ears.

“It’s a paradise out here, believe me.”

“Believe me, you should believe him.”

I lowered my voice. “Maybe we should head back.”

“Where are they?” said Ella. “I can’t see the oysters!”

“Float-some Barge attracts all the ships and all the wrecks and all the things that float,” said The-pushes. “Beavers too!”

“Oh, the beavers!” said Pock-ears. “They’re like sloop rats but worse. And they’re all over the place. Slapping around with their webbed feet! Stealing over here. Stealing over there.”

“The beavers built the bottom of this island. With some goblin hard-thinking, we’ve been able to build on top of it. Problem is, they keep taking our material to expand the island, and then we have to take their material to build higher.”

“And on and on top, and on and on top it goes, just like that.”

“So we’re safe here?” said Barnacle-eyes.

“Should be. Keep your distance, and you’ll keep your ships.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? We’ve got lots of spit beer to drink together!”

Ella ripped small fry off another fish-on-stick. “I’m so hungry,” she said.

I peered down at my mug which was once again empty.

Chapter 127

Dam

Raft by raft, and lugger boat by lugger boat, all of Barnacle-eyes’ goblins were welcomed aboard Float-some Barge. Barnacle-eyes wasn’t the only hopping goblin. The goblins erupted with celebrations. Handfuls of them embraced long lost friends.

Thrush had been summoned, which set goblins into a panic until Barnacle-eyes and her crew calmed everyone. The goblins soon crowded the monster, whose pulsing eyes were gray, and long elephant tusks arced out from under his top lip. Thrush dumped chimeric-colored barrels from his inventory in what must have been a trade for goblin spit beer. The barrels thunked against the uneven ground of mixed materials. Goblin arms rose over goblin ears in a sea of hues of green. The weird colors of Hawkin’s ethereal barrels commanded attention. Goblins continued amassing around the swelling crowd.

My ears lay flat. “That’s a lot of goblins.” Picturing their feet, stomping from on high, I gulped. “Isn’t it, Ella? …Ella?”

I turned around but could not find Ella! The only evidence that she had been right beside me was the pile of oyster shells beside me. A seaweed and mud-fish smell speared the air over the oysters. I rushed into the crow’s nest and sniffed for a whiff of my yellow bestie. Like her scent was a hovering, trailing ribbon of yellow, I followed it down the tunnel of the mast, through the cargo hold, and into the forecastle. The room was filled with burlap sacks, loot chests, wood barrels, and ethereal barrels. I clambered up the barrel which held dreambons, peered over the rim, and found Ella inside.

Ella was rummaging. “No…Ew, no…No…No…”

“Whatcha lookin for?”

“The ones that are like honey and pear cider.”

I fell into the barrel and began sniffing the dreambons one by one.

Ella squeezed herself down between dreambons. “I’m starving! You know what I could go for?”

“A really good dreambon that tastes like honey and pears?” I said with a full mouth.

“Rainbow fish roe! Oh, doesn’t that sound amazing!”

A thousand scratches and taps suddenly emanated through the hull. We froze, our ears perked, and our gaze darted around the ceiling. We leapt out of the barrel, scurried to the hull, and put our ears to the wall. The tapping and scratching continued. Ella knocked, and the sounds halted. Not a breath later that sounds returned more fervently!

We galloped across the cargo hold, up through the hatch, and we bolted starboard. Hugging the banisters of the taffrail, we peered over. Forty beavers were pulling wreckage from out of the nets that we towed.

Ella gasped. “They’re not beavers!”

I gasped when I saw it. They were mottled brown besties! Oh, but they were stealing the wreckage!

I curled my toes and tucked in my tail. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no! We gotta stop them!”

Mimicking Ella, I waved my arms about.

“Besties!” said Ella. “Besties, stop!”

“Please, stop!” I said. “This is our ship!”

The netting was ripped open. Boards of wood slapped the sea. Besties splashed in the water. Planks grated across planks. Against the hull, bestie claws were prying between boards. The sea slapped the hull. I didn’t think they could hear us!

One of the besties climbed the netting. “Loose stuff first!”

Besties abandoned the hull and pulled material from the netting. Ella descended the netting, and I was only a boot’s length behind.

Before we could say anything, the bestie upon the netting pulled out huge shards of wood and handed them to Ella and I without looking up.

“Make yourself useful,” he said. “Hold this. And this.”

It had to go back through the netting, so I wiggled the wood back through as much as I could.

“S-stop,” I said. “Please, stop!”

The bestie was already yanking wet canvas. “We need all paws on this job. Nobody’s taking a break till it’s done.”

“Done?” I said. “W-what do you mean done?”

He seemed to give up on the canvas and instead pulled out intact planks of wood. “Weren't you listening, kid?” He pulled out three more planks and tossed them into the sea. “Like I said back at base, we’re taking the whole belly.”

“This is our home,” said Ella. “You can’t take our home!”

Ella smacked the back of the bestie’s hands. He finally looked up at us.

“What…is…this? A blue one? A yellow one?”

Ella, tall and big and round and imposing, said, “Put everything back!”

“Not a chance, girlie.”

We argued with the brown bestie, and he argued back. Before I knew it, the three of us were yelling over each other. All the while, brown besties swam off to Float-some Barge hauling pieces of wreckage. Other brown besties climbed the netting to support their leader with even more shouting. Their leader, whom the others called Mooloo, rolled his eyes and began yanking more wet canvas from beneath the netting.

“I have an idea!” I said, loud enough to feel my rib. “Listen, I have an idea! Everybody, quiet!”

“We don’t need ideas, kid. We need to get a move on this teardown. After this belly, we’re moving on to the rest of the ships.” With a grunt, he tore a shred of canvas. “Now hold these.”

“Ship-s,” said Ella. “All of them?”

“You betcha. Here you go, girlie. Put these boards in that pile by your buddy over there. He’s looking weak in the knees.”

“Just listen!” I said. “If you leave the ships alone, we’ll give you double the material before we leave!”

Mooloo was in the middle of ripping another length of canvas when he paused. “Double? How?”

“My best friend carries a lot of stuff. Trees, and fort walls, and scraps of metal, and all kinds of stuff! He’s over there right now!”

I pointed at Thrush, who still delivered barrel after barrel. Goblins carted off the barrels in long lines.

“Ever seen goblin ships this big?” said Ella, gesturing up at the galleon.

Mooloo cocked his head. “Matter of fact…”

“These ships basically came out of Thrush’s pockets,” I said.

“Double, you say?”

“Maybe even triple,” said Ella.

“Triple!”

Mooloo conferred with the other brown besties in a huddle. They wrung their hands, and their eyes were wide as they whispered. Every now and then, Ella and I caught them glancing at us. They pointed at the fleet, at the wreckage, at us, at Float-some Barge. Every now and then, one of them raised their voice to argue.

“Please,” I said. “Leave our ships alone. I promise you’ll get your material by the time we leave here.”

“When are you leaving?” said Mooloo.

“We usually moor for about two weeks.”

“Tell you what, we’re going to take all the wreckage, but we’ll leave the ships alone for one week. If we don’t get anything from you by then…” Mooloo scrambled up the net and knocked on the hull. “You might be a permanent guest with us.”

“Is there any way you can leave everything alone?”

Mooloo reeled a length of rope from beneath the net. “Those are the terms, kid. Now, give us a paw. You too, girlie.”

A deal was a deal, so for the rest of the day, we helped them transport the wreckage, piece by piece. As it turned out, Float-some Barge was built upon a massive dam of sticks. It was only on the surface where the materials were mixed. The tunnels of the dam were always damp, but there was good air flow and almost no echo. At the end of each tunnel that rose above the sea, bestie builders used the wreckage to expand the dam.

They were hard workers, and we admired them. Ella could not tear her eyes from their webbed feet. Their color offered a perfect camouflage for Float-some Barge. Although we were swept up in their efforts, Ella happily hummed.

“Bailey had these caramel lollipops,” she said. “I could really go for one. Oh, and the gillagrubs in Lavenfauvish! Oh, I miss those!”

Above us, goblin boots softly thudded. Before dusk, all of the wreckage had been claimed. We sat together in a large chamber in the dam to share warm-warm beer. I opened the waterskin and passed it first to Ella. She rubbed her tummy, put her snout to the lip, and took a big whiff. She wrinkled her nose and passed the waterskin back.

“You-you don’t want any?”

“I’m craving something else.”

“I can see if we have some jellyfish left? Would you like some shark? More fish-on-sticks?”

Ella sighed, lay back, and patted her poofy belly. “I’d love some cactus jerky…”

Chapter 128

The Light From Hawkin’s Barrels

In dam chambers that smelled of salted wood, I stirred awake. I wiped dew from my snout before it trickled and forced sneezes from me. I pawed my whiskers clean and I rolled onto my back and began licking myself clean.

Perhaps it was my slurping which disturbed Ella from her sleep. She woke up and rolled to her butt. Her gaze fell to the dense poof of blue and yellow and green that she’d slept in.

“Oh, it's so wet!” she said.

I was exhausted from cleaning myself. That’s how much work we’d done yesterday. “I can’t lift my arms.”

“They’re going to make breakfast for us, right?” Already she was rubbing her tummy.

“That’s what they said.”

Ella rolled up onto her feet. She put a hand to her belly and went cross-eyed for a moment. “Oof.”

“You okay?” I said.

Mooloo strode into the chamber. “Oysters and seaweed are ready for us!”

Just those few words had Ella open her eyes. She seemed to suddenly come fully awake.

Ella trailed Mooloo, and I trailed Ella, and we took the tunnels to the outskirts of Float-some Barge. The dam was shallow there, and there was a pit of muddy water. Steam rose from the surface in the early morning fog. Castor besties, which we learned they called themselves, dipped into the mud bath. Wide bowls floated upon the silky mud. Some bowls held heaps of seaweed, and some bowls each held a pile of large oysters.

I rubbed my eyes, because the fog and the early morning made me feel like a film blurred my vision. Blinking, I tested my vision and found that Ella had swiftly entered the mud pool. She floated on her back, round as a dolphin’s forehead. Her arm was outstretched, and her hand paddled the water just at the edge of one of the bowls of oysters. By the time I joined her, she had opened three oysters.

Our entrance did not go unnoticed, and we were the only two that didn’t blend in. Castor besties rippled the water and surrounded us. Was today a relaxing day off for them? They seemed at ease as if the whole day was ahead of them with nothing to do and nothing to fret. Ella and I fielded curiosities, and we wound up recounting our adventures. They were quite curious about my best friend.

“Oh, and Thrush is two percent red bestie, too! He ate a determiner diamond, and it worked on him.”

“Determiner diamond,” said an elder bestie. “We know all about that!”

Our ears perked and switched forward.

“Thousands of years ago, when we were your age, we lived with the shiny ones.”

The shiny besties? The original besties? Had these elders truly met the original besties? But wasn’t it said that the original besties lived thousands of centuries ago?…Wait—what? Was it true?

“They weren’t shiny, Serus!” said another elder bestie. “They were the color of summer berries.”

“Pipe down, Veta!” said another. “They were as dark as the bat caves near the northern boulders.”

“Now listen here, Orm!” said yet another. “Their fur matched that of the sea. Warm, clear, and endless.”

Mooloo, floating on his back with his hands beneath his head said, “They never agree.”

Another agitated bestie said, “The jungle! They were the color of the jungle!”

Serus spoke up. “How am I supposed to tell these pups about our history when you’re all shouting out nonsense?”

When elder besties bickered, there were no holds barred. They attacked each other’s declining mental state, and they scoffed at each other’s memories. It seemed that every color was named before Serus wrestled control of the conversation.

“Fine, fine,” said he who seemed the oldest of them. “Get on with it.”

“As I was saying,” said Serus, “this was after all the other ones left. The yellow…the blue…the frayed…the curly…”

“Curly?” I said.

“Oh, yes! But those besties were there long before my time. I’ve only ever seen the shiny besties from which all other besties originated. You two are the first I’ve seen of other determiner besties.” Serus pointed at our chests. “But you’re not quite blue or yellow. You’re splattered?”

Around a mouthful of oyster, Ella said, “The splatters happened when we saw the splatter besties.”

“Weren’t you paying attention?” said Mooloo.

“Ah, yes! That’s right, that’s right.” Serus cackled. “Well, I grew up a castor bestie, when only the castors and shiny besties remained on the island. We had built a dam much bigger than this one. It was connected to an estuary on our home island. The shiny ones lived on the land, and the Castors lived in the dam. Life was good until a hurricane severed us from the island. When the weather cleared, we found ourselves on the open sea.”

“What happened to the shiny besties?” said Ella, battling a soft burp.

“They were the color of the jungle!” said an elder.

“Rubbish!” said Orm. “They were as dark as the caves.”

Serus glared at his kin as he continued. “As far as I know, the shiny besties remained. Now, where exactly they remained, I have no idea. There have been many attempts to locate our lost home, but none have ever returned from the voyage.”

By the blue besties! The shiny ones remained? They might still be alive? Tingles rippled beneath my fur. I felt my heart beating.

“But they’re still alive?” I said.

“I don’t see why not. The island offered better protection from the hurricane than our dam, and we survived.”

Ella and I turned wide eyes to each other. She even paused, and the oyster shell in her hand slowly clamped shut.

∞

Until evening, Ella and I talked endlessly.

“Wow…”

Gah, they might still be alive! Shiny! They were shiny! Okay, maybe the elder besties were unsure about their color, but shiny stuck with me. The castor besties enthused us with every tale they knew of the shiny besties. Meanwhile, I shared warm-warm beer with them. Even while we played board games, we could not stop asking questions.

Oh, I hoped they still existed! Were they living and breathing right now? How far were they? What a feeling…such legendary besties suddenly seemed so real. It was like they stepped out of mythos and became real!

Man, why did Float-some Barge have to be our last stop south? Barnacle-eyes was the perfect goblin to sail the seas in search of the shiny ones! If any goblin ship could survive at sea, it was those under her care and skill. Yeah-yeah, I understood fine and well…She had obligations…She was on a schedule…She had a voyage to complete…Lavenfauvish was next.

Would Thrush help? I was suddenly scared to ask. What if he couldn’t find them because they were long deceased? Oh, I had to ask him…maybe after the voyage.

I sighed. What an adventure it’s been. I couldn’t believe we got to meet so many different besties. I loved them all! Ella was still the best—no contest! Psh.

Along the edge of Float-some Barge where we could still see the fleet, Mooloo found us. “So, splattered ones…It's been a week.”

A deal was a deal, so I poured a libation from one dreambon ale. Thrush stepped through a bright slice of air. Though the castor besties had seen him from a distance, and although they had been warned, I could tell they couldn’t help but shrink back from the horrifying beast. Thrush had wild blue-green eyes. He had more rows of teeth than usual, and his teeth were piranha small.

His eyes throbbed in their gigantic sockets as I explained our circumstance. Ella backed me up with “Yeah…mhm…Yup…mhm…That’s right.”

“Hmm,” said Thrush. “A trade? Material in exchange for halting your job, otherwise Barnacle-eyes’ fleet will be torn apart?”

Mooloo, with his head slightly ducked, said, “Can you do it? Boggo offered five times the material we’d be able to get from these goblin ships.”

“No, no! I said three times!”

“He said you’d throw in some warm-warm beer too.”

I gasped so hard that my mouth went dry. “I said no such thing!”

I beckoned Thrush to lower himself so that I could whisper to him. He needed to know that the castor besties were scavengers—a little selfish about it—and they would take anything.

Thrush smiled, and most of the castor besties fell back with a scream. Thrush said he was happy to help. He had things he’d been meaning to unload for quite a while. He dumped whole trees, piles of branches, staves of barrels, pencil shaped fort poles, scraps of metal, bandit weapons, bandit tents…

And while Thrush created what seemed to me like a mountain of stuff, one of the younger castor besties rolled one of Hawkin’s ethereal barrels over.

He brought the barrel to a stop at Mooloo’s webbed feet. “Where to with this one, boss?”

Mooloo’s eyes were wide, and he spoke as though he were in a daze. “…Northwestern jetty 144...”

Thrush became unstoppable. The mountain of junk kept growing. Castor besties scrambled to start carting things off. Mooloo put on what seemed like a mischievous smile. He rubbed his hands and approached Thrush.

“Say…since Boggo said you’d throw in a ton of beer…those weird barrels sure looked nice…”

“Thrush, no! Thrush, don’t listen to him! I said no such thing!”

“I trust you, little Boggo. I have more barrels, but they’re filled with spit beer. I only have waterskins of warm-warm beer.”

Mooloo snapped his fingers. “Let’s see it.”

Thrush proffered an ethereal waterskin. Mooloo held the floppy thing, but he quickly shook his head. “And the spit beer?”

An ethereal barrel appeared between them. Thrush poked a hole with a claw on the barrelhead and tipped it so Mooloo could sip.

Mooloo puckered. “Got any empty ones?”

“I do.”

“We’ll take ‘em!”

Thrush being Thrush needed something in return. In moments, Mooloo entered Thrush’s yurt where they began negotiations. Mooloo’s voice was raised for a minute before I heard the first slap of a number of high-fives. Castor besties began rolling barrels out of the yurt and toward the edge of Float-some Barge.

Ella climbed the mountain of junk that was still a long way from dwindling. “Boggo!” she said.

I climbed up after her, and we sat at tip-top with a view of the castor besties expanding Float-some Barge. The sky was near twilight, and the sea blackened without the sun. We watched Hawkin’s bright chimeric-colored barrels break apart in bestie paws. The staves held their bright colors as they were added like piles of sticks to Float-some Barge where the island touched the sea.

Ella had apparently squirreled away some oysters, and she cracked them open on her lap as we gazed. After a slurp, she pointed her snout at the lighthouse-bright ethereal colors. “You think it’ll attract anything tasty?”

I imagined what lurked in the sea. “Hopefully. Something tasty…and boring.”

“We’ll certainly have an easier time spotting this island the second time around. If we ever come back here, that is.”

“Do you think the original besties ever tried to find the castor besties?”

“Might’ve been harder for them. If they were never forced out to sea, they wouldn’t know anything about sailing, let alone know how to find a moving island.”

The sun lowered behind the horizon, and all the world was black. Hawkin’s barrels shone so bright that we could see the reflection in all the besties' eyes behind us. Farther behind, I saw the gleam in goblin eyes too.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was hard to find, wasn’t it?”

Chapter 129

They’re Different?

Thrush

Magnifying the land through the lens of my ethereal orb, I cut through the world. I slipped through the midair gash and landed in the foyer at Hiccup’s mansion. Seawater dripped from wet spikes of my fur and pooled at my feet. The echo of dripping water resounded in the domed ceiling.

Visitors with guest passes around their necks were being ushered through the foyer. I smiled around my new wild boar tusks. They screamed and fled into the mansion. Butlers rushed over to me as the sound of my gulps echoed while I downed an entire barrel of Anti-gravity ale.

“Master Thrush! Right this way, if you please. Master Hiccough eagerly awaits you!”

I followed the taller humans into the mansion, up the wide curving stairs, and across the floor to the balcony. Erik Skullander and Hiccup sat at a table piled with a landscape of beer with towers of beer bottles. Riggvelte was bent at a right angle so that he could whisper into Hiccup’s ear.

Erik stood. “The keeper let ya loose from the dungeon again? Ah, good to see ya, Thrush! Smoke anything with peat yet?”

“Hello. No.”

Hiccup stood. “Eileen has her coffers full, Thrush! Ah, what a pleasure to have you! Won’t you sit with us? We’ve all this meat and cheese and bread and beer—please, come sit with us.”

“Yes. I’m hungry.”

“Once we’ve had our fill, we’ll trade beer, I’ll call upon Evon, Eileen will be sent for, and we’ll go from there! Do tell, how have you been?”

“Hungry. What is this?”

We sat, and Erik said, “Oh, that, me friend, is a spectacular hard cheese! Clothbound, extra sharp, from the belted goat.”

“I know you’ve had cheese before,” said Hiccup.

“Well, everyone’s had cheese until they’ve had cheese!” said Erik.

Erik held up a glob of cheese with his bare hands. His eyes shone over the glob, and they rolled to the back of his head as took a big whiff. He stuffed his cheeks.

I pinched cheese between two claws and threw it over my fangs. It was an aggressive cheese, and it was meaty. I didn’t remember cheese tasting like this. They called it sharp, and I nodded because it made sense.

“Good, aye? Well, Thrush, I’ve got a mountain of barrels for ya. Thrice what I produced last time. If I might, does Hawkin have spare barrels? I’m selling ya oak forests.”

“I have empty barrels. Old wood ones too.”

Hiccup scooted to the edge of his chair. His fingers looked like they were dancing over the spread terrain of delights as he muttered.

“Oh, this one’s good,” he said, almost coming out of his chair completely. “Try this one.”

“The clothbound cheese? Yes. It's delicious.”

“No, this is a very different cheese. What was it? Riggvelte?”

As if turning from shadow to man, Riggvelte suddenly manifested. “Durreldheur. A red rind, soft cheese. Cow’s milk.”

Hiccup clapped. “There you have it.”

“A different cheese?” I said.

I pinched the cheese and tossed it over my toadish tongue. Hmm, how different! But how could that be? Oh, and it was even better. But it was cheese. My eyes began independently pulsing. I felt the colors of cream bleed into the mossy depths of my gigantic eyes. I felt my blood thicken.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “It’s different. I like it. I love it.”

“And Hawkin, how is he?” said Hiccup with his gaze cast down at the table.

“Probably fine.”

“And the goblins?” said Erik. “Slime-tooth likes me clone brew?”

“No.”

“No? Cheeky goblin. It’s seventy percent accurate!”

“It’s missing ptooey.”

“I knew it. I knew he’d be able to tell the difference.”

I knew that I saw Slime-tooth more often than Hawkin and Abigail. Deliveries were once a week after all. Slime-tooth was changing. A goblin like Slime-tooth wanted to live the way that he wanted to live, and I’d grown quite fond of him. He was never frightened of me, despite proof in his trembling limbs. He always asked me to stay awhile because he wanted to ask about Barnacle-eyes. He had last been curious about his supposed status of Goblin King. The idea had him rasping with laughter. His laughter had been from his heart, and it stank.

I sniffed the air because I felt I could smell his breath. I licked my lips, and the stink strengthened. It was the cheese! I was gulping it down. The table looked like a giant’s claws had raked across the landscape to expose the wood mantle beneath.

“Riggvelte,” said Hiccup. He pointed at the table and mouthed something to his butler. To me he said, “Where is Barnacle-eyes now?”

“Southwest.”

“Any new beers from Hawkin?”

“A lot more of the latest dungeon beer.”

Erik and Hiccup each rubbed their hands. They smiled warmly, and they tapped their feet in a seated dance of what felt to me like excitement. They seemed to squirm with joy! I couldn’t help but squirm in joy with them, but only because butlers suddenly appeared beneath the archway carrying trays of cheese. On their tail, Eileen strolled in.

“Festivities have started without me?” she said. “No one woke me?”

I stood to greet her with my best smile. I was sure to expand my lips so she could see my smile. Humans smiled with their teeth. I could hear her heartbeat, and I could smell trepidation bloom beneath her ribs. My heart was hammering too, because I could also smell raw elodon on her. As I smelled my own drifting breath of cheese, I wondered how smoked elodon would taste beneath a heap of cheese.

“Eileen,” I said. “I’m thrilled to see you again!”

I removed my backpack.

I stopped when Hiccup held a hand up to me. He eyed Eileen in a manner that seemed conspiratorial. “Just a moment, Thrush. Why don’t we sit for a bit more? Eileen, you love taking your time eating with us while we have such an esteemed guest that we want to spend time with, don’t you?” Hiccup nodded hard at her.

Eileen spent a moment looking at him. Her brows drew together until her eyes went wide and they raised. “Oh—oh, yes! Why don’t we…good gods, that’s a lot of cheese! Why don’t we take our time enjoying some of this cheese, Thrush?”

“Then we trade,” I said.

“Then we trade,” she said.

“Yes, then we trade,” said Hiccup.

Given my discovery of cheeses, I didn’t so much mind taking my time at the mansion. So many more cheeses had been brought out! They all looked so different! How could cheese do this? Cheese wasn’t just cheese? I returned to my wet chair and scooped up the biggest chunk of cheese.

Hiccup pointed his chin at Riggvelte.

Riggvelte seemed to float forward. “Ahem—Excellent choice, Master Thrush. The Mont Shifra is a cow’s milk cheese. You’ll experience flavors of steamed brassicas such as broccoli and cauliflower. In the rind you’ll taste truffle.”

I devoured the cheeses. They were each so individual! How could cheese do this? There were different colors, different textures, different flavors, different temperatures, different stinks. My composition rose above 5% cheese. I felt cream and moldy colors pump into my eyes. My fangs took on a buttery tint. My tusks receded an inch. My eyes pulsed wildly, and my Satiation rose to 63%. I had been lowering my Satiation to prepare for my meeting with Eileen, but these cheeses threatened a belly full of my favorite smoked meat!

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the spread! When I could, I noticed that Hiccup was watching me closely. He seemed overjoyed that I was gobbling all the cheese.

“So many,” I growled like a ravenous beast. “And so very different.”

Eileen nibbled on a crumb. “You’ve outdone yourself, Hiccup. This truly is an overwhelming variety of cheeses.”

“Variety? Oh, just you wait!”

Chapter 130

What’s That Smell?

I traded with Erik and Hiccup, and I received eighteen elodons worth of meat from Eileen. The ribs were as thick as a human, and I was given the bones and all. I couldn’t help but suck the marrow and break bone with my teeth. My fur tinted red, and my skin wrinkled as elodons came to make 6% of my Composition. Raw elodon was nowhere near as delicious as it was smoked, so I set up my yurt near the silos in Hiccup’s field of barley. I sprinkled salt and pepper on two ribs, and I lay them in the current of blue smoke in the smoker. Oak and pecan smoldered in the offset chamber.

I closed the lid and licked the juices from my gray wrinkled pawtips.

“Be sure that temperature remains where it is,” I said. “You can touch it.” My palm sizzled on the lid.

Riggvelte cleared his throat. “We’ve a different method for monitoring temperature; I assure you, Jiona will abide by every instruction, Master Thrush. Won’t you Jiona?”

Jiona was pale, and he trembled. He couldn’t help but gulp every few moments. He nodded vigorously.

“Shall we be off?” said Hiccup.

“Don’t open those chests. They belong to the little besties.”

Jiona swore on his life that he would never touch the chests. He wouldn’t even think about it, and he would defend them with his life and others’ lives if need be.

“If you need me for any reason, pour a drop of this.” I passed Jiona a bottle of dreambon ale. “Don’t share this with anyone.”

Hiccup sputtered, and his eyes went wide. He seemed incredulous. I remembered then that he had pleaded for dreambon ales. It must have seemed so odd that I shared one with Jiona.

“I assure you, Master Thrush. I shall be the only one to touch your smoker.”

But I didn’t give him the ale to summon me for the smoker. ”If you can’t protect the bestie’s chests, summon me.”

“Everything is in good hands!” said Riggvelte.

He spoke with a butler who then ran off at full speed. Hiccup, Erik, and I were then led by Riggvelte and a number of butlers toward Lavenfauvish city center.

Green leaves had turned from their bright green to a dark green on vines which climbed posts and stone archways and building facades. Enormous pots contained towering trees with flowers that were bursting with pollen at the bases. The type of stone changed whenever we turned down a new road or avenue or boulevard. Folk gave us a wide berth.

We strolled down Rue St. Kinni, and I saw Hiccup’s inn. Humans and monsters crowded the front. The barrels which I had earlier delivered were rolled around the side of the inn, most likely to be brought through the back.

We turned down a boulevard with cobbles that glittered with micaceous dust. The sun warmed the stones and they sparkled like snow does under a clear sky. I breathed deeply the aromas of the city. Among the chaos of smells, there was a thin drifting line of something with stink.

“The Oude Brewer’s Competitive is next week,” said Erik. “Hawkin’s not competing this year, is he?”

“No,” I said.

“Better chances for the rest of us.”

“Yes.”

“Erik,” said Hiccup. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You’re entering with something dastardly?”

Erik pumped his fist in the air. “Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck!”

Hiccup shook his head. “Of course. You might not place, but at least you won't have the judges heaving again.”

Erik regarded his friend and laughed. “Is Abigail entering?”

“Yes,” I said.

My nose twitched. I tilted my head as we passed beneath a canopy of willows. I caught that stink again; however, this time it was thicker and creamier. It was so stinky that I felt like I was inhaling particles of green dust.

“I’m entering a Grand Ol’ Sludge,” said Hiccup.

“Grand? Ya haven’t hit diamond without telling me, have ya?”

Hiccup scoffed. “Far from it. I have, however, broken into the Lesser Mythic quality.”

“Ya bastard! Ya’ve hit level two thousand five hundred! I oughta bash yer face in for not telling me sooner! We should celebrate!”

“I always hold a private celebration first.”

Erik put his arm around Hiccup’s neck. “Ya went to Ashlee’s grave.”

“She’s always first,” said Hiccup.

Erik tousled his friend’s hair. “That’s what I appreciate most about Hawkin. Gave me me friend back.”

Hiccup turned about, and he walked backward while looking at me. “We must meet that man in person.”

Riggvelte side-stepped a puddle which reflected the pink paint of the second story of a house with hanging baskets of red flowers. “Caution.”

We avoided the puddle and turned down yet another avenue. I took in the smells once more. That thick, creamy stink had evolved. Now it smelled of damp cave and barn funk. It was so palpable that I finally recognized it.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“A surprise is a surprise!” said Hiccup. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

“Master, Skullander,” said Riggvelte. “You may have an advantage this year at the Oude Brewer’s Competitive.”

“Oh, you sly worm! Ya’ve got the ins!”

Hiccup stood straighter, and he flashed a smile. “Riggvelte always has a finger on the pulse of things.”

Riggvelte seemed to struggle at suppressing a smile. “Nothing of that sort, gentlemen.” He didn’t refer to them as Masters. “One of the judges is a half-orc.”

HIccup slapped his own forehead. “Of course!”

“Oh, you know,” said Riggvelte. ”Just common sense.”

“Was that a jab?” said Erik.

Hiccup laughed so hard he bent forward and held his belly. “This is the Riggvelte I love!”

The smell seemed to come alive, like it had taken the shape of a ghost that forced its way up my nose. It was haze-thick and stank of decomposing funky hay.

“Here we are!” said Riggvelte, leading us up a manicured pathway between coral lilies. We came to a large brick building with old windows that looked to have slightly melted over time. The butler who had run off earlier greeted us with a bow. A round man exited the shop. He wiped his hands on a pristine apron, and he smiled heartily.

Above him, the wooden sign read The Mehri Monger.

My belly rumbled, and my eyes pulsed.

Chapter 131

Humans Made This?

The smells! They aggressed me. My snub nose shriveled, and my eyes watered. I could not track the smells. Each was perfume-thick, and it almost felt like I was pulling fibrous rope through my nostrils. I sneezed and sneezed and sneezed.

“Goodness!” said Hiccup.

“Well with a nose like he has,” said Erik. “I’d be watering out me eyes as well.”

When Mehri spoke, his belly bounced, and the bottom of his apron danced. “Hutaha! Hutaha! That’s hello in Agoneese! Hmm, I wonder which of you is Thrush!” He shifted from foot to foot, laughing so hard that his eyes were crushed behind his cheeks. “Shall I give you the tour? From the pastures of Tombis, to the udder-ly beautiful hills of Zuwena, I’ve all manner of cheeses! There will be samples!”

“Master Thrush,” said Riggvelte. “Mehri is the owner and head cheese monger. Step up to the display, and he’ll explain the various cheeses to you.”

“Yes.”

I waddled up to the first display of cheese, but felt the tile crack beneath my paws. I hefted a barrel of Anti-gravity ale, bit a chunk off the edge, and chugged the whole thing. Foam fountained over my fangs and splattered on the floor. I felt my weight lighten substantially. After I wiped my lips, I glanced over everyone’s astounded faces.

“Marvelous!” said Mehri. “I hope you still have room!”

“I have at least thirty-five percent more room left until I have to sleep.”

Mehri nodded, but I could tell he didn’t understand.

I was motioned closer to the display, so I stepped up and leaned onto the glass. It was closer than I thought, and I pressed my enormous eyeballs on the glass. The glass was cold, and when I darted my gaze over dozens of cheeses, my eyes squeaked against the glass.

“Cows,” said Mehri. “We’ll start with the cow’s milk. Then we’ll moo-ve along!”

“Cows are delicious.”

Mehri waved a beckoning hand to his employees. They arrived beside him with plates and knives in hand. Mehri pointed to a pyramid of cheese, and one of his employees sectioned off the tip.

“Alpine fayad,” said Mehri. “Firm and grassy.” One by one, he selected samples of cow’s milk cheeses. “Bufford soft-ripened…Here we have Thimble valley silken…Urd crumble—so tangy that you’ll be left with a pucker…Tilldheur curds, a clot twist on the classic dheur fermentation…and saint’s keep blue. Have you had blue cheese before?”

I licked the cheese off my paws. I cleaned my claws with the tips of my fangs. I gulped, and I slurped. My eyes began to pulse, and I couldn’t help my toes from tapping.

How creamy! My, what a visit to Lavenfauvish. Humans came up with this cheese? Humans had made a good choice there. What a day. I received more elodon meat than ever before, and I learned that cheeses were so varied and so delicious! Were they as delicious as elodon ribs? Would they pair? Could I smoke cheeses? Smoking improved meat…

Mehri moved down to the next display, and I put my eyeballs on the glass there.

“Now let’s shee-p what we have here!” said the jolly monger. “These are made from sheep’s milk. We’ll start with this one: Halfas Fjord, a strong cheese. You can smell that one from the pier.”

“Oh, Yes. Yes, it’s familiar.”

Mehri must have taken that as a joke because he cackled and tottered from foot to foot.

“And here we have Frog Hollow creamery. They make one cheese, and they make it well. It’s a semi-soft cheese, and at room temperature it smacks of nuts. Now these are the Gumundurs: Sharp Gumundur…Belted Gumundur…and the classic Gumundur. The triple Omya is one of the creamiest cheeses we sell. Take a look at this cut.”

I drooled at the oozing cheese. Everyone behind me oohed and aahed as though Hawkin had created another impossible color. I devoured the sample so fast that Mehri’s employee retracted his hand like he’d just fed a snapping turtle. I worked my jaw slowly because the cheese was so runny and thick and creamy. I explored the cheese with my tongue.

“One, two, three,” I said. “Yes, three creams.”

“We’ll give you a bowl for this next one. Double cream Yutodheur. A true dheur!”

I ate the bowl too. My eyes pulsed. Butter colors filled the sponges of my eyes. By my dreambons! Some of these were so stinky that I wondered if smoking them would take down birds mid flight. Maybe the goblins would like them! The stinky ones would be so fun to share and trade with. How could cheese be this good?

Mehri side-stepped to the next display. “Now, let’s see what we’ve goat going on over here. Ready? All right, let’s go-at! One must start with the billy virile wheel. But obviously not the whole wheel. Wouldn’t want to turn your stomach!”

“Well,” said Hiccup. “With his stomach…”

Mehri once more took things as a joke. He gave one of those breathless laughs. He then wiped his eyes and said, “Behold, gentlemen, our most famous cheese, the dripple nipple. A cream center Rafiq that pairs well with apples, toast, and just about anything on which it lays atop.”

That cheese was cut for our whole group to share. The cheese was divided and passed around. Mehri let us enjoy the beautiful cheese for a moment before continuing on. “Now this one here is Gateburrow, and this one, 6 horn—ah, what a lovely, peppery rind…and finally, one of my favorites, top cream from the Vale of Ara. Just look at how it fluffs on the knife.”

“Vale of Ara,” I said.

“You’re familiar with it?”

“Yes.”

I lapped the cheese from the knife. In my amazement of its flavor, I pulled the knife in too and swallowed it. Pastel whites and yellows squeezed deeper toward the center of my eyes. My eyes throbbed. I bounced on my toes.

I had to acquire these cheeses! Was I not Thrush the Merchant? It wasn’t just goblins that would love such cheeses. Humans seemed to love it just as much as I did. I could invite passersby into my yurt with offerings of cheese! I could take everyone on a tour of my inventory. I would say, “This one is a good cheese. And this one is good. And this one is good. Also, this one…”

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself!” said Mehri, and he clasped his own hands before him. “Scoot on over, and I’ll show you the cheeses that keep me in business.”

“Hell yes,” said Erik.

“Okay,” I said.

“These are our magic cheeses; however, they aren’t simply magical. They’re also beyond rare because they come from particular creatures. Now follow closely…Unicorn’s milk of Agacia…Bear’s breast of Jawad…Wolf’s bite of the Wilkie Wilderness…Webb curds from the caves of Shefra…Monk’s Vein Blue—and worry not!—This one isn’t made from monks! Monk Vein is a plant that gives this cheese both its color and special properties!…Dragon’s bark, a fiery hard cheese…camel gum cheese, such a soft-ripened delight; why the innards of this one practically beg to be scooped!”

“Excellent!” I said.

“Good, eh? Each of them offer types of healing or stamina rejuvenation. Monk’s vein is the only one which is an anti-venom.”

My eyes closed of their own accord. I was glad for it because I felt I needed to enjoy these cheeses in a moment of privacy. Whatever magics they contained, I could feel the effects. I felt rejuvenated, as though I’d had one of Hawkin’s tisanes that recharged the mind. I felt refreshed, as though I’d just woken from a 200% Satiation nap. I felt a warmth trickle around my bones.

Yes, these would be perfect to sell to adventurers! I could offer magic cheese with magic beer. I could use these cheeses like a Merchant skill to butter up potential customers. These cheeses might land me better trades!

We had all been given samples of the magic cheeses. Erik had taken a seat and he held his head in his hands. He lifted his head, and his eyes were glossy.

“I’m going to dig up old nana and shove some of these between her chompers,” he said. “She would’ve loved these!”

I licked my fangs as I looked through the ceiling and basked in the drifting aftertastes. When I tasted only my gums, I turned my gaze down to the display of cheeses. I pointed to the last display. “What are those ones?”

Mehri stepped behind the display and leaned over it. He lowered his voice, and his tone turned conniving. There was a playfulness in his tone because he stifled a giggle behind reddening cheeks.

“Oh, these ones?” he whispered. “You mean these right here? These I’ve saved for last.”

“Okay.”

“Not too full yet?”

“No.”

One by one, he cut samples of select cheeses.

“Lesher,” he said.

I gobbled it up and nodded hard.

“This one is called Winchote,” he said.

I swallowed it down and my eyes pulsed and throbbed.

“This one’s runny,” he said. “Very runny. Hill Field’s best.”

I slurped it up and drank it down. My tongue worked hard on it. I was nearly bouncing! Ah, so delicious! Fantastic!

“This one goes by Lykke,” he said.

I growled in delight and rocked from my heels to the balls of my paws and back.

“How?” I said. “How are they getting better?”

“Next is Brinsha,” said Mehri.

As soon as I felt it’s cool cream on my tongue, I was purring louder than I’d ever purred before. A bottle of beer on Erik’s table rattled in place.

“And now, finally, Euodia. An unsurpassed, tied-in-tripe variety.”

I pried the sticky cheese from my paw and found myself sitting down to chew the best cheese of them all. I found myself lying full on the floor. My arms relaxed at my sides. My tongue moved like a toad-fat snake as it searched my fangs for cheesy residue.

…What a beautiful day…

“Ya all right there, teddy?” said Erik.

Mehri came around the counter. “What did you think, my friend? I do hope you’ve enjoyed your adventure at the Mehri Monger today. We aim to thrill.”

“The last ones were the best. What milk were they made with?”

“These were made with elodon milk.”

“Yes.”

Chapter 132

A Rising Tide Lifts All Ships

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 07%.

1 level until fleet evolution.

Wind-full sails were pulled tight at their grommets. With Pinky-chew and her many bags of breath, the fleet sped up the sea. We sailed so fast, salt seemed to crumble from the spray of seawater and gather like snow along the corners of wood and wood. A goblin or ten would sometimes fall over when we clashed with a wave. We sailed to Lavenfauvish!

Port side, a sapling bound bucket, secured with rope, splashed into the sea. Seawater filled the bucket.

“Heave!’ I said.

“Please thank you!”

My goblins heaved and heave-ho’ed the rope. The bucket was hauled aboard, and water splashed over its rim and slapped the deck. I hoisted the bucket to my chest like it was a prized bulb of garlic.

“To the deckhouse!” I said.

Gabby was forever there.

Careful not to let all the water slosh out of the bucket, I waddled as fast as I could. My boots scuffed the planks, and spilled water smacked the deck beside me. Elephant-ears and Odd-idle pulled the deckhouse door open for me.

After slamming the bucket onto the table, I hopped up with it and dunked my sea map within. I squished it in the water like I was fitting a whole big canvas in a barrel for washing. I stomped down to force it in, and then I removed it and spread the wet map onto the rest of the table.

Between Float-some Barge and some distance north where the map had no paint or picture, a green-blue stain spread from the dark waters illustrated at Float-some Barge. It filled a huge foot of the map, spreading both north and east. Between where the stain stopped and Lavenfauvish, there were still a few spots without paint or picture.

[Congratulations! You have again reached New Waters!]

[You have reached Admiral level 1000!]

[Your fleet has reached level 1000!]

[You have reached Silver rank!]

[By Peg-tooth! Your galleon is able to evolve into a Hand-O’War and travel at double speed.]

[By Peg-tooth! 2 Ketches on your fleet are able to evolve into galleons and travel at double speed.]

[By Peg-tooth! 5 sloops on your fleet are able to evolve into ketches and travel at double speed.]

[By Peg-tooth! 1 lugger on your fleet is able to evolve into a sloop and travel at double speed.]

[Evolve fleet. Y/N?]

“Wow, wow, wow! Bigger and better!”

Yes, I thought.

[Fleet cannot evolve.]

[Not enough jolly boats.]

[Build 10 jolly boats.]

[Promote 10 Captains.]

[Not enough wood resources.]

[Collect wood resources.]

[Not enough quest paths.]

[Promote 1 goblin with a Fable Stone.]

[Fable Stone has been added to your inventory.]

“Churn the capstans!” I said.

“Please thank you!”

Goblins on tiptoe waved hammered flower flags to communicate with the rest of the fleet. Pinky-chew’s breath-bags were tied closed, and the sails relaxed and sagged. Gangways were lowered onto every other ship so that any goblin could walk from one ship all the way to the last one. All the goblins crossed over onto my galleon.

“Promotions!” I said.

The goblins rushed closer. I climbed the rough twine fibers of the shroud at my main mast until I could see all my beautiful snots.

“This is the day that our fleet evolves into a silver rank fleet!”

Bubble-round goblin eyes went wide. Hundreds of gasps revealed yellow teeth. Murmurs sounded like a softly crashing surf. Whispers sounded like a burgeoning gale.

“By Slime-tooth!” said Wabble-trouble.

“That Slime-tooth luck really rubbed off on her!” said Skin-tags.

“We must be in Slime-tooth’s favor!” sputtered Whistle-spit.

I cleared my throat and swallowed my spit. “To evolve our fleet, I’ve got to promote some snots! Ten new Captains! Pinky-chew and Spickle-spack, report for duty!”

My Commodores clomped through the crowd. Goblins parted to give way to their big, black boots. They climbed the shroud with their hands and feet.

“I entrust each of you to promote ten Captains,” I said. “They’ll be assigned to jolly boats. Each of you must pick five goblins. Each one gets a new pair of boots, a sack of silver coins, and an old empty loot chest.”

Without questions, my Commodores turned to the goblins.

“Listen up, snotties!” said Spickle-spack. “We’ll be giving out the promotions.”

While they tended to the trickle-down, I put my cracked monoscope to my eye, held onto a rope rung of the shroud, and searched the crowd. There was one special goblin I needed to promote.

“Let’s see…Mop-top…Toot-tooter…Green-gums…Belly-picker…Crusty-lashes…”

I blinked. There she was. “Remember-not!”

Remember-not jumped in place. She bolted through the crowd. She popped up here and there, and sometimes farther away, and sometimes not quite heading in the right direction; but she eventually arrived more out of breath than she ought to have gotten.

“To the forecastle!” I said, descending.

“The forecastle? For a promotion?”

Where else would such a special promotion take place? It was somewhere quiet and private and where the hoard piled! Gabby trailed us to the forecastle.

“You’ll have to hand off your flower hammering and dress-making to another snot. I’m promoting you.”

Remember-not sniffled, and her eyes glossed with water. “I p-p-promise I’ll make you proud, Admiral!”

I held up a fierce turquoise stone. “This is your promotion.”

Awed, Remember-not slowly touched the stone. On contact, her eyes rolled back. For a moment she silently mouthed words which I couldn’t make out. Her eyes rolled back down a moment later, and she slumped. Being on the floor, I crouched to slump with her. Gabby plopped down.

“I saw them!” said Remember-not. “No Slime-tooth, but I saw them.”

“Oh, I gotta know, please thank you.”

“There was Frog-Marcher and Ply-Water and Night-wise!”

Gabby gasped. “I heard Frog-marcher was the most ruthless freebooter goblin there ever was! Heard he marched hundreds of goblins across the plank.”

“You saw Ply-water?” I said.

“I picked Night-wise. I’m a Stargazer!”

“What does that mean?”

“And I got an inventory!” She withdrew a banged up telescope and an empty black velvet map. “I have to look at the stars and map constellations! You know how you have to expand your sea map? Well, I have to do the same but up there. Apparently certain stars can only be seen under certain conditions. Not sure what that means, but I’m gonna be doing a lot of gazing.”

“Oh, do you have to do the Peg-tooth constellation?”

“I have to start with Night-wise. After I map a whole constellation, whichever fleet I’m on gets big buffs like speed or storm resistance or clearer skies. Night-wise was my favorite!”

“And let’s get you a nice fat sack of gold! Gabby, will you help me?”

“I’m on it. Please thank you!”

Remember-not took the sack of gold that supplemented her promotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she shudder-sobbed like she was in deep pain. I jiggled my skeleton key in the door of the forecastle to be sure it was locked. I tried the handle to make sure it was locked. I walked away, returned, and tried the handle once more to make sure it was locked. Gabby tried too. It was our routine.

Up on deck, goblins were celebrating around Spickle-spack and Pinky-chew. The 10 new Captains were each selecting a team of snots to work under them.

All right! Here goes!

I opened a bottle of dreamon ale and poured a long libation at my feet.

Chapter 133

Barnacles and Flowers

Chance of Mutiny: 07%.

Thrush stepped through glow-white split-air. His irises were creamy and ringed with yellow and red and black. Where there was yellow and cream, I could see deep into the sponge holes. When he blinked, which took a whole one second for his eyelids to meet, I saw snake scales on them. When he smiled, his once-toadish tongue was thinner and it was forked at its end. Whoa, he was extra scary today!

“Hello,” he said.

“Thrush, thank Peg-tooth you’re here! I’ve reached silver rank!”

“Congratulations, Barnacle-eyes. This calls for smoked meat.”

Thrush pulled his arm out from beneath the strap of his Merchant’s backpack. He swung it around, and it bumped his belly.

“But I need your help to evolve my fleet. I need lots of materials. All the wood I can get! I need trees and branches and sticks and planks and twigs and trunks and stumps.”

Gabby popped up. She had her hands clasped behind her back, and she smiled at Thrush and swayed side to side. “Please thank you, Thrush monster!”

A thunderous rumble shook the planks of the galleon. I ducked and glanced at the sky. Thrush licked his lips with his slithering tongue, and he rubbed his belly. Had that rumble come from his belly?

“That’s not possible right now,” he said.

“Y-you can’t? Why not?”

Thrush had a problem, and I very much understood the problem. It was a very real problem to have, and I couldn’t agree more. He was hungry. Negotiating on an empty stomach wasn’t fun. I believed him!

After Gabby and I cleared the area of goblins, Thrush set up his Merchant’s Yurt. Immediately, blue smoke rose from a chimney which poked through a flap at the top. My world suddenly smelled of fish and smoke and sea and cheese. Cheese? I hadn’t smelled cheese since Hiccup’s mansion! It was only an hour until the smoked elodon was ready, and all crew members salivated in a heap over the yurt’s entrance.

Thrush heaved one rib from the smoker and laid it on the deck. Oily glinting fat oozed across the planks. I peered into the marrow of the rib. It looked like so much fun to crawl through! It smelled of rich-richy marrow stuffs.

If it weren’t for Thrush’s total intimidation, it would have been much harder to have my snots form a line. They moved one at a time with cupped hands held out for Thrush to drop a steaming shred of smoked meat into. Oh, what a good-good day! Every single goblin belly was soon dome-shaped.

[Chance of Mutiny: 05%.]

On the tasseled comforts inside Thrush’s yurt, I liked my fingers clean. At the end of my negotiation with Thrush, I counted our high-fives.

“And that makes ten! Let’s go evolve the fleet!”

Thrush purred as he followed me out. He collapsed his tent and all the furniture and the smoker with it. We went port side, and Thrush began dumping all the things into the sea: whole trees, tree pieces, stumps, poles, wooden furniture, a few utensils, pots and pans, black campfire logs, branches, and-and…oh, it just went on!

Goblins tossed nets to the sea and reeled in all the debris to the hull. With every crashing wave, the debris scraped up against the hull.

I needed some pieces on deck, so Thrush helped peel huge curled sheets from tree trunks. I used my Boat Builder skill to craft the first required jolly boat. Each split sheet of fresh wood creaked as it bent into place and locked together under a butt block. A whole lot of mana beer helped me complete nine more by the time the sun was starting to set.

I sat on the deck, sweating hard and panting with my tongue out. The jolly boats were hoisted up to the davits and then lowered to the sea. Brand new Captains clambered into their new ships with their small chosen crew members. Sacks of Pinky-chew’s breaths were thrown down to them. Old empty loot chests were passed down for their hoard, and a supply of chopped onion and garlic was dropped down in canvas sacks.

[Requirements for fleet evolution have been met.]

[You have enough wood resources to evolve your fleet.]

[Evolve fleet. Y/N?]

“Oh yes, yes, yes!”

The netted debris beside the galleon exploded to the sky like a gale filled with huge splinters. All the wood cracked apart and shot to the ships like a flock of arrows. The lugger evolved into a sloop, 5 sloops evolved into 5 ketches, and 2 ketches evolved into 2 galleons. Every evolution let in water through the temporary gaps while they evolved, so my goblins tasked themselves with bailing.

The planks of the galleon rumbled beneath me. All the vegetation shook. The sails rippled, the ropes whipped, and the rigging jiggled. Planks burst up at angles from below. New planks made of fresh jagged wood fused into the gaps. Canvas snapped and ripped. The raised beds slid across the deck, and soil ground against fat-slick wood. A new mast shot up from below deck, piercing through planks. Splinters of wood collected at the taffrails which thickened everytime I blinked.

Then in all the sudden quiet, it was done. My galleon had evolved into a Hand-O’War. It didn’t bob on the water. The waves couldn’t budge it. The sea was much farther below, and the other side of the ship felt like it was minutes away by foot! Goblins that rushed to bail water informed me that there was another new level below deck! The old sails hung like rags from the shoulders of the masts.

“Calling all snots!” said Bubble-burp. “I’m the new seamstress! We need new sails!”

The helm was much larger, and it looked like it needed to be spun by at least four goblins. The capstan gear needed to be walked round and round by at least twenty goblins! What a good thing it was to have hired so many goblins from Float-some Barge!

Each jolly boat and the craft had davits to hang from. It was much safer and faster for those small boats to hang there, so we hoisted them up. Each Captain and their crew crowded the jolly boats.

Above, a poofy yellow ball followed by a poofy blue ball leapt from rigging to rigging. There were 2 new crow’s nests!

[Evolution Complete!]

[500 levels until the next evolution.]

[You have earned your first fleet flag.]

The sails suddenly stained a sea-glass green from corner to corner; even the one that Bubble-burp was sewing together. On each one, a slash of barnacles filled the flag in a single diagonal. Flowers appeared in each barnacle in a ton of different colors and shapes.

[Fleet flags are now represented on your sea map.]

I shook out my sea map and laid it down. There were little barnacle-flower flags on the map in the middle of the sea. I counted them and the one at Fiberthorn Cove which must have represented Come Here Goblin Inn, my stranded ship!

Wow, such beautiful flags! That was me! My name was on them—a picture of my name. I wondered then what other flags goblins had…Gloom-glower had a flag and it was dark green. Wasn’t he only bronze? How did he get a fleet flag at bronze? Why did I have to wait until I reached silver rank?

Stop, stop, stop! This was another one of the best days of my life, and I didn’t want to spend anymore time thinking about Gloom-glower. Even if he was gone! I wanted to think of Slime-tooth instead. What better goblin would there be to share such an achievement with?

“This is the mightiest ship I have ever seen,” said Thrush. His eyes were pulsing, and he was still purring, and he smelled like cheese.

“I wish Slime-tooth could see it. Do you know how he is?”

“He’s surviving. Hawkin and Abigail gave him Home Camp beers, and he says that he’s gotten much better sleep on the cot there. You might catch him when you visit that plane.”

“On Home Camp! Oh, I gotta see if I can see him.”

“He told me that the okra spit beers took a huge load off his shoulders. But no matter how much beer Hawkin makes, it never seems to be enough.”

“Slime-tooth’s fleet must have gotten so big!”

“Gloom-glower’s fleet.”

“He’s still alive? I heard Slime-tooth smote him!”

“He’s buying as much beer as Hawkin and Abigail can produce. Much more than his fleet can even drink. The goblins are bailing more than I’ve ever seen them bail before, just to keep the ships from sinking.”

Some of my worst memories were of working on Gloom-glower’s fleet. Terrible conditions. If I knew him as well as I thought I did, he was not giving out all the beer to his goblins. He was keeping most of it to himself. He was probably overworking them and under-rewarding them. Gah! How did he manage his chance of mutiny when I had so much trouble with a much smaller fleet? How did someone so mean like him do it? I didn’t like working under him…I couldn’t have been the only one to feel that way…

“…I miss Slime-tooth. I hope to see him…”

“Light-ho!” the besties suddenly shrieked.

Goblins on the crow’s nests of other ships called out, “Light-ho!” The call was again echoed from the sloops.

There was a bright green glow on the horizon, and it looked to be miles wide and more-miles long. It shimmered bright against the orange stripe of dusk. The glow moved like an aurora that had been smashed flat on the sea.

Spickle-spack shouted from his galleon. “Admiral! I think it’s the legendary lime smack!”

The lime smack? The legendary lime smack? The great migration of lime-glowing stingless jellyfish? I felt my eyes go big as I clutched the thick banister.

Chapter 134

High as the Stars

Chance of Mutiny: 05%.

It was the middle of the night when my fleet slipped over the lime-green legendary smack. The jellyfish glowed so brightly and there were so many, every hull and goblin chin and sail was highlighted in an equally lime-green glow. As far as an enlarged eye in a monoscope could see, the sea was filled with the legendary jellyfish. The sea was the calmest I’d ever seen it, and not a single goblin croaked or blew a nose or burped.

The only sound was that of our nets cutting the water into squares. We hauled up lime-green glowing jellyfish all night, and we made our bellies even bigger! Crumbs of glowing green were smeared around the lips and chin of every single goblin. We couldn’t wipe the glow off. They were so crunchy and so sweet and berry-tart. They tasted like sparks, if sparks could be sweet.

In the early morning, we were still hauling jellyfish and stuffing them into barrels filled with water. The cargo hold glowed with rippling lime-green light.

On deck, Remember-not was on the raised deck at the prow. She was the only goblin without a smear of lime-green on her face, and she squatted beneath her upraised telescope. She’d been there all night, only shifting to shake out her arms or to rub her neck.

“What a ship, Admiral! What a ship!” said Pinky-chew.

“I used to salivate at the mention of being on an orc ship,” I said. “Now two of them could fit in mine!”

“I thought my new galleon was sturdy, but this…”

I stomped as hard as I could. “Sturdy, sturdy!”

“I’ve leveled up, you know.”

Pinky-chew pulled a short length of rope taut before her. She inhaled and blew sharply across the rope. Her breath hit the rope like a thin blade. The fibers snapped in a clean cut.

“Wow, what a weapon!” I said.

“I want to help you level up. I mean, look at this!” She gestured to the Hand-O’War. She gestured at the space of it. “What a safe ship for the goblins. The risk of drowning has to be much smaller on your fleet. That’s why I want to do everything I can to help you level up. I don’t want anymore goblins to drown. If I can help you level up by leveling up myself, then I’ll work extra hard.”

“You can’t overwork yourself. I don’t want to be like Gloom-glower.”

Pinky-chew nodded like she understood me. It was nice to feel understood.

Mesmerized by the legendary smack, we leaned on the taffrail together and gazed at the bobbing jellyfish. We looked at the stars too. It seemed like some of them twinkled green.

Suddenly, one point of light exploded in a bright flash. A ring of colors expanded from it and looped over us and the horizon.

Remember-not fell on her butt. “I did it! Wow, it took all night, but I did it! I observed my first star!”

[Your Stargazer has advanced along the Night-wise constellation.]

[Impact damage is reduced by 2% on all ships.]

[Complete constellation to unlock full buff.]

“You're one of the best, Remember-not!” I said. “Don’t forget your smack! Here, eat. They’re so good!”

Remember-not laid back like she had been put through hard labor all week. She eased onto her back with a heavy sigh. It also seemed like a sort of satisfied sigh. Even when she was out from under her telescope, her eyes were on the stars. She brought a chunk of lime-green light to her mouth, and her teeth stained green. Green oozed down her chin and dripped onto her dress.

All my snots were enjoying themselves! Many goblins had snuck onto the raised beds where they napped against the giant onions with glowing green bites in them. The brightest glow emanated from Boggo and Ella’s crow’s nest. It was almost blinding to look at.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the crow’s nest. It was so much higher than ever before. The mast was almost three times taller! It was the tallest one I’d ever seen, even among the human ships at Laven-how-fish.

The last time I climbed something that high was in Hawkin’s woods. I stepped onto the first rope rung of the shroud and grappled my way up it to the mast. Peg by peg, I climbed the mast. When I lifted a hand from one peg to the other, I left a glowing palm print of lime-green.

Wow, what a day and a day. All my snots were happy. They were well fed, and they got to witness the legendary lime-smack. We had all the ptooey beer we could want, and there was no way we could run out of gigantic onions and garlics. I think they liked meeting new goblins and dropping off goblins and hiring new goblins. I think deep down, goblins liked goblins. I did. I loved them!

The wind was rough at the very top of the mast. It slapped the mast and pushed my hair and flapped my ears.

I saw my entire fleet below me. My goblins looked so small, like they were the size of a toenail! There were the new galleons and the new ketches and the new sloop. I couldn’t believe how small a sloop actually was. It didn’t matter! More room for goblins to feel at home was my dream! How much room could I make? How much more could my ships evolve?

I gazed up at the stars. By Peg-tooth, how did they not seem any closer? Speaking of Peg-tooth…I wondered if I could…Would it be all right if my dream was to have a home where every single goblin in the world could come to? Where there wouldn’t be a Gloom-glower fleet or a Gone-hand fleet or a What-ever fleet? We could all sail together forever?

I listened to the silent stars.

I reached as high as I could and caught only a fistful of air. The wind blew hard and I wobbled and then tightly hugged the mast.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That was a close one.”

When the wind calmed, I glanced at the stars. Then I peered down at my Hand-O’War.

“Well, I guess the only way left is down.”

One black boot and one green hand at a time, I began my descent.

Chapter 135

More Heads is not Better than One

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 382.

The ebony handle was smoother than any other tool I had ever used. The grain had been cut at such an angle and with such skill that the wood needed no polish. With barely any pressure, my grip held firm. When I swung the axe, the handle never rotated. Thus, my strikes went deeper, bit with more volume, and an apple could be placed on the remaining stump without rolling. Ah, how much better it was to use a proper tool.

As I caught my breath in the spring air, I gaze at the canopy where monstrous fireflies flew. It was late enough in spring that they were laden with pollen, like they were giant bumble-bees. From the forest, fireflies of all sizes emerged from their silver cocoons. They swarmed the canopy enough that they applied green-yellow caustics to the forest floor and the sumacs.

I couldn’t believe it. The sumacs bore their bright red fruit right at our feet. Coming upon them meant that the sea was not so far. A wind rose, and I lifted my chin. I smelled the salt of the sea! Ah, what a brine!

All the work we were putting into trail management would shift to building the tavern very soon. Very soon. I was undeniably anxious about it. I was also excited. How terrifying it was to build something for the express purpose of accommodating people near my woods which I had been spending years defending.

I shook my head as I climbed the hill of sumacs. At the top, I gripped a leg-thick trunk and gazed out. The sea lay there beautifully murky-blue. Sunlight sparkled at the crest of every single wave. The Mist Hidden wall blocked much of the north from my view.

Halfway down the hill where it was grassy, I found a good vista over the wall. The grass was up to my waist, and I sat among the stalks for privacy. With a focus on my level 2300 Hop Wallop skill, I attempted to brew a golden chapter beer.

[Wheat Double Lager.]

[Gold Rank 09/100 Chimeric.]

[Savan wheat and Ovin barley blend flavors of rust, crystalized honey, yarrow, and ginseng. The foam is Whipped White which bursts over the fist and wrist like a gauntlet. Contains an unknown ethereal. Condensed flavors of lemon zest appear in pops of star-shaped starbursts. The carbonation is directionless, and the beer restlessly swirls.]

I sighed, and I wrapped my hands around my knees. It was my best beer to date, beating my previous quality record by 3 points. However, I had still not achieved my ultimate goal. I closed my eyes and listened to the rustle of the grass heads in the sea born wind.

I hadn’t had many moments to myself while we made our way west to the sea, but in the times that I did, I attempted golden chapter beers. Brewers had interrupted me in almost each of those moments. Word had spread among the adventurers that I was determined to brew golden chapter beers. Since then, I had nonstop received unsolicited advice.

My ears perked at the sound of someone bounding down the grass. It was a Beer Collector whose name I had forgotten. He smiled, offered to share a bowl of fruit, and sat beside me.

“Pears? They’re perfectly ripe.”

Fruit was rare to me. “Thank you.”

“How’s the golden chapter coming along?”

“Still trying.”

“I’ve come across my fair share of them. And the Brewers that craft such wonders have the same thing in common. They focus on one recipe over and over again, like a flagship ale. That’s all you need to do. The rest will sort itself out.”

All well and good, but others had given me different advice. Just the other day when we were clearing elm, a silver rank Brewer had approached me. He’d surprised me by putting his arm around my shoulders like camaraderie could be forced.

“Scoring a golden chapter beer is like trying to shoot down a bird at night. But don’t even think about putting down your bow. Just keep shooting. Eventually, one of your arrows will hit. Don’t worry buddy, you’re doing the right thing. Give that noggin of yours a rest, and just brew, brew, brew. Make as many different beers as you can. Eventually you’ll knock out a golden chapter. That’s all there is to it.”

Then there was the day where we had to detour around a marsh of cattails. Another Brewer had sidled up beside me around my nightly fire with Abigail.

“Lemme tell you a little secret. One that my first mentor shared with me. A wise man, he was.” He had made a fist. “It’s all a matter of power. You gotta level everything up as high as you can. Once you’re at the top, poof, it just happens.”

Ah, but that didn’t make sense. Hadn’t silver rank Brewers achieved golden chapter beers before? How did it make sense then that it was only a matter of leveling up? Even before taking their advice seriously, it went against the advice that Abigail had first shared with me.

So I politely listened to the beer Collector while we shared dripping pears. And after lunch we descended the hill and continued the path through a forest of pine where the undergrowth was darker.

The pine wasn’t so dark that I didn’t see the sun beginning to set. Our troop made camp and settled in. Over soup, a Brewer made himself comfortable at the fire Abigail and I shared. He wanted to compare Collector’s Journals and fill some more pages out together. Eventually, he asked how it was going with my quest to brew a golden chapter beer.

“Closest I’ve gotten is with Memory attribute beers.” I tipped my chin at Abigail. “Her advice was to focus on those because they’re similar.”

“If I were you, I’d keep an eye out for rare ingredients. The exotic stuff really pushes your skills. That’s what happened to my mentor, and that’s what happened to me.”

But I had received a ton of wild ingredients and new strains of barley and hops. I had used plenty, and I had leveled up my new Paired Stars skill to 94 which imbued the beers with star-shaped clusters of flavor that popped on the tongue. No matter what ingredient I used, I couldn’t brew the beer I was after. All I could do, day after day, was continue my efforts and sleep on my shortcomings.

The next morning, the pine didn’t seem so dark, but the pine needles had built up over the years, and I had to almost wade through them. Another Brewer waded up beside me as I bee-lined for a standing dead pine.

“Any luck?” she said.

Of course it was about the golden chapter beer. “Nope. Don’t suppose you have any advice?”

“Glad you asked! It all comes down to one simple thing. Travel! Seek out the masters! You need to work under as many better-than-you Brewers as possible and steal their tricks. If you stay in one place, you won’t get anywhere. Trust me.”

We traveled on. We were on our last stretch to the sea, and it was enough traveling for me. I’d had to wade through grass, almost through a marsh, through accumulated pine needles, through fern…

I was the first to break through the fern. The sandy coast was at my feet, and the sea ebbed over small rocks. We had made it. There were only a few more trees to lumber, but this was it: the end of the trail alongside the Mist Hidden wall.

There were ships coming in from the south. There were humans aboard.

Chapter 136

How Kingdoms are Built

Brewer’s Reputation: 365.

Dinghies brought the robed men and women ashore. They wore robes hemmed in ethereal material. The colors were soothing and shed light upon their white robes. As they wet their robes and stepped ashore, they pulled back great hoods.

A man with long hair and a long beard held his hand out.

“We seek the Planes Cutter.”

“That would be me.”

“Ollie. We are all Dream Cutters. Our mutual goddess bade that we travel north by sea. We would meet with you, and you would accept our apprenticeship.”

“That’s…one of my quests. Dellia had asked me to reconsider.”
Ollie turned to the Dream Cutters behind him and patted the air at his waist. They all bowed, and Ollie bowed with them.

“There are Brewers who’ve assigned Dellia to their quest paths,” he said, “but they are not yet capable of producing ethereal planes. You must possess a dream cutter stone. Minion Master is but a small avenue with which to use the stone for. Its utility is realized to build kingdoms. We will teach you. If there is no housing in your woods, we are prepared to sustain ourselves on an ethereal plane.”

“How about you help me pick some razor clams for now.”

Though they helped pry razor clams from the rocks, they didn’t collect as much as the effort they put in warranted. My purpose in recruiting their help was to give me some time to think while I collected dinner.

Should I work with them? Dellia hadn’t often asked me to reconsider quests, and this one did seem important to her. What was it…I navigated through system prompts until I found the quest.

[Makers For Hire. Hire 20 Dream Cutters to build and shape the architecture of a kingdom on one of your ethereal planes.]

[Reward: 10 gold rank Planes Cutter chests.]

[Accept quest objective: Y/N?]

Could I use them to help base-build? Could they help build out my ethereal planes? Could they manage them? Might I be more hands free? Now that was enticing!

The water was cool, and wading for clams had me acclimated in less than half an hour. I kept going farther out until I had collected enough clams. I didn’t want to leave the water, and no one followed me out for a swim. I treaded water, and I swam in circles to shed the tensions of the past days.

By midday, cook fires were tempered, and I had in my hands a bowl of hot clam soup. The Dream Cutters were welcomed to the fire Abigail and I shared. They knelt behind their mentor like a choir on stepped platforms. Their hoods made them seem like holy mages.

“Ollie, was it?” I said. “Do you know other Brewers to whom Dellia is assigned?”

“We do. We certainly do.”

“I’m talking personally.”

“Quite a few. All on their way to silver rank.”

“They’ll be able to brew ethereal planes too, eventually?” I said.

“That is said to be their path.”

“Then I’ll agree. I’ll work with you, but I have some conditions.”

As if they were indeed a choir, they whispered all at once. Their voices crescendoed in excitement. Ollie turned to pat the air at them. He must have given them a strong look because I saw the muscles in his neck tense, and the Dream Cutters blanched. He was smiling when he turned back.

“We are honored, Mr. Ballow.”

“Please, Hawkin’s fine. So these Brewers may be able to eventually brew what I’ve been calling Mausoleum beers?”

Ollie nodded. “We are familiar with your work. What a blessing.”

“Help me manage my ethereal planes. I’d like to be as hands off with them as I can.”

“Naturally.”

“When these Brewers are able to brew Mausoleum beers, I’d like to turn over that ethereal plane to you. I’ll give you the master beer so long as you can employ other Brewers to maintain it. I don’t know how much more I can handle on my own.”

“Heavy is grief.”

“There are several other planes I could hand over to you too, if all goes well,” I said.

“We can make that happen, I assure you.”

“How do you know? These Brewers you know may decline my request.”

Ollie dropped to his knees before his Dream Cutters and spread his arms wide as though to gather them all under his arms. They lurched to him as one. They whispered, and they nodded, and they whispered, and they nodded. Ollie rose, brushed sand from his robe, and plopped back onto his stump.

“With your reputation, the friends I have in mind will jump at the opportunity,” he said. “What I can do is send word for proof. We have carrier hawks aboard.”

“There’s a Brewer in Lavenfauvish. His name is Ethan Hiccough. Half of my Mausoleum beers go to him to disperse. I’ll want you to continue working with him. If you don’t honor our arrangement in regards to my mausoleum project, I’ll hear from him.”

“I see the wisdom. And I understand your caution. Clearly, you do not know us, therefore we will not begrudge your skepticism. In fact, we will take it in stride and wholly adhere to your conditions. We can meet your conditions, Hawkin.”

Ollie chewed his tongue when he stretched forward and offered his hand to shake.

“Your timing could not be better,” I said. “Are you ready to help?”

With the weird colors of my ethereal ingredients, I brewed yet another master beer for an ethereal plane. I forged an ethereal label into the shape of a crescent squash for the container.

Abigail arrived and said, “Couple trees left. Oh, is that a new master beer?”

I handed her the bottle.

“Dellia Lucerne’s Hermit Tavern,” she read, and then she smiled. “How fitting. When do we start building?”

∞

The ethereal plane was vast, and its gravity was lighter. The light of the plane was speckled with ultra prisms. Ollie and his apprentices gawked at the plane as they floated there with their toes pointed down. Abigail and I waited patiently for them to acclimate.

Ollie had some things to show me. Barely able to tear himself away from the impossible colors of the place, he clapped his own Dream Cutter stone between two hands and furrowed his brows. His robe rippled. Then a mirage of stone began to manifest in midair between us.

“You can manifest anything you’ve ever seen in your dreams with the dream cutter stone,” he said. “This block of granite hails from the cathedral of the city in which I was born. Touch it.”

I touched the mirage, and my finger dipped into it. Flashes of memories blinked like a rapid cascade of thoughts in my mind. I saw a cathedral made of white-gray stone. Children were throwing themselves after each other and laughing and stomping on the steps of the cathedral entrance.

When I removed my finger, the memories abruptly fizzled.

“It was born of my dreams,” said Ollie. “Of nothingness, yet it is firm enough to hold. You’re sure to have seen stone in your own dreams. Give it a try. Produce a stone. Think of it like tying string around a memory, and then pull it from your mind.”

“A memory?”

“Though we may forget what we witness during our waking life, our dreams remember. It’s mainly our memories that give life to our dreams. If nothing returns to you, try a different memory. Once you’ve found what you’re after, cut a block from it.”

I withdrew my Dream Cutter stone and clasped it. Using my mana for it was like pouring honey into the hole of a button. I hadn’t had this much trouble using mana since I began my quest path!

I focused on memories of Lunstad. I tried to rekindle any old dreams of the city that I had ever had. I kept at it until I manifested a rough mirage of basalt. I gasped with exertion when I could manifest no more. And while I felt the plane restore my mana, I couldn’t help but laugh at my mirage. It wasn’t exactly a block like Ollie’s was. It was misshapen and looked more like a black cloak crumpled into a ball.

“With more skill, the block would have manifested with your desired dimensions,” said Ollie.

With that, Ollie manifested another mirage of stone. He produced another perfect block which he stacked upon the previous.

“This is how kingdoms are built within ethereal planes,” he said.

The kingdom seekers had spoken of this. They had mentioned they had Dream Cutters already under employment. This was why.

Ollie cleared his throat. “With mana and focus, one may firm these mirages of material until they are corporeal and all memory is dashed away.” He spun, gesturing to the plane. “Here, your creations will remain endlessly, no matter the weather or the passing of time. However, anything built using a dream cutter stone will shatter like smashed glass if transported off the ethereal plane.”

He faced his stack of stone mirages and once again clasped his Dream Cutter stone before him. He strained with effort, and he grunted. The mirages suddenly strengthened in color and form until they were no longer mirages. They seemed like real stacked stones. I felt the cold stone when I knocked on them. I saw no memories in my mind.

“I suggest we build your tavern this way to your design,” said Ollie. “With our aid, it won’t take very long.”

One of his apprentices floated over to him and said in a low voice, “Inventory, Ollie. Our side quest.”

Ollie straightened his robes and nodded. “There is another matter I’d like to work with you on. We’d like to craft ethereal planes for those adventurers seeking more inventory space. You would make the master copies, and we would build shelves and storage. They’ll fetch an incredibly high price. We’d love to construct at least one hundred.”

“Ethereal planes to be used as inventory spaces?” I said.

“Indeed. What say you?”

“I’ll help.”

“And shall we begin construction on your tavern?”

“I’m afraid your skills with the dream cutter stone are much better than mine.”

“As you level up your Planes Cutter skills, you will be able to grasp control of dream cutting. You’ll be able to manifest blocks, then whole walls, then castles in nearly the blink of an eye. Once you reach even higher ranks, you will be able to render your surroundings as you tread and leave entire kingdoms in your wake.”

“You ready?” said Abigail.

“I guess so,” I said. “Let’s start building.”

Chapter 137

A Decade Against Two Years

Brewer’s Reputation: 356.

The Scholars had the idea to make a layout for the tavern. Dream Cutters manifested stone block mirages and placed them where walls would be erected. They also placed them where the globe bar would sit, where the cave would slope out to, and where pathways would lead to beer gardens. With more than one hundred people helping to build the tavern—in one small way or another larger way—I didn’t expect to feel the way that I did. The effort in planning and constructing such a theatre-large building wasn’t even one one-twentieth of what it took for me to build my humble cabin. All I had to help with was the design, and even that was reworked to better ends. Yet, despite the lack of energy required from my end, I was still sapped.

We all put our work down on the ethereal plane and returned to the woods to camp for the night. The moon was huge and nearly white, and trees stood at the foot of their own black shadows. Abigail and I camped away from everyone, and she softly snapped her fingers together. The sound of beer tinkled against glass with every one of her snaps. She couldn’t be more than one hundred bottles away from completing her quest.

While she brewed, I attempted another golden chapter beer with rye and bronze livik hops. I stared at my Collector’s Journal in horror when I learned that the quality was 01/100 Lesser Chimeric. That meant that it was my worst brew since reaching gold rank.

“Damn it,” I said.

“What’s the matter?” said Abigail.

“I haven’t botched a beer this bad in a while.”

“Were you attempting a golden chapter?”

I rose, kissed the top of her moon-warm head, and said, “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go for a walk.”

She squeezed my hand and stroked the back of my hand with her thumb.

I ambled over shadows that lay like black stripes. Cocoons reflected the moon upon the canopy and made the woods seem like one large spider web. I paid little mind as I strolled up the beach. The sea ran up the sand and slipped into it. Fireflies dotted the sky over the sea. They drifted in and out of the woods. Their wings droned low. Around the Mist Hidden wall, the sea glowed with its bioluminescent reflection.

“Some view, eh?” said a hard voice.

I was so startled, I tripped over my own boot. My knee dented the sand, and I picked myself up.

“Not the smoothest landing, but a fine jump,” said a man sitting at the edge of the woods. “You might just make it over the Mist Hidden wall if you keep giving it your all, boy.”

I slapped the sand from my pants. “I didn’t know anyone else was here. Have we met yet?”

In perfect moonlight, I recognized a man. It wasn’t his features that I recognized, nor his voice. It wasn’t his disarming smile that I recognized, nor his eyes. It was his bearing. His clothes were well worn. His boots looked to have been thrice repaired. His beard was rough, and his hands were meaty, like he could bend wood with them.

There was something else entirely that I recognized. His left lapel was in rough shape. It was stretched, and I recognized why. I had stretched the same spot on my coat over years of blowing at the base of fires by using it to shield my eyes from the smoke.

His beard was rough cut, and it wasn’t unreasonable to guess why. When you lived in the woods for so many years, flimsy blades break at some point, and all you have left are your axes and knives.

His trousers were scratched at the thighs where one would try to slip through thorn bushes. His boots were each malformed which only came from constantly drying them out after walking through mud and rain. I recognized a woodsman.

“No, no,” said the man. “We haven’t yet met. You’ve had your hands full, and I can tell you’re not too keen on all of us being here. I’m Balthazar. Bal is fine.”

“I’ve resigned myself to it. Won’t be for much longer.”

Bal gestured that I should sit with him.

“Why not,” I said, and I sat with him.

“Moon’s bright,” said Bal.

“Hmm.”

“Pretty color.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m the same way,” said Bal.

“What’s that?”

“I’m a woodsman. Far, far east of here.”

I knew it! “Brewer? Collector?”

“Brewer. I understand you. I do. I’ve been out in the woods going on thirty-five years now.”

I whistled.

Bal chuckled. “Thought I’d turned down enough traveling quests that the system would know better than to give me another one, but then this quest showed up. Guess the system missed getting rejected.”

“Hmm.”

“But then I thought to myself, hell, why not? Let’s give the system a little surprise while these legs are still good for walking.”

“Hmm.”

“Most I’ve ever talked to people,” said Bal.

“It’s tiresome,” I said.

“Not for them. But it is for us. We’re not used to it, and we’ll never get used to it.”

“Well, it won’t be long. And the tavern is really a decoy.”

“Nobody here’s so dim they can’t see your tavern for what it really is. Have a little more faith in people.”

“After some of the advice I’ve gotten lately…”

“Your golden chapter beer, eh?”

“It’s not for a quest or anything. I just want to brew a beer that can come close to some of the best I’ve had.”

“You’re trying to brew a golden chapter by measuring yourself up to others?”

“I can’t brew anything good enough. If my skills were to blame, I could just focus on leveling up, but that’s not the problem. There’s probably nothing meaningful enough within me to craft something that amazing.”

“Any Brewer that’s made a golden chapter beer will admit they’d failed at it before they could succeed. I can swear by that.”

“Abigail’s had the best advice. She had me focus on Memory attributes to get closer.”

“Golden chapters share an experience beyond what memories alone can tell.”

“I realize that,” I said. “I’ve gotten to try a few.”

“What about your beers? Do you know what you’re trying to say?”

“Sure, but whenever I start to say something out loud, it seems so trivial.”

“You’re calling your words trivial before you’ve even finished putting them together. How can you know what other people will think of your story if you never share it? That’s like trying to fell a tree by first cutting down your own leg.”

“How do I know if an experience is worth sharing?” I said.

“It’s not about worth. It’s about really having been there to live through the experience. Just living through it is enough.”

“I’m not sure I have anything to share that would matter to anyone.”

“There you go again, trivializing. If there’s anyone for you to measure up to, it's yourself.” Bal waved his hand in an arc at the sky. “Imagine it’s thirty some odd years from now and you could drink one of your beers—a golden chapter beer—what would it taste like? What would it be loaded with, eh?”

Fireflies the size of goblins wandered up the beach and flew around the Mist Hidden wall. In what seemed like no time at all, the northern wilderness had become filled with the monstrous creatures. Towering trees stood like pillars under an infinite dome. Ah, how quickly things changed. And things will continue to change.

In all the change myself and my woods had been through, it was easier to remember the past few years than it was to the decade prior where I’d been completely alone. I had memories of that decade, but far more memories of the last couple of years since I met Thrush.

Of all of those memories, which did I want to remember the most? Not for anyone else, but for me? Which would I bottle to revisit later?

Bal popped a bottle and poured us beer in two beaten copper mugs. “Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers.”

“Don't worry, boy. Sometimes you have to tune the world out for a moment. You’ll do just fine.”

Chapter 138

Goblin Spuck

Abigail

The smell of hops hovered in the spring air in Lavenfauvish. How I wished Hawkin could be here with me.

I was so surprised to see goblins in line among the humans to get into the Oude Brewer’s festival. Group by group, their tickets were shredded at the wrought iron gates. Like squirrels set free, once past the gates, the goblins sprinted through the crowd of humans.

Before long, with such and such small talk to the entrants around me, my ticket was shredded. I stepped onto the festival grounds which took place in the Verlough neighborhood just up from the pier.

Programs were passed to everyone filtering in, and I grabbed one. As I flicked my gaze up from the program every few feet as I went, I noticed a lot more goblins. They were so short in the crowd of humans that they had to form what Barnacle-eyes had taught me was a green ladder. Each green ladder was at least three goblins tall, and two of them sat on another’s shoulders. Each ladder made them seem even more out of place. They wandered like a stacked totem with six arms that pointed everywhere all at once like a wooden sign at a six-way intersection.

I hoped they saw the map on the program. With it I was able to navigate to the most crowded streets. There were vendors of hops and grain and adjuncts; there were performers, ice carvers, glass blowers; there were coopers and keg welders; there were kilners and roasters; there were brewers and vintage vendors….

I wanted to look at everything! I was especially interested in some of the glassware. Foremost, I wanted food and beer. I wiped the corner of my mouth several times because I thought I might have been salivating too much to the smell of beer and food.

After a short wait in line, I had myself a corndog the size of a small bat. The corndog attracted quite a few green ladders. Their eyes were huge as they eyed what felt as heavy as a weapon. They sniffed the air like dogs did.

Another wait in line earned me a half pint of a watermelon and blueberry spontaneity beer. The beer was watermelon red, with black popping flavors, and the foam was a blue Crushed Ice Foam Cascade. In one hand I tore at the corndog; in the other I chewed beer foam and sipped a marvel of melon flavors. All the while, performers commanded my attention. Overhead there was a parade of massive beer foam bubbles. Each one was the size of a wagon and there were folk in them. There was even a goblin in one of them. He was on his belly and laughing. Green hands rose from the crowd and pointed at the bubble-imprisoned goblin.

I watched the parade until I came to an archway of vines which blocked my sight. The archway was the beginning of a tunnel of vines, and I recognized the flowers. They were birds of paradise, and there were vines of honeysuckle striped among them.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” said Corylus, coming out from the tunnel.

“My dear friend!” I said, and I hugged him. “Yes, absolutely stunning!”

“Come this way.” Corylus took me by the arm and led us through the tunnel.

Goblins were passing through as well, and several times I witnessed a few green ladders bump into humans. They didn’t exactly apologize, but it didn’t seem that anyone was too upset about it. Oh, how good it was to see more goblins around people!

“Why are there so many goblins?” I said.

“Green-fin has been attracting a lot of beer Collectors. The attention has made that part of the pier quite rich. Seems the little creatures have more coin burning through their pockets…And Hiccup did provide a number of tickets to certain goblins.”

A part of the tunnel let more light through, and I noticed that we were suddenly beneath rainbows of different hop varieties. Each vine was a darker color of their flowers. Among them were flowers I’d never seen before.

“I recognize the hops,” I said. What are the other ones?”

“Bells of Glendale.”

“It’s not often you see green flowers.”

“Oh, before I forget! Remind me that I have a gift for Hawkin back at the mansion. It’s a plant. A very special plant.”

Erik Skullander slipped between lurching green ladders. “I knew I’d find you two in the flowers. Good to see ye, Abigail.” He had a few sugared pretzels in one hand and a ramekin of red dip in the other.

Suddenly a goblin leaped up and grabbed onto Erik’s forearm like it was the branch of a tree. He pulled himself up and sniffed at the edge of the ramekin.

Another goblin said, “Don’t even bother, it’s all human food. Nothing for us.”

They both ran off, leaving Erik bewildered.

“I’d like a drink!” Corylus said with a clap.

So while Erik laughed to himself about the goblin, we meandered through the rest of the tunnel. We observed several other kiosks, discussed the program’s order of events, and purchased more beer. My second beer had purple foam in the Mellow Marshmallow Foam Cascade sub skill.

Erik nudged me on my first sip and said, “There they are.”

We’d arrived at the square where the judge’s pavilion was. There was a half-orc judge, along with Lady Agav, and another woman. They were in the midst of a heated argument. The half-orc passionately argued, and I caught a few words. “Spectacular…Magnificent…You fools…I’ll bite off your tongues if you refuse to use them properly…It should be gold!”

All the arguing had made the crowd pause. It didn’t take the judges long to realize that, and they lowered their voices and returned to their seats.

We continued on, but I nearly bumped into Erik when he stopped suddenly. Around his large frame I saw a group of goblins attempting to read the program where the Brewer entrants were listed.

One of the goblins pointed to a name on the list. “What’s this one?”

“How am I supposed to know?” said another.

“I can’t read it either, but it looks like a human name,” said another.

“They all look like human names!”

Yet another goblin burst into the group. “Fried onions! Follow me!”

In what felt like the blink of an eye, they formed ladders, leaned forward, and rode off.

“There’s a wheat brett ale I’d like to get me hands on,” said Erik. “Ye game?”

I was so tempted to tell Erik that he should lead the rest of our adventure through the festival, because the beer that he had us try was phenomenal. Brett ales were some of the most magical beers.

It tasted like the sweet musk of bales of hay with the always delicious pepper: grains of paradise. With every sip, I felt that I was leaning against a barn with a sprig of rye between my teeth and with the light of a setting sun on my face.

As we had our fun, as we filled our bellies, and as the sun moved over the sea, I kept thinking of that beer. By that time, we had made it back to the pavilion. The throng was thicker. There were many goblins, but they seemed almost bored.

The half-orc judge was smiling. His arms were crossed, and it seemed like pleasure was a glint in his eyes.

Erik leaned over and said, “Luck to ye.”

“You too!”

Corylus bounced on his toes. “Good luck you guys!”

Lady Agav soon stood from the judges table and rang a bell. She crossed to the fore of the pavilion.

“Hop-heads and Barley-bellies! Welcome to the sixth hundred and thirteenth Oude Brewer’s festival of Lavenfauvish.”

The crowd cheered, and it seemed like the goblins hooted only because the humans had suddenly gotten loud.

“One hundred and ten thousand Brewers have assigned gods to their quest paths this year! Twelve new ingredients have been catalogued in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients.”

Cheers rose.

From the crowd, someone said, “Thank you to the Alchemists!”

“Yes, thank you to the Alchemists and their efforts to organize the guide! And we have seen a ten percent increase in entrants this year. Yet another exciting development for the festival is our new judge. Welcome, Adam Nim!”

Adam showed his palm as if that was hello enough.

“Let us begin with this year’s overall best beers, starting with bronze,” Continued Lady Agav.

The crowd pressed closer. An assistant to the judges brought forth the bronze trophy. It was of a large bronze hop cone with sheaves of wheat curling out from beside it.

Lady Agav opened an envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper. She smiled at the crowd. “I never thought I’d see the day. This year’s bronze medal goes to Erik Skullander for his Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck Clone Brew!”

The crowd cheered madly. Erik punched the sky and shouted his triumph. Corylus and I hugged the large man and congratulated him.

But something began to happen as the cheering subsided. The whispers of goblins began to grow louder. Their voices became excited, and they grew even louder.

“Slime-tooth?” said a goblin.

“Our Slime-tooth?”

“I told you there was a goblin name in there!”

“A goblin?”

“A goblin! A goblin!”

“We did it! We won!”

“Slime-tooth won!”

Their voices rose in volume that doubled the humans. They leapt, and they cheered, and they bounced around, and they sang.

Erik leapt into a pocket of goblins. “Ye bet yer arses we won! One for the goblins!”

“You know Slime-tooth?” said a goblin.

“Know him? Aye, he’s me second favorite goblin!”

Goblins circled Erik and cheered and hooted and hollered and climbed over each other like panicking cats.

The judges seemed to take the creature’s celebration in stride. Lady Agav waved Erik up to the pavilion. He waded through goblins and waded through humans. By the time he got up there, one of the goblins was sitting on his shoulder and waving to every single goblin he could see. Lady Agav was able to hush the crowd as much as goblins could be hushed.

Erik cleared his throat. “What an honor. This is the first beer I’ve submitted that I can wholeheartedly say I’m proud of. I’d first like to thank Slime-tooth—”

The goblins went berserk. Was it hearing a human thank a goblin that made them come to life so ardently? Corylus and I shared a mixed look of awe and bewilderment. The goblins went on and on about Slime-tooth, until Slime-tooth’s name was even in the mouths of humans.

Chapter 139

Bellesweet and the Golem of Growth

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 343.

It was unanimous that we all take the day off from clearing the shore and from building the tavern. Abigail regaled us of her experience at the Oude Brewer’s Competitive. She spoke passionately of the food and the beer and the beer and the beer. Quite a few goblins had joined in the festivities which had really livened up the mood. Many of the Collectors recognized Erik Skullander. I learned that he had admirers.

Afterwards, Abigail and I spent some time in the woods on a meandering stroll. We avoided the bright green fern whose leaves towered over us for fear of ticks. Instead we delved away from the coast toward the pines. It was warming up since we were officially past mid-spring. The breeze was toasty, as though it had slept by the stove in my cabin. There were great tailed grackles in the trees, and they sounded like they were goblins that pinched their tongues between their lips and spat without respite.

I held her hand.

“I have something for you,” said Abigail. “It’s from Corylus.”

“Oh, Corylus, how is he?”

“Jolly as always. Could we go to your Beyond the Cabin plane?”

We sipped my Beyond the Cabin beer and stepped onto the sand while fall leaves rained around us.

“It might draw a lot of attention,” said Abigail. “So I thought this would be a better place to show you.”

She produced a plant from her inventory. It was a sweet flag. The base of the grass was pinkish and rose in sword-like blades that were bright green. There was a cone at the center covered in yellow-brown flowers. It stood on its brown roots and immediately started walking around. It ambled in a circle around us and bobbed its cone which I suspected might be its head. When it completed its circle, tripping twice, it looked up at us.

“Corylus named it Bellesweet,” said Abigail. “Isn’t it precious?”

“It’s walking!”

“It sure is.”

“That’s incredible. What sort of care does something like this need?”

“It can sustain itself in the ambient energy of the plane. Kinda like what happens with us. It will look for water, and it will dig itself into soil when necessary.”

Bellesweet shuffled over the sand toward the tall black cohosh. Chimeric light from the window of the log house fell upon it. Bellesweet turned its cone to the window, then beelined to it. It scraped its leaves on the sill and hopped up against the logs. Oh, what a precious thing!

“Corylus just gave this to us?” I said. “It must be incredibly rare.”

“He’s been developing these plants for a couple of years now.”

“Does it know what’s going on?”

“It seems to have some idea…sometimes. Oh, and it will grow if it drinks any Wild Growth attribute ale, so we have to be careful with that.”

I gazed at the ball of woven oak and peered through to the chestnut trees. “There are some barrels of that floating around.”

“Isn’t this exciting? It’s like…I don’t know…It’s like a familiar!”

Abigail held my hand, and we followed Bellesweet as it ambled around the plot of land and through the log house. It explored things with unbridled curiosity. It didn’t stop to smell, nor to see, but it did stop for reasons beyond me.

“What if we gave it a companion?” said Abigail.

“Another one?”

“I’ve been thinking. I don’t know if you remember, but I had mentioned an attribute called Resident Earth Sentient. A 15.5 gallon barrel of the attribute gives life to a half inch tall golem of nature. It meditates, and as it meditates new things begin to grow. New plants. New animals. They could wander through the plane together and expand it.”

“I’d like for Bellesweet to have a friend. Do we have the ingredients?”

“I already bought everything.”

We collaborated on a stout and stored the beer in an ethereal forged 15.5 gallon barrel. The barrel sat at an angle on the sand between rows of black cohosh and fourrure blancs. I cradled Bellesweet to my chest, and we dodged behind the corner of the loghouse. The barrel imploded with a clap.

As soon as Bellesweet was set down, it waddled over to the explosion. There was no evidence that a barrel of beer had once been there. A small round golem made of sand stood in the middle of a shallow crater. It had speckles of autumn colors all over its body. Bellesweet lowered its cone head as if to smell the golem. The golem turned all around, and then it sat in a pose which I had often taken to meditate in. After a moment, micro sprouts snaked up from the sand around the golem. The sprouts budded, and the buds flowered in coral hues.

“What do you think, Bellesweet?” I said.

Bellesweet cocked its head at the golem, but otherwise simply stood over it.

“Do you think they’ll get along?” said Abigail.

“We’ll see?” I said.

Micro flowers continued to sprout around the golem. Bellesweet took a step back as the ring of growth expanded.

“How’s the tavern coming along?” said Abigail.

“Good. Surprised to say it, but I’m glad I accepted the Makers for Hire quest. They're doing most of the heavy lifting.”

“Any good loot?”

“A couple of higher level dungeon cores,” I said. “A few skill books and a Forge Ethereal Wheat skill book.”

“Ethereal wheat, wow. On that note, what beer shall we make exclusive to the tavern?”

“Something that could be our flagship. Something we could sometimes make Grand batches of.”

“What about something that represents our woods?”

We each stepped away as the ring of growth expanded again. Bellesweet turned in place, and leaned over the micro flowers. The flowers at the center of the growth where the golem sat doubled in size.

Things that I’d been reflecting on seemed to double in size as well.

“I met an old man on the shore. A brewer. Said he spent thirty-five years alone in the wilderness.”

Abigail cracked a smile. “You two must’ve hit it off.”

“He said we had a lot in common.”

Still smiling, she said, “That bothers you?”

“…It does.”

“You see yourself, and you don’t like it.”

“I gotta think about it. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Chapter 140

They Were Trees Until They Weren’t

Throughout the next hour, the sand and leaf golem had risen from its meditation several times and made its way to the edge of the slab of sand. Through its power, it was expanding the land out into the plane to the oaks.

Abigail and I meanwhile discussed the Dream Cutter stone.

“What comes out if you don’t know what you’re trying to pull from your dreams…your memories?” said Abigail.

I clasped the Dream Cutter stone, closed my eyes, and focused mana into it. It was like forcing a cork back into a bottle. I tried not to use the Dream Cutter’s techniques which used intention. The effort had me grunting, and I felt sweat trickle down my brow. When I was nearly out of mana, I relinquished my efforts.

When I opened my eyes, I found Abigail chuckling soundlessly.

“What?” I said sheepishly.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. Look. It’s all trees!”

A number of small trees waved in touchable mirages. When Abigail went to touch one, her finger went through the image. Her eyes widened. Things passed across her eyes.

She retracted her hand. “Do you recognize any of them?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s take a closer look.”

I drank from my mana collection jar and felt the condensed mana run through me like a rush of adrenaline. My mana pool filled to the brim, and I felt rejuvenated. I clasped the Dream Cutter stone and focused on firming the mirage of trees until they were completely solid.

“With you and the golem, this place is going to expand fast,” said Abigail.

“With the help of Landmark ales too.”

“Hawkin, look!”

Abigail peered closely at the trunk of a tree. An outline had been worried into the bark with what must have been a blade. Sap oozed from the cuts as though they were fresh.

“What is it?” said Abigail.

“It’s a…a…a…”

Abigail tilted her head. “Is that an onion? An angry onion?”

I tilted too. “I think you’re right.”

This tree was a particular tree from a particular part of my woods! Ah, but what could that entail? Could I populate the plane with my woods? Favorite fantastic parts of my woods? Could I bring here the boulders I had cleaved more than a decade ago? Could I bring The stump which Thrush had chewed the rest of the tree from? I could bring so many different things that were touched by my friends.

The trees beside the one with Barnacle-eyes’ carving were unrecognizable. They were just trees. Ah, but the angry onion really evoked my woods! It gave me a sense of home, and I gawked in wonder at that.

These were just trees until they weren’t.

My memories and my dreams didn’t come from my time alone in the north. The evidence was right in front of me. The things that nourished my dreams and my strongest memories were of moments touched by loved ones.

They brought life to my woods.

Bellesweet ambled at the edge of the land, and the sand golem stepped out onto the bridge it had caused. The bridge extended a few feet out onto the plane like a dock over an endless sky.

I thought of my docks in the woods which the orcs had built. I had almost lost the coast to the orcs, and I had almost lost the woods to the goblins. Now, as more and more people threatened my peace in the woods…Ah, how tempting it was to replicate my woods here. I could bring the most precious things here.

And if I were ever to lose my woods to the goblins or the orcs or humans or whatever else might be in store, the most precious parts of it would be safe on the plane. If I was forced from the woods, I would always have this place, no matter where I was.

I took Abigail’s hand.

…No matter where we were.

Chapter 141

Beer Turned to Gold

Ogo

Our speed of travel over land was proof that the Legkeds were invaluable. In almost one week, we had managed to reach the city of Quarotte with our carts full of obsidian and orcs. The feat of speed seemed a small matter to the stilted creatures. Since they could see over the buildings of the obsidian-paned city Fitz-Dhis, we located the multi-domed tent and met with Lord Jeresh.

It was our cart filled with obsidian that changed Jeresh’s tune this time around. With eagerness he traded coin for obsidian, and we left the city. Now our carts contained hills of pearls, mountains of coin, and every orc.

Just outside the split-rail fence at the edge of Fitz-Dhis, I called for a halt. We halted not for rest nor food, since we had bellies full of roasted rats. We halted because I wanted to satisfy a different hunger, and I knew all my orcs felt the same. I wanted us to feast our eyes upon the coin we earned with muscle.

Beet shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Hang me upside down by my toes. You did it, Ogo.”

“We’ve earned it!”

Every cart held a mound of coins. There were gold coins which sparkled in the eyes of my comrades. Cloudy light glinted off the edges of silver coins. The copper seemed so fresh it was almost pink. When an orc grabbed a handful of coins and let them fall between his fingers, we laughed at the tinkle of metal on metal, and we laughed at the heap of it, and we laughed at our hard-earned wealth.

The pearls were a dull smear of pastel colors compared to Hawkin’s barrels, but they held as much value as the coins. They rolled like crackling pebbles over each other. Orcs perched upon the walls of the carts like they were mesmerized by firelight. It was the same way that the sea seemed to pull at you in the middle of a moonless night. Each pile of coins was an entirely separate gravity.

Jix clapped me on the back. “Who knew, eh? All that beer could turn to gold.”

“The human does have magic after all. A very valuable magic.”

Thinking of Hawkin had me fingering the pearl ring on my tusk. If he were still doubling production every month, then we would have an impossible amount to trade with the next time I saw him. This year’s next yield of coins will need a thousand more carts!

“Up!” I said.

We were all eager to sit upon the piles of our treasure like they were thrones. The Legkeds lifted the carts by the handles and sprinted south. They ran so fast that we seemed to make our own wind. The terrain was simply streaks of browns and grays and whites to either side. We desperately laid our armor over our treasures to keep them from flying off when we hit bumps in the road.

With tremendous squeezes of my diaphragm, I shouted directions to the Legkeds. Soon we would come upon land where spring survived. Soon we would come upon the coast. Soon we would return to our anchored ships. Soon we would celebrate with the beer we’d left there.

Then we would sail the Sea of Ogo!

Chapter 142

Final Final Version

Boggo

The Hand-O’War didn’t pitch like the galleon did. Sailing was smooth, and the horizon didn’t bounce in the view through the open hatch of the crow’s nest. It lay flat and steady. Thank the elder besties for that, because I didn’t think Ella would be able to handle the galleon’s rocking.

We slept much better at night. The spring air warmed as soon as the light of the sun hit the fleet. The sky was a charming blue. Five goblin fingers appeared at the edge of the threshold and grasped the wood.

“Come on in, Mister Stumble-not!” I said. I scampered over, lifted his pinky finger, and pulled him up.

“Wow!” said Stumble-not. “What a big, big crow’s nest. There’s room for…” He counted five of his fingers. “At least twelve snots.”

“Shh! Keep that bit of information to yourself. We don’t want this to become a goblin get-away. Anyways, we have a special task for you. A daring task. A wild task. A task that you might not come out of the same!”

Stumble-not hunched so that his head wouldn’t bang the ceiling. He took one look at Ella and cocked his head. “Aye, aye, Captain Ella’s bestie! Uh…How is Captain Ella doing?”

Ella grunted as she sat up and rearranged her yellow poof of fur at her back. “Just fine for now.”

Stumble-not slapped his belly, and it jiggled. “Captain Ella’s tiny bestie is gonna have to eat more fish and catch up to us!”

Ella’s fur bristled. Her snout wrinkled, and she didn’t hold back from once more reminding everyone that it was rather humid out. Humidity did things to fur, and fur needed maintenance, and maintenance was hard when it was humid, and going from dry to humid meant that fur had a hard time of it.

…Dawn sunlight sparkled on the crashing sea. Rigging clanged around the topmast. The sails flapped and snapped with strikes like those from a soft whip.

I skittered to Ella’s side and gave her kneading rubs on her back. “Okay Stumble-not, let’s focus on the task at hand. Here, have a seat. Are you ready?”

“Aye, aye!”

“This task is going to require cunning! And brawn! And—”

“We want to test out the final version of our board game,” said Ella.

“I’ll round up…” said Stumble-not, and he counted two fingers. “Three more goblins.”

“Just you is plenty,” she said. “We’d like to run a few campaigns with you and test out some mechanics.”

“More than one? Is that going to take a while?”

Ella’s gut rumbled. It rumbled on. We waited for the rumbling to end.

“I’ll go get some fish-on-sticks,” said Stumble-not.

“W-we don’t have anymore lime smack?” said Ella.

“All out.”

Ella turned onto her side and began bawling. Stumble-not and I shared a very, very surprised look. A wave of panic rushed through my limbs and stiffened my tail.

“Get us some fish-on-sticks and anything else you can get your hands on! We’ll set everything up until then.”

∞

Ella was all good again! She leaned against her giant blue and yellow poof. She munched on her fish-on-sticks while she hummed. She wiggled her feet. Never had I seen her so content and with such big glossy eyes.

Her eyes were so big, they were perfect for observing. She wanted to watch from the sidelines while I played as the game master. The first campaign was going well! Stumble-not had his whole heart in it.

He played an elephant named Best-captain who sailed an underwater ship. He quested for sunken treasure, and the final moments of the campaign were upon us. I stepped forward.

“Here we go, Best-Captain, listen up! The freebooter ghost of Pepper-breath floats above the loot. ‘Halt there,’ says the ghost. ‘You have braved the hammerhead sharks and the saw-head sharks and the knife-head sharks and the scissor-head sharks. But before I relinquish my loot, answer me this. What do you hold dearest in your heart?’”

“Promotion boots!” said Stumble-not.

“The body of Pepper-breath wavers like seaweed beneath crashing waters. He says, ‘here be the key,’ and hands you the key.”

I placed a key carved from bone before the big goblin’s elephant token.

“I step on the chest to open it!” he said.

My ears lay down. “You…don’t want to use the key? I mean, the whole campaign was based on getting the key.”

Ella, with her mouth full, pointed at us with a stained stick. “He wants to smash it. Sometimes you just want to smash something.”

What? Why was she looking at me? Why was she looking at me like that?

I gulped. “Sure…roll these.”

Stumble-not rolled an 11.

“The chest cracks, but that’s not enough for an underwater elephant freebooter to break it. Now’s the perfect chance to use that awesome key.”

Ella bit into a fry and slid the skewer out. “Nah, he’s got four paws. Try again, Best-Captain!”

Stumble-not rolled a 23.

“Crash!” Ella mumbled around her chewed fry.

I mimed an explosion. “The chest crashes apart in splinters. You take a look at the loot and you see…”

“What do I see?” said Stumble-not.

“Four beetle-black promotional boots in your size!”

Stumble-not leapt to his feet, turned to the open hatch of the crow’s nest and hollered his victory. “I got a promotion!”

What a campaign that was! We weren’t tired just yet. There were more campaigns left to test! In the next one, Stumble-not wanted to be a freebooter human who raided cities. At first he went after hidden coffers. As the campaign progressed, his interest jumped to shiny objects, to gleaming objects, and finally to stinky cheeses. He heard how good they could be.

In the following campaign, he chose to be a bestie, and he wanted to fly!

“Are you sure? Because besties don’t really fly. Like at all. Not even a little bit.”

Ella, with her mouth double full, said, “It’s because we’re always leaping from rig to rig. It probably looks like we’re flying all over the ship.”

Stumble-not rolled a 15.

Ella swallowed. Just when she was about to speak, she slurped up another fry. “Well, there you have it. The first flying bestie.”

Okay, I had enough. “Now wait just a minute, you two. Let me check the rules.”

I hauled out our fiber bound rule manual and dragged it over like I was dragging Thrush’s backpack. After a couple of pulls, I opened the manual and flipped through it.

“Well I’ll be…” I said after a minute.

I was so into the campaign with the flying bestie that I was shaking with trepidation at some point. Stumble-not did not care what cliff he hauled himself down, nor what window he threw himself out of, nor what gap he tried to close. Oh, it was terrifying! Ella made whooshing sounds with every action. It didn’t help that the wind came curling into the crow’s nest from time to time.

It wasn’t until the next campaign where Stumble-not played a jellyfish that I was able to calm down. As a jellyfish, he owned a jelly-smack shop in the middle of a goblin city. His shop had sails, and it could sail up and down the streets with the gentlest breeze.

I played a happy paying customer. “Thank you for the smack. Will you be here tomorrow?”

“You’re welcome. Who knows? I’ll be wherever the wind takes me.”

Ella started bawling. “I love Jelly-block! He just wants to be nice to goblins and sell jellyfish and sail his shop around.” She plucked a fish-on-stick from her bucket and slurped it up like it could calm her nerves. “What a life. Favorite character so far, paws down.”

Paws down, the following campaign was the true test to our game mechanics. Stumble-not desperately wanted to play as goblin god Slime-tooth. He was an incorporeal character, but I still gave him a bigger than average player piece in Slime-tooth’s likeness. It was the one which all the goblins had loved to play with. None had ever been Slime-tooth himself until now.

Stumble-not promoted goblins left and right. Nothing was excepted from promotion! Even the onions and garlics were promoted, and they evolved into tastier wonions and warlics! The campaign hinged on a big goblin whom I decided to name Stumble-not.

“All right-y,” I said. “Last one. Roll.”

Stumble-not, playing as the goblin god, rolled a 20.

“You did it, Slime-tooth! You promoted every goblin and garlic and onion on your fleet. Your fleet leveled up to super-diamond-emerald rank.”

Stumble-not rose and shouted to the heavens. “I am Slime-tooth, god of goblins! Bless you, and you, and you, and you! I bless every goblin with good luck and long life!”

It was suddenly very quiet. The goblins below were never so quiet during the day. I scampered to the threshold and peered down.

All of Barnacle-eyes’ goblins looked at the sky in wonder!

Chapter 143

Whoever You Want To Be

The late day sun made the shadows of each fleet lay long on the sea. From the crow’s nest, I glimpsed goblins fishing, swabbing, sleeping, eating, and cavorting. Stumble-not dumped out the contents of a bucket starboard.

“What a success!” I said. “Next thing we need to do is show Bailey.”

Ella was leaning over the rim of a bucket. Her groans echoed up from the bucket. She lifted her head with what seemed like tremendous effort and said, “I can’t wait to get to Lavenfauvish. I’ve been craving gillagrubs for days!”

She crushed her eyes from what could only have been extreme discomfort. She groaned again and clutched the rim of the bucket even tighter, then she dunked her head into the bucket and heaved. I bounded over, and my tail followed me like that of a squirrel’s. Gently, I rubbed her back.

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“Gillagrubs.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“It’s okay. I just want gillagrubs.”

“We’ve picked up speed since the Admiral leveled up the fleet. We’ll get to Lavenfauvish in no time.”

Ella moved off of the bucket and put her back against the wall. She slid down to her butt. The sigh that she let out ruffled my fur. It was so nice to see her smile that my tail twitched.

“I can’t wait to eat gillagrubs,” she said, “and see the red besties again, and show Bailey our game, and spend time with you in the city.”

A goblin cry rang out below. It was the Admiral.

“Attention snots!”

“Please thank you!”

Ella bolted to the bucket, leaned over the rim, and retched.

“Will you stand in as Captain, please?” she forced out a moment later.

I stomped a foot and saluted. “Aye, aye, most favorite bestie!”

I scampered to the open hatchway of the crow’s nest and peered at the assembling goblins. Barnacle-eyes stood on the shroud of the main mast.

“Change of plans!” she said.

“What’s going on?” said Ella.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“We’re going to skip Lavenfauvish and go north to the Mist Hidden wall,” said Barnacle-eyes. “We’ll come down to Lavenfauvish after.”

“What did she say?” said Ella.

The gulp that I made felt like I’d swallowed a sharp rock. “We’re not going straight to Lavenfauvish.”

“That can’t be right. Let’s have Barnacle-eyes say it again.”

“Um, looks like we’re going to see the blue besties first.”

“But the blue besties don’t have gillagrubs!”

“I’ll get Stumble-not. He’ll bring us some more fish-on-sticks.”

“I can’t take any more fish-on-sticks. They’re not gillagrubs. And what about the red besties? And Bailey?”

Ella broke free from the bucket. She slumped to her hands and knees. I was at her side just when she started sniffling.

A large shadow fell over us. Stumble-not had arrived, and he filled the open hatchway. He set his bucket on the floor, and it scraped the wood as he pushed it in. I switched the buckets, and Stumble-not went on his way to empty another one.

“Is there anything I can do?” I said.

I fluffed out blue fur from my coat, made a big poof, and combined it with hers for an extra comfy pillow. Then I helped lay her down on the poof.

“No,” said Ella, relaxing into the poof as if she’d been a week without sleep.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

While I smoothed her yellow fur, Ella fiddled with the skewer of a fish-on-stick. It was stained where the small fry had been. She twirled it in her fingers as she seemed to look through it.

“Pickled shark eyes,” she said. “The squishy little ones that had this incredible pop with every chew. Remember those?”

“From Knot-knuckles?…Yea…”

“I want pickled shark eyes.”

“I’ll be right back!”

“Be careful!”

Halfway down the rope ladder that bounced against the mast, I ran into Stumble-not. I climbed onto his shoulder.

“Do you know where Knot-knuckles is?” I said.

“Want me to take you to him?”

Stumble-not first returned the bucket to the crow’s nest. I held onto the strap of his hammered flower backpack as we then descended.

We found Stumble-not in one of the goblin’s quarters at the bottom deck. He was alone, and it looked like at least thirty other goblins lived there too. He had his own loot chest, and there were scratches and scrapes in the wood above and below the lock and latch.

“I’m off duty,” was the first thing out of Knot-knuckles mouth.

“I just need one moment of your time,” I said. “I am standing in as Captain after all…”

“Fine. Make it quick.”

“Please tell me you have some pickled shark eyes left. I really really need some. Really bad.”

“I have lots, but they’re for me.”

“Let’s shoot some dice. I’ll put tourmaline in the pot! Ruby zoisite too!”

“I’m not giving these up for anything. Not until we hit Green-fin. And it looks like that won’t be for a while.”

“Okay, you’re—Oh, you’re asking for it! I’ll throw in one dreambon.”

“If I open another jar, goblins are gonna know. Whistle-spit will want some, Split-tongue will want some, Back-hair will want some. I can’t risk it. I’m holding onto what little I have left.”

“You just said you had lots left!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” said Stumble-not. Good Ol’ Stumble-not!

“Who do you think you are, sloop-bestie?” said Knot-knuckles. “Cause I’m not giving up anything unless Slime-tooth almighty tells me to.”

I put a hand to my chest. “Is that so?”

Knot-knuckles turned around until his back was to us.

“Enjoy your break,” I said through gritted canines.

Pickled shark eyes were so close! I could almost smell them…I think I did smell them. Geez, some goblins were such….such…Ah, I was so close…

I climbed up onto the Stumble-not’s shoulder. We made our way back above deck and checked on our craft which swung from its davits.

I should have used some Thrush tactics. What I should have done was pay more attention when Thrush was leveling up his Merchant skills. I could have used some techniques to get Knot-knuckles to share with me. I could have threatened him…But maybe not…What if it backfired?

“Is your game final?” said Stumble-not.

“The board game? Yeah, I think we’ve finally finalized a final version.”

“I liked being the elephant. And the jellyfish. But I think my favorite was when I got to be Slime-tooth.”

“Well, that’s the whole point, you see… Ella and I wanted to design a game where you could be anyone you wanted to be without a single restriction!”

The sun slightly changed hue as it continued descending. Then it hit me. In our game, you could be whoever you wanted…And Knot-knuckles had just told us he wouldn’t give up anything unless Slime-tooth himself told him to. By the elder besties! I slammed my fist onto my palm.

“Stumble-not!”

“Aye aye, temporary Captain!”

“I need you to go below deck to the barrels filled with planks and find me a nice, big, thick piece!”

I leapt down from Stumble-not’s shoulder while he dashed away. The sun was like a fire in my eyes. I wrung my hands together and chuckled.

I’ll get those pickled shark eyes, no matter what. Even if I have to play dirty. And I have the perfect idea!

Chapter 144

Boggo’s Plan

The crescent moon lay a dim light on the sails and the fleet and the sea. For a bestie, it was the perfect light. I could see everything in great detail. Most goblins were asleep. Aside from manning the helm, there wasn’t much need for anything else. Stumble-not and I had to work quickly!

In the deckhouse, I blew on my sore and burning hands. I had been carving all night, and I had to shake them off before I climbed up the door, and jiggled the handle open. I plopped back down and opened the door for Stumble-not. The goblin waddled in carrying a huge wooden sculpture. Well, it was huge for me; it was as big as Gabby. Gabby was halfway between the biggest bestie and Stumble-not. The goblin giggled.

“You promise?” I said. “You promise you’ll go along with it?”

“Promise!” said Stumble-not.

“And you’ll distract—I mean, talk to Barnacle-eyes about what character she would choose if she played our finalized board game? If she’s up?”

“I bet she’d have a blast!”

“As long as it’s not aimed at me. Oh, and mention the warlics and the wonoins. That should keep her busy—I mean, brainstorming.”

“Aye aye, temporary Captain!”

“Shh!…All right; next order of business. Let’s set it down right here.”

Stumble-not set the sculpture down. It was crude, but it was my best carving yet. All my practice on really small game pieces over the past few months had honed my skills, and they shone in this beautiful rendition of Slime-tooth. I made him extra godly with a cape and a kind poise. On a square of canvas before the statue, I lay a few dreambons and some crystals and some cracked dice. Stumble-not added a few pieces of raw garlic and onion.

“Won’t hurt if I leave something, right?” said Stumble-not. “Just in case.”

“Sure, buddy. All right. Go wake up some goblins and act all surprised and stuff like I showed you.”

Stumble-not raced out of the deckhouse. I hid in a corner by the bestie tunnel hole behind barrels. The goblin returned only a few moments later with a handful of goblins.

“See!” said Stumble-not. “What did I tell you? Out of nowhere, a Slime-tooth shrine!”

“We’ve been blessed!” said a goblin.

One of the goblins lunged for the dreambons and crystals and onion and garlic. I patted my chest, softly cleared my throat, and used my Slime-tooth voice which I had mastered over many campaigns where goblins needed guidance.

“Hold it right there, buddy!”

The goblin halted in place like a confused frog. His gaze darted around the ceiling. Was my voice off? Maybe I needed to go harder on a more goblin-y Slime-tooth.

“Halt, snots! Put everything back where you found it!”

“Slime-tooth?” said a goblin. “Is that you?”

“I am here in spirit!”

“Yeah, he’s here.” said Stumble-not. “Trust me.”

“Thank you, Stumble-not. Now please go give my best blessings to the Admiral.”

Stumble-not left the deckhouse. The goblins fell to their knees and offered a handful of loot. There was a clump of hair, some copper coins, a few nails, a leather pouch, and a pocket. Then they backed away and looked all around the room.

“I accept your offerings! They make me a happy goblin god!”

“Slime-tooth!” said another goblin. “Can I be promoted? What’s it like being a god?”

“Young snot, I need more offerings!”

“What kind, my god?”

“Pickled shark eyes.”

“That’s Knot-knuckles! Can we offer something else?”

“Sure. I mean—Of course, snot. Anything!”

The goblins left in a panic. They tripped over themselves, and they climbed over each other. They wrestled out of the door and then soon returned with even more goblins. Each one was in awe as they left an offering at ‘The Slime-tooth God Shrine’ as they called it.

They left crushed grasshoppers which must have been collected from the raised beds, pieces of garlic cut apart with teeth, the toggle of a backpack whose threads must have torn apart…

Then the questions began. They asked about promotions and Fable Stones, and they had wishes and desires to rise through the ranks of goblin freebooters. Goblins came and went, offerings were piled upon offerings, and questions were begged. But there was no sign of Knot-knuckles.

“Okay, I grow weary, snots. I leave you with a blessing while I meditate. But fear not, I’ll be right back.”

I skittered through the tunnel, down to the cargo hold, further below deck, and to the corridor between quarters. I climbed across the ceiling and stalked into Knot-knuckles’ quarters. More than a dozen goblins were there, sound asleep. I squeezed behind a barrel filled with coiled rope.

In Slime-tooth’s voice I said, “Wake up!”

The goblins bolted up.

“This is the spirit of Slime-tooth. Come to the deckhouse immediately. I need your aid!”

The goblins turned their heads like they were just a bunch of leaves in the wind. Yeah, they were just startled awake, but time was of the essence! I needed to shake them of their bleariness.

“Come receive your blessings from your ultimate goblin god, Slime-tooth!”

Their ears perked up, they stumbled out of their bedrolls, and then they trickled out of the room. The last to fall in line was Knot-knuckles.

“Wait, Knot-knuckles! Bring the jar.”

Knot-knuckles looked straight at the ceiling. “Is that really you?”

“It is really me. Are you really Knot-knuckles?”

“Of course! Can’t you see me?”

“I can see you, but I’m not convinced you’re the real Knot-knuckles.”

“I can prove it. It’s my name. Isn’t that proof?”

“Show me one jar and I’ll believe you.”

Knot-knuckles dropped to his knees before his loot chest. He fumbled with the lock. I heard the click of the lock and then the jingle of the latch. He flipped the lid and pulled a jar straight out.

“Oh, hell yeah!” I said, braving a peak. “I mean, Knot-knuckles, one of my favorite goblins! It is you! Meet me in the deckhouse. And bring the jar.”

He stuffed the jar into his hammered flower backpack and sprinted out. Once the coast was clear, I scampered out of the room, skittered up the wall, and bolted across the ceiling. I followed bestie tunnels to the deckhouse. There was another throng of goblins there, and the pile of offerings was impressive. Leaves and giant shredded trumpet flower petals hung over Slime-tooth’s shoulders. There were coins in his palms and stuffed into the space of his mouth.

I was out of breath, and I plopped onto my back, halfway through the hole.

“Welcome…to my shrine…” I panted in Slime-tooth’s voice.

They asked about other goblin gods. Most of them wanted to know what was in store for them. What did the future hold? Could they receive lifelong blessings?

“What is your name?” I said.

“Rasp-throat.”

“Bless you, Rasp-throat.”

From then on, all the goblins wanted blessings. I endured. Oh boy did I endure all the blessings! I gave out so many! At last, having been the last to arrive, Knot-knuckles approached.

“Knot-knuckles! Thank the gods you came! I mean, thank…just me…your god…You’re, uh, one of my favorite goblins. Now step up to my shrine and look at my face.”

“Slime-tooth? Am I really? Wow, I can’t believe it!”

“Would you like a blessing?”

“With all my green heart.”

“Leave that jar with the rest of the offerings.”

Knot-knuckles pulled the jar out of his backpack and approached the shrine. The sound of his footsteps stopped halfway. I cursed into my palm.

“Actually,” said Knot-knuckle. “Instead of a blessing, could you help me with something?”

“I will help you with a blessing. Now put the jar down, and step away from the altar.”

“Do you know Remember-not? The really pretty one who looks at stars?”

“Sure do. She’s another one of my favorite goblins.”

“Really? Her too! You see, she’s the very first goblin girl I ever liked.”

I froze. I stifled a gasp. “...You like Remember-not?”

“Who wouldn’t like her?”

“Yeah, but do you like-like her?”

“I’m scared to talk to her, but I’m also scared that I’ll miss my chance to talk to her if I don’t talk to her soon. Please, my Slime-tooth god, what do I do?”

This wasn’t a game anymore. I had to tread carefully. This was Knot-knuckles’ life! I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to get in the way of Ella and me when we met. I couldn’t do that to Knot-knuckles!

The Hand-O’War creaked as we sailed on. The sails fluttered in the wind. Excited goblin chatter filtered through the doorway. Ugh, I couldn’t tell Knot-knuckles to do one or the other! It just wasn’t my place.

“Uh, Slime-tooth god, are you still here?”

“Hold on, I’m thinking.”

“She’s really nice and smart and funny. And she’s even on her own quest path.”

Oh, elder besties, what would Slime-tooth do? What would he say? Okay, what if this was a campaign? How would I guide the goblins? I had to channel the best of Slime-tooth!

Here goes!

“Listen closely.”

“I’m listening!”

“If you sneeze from both ends, you go nowhere.”

Because it was so quiet, I peeked around a barrel. Knot-knuckles was staring at the ceiling, and his eyes were slowly going wide. They went wider and wider, and his eyes were darting as though a million things were passing through his mind at once. The whole while, he was intaking a giant breath. He let it out and dropped to a deep bow.

He approached the shrine and set the jar down. “Thank you, my god. Through your wisdom, I know what I must do now.”

What a relief. If he hadn’t come to that decision on his own, I don’t think I could keep this jar.

“And thank you for being Barnacle-eyes’ mentor, and for letting her hire me. I’ll share your wisdom with all the snots. Hopefully I’ll be an Admiral some day.”

Knot-knuckles closed his eyes for a moment. Then he turned and left.

I snagged the jar and scurried back to the tunnel. With very sore arms, I hefted the jar all the way up to the crow’s nest.

My arms were killing me. My hands were worn out and burning. I was once more out of breath.

Ella was snoring softly. I was beyond excited, but I just couldn’t bring myself to wake her up. Gah, I had been through so much! I couldn’t believe my plan worked! What a perfect night for such a plan.

Moonlight fell upon the jar filled with eyeballs.

“What are you all looking at?” I whispered.

I followed their dead gazes. Giant plant life filled the deck. Goblins were settling back to sleep. Knot-knuckles was wringing his hand and talking with Remember-not. She pirouetted and giggled, and she pointed at the stars.

I pushed the jar into the shadows. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

Chapter 145

Wave After Wave

Thrush

The rest of spring came with rain. Leaves darkened, and heat mixed with humidity. In that time, I often hunted turkeys in the shade and swam in deep waters for fish. I ate enough turkey and smoked fish that my eyelids were red, wrinkled, and thick as wattles. The inside of my ears were the same, and veins had appeared in my irises which reflected blue light like that of the sropflash fish. All the cheese I’d been eating softened my fangs and my claws. They could be dented like gold, but they were the color of cheese rinds.

I wanted to share cheese with the goblins, so I had cut through the world when I was summoned to Barnacle-eyes’ Hand-O’War. Her fleet had returned to the Mist Hidden wall on Hawkin’s coast. Her ships, full of plants, floated near Gloom-glower’s struggling fleet. There were humans on the coast outside of the Mist Hidden wall. Thousands of monstrous fireflies rose out of the woods and spread out across the sea. Even during the day, their lights blinked a sharp yellow-green that rivaled the brilliance of the sun.

I set my Backpack on the ground, navigated my system prompts, and used mana to erect my Merchant's Yurt. The walls whacked goblins away as they rose. The goblins who tumbled away laughed like it was a game. The others gawked at the yurt.

I stepped inside. “Come in, little goblins.”

“Is it cheese time?” said a goblin.

“Finally, I can’t wait!” said another.

“Uh, what’s cheese?” said another.

“Yeah, what’s cheese? I wanna know, too!” said yet another.

I sat at the cushion behind the low table. I piled cheeses onto the table, one after the other. When I recognized some of my favorites, I found myself licking my lips. The best ones, however, I saved to share last. As I laid cheeses out, not a goblin made a sound.

“Who’s first?” I said.

“Me, me, me! I was first!” said a goblin from the back of the crowd.

He used his arms to squeeze through the goblins like he was making swimming strokes. He arrived out of breath like he’d been treading water. In the face of a meal of cheese, I sensed almost no fear from him.

I pinched a crumbly cheese and sprinkled crumbs into the open and waiting palms of the goblin. He buried his face in his palms as fast as he could. After everything was inhaled, he licked his palms like he was attempting to clean sap from them.

“I was first too!” said a goblin.

The next cheese that I picked was quite runny. It was slippery, and I had to juggle its escape. I heaved it into the goblin’s hand where it landed with a smack. The goblin lapped at the runny cheese like a dog who couldn’t contain themselves.

“I was the next first!” said another goblin.

I had a wheel of hard cheese which cracked open without effort. Like all things, it yielded to my strength. As If I had some chipped piece of crystal fresh off the mantle, I dropped it into the goblin’s mouth. She made fists as she chewed, and she chewed like she had one hundred delicious foods crammed between her teeth.

“I was first after her!” said a goblin.

He held out his open palms, and twelve more open palms joined his in a row. I scooped up a mighty handful of blue cheese and spread the marbled decadence across all their palms. Snorting with what seemed like immeasurable delight, the goblins slammed their faces into their hands like pigs at trough.

Feeding the goblins nourished my growing delight. I found myself purring, which jiggled the wrinkles of my wattled eyelids. Their appetite was voracious which I deeply understood. I ended up feeding myself as well in the frenzy.

A wave of goblins surged into the yurt. They grasped, and they opened their mouths wide. I slapped cheeses into their mouths and into their hands. They bit like piranhas.

As each wave of goblins receded like surf returning to sea, another wave of goblins curled overhead. Each one came crashing down over the others who’d received their share of cheese. The undertow dragged them off as new crests formed around me. Cheeses began disappearing from the table as limbs and joints slammed into the wood.

“Yes! Yes, little goblins! This is what it’s like to fill your Satiation!”

We stuffed our bellies like we were cheese fiends, a new monster of the world! I could feel my Composition change me. Blue and green molds marbled my eyes. My skin wrinkled like soft cheese rinds.

A tsunami of goblins jammed into the yurt and slammed into me. The others were carried down-green to the back of the yurt where they crashed into the wall and flooded the area. I withdrew a wheel of cheese from my inventory, stood, and held it above my head like I was trying to keep it up above water. I crumbled the cheese by rasping it with my claws. It rained gold cheese crumbs upon the goblins.

I had enough cheese to feed them, to tire them out. Yet, I would not tire of sharing.

Soon they flowed slowly, like poured honey instead of water. They laid about as if they’d just battled for their lives. They nursed their bloated bellies like they tended to wounds. Each goblin had some picture of happiness in their eyes. Soft-song led the goblins in a lethargic song which I had at first thought was a chorus of geese.

Barnacle-eyes had made sure she was the very last goblin to eat cheese. She lay on the floor with her head on a pillow. She nursed her belly and seemed to be trying with all her might to keep her eyes open.

“I love cheese. Do you love cheese, Thrush? Cause I love cheese.”

“I do.”

“Cheese reminds me of Slime-tooth.”

Cheese did that? “Hmm, what does cheese remind me of?”

“I hope I get to see Slime-tooth again soon. I saw him on Home Camp. He was sleeping really, really, really hard. And he was tucked way-way-way into his bedroll. At least I think it was Slime-tooth. I didn’t want to wake him, so I waited and waited and waited. I fell asleep, and when I woke, I had a blanket on me, and Slime-tooth was gone. Bad timing. I can’t wait to see him again.”

“Slime-tooth misses you.”

“I remember my first cheese. I gave it to Slime-tooth after we raided a human farm. It was so, so good.” She held up a jagged wedge of cheese. “I’m saving this to share with him. Just like old times. Would you like to share our old times with us?”

“I’d gladly share anything with you.”

“By Peg-tooth, I feel so good right now!” She burped. “Oh yeah, I love the cheese burps. I get to taste our feast all over again. Your cheeses really helped my Chance of Mutiny stat, too.”

“They helped my stat too.”

“Oh, which one?”

“Satiation.”

“You know, Thrush. You’ve got all the spit beer and all the smoked meats, and now you’ve even got all the best cheeses. I think you might just be the most powerful monster in the whole world right now!”

Even the goblins that had to crawl to move seemed content. What a thing it was to have shared cheeses with creatures that truly understood how delicious food could be. I felt camaraderie. What a powerful feeling that was.

“Yes, Barnacle-eyes. This is one of those times where it really feels like that. I think this is what cheese will now remind me of.”

Chapter 146

Thrush and Goblins and Beer and Cheese

The previous season’s chill lingered in the night. It was night after night slowly warming. The goblins hadn’t done much after eating, and most of them slept through that afternoon and through the night. There were only two goblins who stayed up, and they whispered beneath a telescope.

The summer bounced off the sea and hung in the air, thick like fog. My smoker’s smokestack pumped clear blue smoke into the morning air. The wind dispersed it off to Gloom-glower’s fleet.

Dreambons smashed between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Their flavors filled me and balanced my Composition from the 15% cheese it had yesterday grown to.

Stepping carefully over goblins, I entered my yurt. I opened the first drawer of my Merchant's chest: Drawer of Ambience. Wood hushed across wood as I slowly opened it. A ball of blue fur beside a ball of yellow fur slept soundly. Ella rolled in her sleep. I couldn’t then close the drawer over her, so I gently rolled her back like she was a wheel of yellow cheese that needed to be put on its side to store. The drawer at last closed.

I moved from the handle of the drawer to the harpoon handle of my smoker. My flesh sizzled as I gripped the metal and heaved the lid open. My snub nose twitched, almost like it was a separate thing and had just woken. The scent of hickory and pecan and salmon and sea brine filled my lungs. The claws of my toes clicked the deckhouse, my eyes throbbed in their sockets, and I purred. The 10 salmon were done smoking!

“What about now? Are they ready now?” said a goblin, peeking into the yurt.

“Yes.” I collected the salmon, swung them out, and slapped them down on the table which had been licked clean. I beckoned the goblin. “I have cheese and smoked fish today.”

The goblin held out both his hands, palms up.

“Yes, just like that,” I said. “Present me with something you’d like to trade.”

“Trade?”

“For hot, juicy, wood-smoked fish, and—”

“—Yeah?”

“Sharp, creamy, meaty cheese slathered on top, and—”

“—Yeah? Yeah?”

“A chilled…” I popped the cork from a bottle of beer.

“Oh!”

“...Premium goblin spit beer.”

“D-did you say, p-p-premium?”

“That’s right. The award-winning Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck clone brew.”

The goblin fished so deeply into his pockets that he knocked his own legs out from under himself. He thrashed on the deckhouse while he rummaged. Pearls clattered upon the deck and scattered away.

Some had not slipped through his fingers. “Take these!”

“Would you like a creamy cheese—”

“—Yeah, yeah! Creamy!”

“A crumbly cheese—”

“—Oh, give me the crumbly cheese! All the crumbles!”

“Or a stink-smacking blue cheese?”

The goblin stuttered furiously until he snarled in what seemed like an attempt to bite his own tongue still. I piled blue cheese on top of smoked salmon onto a crinkle of Mehri Monger’s butcher paper. I handed him the bottle of beer as sparkling turmeric-yellow foam trickled from the neck.

“Ho! Oh! Whoa! Wow!” the goblin gasped like he was wading through icy water.

After he sprinted out of the yurt, it wasn’t long before the crew came looking for a meal. I employed a groggy Boggo to help me keep the goblins in line this time around. He climbed onto Stumble-not’s shoulder and barked at the goblins to form a line.

“See anything you like?” I asked the first goblin while I waved a hand over the spread between us.

“The creamy one! I need the creamy one! For this jellyfish I’ve been saving?”

“Here you are, Wax-nibbler.”

The next goblin offered a smooth shard of red sea glass.

“I’ll need an extra high-five from you if you want a full meal,” I said.

Goblin after goblin, I alternated which Merchant skills I used.

[Congratulations! You have reached Merchant Level 3001.]

[You are halfway to Diamond rank.]

My Inventory Management skill was responsible for that. My inventory was so diverse, so heavy, my other skills trailed behind by at least 1000 levels.

“Who’s next?” I said. “Brown-nail?”

Brown-nail presented a single copper coin. I wanted to put him in a tough spot so that I could work on my Merchant’s Threat skill.

“That is too much, little Brown-nail. You need to negotiate a lower price with me…or else.”

“Please, Thrush Monster. I just want the-the-the…I want everything you have!”

I showed him my fangs. “If you don’t ask for a meal at half price, I’m going to have to think about eating you.”

“I don’t understand! Half a coin? I can’t halve a coin! Oh, Slime-tooth, greatest of the great goblin gods, what do I do?”

A sudden thud drew my attention. Boggo had dropped down from Stumble-not’s shoulder.

He waddled over to Brown-nail and nudged him. “Pst. How about you buy two meals with one coin? That way you get twice as much for half the price.”

Brown-nail counted all of his fingers. He went over some of them twice. Boggo offered some of his own fingers, and Brown-nail counted those too.

“I’ll buy two meals with one coin!” said Brown-nail.

My gaze meandered to a corner of the tarp ceiling. “Hmm, I must think on this.” I sighed. “As long as you ask for extra cheese.”

“With extra cheese, please?” squeaked Brown-nail.

Boggo nudged him harder and gave him a tough look and a mean nod.

“Give me extra cheese!” asserted Brown-nail.

With his traded meal, Brown-nail scurried off.

The next goblin in line approached and said, “Can I have two meals, too?”

“No.”

Later, under the setting sun, the goblins once again found themselves belly up on the floor. They were defeated, and smiles were stuck to their sleeping faces. There were many goblins, and they burped like frogs in a swamp.

Barnacle-eyes lay upon extra cushions this time. She rubbed her belly and hummed a tune. Her hum soon turned to words.

“I have never ever, not once-ever, never-in-an-ever, had such a good meal. Not even once!”

“It’s all thanks to Hawkin. He taught me how to smoke.”

“Yeah, he does stuff like that. He taught me how to make beer.”

“A friend of his made this one.”

“So they’re a friend of Hawkin’s, huh? Guess that explains why it’s so good.”

“Yes. The slime washes down the cheese just right.”

Barnacle-eyes gasped. “Thrush, you had so many cheeses.” She burped. “Ah, I can still smell them all. Can you? Can you smell them?”

“I can smell everything.”

She burped. “Oh, bet you can’t smell which one that was.”

“I can. But I’ve forgotten what most of the cheeses are called.”

“Does that matter? Cheese is cheese.”

“I’d like to keep track of them. I could use a Collector’s Journal.”

“Like Hawkin has for beer?”

“Yes, but for cheese.”

“How many cheeses are there?” she wondered with what sounded like awe.

“That’s a very good question, Barnacle-eyes. How many cheeses are there?”

Chapter 147

Eye After Eye After Eye

Gloom-glower

What the hell was Barnacle-eyes doing? She couldn’t help it, could she? She just had to flaunt her fleet right next to mine! Hadn’t she been put in her place enough? And where did she get such awesome ships? I deserved them! She should be giving them to me!

If that wasn’t enough, she somehow cheated a few hundred goblins into following her and serving her? Stupid snots! Goblins are goblins, but they’re also stupid. They need a king like me.

Barnacle-eyes was a problem. Her giant ships were a problem—and they looked stupid! Who the hell grew a jungle on ships? The biggest problem, however, were her goblins. They had an impact on my goblins, which had an impact on me.

“Fifty percent!” I said. “We were at forty percent all spring, and that was already too high! What are those good for nothing snots plotting? I better not find out you had a role in this, Stub-toes!”

“This winter was even worse than the before-winters,” said Stub-toes. “So many goblins died, and there were no new recruits to take their places. Your majesty, I have some ideas that would surely boost morale. If the goblins could only work a little less—”

“This is above your paygrade, Stub-toes.”

“B-b-but, you said serving your Majesty was to be my greatest and only reward. If the goblins could only—”

“Keep your mouth shut, Stub-toes. Now go get Rip-funny, Buck-rat, Who-runs, Meat-fist, Canker-wort, Fly-booger, Needle-nose, Wiggle-chin, and Flea-pincher.”

Stub-toes bowed in a way that put a hunch in his back. His arms hung before him like they were useless. “Yes, my king.”

While he fetched my Captains, I walked a few laps around my couches. After a knock on the deckhouse door, they came in chortling, chuckling, bumping into each other, elbowing their way through, picking noses, and itching under their ear-pits. I was so livid, I walked right up to a porthole, extended my monoscope, and put Barnacle-eyes’ fleet right in its bullseye.

Her goblins were cavorting in the jungles with the giant vines and giant flowers. It seemed that the jungle was coming alive, but that was only because her goblins were green, green-yellow, and dark green. The scent of smoked meat had come in with my Captains and Stub-toes, and it lingered in the air. I could see—actually see!—the smoke drifting off Barnacle-eyes' Hand-O’War. And who gave her such a big ship anyways?

Bellies rumbled behind me.

“Tell me, my superior Captains, what do you see?”

Flea-pincher hopped across the room in one bound and picked the monoscope right out of my hand. He put his eye on the end and aimed.

“I see…some ships. Sturdy ships. One of ‘em’s even bigger than an orc ship. I see goblins. They’re eating something…Cheese! I see cheese! Melty, gooey cheese! And they’re shriveling their noses at the cheese! Must be really stinky.”

Rip-funny tore the monoscope from Flea-pincher. “Give me that! I see the cheese! So much cheese! And I see meat, too! I see…I see…Wow…oh wow…There’s giant garlic and giant onions! And they’re as big as mighty Tub-blubber!”

Fly-Booger snatched the monoscope and closed one eye. “Impossible! Lemme have a look.” Drool lengthened from the corner of his mouth. With a slurp, the line of drool ascended in the blink of an eye. “Holy Bite-tongue!”

Fly-Booger was having so much trouble that Stub-toes stepped in to help him aim.

“I heard they ran into the legendary lime smack,” said Fly-booger. “But I don’t see any on board. Do you think they’ll bring us any? They couldn’t have eaten through so much already.”

“Don’t believe anything you hear, Fly-booger,” I said. “Of course they’re not going to share any with us. They’re selfish! And selfish goblins don’t like to share. You know what that means? They’re taking your well deserved lime smack from you! Imagine that, goblins letting their superiors starve to death. Makes me sick.”

Who-runs shouldered Fly-booger from the monoscope and fisted an eye to the end. Stub-toes became the holder and aimer.

“Why aren’t they bailing?” said Who-runs. “Most of them are sleeping! How aren’t they sinking? They better get back to work, fast!”

My Captains grumbled about that. They crowded the porthole and peered out at sea. They were so confounded by the lack of bailing. It wasn’t until then that I realized that Barnacle-eyes had anchored for several days without bailing a single drop. Stub-toes was the most confounded, and he tried to peer through the monoscope.

Not on my watch. “Quit hogging the monoscope, Stub-toes! Let Buck-rat have a see-through!”

“Yes, my king,” uttered Stub-toes.

“Pretty colors,” said Buck-rat. “Wait, is that beer? They’re allowed to just drink, and not work at the same time? Why-come we aren’t allowed to do that!”

“I want a turn!” said Needle-nose.

Needle-nose elbowed Buck-rat off of the monoscope. After attempting a look-through, he smudged the lens. Stub-toes ran his tongue across the lens and then wiped it on his apron until it sparkled in a shaft of sunlight. Needle-nose propped the end of the monoscope on one cheek.

“If they don’t need to bail, then they don’t need to work,” he said. “If they don’t need to work, then they probably don't need to bail. And that means all there’s left to do is eat and sleep. It sounds like paradise to me.”

“What did you just say, you little snot?” I said.

“I heard that the Admiral has been hiring goblins all over the world,” said Wiggle-chin. “Is that why they're here? To hire our goblins?”

“King Gloom-glower’s goblins,” said Stub-toes. That was a very important correction, and I’m glad somebody made it, even if it was Stub-toes.

“Stub-toes, I told you to shut it!” I said. I cleared my throat. “You mean my goblins, right Wiggle-chin?”

“I said exactly what I meant to say! I said Gloom-glower’s goblins.”

“Hey,” said Canker-wort. “I haven’t used the monoscope yet! Give it!”

As Canker-wort peered through the monoscope while Stub-toes aimed, I felt my blood boil anew. How dare she have a bigger ship than me! But I wasn’t jealous of Barnacle-eyes, was I? Yes, I was jealous. How could this be? Sailing all over the world? Didn’t she have to manage her mutiny? Why didn’t she need to bail? If she were a true freebooter goblin, why wasn’t her crew bailing?

“I think I know what’s going on here,” I said.

“Me…too?” said Fly-booger.

“I think this is all Slime-tooth’s fault.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re right! It’s always his fault!” said Meat-fist.

It did my heart good to see that every one of my Captains agreed.

“Remember when Ooze-squeeze’s ship sank?” said Rip-funny. We all nodded. “I heard they needed just one more goblin to help bail. Just one more…If that good-for-nothing Slime-tooth had helped, it would still be floating.”

“Sabotage?” said Fly-booger.

Did he say sabotage? I hated the word! It was way too close to the word mutiny. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You think you can get away with doing something that would displease the gods? No goblin on my fleet has ever or will ever sabotage anything! Not when I’ve been blessed by Peg-tooth himself. But I’m right, everyone. It’s gotta be Slime-tooth’s fault. And he never learns his lesson, does he? I’ll have to take a stern hand with him the next time I play teacher.”

“What a traitor!” said Fly-booger.

Traitor was also a word that was too close to mutiny. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let’s not throw around any more blasphemy! There are no traitors on my fleet. Nor will there ever be. Every single goblin in my fleet is a happy goblin. Right?”

What the hell was going on? Why were my goblins averting their gazes all of a sudden? Why were they fidgeting? They needed to get their fingers out of their noses, and they needed to do that immediately.

“Am I right, snots?”

They nodded, though I thought they did it solemnly.

After a final peek, I collapsed my monoscope and tossed it. Stub-toes gasped and dove for it. He caught it, and he tumbled head over heels across the room.

“Get a hold of yourself, Stub-toes! We’re not celebrating with backflips here! We need to do something about Barnacle-eyes…We need…”

Oh, I didn’t know what we needed to do! While I made another loop around the couches, Stub-toes took it upon himself—without my permission!—to peer through the monoscope.

He peered and peered until finally— “My king! I spy a blue sloop rat!”

I stopped my pacing. “I just came up with an idea. A spy! Let’s send a spy! Stub-toes, stop fiddling around and go fetch Shifty-looks!”

Chapter 148

What Are You Looking At?

My stupid green ladder kept swaying. I shouldn’t have picked Filtch to be at the bottom. I certainly shouldn’t have picked Stub-toes to sit on his shoulders. As long as they could hold my weight, it was the best I could ask for.

Among hundreds of my snots, I sat by the taffrail, port side, and gazed through my monoscope.

“Can you see them, your majesty?” said Stub-toes.

“If Filtch would stop joggling, then I’d have no problem!”

With what seemed like tremendous strength, Filtch said, “Apologies…King Gloom-glower.”

I saw the sea, the sea, the sea, but with a perfect maneuver I zeroed in on Barnacle-eyes’ stupid, gigantic ship.

This was all because of Limp-skipper. Thank goblin gods that I had intercepted her on her way from Barnacle-eyes’ fleet. I couldn’t believe the Admiral had the audacity to send a gift over to one of my goblins, especially Slime-tooth. How dare the old goblin try to smuggle goods aboard my fleet. Oh, that no good Slime-tooth.

“There’s Limp-skipper and Shifty-looks, still paddling over,” I said, straining to see.

Filtch wasn’t joggling as much anymore, but he was gasping. “Limp-Skipper…was so nice…my king! Always…smiling.”

“Limp-Skipper was smug! Smug mouth! Smug nose! Smug ears!”

“But…she seemed…so happy.”

“You know what Limp-skipper said to me?” I said.

“Yes, my king,” said Stub-toes. “I remember. She said she had never seen so many goblins and never seen such a big fleet.”

“You must've had your toes in your ears, Stub-toes! That sly snot dared to threaten one of my precious goblins. She said Filtch had the stupidest face she’d ever seen. So stupid that he’d choke on his own stupid tongue and die even stupider!”

Filtch said, “Me?” as if he was responding to the fact that I called him a precious goblin. Then he said, “Me…?” as if he was catching up to the insult.

“Don’t worry, Filtch. I’ll protect you. Rest easy under my mighty rule.”

I moved the monoscope to my other eye.

“Now what’s happening?” said Stub-toes.

“They’re climbing pegged ladders.”

Shifty-looks was helped aboard by Barnacle-eyes’ goblins. More than a dozen hands helped haul him on deck. A dozen more hands patted him on the back in what looked like camaraderie. My goblin was suddenly engulfed by hugs. What was with all the warm embraces? What was with all the big smiles and happy eyes? Piles of goblins seemed happy to meet Shifty-looks. How come I was never welcomed like that! They patted him on the back all at once. Green hands patted him. Green-yellow hands patted him. Brown-green hands patted him. Red-green hands patted him. All sorts of goblins patted him on the back.

“This is bad, this is really bad!” I said.

I felt Stub-toes’ head tilt up when he said, “What is it, my king?”

“They’re beating my brave little goblin right on the spine. Whack! Whack! Whack! They’re baring their teeth at him! They’ve got him cornered right at the taffrail. And he’s barely set boots on board!”

Through my monoscope, I saw the goblins fall silent as Shifty-looks began mouthing to them. He pointed at my fleet. They laughed altogether, and Shifty-looks held his chuckle-bouncing belly. He seemed at ease around them. Whatever he said next had those goblins reeling with guffaws. Half of them doubled backwards; the other half doubled over.

“They’re laughing at him! Making fun of him! Of us! Why, that just makes me furious!”

“The cowards!” said Stub-toes. “He’s all alone!”

Barnacle-eyes came through the throng, and I kept the circle of my lens around her as she moved. She offered two items to Shifty-looks. One was a bottle of beer. I squinted hard until I discovered that the other item was a huge knob of deliciously creamy blue cheese. I gasped.

Stub-toes trembled beneath my weight. “What, my king? What-what?”

“Moldy cheese! They’re poisoning my little hero!”

Stub-toes wailed like he was being crushed by a boulder. “Gods, no! Please, you have to do something, my king!”

Shifty-looks sank his teeth on an edge of the chunk of blue cheese. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. His hand went to his heart. Goblins caught him as he nearly buckled.

“It might be too late, the poison’s taking effect!”

Wobbling on his feet, Shifty-looks shed a single tear. He chomped down on the knob of cheese and gulped. I watched his neck take down the shape of that bite of cheese. He smiled, clapped, and gave Barnacle-eyes two thumbs up.

“He’s crying. The pain must be overwhelming!”

Filtch spoke as if he was squished. “Poisoning…a guest goblin…is a very unwelcome…thing to do.”

By the shroud of the main mast, they had Shifty-looks sit on a barrel. Goblins amassed around him. His wretched boots were removed, and two goblins each threaded a needle before passing the needle through the soles.

“What…” I muttered.

“My king, what now?” said Stub-toes.

“I have never seen such brutality in all my life! They’ve stripped him of his boots! They’re stabbing them with a needle, over and over and over. By Peg-tooth, how vicious!”

“Wh-why would they do that?” Filtch said, staggering.

“Because Barnacle-eyes must hate goblins! That’s why!”

Shifty-looks began gesticulating. Goblins looked as if they were listening intensely. With great theater, Shifty-looks went on and on and on…

“Wave the green flag! Wave the green flag! They’re making him talk! Poor Shifty-looks can’t bear to see them torture his boots! He’s gonna spill all our secrets!”

Goblins halted their bailing. Their buckets thunked on the deck and on little bare feet whose owners yelped. Ten goblins to a flagpole furiously waved my green flags. When we finally caught Shifty-look’s attention, he turned, smiled real big, and gave us a huge thumbs up.

“All of you,” I said. “Fetch Shifty-looks! Quickly, before they suck the souls out of him and his boots!”

Goblins piled into row boats. They panic-paddled over to the giant ship and shouted for Shifty-looks. The goblin seemed sad and reluctant to leave. He did so with his head hung.

Stub-toes shifted. He adjusted his grip on my legs. “Is he safe?”

“So far,” I said.

I kept my sight on the row boat. Shifty-looks was miming bites of cheese. He rubbed his belly, and he rolled his head back. He mimed drinking beer and wiping loads of foam from his lips. He pointed at the Hand-O’War as he jumped up and down.

What was he saying? What was he telling my rapt goblins? I hoped it wasn’t good. If I, the king, was jealous of the size of Barnacle-eyes’ ship, the cheese which looked delicious, and the all-you-can-naps that I’ve heard about—not to mention the giant onions and garlics—my lesser goblins would most definitely be jealous too. And if all those things were true, and Shifty-looks told my goblins about his experience aboard…

Suddenly, Shifty-looks bolted for the stern of the row boat. He lunged overboard, but my goblins tackled him over a thwart. He reached out and struggled as if his life depended on it. My goblins dutifully held him down.

But as they rowed near, I began to faintly hear them.

“No!” cried Shifty-looks. “I can’t go back! Let me go! I’ll swim if I have to! I won’t go back! I won’t!”

“Why, that puny…” I said through gritted teeth.

Shifty-looks finally resigned himself. He curled up in a ball at the stern. All the goblins turned to me and glared. Their glares were absolutely menacing!

“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Oh, no, no, no.”

“What is it, my king?”

I stepped down from Stub-toes shoulders, and I stepped down from Filtch’s shoulders. I rushed to the deckhouse. Stub-toes’ tripping gait sounded behind me. I bolted in and slammed the door shut. The door wouldn’t shut all the way, so I pushed with all my might.

“Gloom-glower,” cried Stub-toes. “You're squishing me.”

“What are you doing, Stub-toes! Get in!”

“I can’t, my king! You’re crushing me! Open the door!”

He finally squeezed through, and I was able to force the door shut.

“This is bad, Stub-toes,” I said when I was sure the deckhouse was empty of any other goblin. “That…number…has gone up to fifty-eight percent!”

“Slime-tooth’s at it again, isn’t he, my king?”

“Of course! But I gotta do something. This could be the end of the world. The end of all goblinkind.”

“Not mutiny, my king. Not like Gone-hand!”

I whacked Stub-toes right on the ear with my monoscope. Then I got right up in his face. “Say that word to me again, and it’ll be your last.”

“Forgive me, your majesty.”

While I caught my breath, I thought. I thought really hard. Then I snapped my fingers. “I have another brilliant idea! It’s time to reset the mood around here. I’m gonna dress those greedy Captains up real nice; toss everything I’ve got at them. And you’re gonna help me sweeten them up.”

Chapter 149

Mixed Greens

“Unbelievable! Sixty-five percent! Stub-toes, you better pray this works.”

Stub-toes dropped. “Hear me almighty Peg-tooth, oh please—”

“Stop your wailing and get the door! Now!”

“Yes, my king.”

The door creaked on its sea-salted hinges. “Meat-fist! My favorite goblin!”

“F-favorite?” said Meat-fist. “Did you say favorite?”

“Welcome in, welcome in.”

“I’m not in trouble?”

“How about you sit in my seat for a change? Come on over and give those cheeks the rest they deserve.”

“Oh gods, I’m being demoted, aren’t I? I knew it. I knew it!”

“Nonsense! Why would I demote my favorite goblin? Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“A promotion?”

“Let’s take things nice and slow. Feeling relaxed in that cushy chair of mine?”

“I think so?”

“What about those hard working trotters? Are they comfortable?”

“I-I think so?”

“Stub-toes, fetch a pillow. I want my favorite goblin to be as comfortable as possible. Yes, put them up just like that. How is it?”

Meat-fist melted into his seat. “Oh yeah, that’s nice.”

I snapped my fingers at Stub-toes. “Pour him a beer.”

“Yes, my king.”

“Am I really being promoted?” said Meat-fist.

“Have a sip,” I cooed.

“Extra grounds! Now that’s good. Oh, oops!”

“Stub-toes, pat off that dribble! Make it spotless!”

“Yes, my king.”

“First I want to hear all about my favorite goblin. How are things on your ship, Meat-fist? Be honest with me. Are things good? Are things bad? Tell me the whole truth and then we’ll get to the good part.”

“Things are not good,” said Meat-fist. “Not good at all. Ever since that stupid Barnacle-eyes returned!”

“Shh, shh…it’s okay. I’m here Meat-fist. I’m here. Stub-toes, get over here and rub his shoulders. I think Meat-fist is a little tense.”

“Yes, my king,” said Stub-toes. “Like this?”

“Is that nice, Meat-fist? Does that feel good?”

Meat-fist’s eyes fluttered. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“Keep it up, Stub-toes! All right now, why don’t you tell me why things have been bad since Barnacle-eyes showed up.”

Meat-fist continued. “My snots are mad at me—oh, yeah, right there—they wish they could be recruited by the Admiral. Fresh opportunity, they say. And they resent me for it, and they resent you for it, too.”

“Here, take another sip. Don’t you dare stop, Stub-toes! Massage around those cauliflower ears of his. You’re doing wonderful, Meat-fist. Tell me more.”

“How come she's always recruiting goblins? It’s like she’s got an endless supply of snots. And why do they like her so much? How come my goblins don’t like me like that?”

“Recruiting? You mean poaching. She tried to poach Shifty-looks. I saw it with my own eyes. So did Stub-toes.”

Stub-toes came alive. “I did! I did see—”

“—Shut it, Stub-toes. Keep those hands moving! As I was saying, she tried to poach one of our goblins.”

“I hate Barnacle-eyes!” said Meat-fist. “Stupid, stupid, Barnacle-eyes!”

“Only the lowest of goblins poach goblins.”

“What should I do, Gloom-glower? Why do her goblins like her so much?”

“You need to make sure your goblins understand that she’s not recruiting goblins. She’s poaching them! Do you know what poaching means?”

“She’s taking them from us!”

“Do you know what else poaching means?”

“No. What?”

“It means she’s boiling them up. Does that sound like recruiting goblins to you?”

“How terrible!” said Meat-fist.

“And that’s exactly why you're my favorite goblin, Meat-fist. You have sensibility. And you know what sensibility earns you? Especially when you keep your snots in line, and explain to them how Barnacle-eyes is poaching goblins alive?”

“A p-promotion?”

“Oh, yes, my favorite one. Wipe his tears, Stub-toes!”

“Yes, my king,” said Stub-toes.

“I’ve been wanting another promotion for years!” said Meat-fist.

I needed Meat-fist as relaxed as I could make him. “For Peg-tooth’s sake, Stub-toes, keep massaging!”

“Y-yes, my king.”

“Meat-fist, if you keep your snots in line, I will reward you with the biggest promotion of them all. That’s right, it’s the basic promotion package!”

“Package?” said Meat-fist. “What’s in it?”

“Quit gawking, Stub-toes! Massage, massage, massage!”

“Apologies…my king.”

“It’s the best package of them all,” I said. “Not only will you receive a Fable Stone, you will also be promoted to Commodore! How does that sound?”

“Like a dream!” said Meat-fist.

“Do you understand what you have to do to make that dream come true?”

“Keep my snots in line!”

“And tell them…”

“And tell them that Barnacle-eyes is poaching goblins alive.”

∞

“Canker-wort! My favorite goblin! Come in, come in! I heard someone’s stomach gurgle, and I thought it was Tub-blubber at the door! Enter, enter!”

“Your majesty, whatever I did to displease you, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Nothing of the sort, Canker-wort! Why don’t you take a load off in my chair? We’re going to have a delightful chat, you and I.”

“And Stub-toes, too?”

“Don’t worry about him. Stub-toes, pour my favorite goblin here a tall pint of beer-and-grounds!”

“Right away, my king,” said Stub-toes.

“How is my favorite goblin?” I said. “You seem a bit angry these days. And how are the snots on your ship doing? This is your chance to open up and get closer to me. If you do a good job, we’ll talk promotion.”

“P-promotion?” said Canker-wort. “Again? Already?”

“That’s right. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for my one and only favorite goblin. But you gotta be truthful. Don’t forget that I can see right through you. Right into your soul…So, how are things on your sloop?”

“Uh, now that you mention it, I am angry! My goblins are angry, too. We’re starving! We don’t get enough food to eat, and we aren’t allowed to sail out to deeper waters for better fishing!”

“Oh, I’m angry too! But it’s the will of the gods. They told me we should stay put for a while. If only it were up to me!”

“It’s…not up to you?”

“It’s the way of things. I do my best to protect my snots. Especially my prized snots. And most especially, my favorite snot. That’s you, Canker-wort.”

“Am I doing a good job so far?”

“Are you being truthful and telling me everything?”

“Well, not everything.”

“Stub-toes, get a start on that soothing massage. Really smooth over those bumps.”

Stub-toes’ bottom lip quivered. “My hands are cramped, my king.”

“I don’t care! Lie down, Canker-wort. That’s it. Lie down and relax. Stub-toes offers the best massages. Get those digits on the job, Stub-toes!”

“Yes, my king.”

I gave Canker-wort my attention. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Oh,” said Canker-wort. “Your majesty…this is…so good.”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now how about you tell me everything. And I mean everything.”

“Well…well…oh gods…it’s too hard to think…this feels so good!”

“Just relax and tell me whatever crosses your mind. Keep going, Stub-toes!”

“You see…the thing is…ever since Barnacle-eyes anchored next to us…my goblins have been really bitter.”

“Tell me more.”

“They’re jealous, King Gloom-glower. Her goblins have more food than they can eat. And we’re over here starving.”

“I’m very proud of you, Canker-wort.”

“You are?”

“Only a goblin with sensibility can understand what it means to starve when their neighbors seem to have it made. But things aren’t as they seem!”

“Does that mean her goblins are hungry too?”

“I just learned that she’s poaching goblins alive in boiling water! And that’s not all. She’s serving up those goblins to her crew. That’s why it seems like they’ve got more food than they can eat.”

“That’s horrible! How can her goblins stomach eating other goblins!”

“Now, now, lie back down, Canker-wort. Look how that evil Barnacle-eyes has stressed you out. Massage his nose, Stub-toes! Inside and out.”

“M-my hands are cramping really bad, my king,” said Stub-toes, but I glared at him until he obeyed.

“There we go,” I said. “Nice and relaxed again, Canker-wort. Now you know why she’s recruiting goblins all the time. So that she never runs out of goblins to poach and feed to her goblins.”

“What are we gonna do?” said Canker-wort.

“Not to worry, I’m an expert at dealing with poachers. Why just this morning I saved Shifty-looks from being double poached! But a king needs his goblin’s strength to give him strength. And not just any goblin, but his most favorite goblin. You see, this is where you come in. Tell your snots that things aren’t as they seem on Barnacle-eyes’ fleet. Explain to them that once she gets her claws on those poor, defenseless goblins, she poaches them in boiling water and serves them up to her crew! She brutally murders goblins in order to feed her starving snots! She’s making goblins eat goblins! Do you realize how important you are, Canker-wort? Our future depends on you!”

“It-it does?”

“And if you do a good job, and spread these truths to all goblin ears, I will bestow you with the elegant promotion package!”

“Oh, my king!” said Canker-wort.

“You’ll receive a prized Fable Stone, you’ll be promoted to Admiral, and you’ll receive one of Barnacle-eyes’ floating ships!”

“I’m not worthy!”

“Let me wipe up these brave tears. Stub-toes, wipe his tears!”

“My fingers can’t move anymore, your majesty,” said Stub-toes—always complaining.

“Then use your mouth, Stub-toes! Get that cloth between your teeth! So what do you say, Canker-wort? Can you fulfill this quest? Do you want the elegant promotion package?”

“With all my heart!” said Canker-wort. “I’ll do my best!”

“Good! Good, good, good! I knew I could trust my favorite goblin!”

∞

“Well if it isn’t my favorite goblin! Come on in, Needle-nose.”

“Did I do something wrong, again?” said Needle-nose.

“Do something wrong? Ha! I’m not talking to Slime-tooth right now. I’m talking to my favorite goblin, and my favorite goblin can only do right by his king. But enough with the jokes, Needle-nose. Come sit, come sit. Why don’t you take my chair this time? It’s reserved for just the kind of do-gooder that you are!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m here to discuss your promotion!”

“Me?”

“Didn’t I say you were my favorite goblin?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Well, who else would I promote before my absolute, most favorite goblin. Stub-toes, pour him a beer-and-grounds.”

“Yes, my king,” said Stub-toes.

“But before we talk about a promotion,” I said, “I’d like to hear all about Needle-nose. How are you? How are the snots on your ship doing? Is everyone happy?”

“Yes, Gloom-glower,” said Needle-nose. “We’re all happy with such an amazing king as our king.”

This was going to take some finesse. “I see. Take off your boots.”

“What? Why?”

“Go on, take them off.”

“Am I being demoted?”

“Of course not! I just want to make sure you’re comfortable! I’ve invited you in to discuss promotions, not demotions! That’s right, just set those boots aside for now. Stub-toes, get on your knees and massage his toes!”

“I don’t think I can, my king,” said Stub-toes. “My fingers are so cramped.”

“Would you prefer broken fingers or cramped fingers?” I said. “Start with his right foot.”

“This is too much, Gloom-glower!” said Needle-nose.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do! I do! I just feel undeserving!”

“That’s because you don’t know how very, very deserving a do-gooder such as yourself is. I want to ask you something again, Needle-nose. And this time I want an honest answer from you.”

“How could I refuse! Oh yeah, right around the big toe. Yes, right there!”

“Tell me again. Are the goblins on your ship happy?”

“Yes, King Gloom-glower.”

“You’re safe with me, Needle-nose. You can tell me anything. Cross my spleen; I promise I won’t get mad. So tell me, are those snots really happy?”

“Oh, my king! They’re overworked. We’re all overworked! All we do is overwork ourselves while other goblins…”

“You’re doing good as a do-gooder always does, Needle-nose. Let it out. Let it all out.”

“Why do we have to work so hard while other goblins hardly work at all!”

“Who's hardly working on my fleet?”

“Barnacle-eyes’ goblins! They’re hardly working, and it’s not fair that we have to watch them take naps. Not once have they been bailing water. My goblins can’t bear it anymore!”

“Very, very good, Needle-nose. You’re being honest with me. And you have a good point, too. But there’s more to it than you think.”

“They’re allowed to slack off? Is that it?”

“If only that were the case,” I said. “You see, Barnacle-eyes has been poaching goblins from us. And then she poaches them alive in boiling water so she can feed them to her goblins!”

“By the gods, that’s what I heard!”

“So soon? That’s wonderful news! But that still doesn’t explain why her goblins aren't working as hard as ours, right? So ask me. Ask me why they aren’t working hard.”

“Why aren’t they—”

“—Because they can’t! You see, before she can poach them, she poisons them! She feeds them moldy cheese so that they can’t work. They start to get slow and dizzy. They can’t work, and they can’t run. That’s how she catches them. And that’s when she poaches them, when they’ve been incapacitated by the poison!”

“But, my king, how could Barnacle-eyes ever be that cruel? Sure she used to talk too much, and she was really annoying a lot of the time, but—”

“—Calm down, calm down. She’s not the goblin you remember, Needle-nose. But everything will be okay, because I’m here to fix things. Now sit back. You’re getting all worked up. Must be because that pinky toe keeps getting left out of the party, isn’t that right, Stub-toes?”

Stub-toes whined pitifully. “I can’t anymore, my king. I can’t!”

“Stub-toes is going to do a good job so that you can keep doing an even better job, Needle-nose. He’s going to make you come to your senses and realize that Barnacle-eyes is an evil murderer.”

“Can you really protect us, your majesty?” said Needle-nose. “I heard she tried to poach Shifty-looks.”

“She’s trying to poach everyone! And of course I’ll protect you. That’s what goblin kings do. They protect the goblins under their command. And I’m going to help you protect the snots on your ship.”

“I’m…having a hard time…concentrating…king Gloom-glower.”

“Yes, Stub-does is good at what he does. So, here’s what you need to do. You need to tell your goblins that Barnacle-eyes’ goblins want to work hard. They think they can work harder than us! But they can’t because they’re being poisoned before she poaches them for dinner! It’s too hard to work when you're poisoned! Will you do that, my absolute most favorite goblin? Will you be like your kind king and protect the lesser goblins?”

“Yes!” said Needle-nose “I’ll give it all I’ve got!”

“The do-gooder is at it again! Ah, yes, I can read that sheen in your eyes. You want to get what you deserve, don’t you?”

“You’re so wise! So all-knowing!”

“I know. Now here’s the deal. You’re going to protect your snots by telling them exactly what’s happening on Barnacle-eyes’ fleet, and then I’m going to reward you. Picture this, Needle-nose. You’ll receive the exquisite silver promotion package. You’ll be king of my fleet. You’ll earn a Fable Stone, infinite beer and food, and my very own ship!”

“Wow! But then what happens to you if I become king?”

“Well then…uh…then…oh yeah, I know! It’ll be good timing, Needle-nose, because I’ll be ascending. I’m going to become a god!”

∞

“Quit blowing on your hands, and get the door, Stub-toes!”

“Right away, my king.” Stub-toes stumbled over to the door and pulled the knob.

“Ah, Wiggle-chin!” I said. “What a blessing from the gods. I get to see my favorite goblin twice in one day. Come have a seat, right here.”

“But Gloom-glower, that’s where you sit!” said Wiggle-chin.

“It’s my favorite seat, but today, I want you to sit there.”

“This must mean I’m getting promoted! I kept telling all my snots that it was only a matter of time.”

“That’s exactly why I’ve called you here, Wiggle-chin. To talk about your promotion.”

“I saw this coming. Saw it coming for months!”

“But first, let’s talk about what’s most important. That’s your wellbeing, and the wellbeing of all the snots under my…I mean your mighty command. How is everything?”

“Well it’s about time you asked. We really want to go out to sea again. We’ve been here for years! My snots are restless. Why can’t we go out and raid and fish and sail. What’s the use of a sloop if it’s sitting in one place?”

“You were always so outspoken, Wiggle-chin. That’s what I love about you. You’ll say just about anything you’re thinking. By the gods, I would never want to strangle you to death. Nope, never. Not in a thousand years would that cross my mind. Matter a fact, I love it when you talk back to your king!”

“I’m very good at it. Makes sense that you think highly of me. I am your favorite goblin, after all.”

“Just a moment,” I said. “I’m stuck thinking about that thing that would never cross my mind. Let me calm myself down a little bit before we continue. Stub-toes, give me a massage!”

“I’m ready for my promotion whenever you are!” said Wiggle-chin.

“Oh, Stub-toes,” I said. “That’s good…just keep going.”

“So are you ready yet, Gloom-glower? I’ve gotta be getting promoted to at least Commodore, right?”

“The promotion I have for you is a very special one. Comes in a big, shiny box. It’s called the luxury gold promotion package.”

“Sounds like something that’s meant for the greatest goblin on this fleet. But don’t worry, Gloom-glower, you’ll be able to catch up to me someday. That’s if you try hard. Way, way, way harder than you are now. So what’s in my box?”

“Oh-ho-ho, Stub-toes, you’re gonna have to dig deep. I’m almost at my limits with this one. Use those elbows!”

“Yes, my king!” said Stub-toes.

“Listen up, Wiggle-chin. It’s about time I took a well deserved rest and let my favorite goblin take the helm. With this package, you’ll receive a premium Fable Stone, infinite beer and food, both mine and Barnacle-eyes’ fleets, and immortality.”

“Immortality? The one where you live forever?”

“That’s the one, yes,” I said, and I showed him my teeth. “It’s the biggest promotion I’ll ever give to any goblin. The chances of becoming a god would be high.”

“I feel like a god already! All right, I’ll take it. Hand it over.”

“Not so fast. We need to chat some more. What’s with all this stuff about your snots being restless? Where’s that all coming from?”

“We heard that Barnacle-eyes has been sailing around the world to different ports and different seas,” he said. “Her goblins have been fishing legendary waters and meeting monsters and all kinds of goblins. My snots are really jealous because we never sail out anymore. We do the same thing, every day, over and over and over and over again. What’s the point of being on a ship if we can’t even sail past the shore!”

“My favorite goblin deserves to know the truth, so I’ll give it to you. Barnacle-eyes made up all of those stories. They’re a cover up for what’s really going on below deck. Did you know that she takes goblins against their will? Then she poisons them with mold to make them sick and slow! And then she brings them below deck to boil alive! Her fleet gets three square meals of dead goblins every day! Every day, Wiggle-chin! But that’s not the worst of it.”

“So the rumors are true! Gimme my promotion! I don’t wanna get poached, I don’t wanna get poached!”

“Hold on a moment. I said that’s not the worst of it! Her goblins aren’t experiencing new and wonderful things around the world! They’re being tortured below deck so they won’t tell anyone that she’s lying. Barnacle-eyes uses her rusty-crusty pliers on all her victims!”

“She tortures goblins?” said Wiggle-chin.

“I’ve got the scar to prove it. Stub-toes, remove my shirt.”

“Yes, my king!” said Stub-toes as he shook his hands out.

“Right in the middle of my back,” I said. “See?”

“What a horrible scar!” said Wiggle-chin. “Barnacle-eyes really did that?”

“With those same pliers. Nearly ripped my soul out!”

“It’s true!” said Stub-toes. “I was there!”

“Did I say you could stop massaging me, Stub-toes? Get those elbows back to work. Lower. I said lower! Right there…right there. Oh yeah, that’s the spot.”

“You survived torture, Gloom-glower!” said Wiggle-chin. “When I get promoted, I’ll make sure you’re allowed to take extra naps for your service! Now gimme my promotion!”

“Not yet. I need something from you before I hand over the goods.”

“Fine. I’ll do whatever it takes as long as I can get my hands on that package!’

“Tell your snots what I told you. You need to warn them about what happens below deck on Barnacle-eyes’ ship. Warn every goblin you can! If all your goblins get poached, what’s it gonna matter if you get promoted? You’ll have no one to serve you.”

“No, no, no! That can’t happen! I’ll tell every goblin on every ship what you told me! Then can I have my promotion?”

“Oh, yes. It’s got your name written all over it. Now scram. I need some peace and quiet while Stub-toes works these knots out.”

∞

“Why if it isn’t the charming Captain himself. How are things, Fly-booger?”

Fly-booger side-eyed me. “Other goblins received lots of jellyfish, but my ship seems to have been passed over. Any idea where my gift went?”

“Those rumors again. Barnacle-eyes has always been a greedy little snot. Do you really think she’d want to share with us?”

“I heard promotions will be trickling down soon. Will I be passed over by you, too?”

“How could I deny my favorite goblin his just due? I’m not like that liar Barnacle-eyes. I’ve got an extra special promotion just for you.”

“Do I finally get a Fable Stone?”

“Much more than a Fable Stone, but we’ll get to that in a bit. How are the snots aboard your ship?”

“They’re doing great. And they all love their king.”

“Come now, Fly-booger. You don’t need to use your charm on me. We’re friends, after all. What’s really going on?”

“All my snots are happy as can be. They speak highly of you. So highly.”

Of course Fly-booger just had to be the most difficult about this! “Let’s try this a different way. Let’s trade seats.”

“Trade seats?”

“That’s right. My ultimate, most favoritest goblin deserves the best.”

“I-I do?”

“How does my chair feel? Are you comfortable?”

“It feels…right. I’ve been wanting to sit here for such a long time!”

“You know, I make all my important decisions in that chair. And I’ve got another big one to make. So before we talk about your promotion, I need proof that you can handle the pressure that comes along with it. Suspend your belief for a moment, Fly-booger. Show me how you would think sitting in that chair!”

“Okay. What do I do?”

“Let’s say you were promoted to king—”

“—king?” said Fly-booger.

“King. What would your first edict be? Think carefully. Goblin lives depend on you now.”

“This is a trick, isn’t it?” Fly-booger again side-eyed me.

“A trick? I’d never do such a thing to my ultimate favoritest goblin.”

“You’re not sending me north again, are you?”

“Fly-booger, I need to know I can trust you with this promotion—”

“—What promotion?”

“It’s a brilliant diamond promotion package. I’ll be becoming a god soon. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Can’t say that I have, no.”

“What? Why not? Nevermind, just know that your king is ascending to godhood soon, and I get to make a very big, very important decision.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’ve gone to great lengths to interview other candidates to take over my fleet as king. It’s been a long and lonely plight. I was hoping that someone with your destiny could shed some light on who should wear the burden of my crown.”

“What about me?” said Fly-booger. “Why can’t I be king?”

“You seem tense. Stub-toes, massage!”

Stub-toes, with a silent running tear, obeyed.

“Oh, Stub-toes,” said Fly-booger. “You’re a master at this. Wow, that hits the spot.”

“I’ve conferred with the gods, Fly-booger, and we’ve agreed that you are the chosen one,” I said.

“Does that mean I get to be king?”

“The title of king is beneath the chosen one. As I said, I have a very important decision to make. I get to choose a buddy god. I get to pick a goblin to become a god with.”

“I’ve always dreamed of being a god!”

“I need to know you’re serious about this, Fly-booger. I need you to answer my question. What would your first edict be?”

“Jellyfish! I would make sure all my snots had more jellyfish. There’s no more jellyfish around here anymore!”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Are you going to punish me now?”

“I promise this isn’t a trick,” I said.

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“I really mean it.”

“Because Barnacle-eyes’ goblins have all the jellyfish they could want. And it’s no ordinary jellyfish. It’s the legendary lime smack! It’s not fair. I think that’s why they’re so loyal to her! There’s been rumblings and grumblings among my snots, and I think it’s because there’s no jellyfish to eat.”

And there it was. Finally. “Oh, this is serious,” I said. “Rumblings and grumblings are not good.”

“You’re telling me! Remember what happened with Gone-hand?”

“Shh! Never speak of what happened! We don’t want that here, understand? Keep going, Stub-toes. Get his feet, too!”

“Yeah! My feet!”

“Must I, my king?” said Stub-toes with big, rabbit eyes. “His feets smell the worst out of all of them.”

“You must,” I said down to him. “Back on your knees, Stub-toes!”

Fly-booger squirmed in pleasure. “Oh, my toes! My toes!”

“You said that Barnacle-eyes’ goblins are loyal to her?” I said.

“I’m so jealous. I hate her!”

“And you’ve heard about the poaching and the boiling and the poisoning and the goblins eating goblins?”

“They must be so loyal!”

“If only it were loyalty, my sweet, naive chosen one.”

“What else could it be?” said Fly-booger.

“Brainwashing! Remember the Thrush monster? They’ve still got him. Why do you think they’re poaching all those goblins? Her fleet can only eat so much with how much poaching Barnacle-eyes is doing. Who do you think eats all the leftovers?”

“The Thrush monster! I’ve seen him eat dozens of goblins!”

“And he’s a Merchant! He manipulates people, especially goblins, because he thinks we’re weak.”

“What? I’m not weak!”

“He brainwashes goblins with his Merchant skills! I have proof.”

“Proof?” said Fly-booger. “Wait, do you mean me? Am I brainwashed? Is that why I’m telling you way more than I should?”

“Not you. You’re the chosen one. He brainwashed another one of our very own goblins.”

“Who? I bet it was Shifty-Looks. He hasn’t been the same since he came back.”

“Shifty-looks! Probably, but there’s someone else. Someone who’s always to blame.”

“Slime-tooth? He’s always meeting with Thrush to sell ptooey!”

“Exactly!” I said. “And look how well he’s doing because of it!”

“Uh, he’s not doing well at all, King Gloom-glower. Not at all.”

“He’s brainwashed. And if you want the brilliant diamond promotion package, you need to tell everyone on my fleet that Barnacle-eyes has teamed up with the Thrush monster to brainwash goblins. That’s why they’re walking right into her trap, right into the poaching cauldron. Slime-tooth is proof of that! Will you tell them that, my chosen one?”

“I promise I’ll earn that promotion!”

“Don’t screw this up for yourself, Fly-Booger. Just remember, only one snot on my fleet will ascend and become a god.”

∞

“Is it over my king?” sniffled Stub-toes in the quiet of the deckhouse. “I can’t feel my hands.”

“This is all your fault!” I said. “It’s only gone down to fifty percent!”

“Please forgive me, your majesty.”

“Despite your severe inadequacy today, my efforts will pay off as word spreads. Just you wait and see, Stub-toes. News of those atrocities will trickle down both fleets, and once it does, the needle’s gonna keep on dropping. Maybe low enough that we can sail out. Then we can finally replace all the worthless snots that died this winter!”

“But…did Barnacle-eyes really do all those terrible things?”

“How should I know, you idiot? And who cares? What matters is that my snots see her as the enemy she is. They need to believe that things are better here. Yes. Beware, little goblins. Beware of Barnacle-eyes, the monster in league with the scariest monster alive. The she-devil who brainwashes goblins; who tortures goblins; who catches goblins and poisons them; who poaches them alive in boiling water; who feeds dead goblins to her starving crew. Beware…”

Chapter 150

Worry

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 11%.

Why did my chance of mutiny jump 4%, especially since we’ve been anchored? It was always at sea that it rose. How unusual. It did rise and fall like the tide from time to time. Maybe it was just that.

Just to make sure, I skipped along my Hand-O’War. I had to dodge all the fireflies that had come from the woods. I checked on napping goblins and said, “Hello, hello,” to goblins that swabbed the deck. Everyone seemed happy. I even checked both levels below and helped some goblins roll some barrels.

I later burst into my deckhouse because I had yet to check it for goblins. My Commodores were inside, and so were most of my Captains. Even temporary Captain Boggo.

“Admiral, we have worries to share,” said Pinky-chew.

“Worries?” I said. “As in oh-no worries, or uh-oh worries?”

“Why are we still here?” said Spickle-spack.

It was an often type of question, and I didn’t mind answering it over and over. “This is where Slime-tooth is. Hawkin is here too, and I need to meet with Ogo.”

“My goblins are worried about Gloom-glower,” said Pinky-chew.

That was definitely an uh-oh worry. “What has he done?”

“My goblins are very uneasy next to such a huge fleet. Gloom-glower could swarm us in minutes.”

“Yeah,” said Spickle-spack. “We could be like web in a spider’s butt; trapped.”

“Spickle-spack, do your goblins feel that way too?” I said. “Cause that’s not good.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“What about the rest of you?”

“All my snots are nervous,” chirped Croak-crackle.

“Same on my ship!” burped Belch-much.

“Mine too,” whined Chin-smear.

“And mine too,” mumbled Hum-numb.

“What about you?” I asked Tough-I-Am. “Even under your command?”

“They’ve mentioned it,” she said.

“Thank you all for coming to me, but I don’t think Gloom-glower will attack.”

Gabby tugged on my dress. “Makes me nervous too, please thank you.”

Pinky-chew approached the porthole which faced north. “Take a look, Admiral.”

With a wad of spit, the porthole latch swung open without a creak. There were at least a thousand ships. Maybe fewer since I’d last seen the fleet. Constant chutes of waterfalls fell from each one. Goblins on top of goblins rushed to the taffrails to empty their bailing buckets. The sound of all that water hitting the sea was almost deafening, but it was a distant sort of deafening, like rumbling thunder not quite overhead. The goblins reminded me of fleas in a jar. Their cavorting and leaping spackled the air above each ship.

Gloom-glower’s dark green flags snapped in the winds. The overcast sky darkened their green hues. Most sloops had a single harpoon turret, and each one had a team of goblins polishing the barbs.

Boggo cleared his throat. “I’ve heard lots of whispering, Admiral. They’re scared of his ships. You gotta take a closer look.”

I whipped out my monoscope with the cracked lens and put my blinking eye through it. Ignoring the thousands of giant fireflies, I peered at Gloom-glower’s ships. I could see sharp yellow teeth and cracked fingernails; and when I squinted, I could see ear hairs. It was the first time I realized how many holes each ship had. I could see goblins through the mixed materials. The figureheads took my breath away, like I’d been punched in the gut. Every single sloop had a bundle of corpses for figureheads. Green limbs twitched among the bones. Crows flew in halos around the bodies and skeletons. When the crows swooped altogether, it looked like a shroud was dropping.

Pinky-chew’s voice went soft. “…It’s terrible, Admiral. And I have to see them like that whenever they pass near.”

Oh poor, poor goblins…I lowered the monoscope and dropped my forehead onto the sill of the porthole. My heart felt as if it sighed, and I had to sigh big with it. I dragged myself to the chair at the table and slumped.

“But we can’t leave yet,” I said. “I need to see Slime-tooth again. He hasn’t been on Home Camp since that one time, and he was sleeping really deeply.”

A sharp quiet rang. My snots fidgeted and chewed their lips. Boggo scratched behind an ear. Someone’s belly rumbled.

“So…who’s hungry?” I said.

I brought out a wedge of blue cheese from my inventory and slid it across the table. It left a marbled smear in its wake. I frowned when none of my goblins went for the cheese. Boggo was the only one. He scrambled up the table leg, dashed to the cheese, and scooped a big armful. Then he leapt to the floor with a thunk, ran along the wall, and disappeared behind barrels.

I pushed the wedge closer to my goblins, but they shrank back. Even Pinky-chew seemed nervous. Some of my goblins turned sideways.

What was going on? When had a single goblin ever turned down even a crumb of cheese? And why did my chance of mutiny suddenly rise to 12%? …Oh, Peg-tooth…

Chapter 151

Act Nice and Point Fingers

Gloom-glower

All this commotion, all this ruckus! It would be nice if for one day these goblins could manage themselves! But no, they had to go and sink one of the bigger ships which had two turrets on it. Maybe it would be better to hire all these freaking monster fireflies instead to replace all these dumb snots!

My ship may not be the fastest, but no other wishbone-shaped ship would ever be able to sail as fast as mine. And how else could I force my way through my fleet if my ship didn’t move like a wedge?

“Set anchor!” I said.

Goblins leapt upon the anchor which I bet not even Thrush could pick up. One hundred goblins piled upon it. I heard the anchor scrape across the deck as the heap of cursing goblins inched it toward the bow. The chain clinked as they made progress. At last, the anchor was shoved overboard. The chain whipped behind it, caught a goblin’s leg, and yanked the goblin off my ship.

We slowed beside the sinking ship. Good! It wasn’t too late for recovery. Captain Nap-alot was at the very top of the mainmast. He hugged the pole while he wept and screamed for help. Aboard the half sunken ship, goblins attempted to keep bailing. Their eyes were wide with panic. They were useless! It was up to me almighty to save my ship.

“Fire the harpoons!” I said.

Fuses sparkled, and harpoons were fired into the hull of the sinking ship. The harpoon lines went taut as goblins gathered the slack. It was just in time, because hundreds of barrels broke the surface of the sea and bobbed among the waves. Goblins floundered between the barrels.

“Nets overboard! Save the cargo!”

Nets were quickly launched out along with a goblin who must have gotten himself tangled. Things became less and less nerve-racking as more and more barrels were recaptured. Some were still floating away.

“Save the beer! Save the beer!”

The nets were hauled up the hull of my ship.

“Heave-ho!” said my goblins. “Save-ho!”

“Reel in the sloop!” I said.

“Heave-ho! Reel-ho!”

The sloop was pulled up beside my ship. Goblins scrambled from the sinking ship up to mine. Nap-alot leapt onto my taffrail, and goblins pulled him aboard. He hacked spit and tears on hands and knees and toes and forehead.

I stepped on his back. “You better have a very good reason—” But I glanced at the goblins around us. They all furrowed their brows at me. I saw the beginnings of snarls on their faces. I immediately stepped off of my Captain.

“Poor Nap-alot!” I said. “Let me help you up. Stub-toes, help him up!”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Stub-toes.

“Are you hurt, Nap-alot?” I cooed.

Nap-alot got a grip on himself. “It wasn’t my fault, my king! I closed my eyes for just one second! It was just one second! Maybe two seconds at best!”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t lose my harpoon!” Oh, boy did I have to force a smile. I tried my best, my very darndest to smile and appear like I wanted to bring comfort to this good goblin. “I mean, all that matters is that you’re safe, Nap-alot. My Captains are my biggest investment.”

“It won’t happen again, I swear! I’ll never close my eyes again. Never again!”

“I’ll rebuild your sloop as fast as my precious snots can. You’ll be back on the water quicker than licking spit. But tell me, my dear Nap-alot, what happened? Didn’t you have at least three hundred goblins to bail?”

“I think it was all the beer, my king. We had too many barrels below deck. It made the ship too heavy, and the bailers couldn’t squeeze through the corridors fast enough, what with all the barrels taking space.”

Goblins continued to avalanche aboard from the sinking ship. Most of them had come from the sea. They lay on their backs and sputtered water. They hacked phlegm and rasped breaths. What a stupid annoying sound.

I addressed them all. “You snots didn’t want to work hard enough for Nap-alot? I oughta sentence you all to serve as this week’s figureheads.”

“P-please, y-y-your honor, we’re overworked!” said a goblin. “I haven’t slept in two days.”

“That’s king to you, Slither-slap,” said Stub-toes.

“And I got mixed up in a night shift twice in a row!” said another goblin. “I bail the day shift, but no one believes me until the morning! I didn’t do anything wrong, your honor-king.”

And another goblin piped up. “All we have to eat is beer, and it's making everyone too sick to bail and bail and bail. We don’t deserve to be figureheads, your-honor-king!”

Ooh, I had to check myself. I was burning, fuming, and nearly melting from keeping my anger in. Keeping it in made me want to puke. I felt so nauseous that I stumbled over to the taffrail and held on. It was unhealthy to keep anger in. It needed an outlet, someone to direct it at!

I was so damn livid that my vision doubled. I shook my head to rattle my eyeballs, and for a moment my vision was clear again. The waves crashed against the half sunken ship which was now completely on its side. I could see the keel half above water. What I saw made my eyes go wide. I felt a snarl vibrate my lips.

“Up, up, Nap-alot!” I said, turning from the taffrail.

Nap-alot’s eyes shot open. He flinched like he’d just been woken from a deep sleep. I helped him up beside me by the collar. More than a hundred goblins gathered around us. With all the weight, the ship shifted and tilted down. That gave us a better, closer view of the harpoon-struck sloop on its side.

“Poor Nap-alot was framed!” I said.

“I was?”

“Your ship wasn’t too heavy because of the barrels! The keel is crusted over with barnacles! Nasty biting barnacles that move like eyeballs! Heavy barnacles that can eat holes in a ship and drag it to the bottom of the sea! That’s why it sank!”

A hundred green arms speared the air. A hundred fingers pointed at the crust of barnacles. A hundred voices exclaimed.

“I knew it!” said Nap-alot. “I knew it wasn’t my fault.”

“But this is a problem,” I said. “Who do you think did this?”

All my goblins gawked. I saw their tongues. What I didn’t see was their brains working.

“Who do you think would put all those very, very, very heavy barnacles on the bottom of a ship? Hmm?”

“But, my king,” said Stub-toes. “Aren’t barnacles just the way of things?”

I dropped a mighty stomp onto Stub-toes’ toes. The old goblin yelped, clutched his toes, and rolled into the crowd.

I swept the air with my hand. “Think, you idiots! Out of all the goblins over there…” I pointed to the small jungle-filled fleet of huge ships down the coast. “What sort of goblin-poaching evildoer would put barnacles on the bottom of my ships?”

Their gazes followed my pointing finger. They gasped. A glare formed on each goblin’s face.

Chapter 152

How About a Goblin Idea?

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of mutiny: 18%.

I couldn’t believe I got to see Hawkin and Abigail! I mean, I knew I would see them again, but I couldn’t believe it was happening! Humans were much taller than I remembered. I just had to invite them aboard my new Hand-O’War. I showed them all the flowers and had them meet Roll-belly, Hang-nails, Pluck-hair, and any other goblin along the way to the prow. And it was a long, long way to walk! Abigail dropped off some of her Aggravated Wild Growth ales and some Furnace attribute ales. Most of my goblins were busy trying to lasso the giant fireflies. Lots of fun that was; tried it myself.

“Ta da!” I said, showing them the new prow. And “Ta da!” I said, later showing them the new stern. The new spacious deckhouse deserved its own “Ta da!” as well. Thrush was inside sleeping on his back. Boggo and Ella were rising and falling on his belly and playing their adventure game. One of them was stuffing their mouth with cheese, and cracked dreambons lay before them half hidden in Thrush’s fur. On every one of Thrush’s exhales, his fur waved like grass in a strong wind.

“Well if it isn’t the human!” said Boggo as Hawkin and Abigail followed me in.

Hawkin waved at the sloop bestie. “Hey, Boggo. What have you been…oh, wow, Ella. You look so—”

“—Thanks for asking, buddy!” said Boggo. “We’ve been swell. So anyway, Thrush here just couldn’t help from having one more mouthful of cheese. And you know just how much he can pack in there.” Thrush ripped a snore, and then Boggo continued. “Might be a while.”

I slammed the door shut. Abigail laid out a bunch of human food on the table. Gabby ran around my feet, stood on tiptoe, and blindly reached for food on the edge of the table.

After knocking down some apples and scooping them up, Gabby said, “Oh, please thank you!”

While we ate and drank, I went on and on about our adventures at sea. The only time I stopped to catch my breath was when I slurped up a fresh batch of Goblin Spuck. It was so good, and it even had Slime-tooth’s name on it.

“Does it feel nice to be back?” said Abigail after I ended my tale with us eating and drinking in the new spacious deckhouse.

“Um, yes no.”

“Yes, it’s good to be back? Or no, you’d rather be out at sea?”

“I feel bad. Like my heart has a rock in it, and it’s taking a lot out of me just to stand up straight. I miss my old family, but I love my new family. It’s a hard feeling…have you ever felt a feeling that was hard?”

“Well, I—”

“—But there’s more, and that's the hardest part. I’ve been hearing rumors.”

Boggo wiped his lips and said, “We’ve been hearing whispering all over your ship, Admiral. Your goblins aren't happy that we’re so close to Gloom-glower’s massive fleet.”

“How many did we count from the crow’s nest?” said Ella, pulling runny cheese from a bowl with her paw like it was honey.

“He’s got three to five hundred goblins per ship,” said Boggo. “And more than a thousand ships.”

I could hear pain in my own voice when I said, “Some of my goblins think that I’m boiling goblins alive and poisoning them and feeding them to Thrush. I can see the way they look at me, and they are not friendly looks. They’re suspicious looks.”

“When I visited Slime-tooth, I heard a lot of goblins talking about Gone-hand,” said Abigail. “Something about how history might repeat itself soon, but with Gloom-glower at the helm.”

“What? How could that ever happen under a goblin king?”

Gloom-glower was having a hard time managing mutiny? How? That seemed impossible. He had all the experience! He had all the ships and all the goblins. If he was having trouble, and I was still a new Admiral, how could I ever hope to manage mutiny?…What would I do if my new family didn’t like me as Admiral anymore?

“Uh, who’s Gone-hand?” said Boggo.

“From what I heard, the hugest mutiny since freebooters set sail for the sea was against Gone-hand. It was led by Gloom-glower, and the whole fleet split into two. Slime-tooth told me that things got really bad for him when he served under Gone-hand. So the first chance he got, he defected to Gloom-glower’s fleet.”

“When did you start hearing the rumors about you, Barnacle-eyes?” said Abigail.

“Yesterday? Or the day before that?”

“No,” said Gabby. “It was two days before yesterday’s tomorrow.”

“Gloom-glower’s gotta be shifting the blame,” said Abigail.

“Who’s he blaming this time?” I said.

“You.”

“Me? But I’m over here.”

“You may be a distant target, but you’re not out of reach. Why wouldn’t he use you if he thinks it can suppress a mutiny?”

“That sounds just like the bastard,” said Hawkin.

Oh, no! “What am I going to do?” I said. “Gloom-glower is a goblin king. And he’s been one for a while. If he can’t deal with his chance of mutiny, what hope do I have?”

Everything seemed too much out of my hands just then. I felt powerless to the way of things. I hadn’t felt like that since working under Gloom-glower. I sighed really big, and it came out raspy.

“Have you had to deal with mutiny before?” said Hawkin.

“Every day. Sometimes it gets super high, and I really have to work on it like it’s a stubborn nail that keeps going in crooked!”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Depends. If goblins are hungry, I gotta feed them. If they are sleepy, I gotta give them napping spots. If they are overworked, I gotta anchor. If they don’t feel useful, I gotta use them.”

“You’ve worked with Gloom-glower before. How does he treat his goblins when they're not happy?”

I looked at the door of the deckhouse for a moment, and then my gaze seemed to wander through it as if it wasn’t there at all. Instances of my life on Gloom-glower’s fleet flashed before my eyes: goblins being thrown overboard because they picked the wrong nose; Gloom-glower snatching food from our hands because he said he saw us already eat last week; goblins being tied in bundles as figureheads; cramming next to other goblins when I had a chance to sleep; losing friends to stabs in the backs and promotion-stealings; shivering madly in winter and huddling as close as we could to each other while having our own breaths as the only source of heat…

“Well that’s different,” I said, hopping off the chair and planting my feet back on the floor. “You have to be happy being unhappy if you work for Gloom-glower. Otherwise you get tied up as a figurehead. If you’re hungry, you can’t say anything about it. If you’re thirsty, you gotta deal with it. Especially if you want a chance at a promotion. And let’s face it. Promotions are the best.”

“Gabby, have you worked for Gloom-glower before?” said Hawkin.

“No. Please, no thank you.”

“Who’s ship would you rather be on?”

“Barnacle-eyes’s ship, of course!”

“Why’s that?”

“She treats me good. I get promotions, and food, and sometimes I get to sleep a lot.”

Hawkin smiled. “You see, Barnacle-eyes? You actually take care of your crew, whereas Gloom-glower treats his goblins horribly. If Gloom-glower is really dealing with mutiny, he’s resorting to rumors and tricks to shift the focus away from him. And how do you deal with mutiny? By trying your hardest to actually fix the problem rather than cover it up. Who do you think has the better chance to overcome a mutiny? You, or Gloom-glower? Don’t forget that you’re an amazing goblin—the best goblin I ever met, and the best goblin leader, too. If you ever need something to rely on, it’s that you lead with a good heart. Trust that in yourself and you’ll do just fine.”

I puckered my lips and chewed the inside of my cheek while I thought. I returned to my chair and swung my legs. My heels banged the bottom of the chair. I glanced at Abigail as she turned and cocked her head.

“Is that a statue of Slime-tooth?” she said.

Gabby prostrated herself. “Oh, mighty Slime-tooth, please thank you.”

“That’s a long story,” said Boggo.

Abigail’s eyes changed when she looked at me. I could only call them heavy. That’s how I felt they changed. “Barnacle-eyes,” she said, and she said that like it was heavy too. “Have you seen Slime-tooth on Home Camp?”

“Once. He was rolled up in blankets and sleeping really deep.”

“He’s not doing well.”

Abigail's next words, and the words after that—all her words—were really hard to hear. They were so heavy that I could taste them. I swallowed them and they fell hard on my heart. She told me everything about Slime-tooth. By the end of it, though she spoke gently, I was sobbing. Gabby was on my lap sobbing into my chest and clutching the collar of my dress.

“He has to get out of there!” I said.

Hawkin’s voice was heavy too. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. Slime-tooth refused our help, and we’ve done the best we could to give him sustenance, rest, and recovery. It’s very important for Slime-tooth that goblins solve goblin problems. So we’re going to help you get Slime-tooth off of Gloom-glower’s ship.”

Gabby gasped and looked up at me with huge glossed eyes. “You’re gonna poach him! Admiral, you can’t tell anyone you’re actually poaching goblins!”

“Can we all keep a secret?” said Hawkin. “Gabby?”

“I can, please thank you very much.”

Everyone else nodded, and Thrush snored.

“What do you say, Admiral? Would you like it to be a goblin idea to rescue Slime-tooth?”

I scraped my tears from beneath my eyes. “Yes!”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. What if we put a halt to our production of spit beer until we get Slime-tooth back?”

“Goblins are not going to be happy about that…” said Boggo.

“I’ll tell Gloom-glower there’s a problem,” said Hawkin. “I have a broken auger, and I can’t move grain. Only Slime-tooth has the expertise to fix it, so I’ll need to borrow him for a bit. If Gloom-glower wants his supply of beer back, he’ll send Slime-tooth over. Then Slime-tooth will disappear, and we’ll dump a double batch delivery on Gloom-glower to smooth things over.”

“I don’t want Slime-tooth to disappear!” I said. “He’s a like-a-father goblin to me. We need a plan where Slime-tooth doesn’t disappear, Hawkin!”

“Okay, let me put it another way. We’ll hide him until you sail off again, or he can hide on your ship. Gloom-glower just needs to think that Slime-tooth disappeared so he doesn’t go looking for him. We could say that Thrush accidentally mistook him for…”

“Cheese?” said Ella around a mouthful of it.

“Uh, yeah…something like that,” said Hawkin.

“What if this plan doesn’t work?” said Gabby.

“We’ll work together and find another way. What do you say, Barnacle-eyes? Is this plan goblin enough?”

“Goblin enough for me!” I said. “But there’s just one problem. I don’t think Gloom-glower’s gonna buy that you need a goblin to fix an auger. It doesn’t have the right ring to it. You gotta come up with something else that’s broken, something that only a goblin could truly fix.”

Chapter 153

The Bobby-Thing Scam

Gloom-glower

If my goblins didn’t want to get out of my way, then so be it. They just had to deal with stomped toes and bruised shins and kneed ribs. If the king was walking with haste, they should know better than to stand in my way. I didn’t care how crowded it was, or if there was room to make way. They knew how to treat almighty me. If they didn’t, if they were up-and-coming young ones, then they were learning first hand. Moving through my horde of goblins was like wading through mud! It was taking forever to cross my ship.

When I saw the human, I almost foamed at the mouth. How dare he! At least he was by himself. I didn’t like being outnumbered.

Goblins scrambled out of the way between us.

“It’s been a while, Hawkman.”

I beckoned him and led him to my deckhouse.

“Sit,” I spat. “Beer-and-grounds, Stub-toes!”

“Yes, my king.”

“I’m good on beer,” said Hawkin. “Thank you, Stub-toes.”

“You’re here because you have a problem,” I said. “Out with it.”

“How’d you know?”

“After I overwhelmingly defeated you during the great battle of the King on the Coast, I told you I would never see you again. For years now, you’ve been dealing with my snots. Why else would you seek out the sea’s finest royalty if you didn’t have a problem?”

Hawkman looked shocked. “Defeated me?” he said.

He suddenly leaned back and tilted his head like he was receiving whispers. There wasn’t a soul beside him. Maybe humans had small brains, and they had to work to think. No wonder goblins conquered the seas!

“I can’t produce any more beer,” he said.

I turned my back to him and froze. I could feel my eyes bug out from their sockets because I could suddenly see more of the room. Oozy dread bloomed from my stomach pit. I massaged my trembling knuckles.

Fish were getting harder and harder to scrounge up near the coast. Some ships had to sail to deeper water, and I did not like that at all. The farther the ship, the safer they felt whispering mutinous blasphemies! All I had was beer. If that were gone, how would I sedate my goblins? What terrible timing when the chance of mutiny was on the rise again. Already it was back up to 55%. All that work for nothing!…But without beer, it would skyrocket.

I wheeled around. “Fix the damn problem and get to brewing!”

“It’s the boppin-flaggin-tuggin,” said stupid hawkman.

“The what?”

“Huh, some of your goblins didn’t know what it was either. But they are so very far beneath you. I was certain a legendary goblin king like yourself would know what a boppin-flaggin-tuggin is.”

“Oh, yes, yes! The…bobby…”

“Boppin-flaggin-tuggin.”

“That’s the one! Obviously I would know what it is. It’s for making beer, and it’s important.”

“Exactly right,” said Hawkin with a smile. “Alas, ours is broken.”

“Well we definitely can’t lend you one,” I said, patronizing his smile back at him. “You broke yours, so how could I trust you with something so precious?”

“I bought it from a goblin a long time ago, and I’m afraid it’s too complex for me to fix on my own.”

“You’re trying to scam me.”

“Of course not. Here, I brought an extra strong spit beer just for you. Extra grounds in it.”

Stub-toes dove for the bottle and poured me a nice full tankard.

“Well pluck my nose hair!” I said. “This is fantastic!”

“The goblin I bought the boppin-flaggin-tuggin from left me instructions on how to fix it.”

“You really think I’m a fool.”

“The instructions said to fix it with as much material as you can as fast as you can.”

Hmm. If humans had such small brains, they wouldn’t come to that on their own. Was this human being truthful with me? This whole thing was now quite plausible. That means there really is a threat to my supply of beer. By Peg-tooth, it would have been better if he were trying to scam me!

“What was the name of the goblin?” I said. “The goblin that sold it to you.”

“Uh…” said Hawkin, and he cleared his throat. “I’m really bad with names. Give me a moment to try and remember…” He tilted his head back again like he was trying to pick up whispers. “That’s right! It was Double-thumb.”

Stub-toes startled me when he spoke up. “Oh my, Double-thumb perished during the winter, my king. I never knew he had such talent.”

“Of course not, Stub-toes! That’s your problem; you don’t care enough about the little guys to get to know them. Why of course a goblin like, uh, who was it again?”

“Double-thumb,” said Hawkin.

“Yes, Double-thumb. Such a craftsman, he was.”

“I remember he said that if I ever had trouble, Slime-tooth could help. He said that with the right goblin know-how, it could get fixed in just over a day and some. Otherwise, for a human like me, it might take years.”

Well there we go, some good news! I had one of those; I had a Slime-tooth. The problem was therefore fixable. However, this was also bad news.

“I can’t spare him,” I said. “If something were to happen to my Slime-tooth, I’d have no way to make ptooey and spit beer. I’ll have my goblins ask around, and if anyone else knows how to handle a…”

“Boppin-flaggin-tuggin,” said Stub-toes.

“For Peg-tooth’s sake, that’s what I was about to say. Keep your trap shut, Stub-toes!”

“I’m afraid Slime-tooth is the only one that can help,” said Hawkin. “We risk breaking it permanently if the wrong goblin gets their hands on the job. And besides, Slime-tooth can barely stand. I doubt he'd be able to produce any beer for you in the time he’d be spending away. You won’t even notice he’s gone.”

Wait, what did he say? I squinted at him and cocked my head. I watched him gulp real big. How did Hawkman know how Slime-tooth was doing? Was it the Thrush monster? Was he still coming around? Has Hawkman been sneaking aboard one of my ships to talk to Slime-tooth?

Hawkin waved his hands like he was erasing air. “Uh, I mean, I’m sure Slime-tooth is working so hard—just like all your goblins—that he’s gotta be spending at least a few days collecting ptooey before he can brew any beer. So fixing my boppin-flaggin-tuggin should hardly affect his production schedule. If anything, he might make it work better than before, so you could get more beer even faster.”

Who did this human think he was? This was a scam! He thought he could scam something from me. I’m not giving him my bobby-thing, nor...

“Absolutely not. I won’t let you borrow Slime-tooth. I don’t like where this is going. Fix your…uh…uh…”

“Boppin-flaggin-tuggin, your majesty,” said Stub-toes.

“One more word out of you Stub-toes, and I’ll wrap your own intestines around you like a garland!” To Hawkin I said, “You need me a whole hell of a lot more than I need you!”

Hawkin didn’t seem to care. “No, we don’t need you at all. But if you want beer, we need Slime-tooth’s help.”

“Don’t cross me, human. If I don’t get beer, I can’t control my goblins. And I won’t lift a finger when they come circling your purple wall and burn up the forest around it. Now get to work and brew me my beer!”

Chapter 154

Small Family

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 26%.

Big, giant, and huge monstrous fireflies twinkled in the sky. Remember-not was upset that they ruined her observations, and she complained to Knot-knuckles who listened and nodded vigorously. But ever watchful of the sky, my Stargazer noticed a different and familiar light on the horizon. A lime green light.

“The legendary lime smack!” she called.

Goblins rushed across starboard, or port side, or to the bow, or to the stern, depending on which ship they were on. What mattered was that we all rushed for the western view. The legendary lime smack had caught up to us. It seemed as if it were slowly moving northwest.

A firefly crashed into a crowd of goblins on one of my sloops below. It tangled with the goblins. Amid the panicked tussle, its wings beat too fast to be seen, and it lifted from the deck with poor Knob-of-bugger clinging to its wire-hair mane with dear life. The giant firefly carried Knob-of-bugger off, but the goblin leapt down onto another sloop. He hit the mainsail and tumbled down the shroud, unharmed.

It felt like the fireflies were doubling from the forest every day!

After the commotion, all eyes gazed westward.

We had the chance to catch more jellies, but there were things to attend to before we set out. With my Commodores’ aid we spent the next half day counting supplies and going through the contents of my hoard in the forecastle. As soon as that monthly task was all tallied, I rolled out my sea map. Little Barnacle-eyes flags represented my fleet on the coast. Two were missing, and I frowned.

“What?” I said.

Pinky-chew pointed out the two flags out west on the sea where the lime smack had been spotted. We rushed to the deck and peered west. There they were, two of my sloops, very far out. The lime green of the jellyfish lit the hulls with a sharp bright green. When the sea crashed against the hulls, it looked like the sea was green too.

But why did they sail out without saying anything? My ships never sailed out without my command. They always at least asked, and we made decisions together. With Gloom-glower’s fleet looming right over there, this was the wrong time to sail off without command. What if something happened?

I felt a tug at the bottom of my dress. It was temporary Captain Boggo. He was back from his eavesdropping patrol, so we went to the deckhouse for some privacy.

“Being temporary Captain is hard,” he said. “Whew! I gotta take a seat.” He shed a ton of blue fur from his coat, kneaded it all into a big blue poof, and plopped into it. He clasped his hands over his belly and took a deep, belly-lifting breath. “It’s not good, Admiral. Not good at all.”

“What do you mean? Bumble-shout, Goat-beard, Whisker-mole, and a bunch of others went fishing for the lime jellyfish! Did you know that?”

“I thought you knew. They said they were starving and sped out to sea.”

“Starving? What about all the cheese? What about the onions and the garlic? What about the Goblin Spuck beer? Why didn’t they say something if they’re hungry?”

“Cause of the rumors; the moldy cheese poison rumors. Goblins are staying far away from cheese, and now pretty much anything that comes from you, Admiral.”

“I can’t blame them for believing rumors,” I said. “Like Slime-tooth always said, goblins are goblins. And I’m glad my Captains are fishing the legendary smack while it’s here. How could I refuse them that? I just wish we’d set sail as a fleet. How long have they been out there?”

“All day.”

“Let’s bring them back before it gets too dark.”

The sloops had all day to catch enough to feed everyone on our sloop fifteen times over. Boggo hopped up onto Gabby’s shoulder, and they followed me on deck. Starboard, I belted commands. “Flag bearers! Let’s call back the sloops!”

“Please thank you!”

Goblins formed green ladders and waved return signals with my flags. My monoscope extended with several clicks, and I put my eye through the scope. The sloops on the western horizon had collected so many lime jellyfish that the deck was filled with them, and they lit the sails in a bright juicy green. However, instead of packing them in barrels…

“They’re eating the jellyfish! We’re supposed to count them first and then share them!”

One of the flag bearers raised the flag pole to answer our call to return. Captain Bumble-shout snatched the flagpole and threw it down. They then returned to feasting.

“They’re ignoring my command…all the Captains are. Why are they refusing to return and share the catch? We always share our catches…We’re a family.”

I felt a few little pats on the toe of my boot. I looked into Boggo’s big beady eyes. He gave me a soft sorry smile. Then his expression turned serious.

“I got more to tell you, Barnacle-eyes. Oh boy, you’re not gonna like this.”

“M-more? I don’t know how much more I can take that I’m not gonna like.”

Back in the privacy of the deckhouse, Boggo settled into his poof.

“I kept my ear out like you asked,” he said. “I think one of your Captains has started another faction. It was Handsome-guy. Your goblins seem to like him a lot. He went on and on about how he’d be a better Admiral. Said it wasn’t because he was jealous, but he definitely sounded really, really jealous. He said you didn’t deserve to be Admiral; he said he’d do a way better job since he’s so much better at working than you; and talks better than you; and laughs better; and eats better; and a bunch of other better-than-you stuff. Gee…I’m sorry, Barnacle-eyes.”

“That’s three factions now. My chance of mutiny is twenty-eight percent now! It keeps going up! It’s so annoying, like a sneeze that keeps coming up but not out. What am I doing wrong?”

“No idea. But you should check on Button-lint. He wanted to join the other sloops to catch jellyfish, but he couldn't because there's a tear in his sail and he’s mad at you for it.”

“Mad at me?” I said.

“Says you did it. Something about a warning that he’ll be the next to get poached if he tries to sleep ever again.”

“I don’t remember tearing any sails. And he’s a Captain. Why isn’t he repairing it? He should know who to ask for help.”

Boggo scrambled up my dress and plopped down on my shoulder. I stormed out the deckhouse so fast that he held onto my earlobe so he wouldn’t fall. Gabby padded right behind us. I crossed gangways from my Hand-O’War to galleon, from galleon to ketch, from ketch to sloop, and from sloop to sloop until I found Captain Button-lint’s sloop. The mainsail had a long vertical tear. I found him napping in his deckhouse.

“Ahem…” I said.

His head lolled, and he opened his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“What happened to the main sail?”

“Somebody broke it.”

“So why aren’t you trying to fix a problem on your ship, Captain Button-lint? This isn’t very goblin of you.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to do everything while you sit there on your big ship not helping anyone?”

I felt Boggo brace his feet on my shoulder. He said, “Barnacle-eyes is always helping goblins!”

“I’ll believe it when all my goblins see it.” said Button-lint.

“Remember-not promoted Quick-chew as the new sewer, so why didn’t you ask for help?” I said.

“I heard she eats your cheese. Thought she was long gone by now.”

Wow, he was saying this to my face? “How about we ask Quick-chew together? I can introduce you two if you haven't met her yet.”

Button-lint tromped out the deckhouse. “Whatever,” he said. “I’m safer going on my own, anyway. Wouldn’t want to get poached on the way there.”

“Hey!” said Boggo. “That’s no way to talk to your Admiral!” But Button-lint was gone. “…What a lousy guy, that guy…”

“What is going on, Boggo?” I said.

A sharp yelp of pain sounded from a few sloops away. We crossed several gangways until we came to a crowd of goblins. I excused my way through. Poke-things was sitting on an overturned bailing bucket with his bloody arm clutched before him. His skin was gashed open, it was bruised all around it, and there were deep scratches beside the wound. Blood dripped from his arm and splattered the deck.

“By Peg-tooth!” I said. “What happened?”

Angle-cheek said, “Poke-things got himself a splinter again. A nasty one this time. Scratch-sniff and Slapped-silly tried to pry it out with some sticks and stuff. Two-bites tried to chew it out.”

A splinter was an easy fix for me! “Oh, I’m good at this!” I said. “I have just the thing.”

I withdrew my trusted rusty pliers from my inventory and approached Poke-things. The instant he saw the pliers click, his eyes went big, and he fell back screaming. Goblins all around me shrank back. Poke-things scrambled back and shrieked even louder. His shrieking drew a much larger crowd of goblins who attempted to make sense of things.

“What’s going on?”

“Is someone getting poached?”

“I don’t want to be next! Not me, not me!”

“Not me too!”

“Someone doesn’t sound good.”

“Do you think he ate the cheese?”

“Is he coming down with the blue mold?”

“Wow, it works so fast!”

“Oh no, Look! Barnacle-eyes has her pliers!”

I took a good look at my tool. “What?” I said. “My pliers?”

“Please don’t!” cried Poke-things. “Please don’t hurt me! I don’t wanna be fed to the Thrush monster!”

I was too stunned to move, to even speak. Thank Peg-tooth for Pinky-chew. She burst through the crowd and snatched the pliers.

“It’s okay, goblins!” she said. “Don’t believe everything you hear! She just wanted to pull the splinter out, see?”

She slid down to a kneel before Poke-things. She swiftly pulled the splinter out from the wound which should have never evolved into a chewed and scratched, bleeding gash.

“See?” she said. “Our Admiral only wanted to help.”

Poke-things’ crew pulled him away as if they felt he was in danger. Goblins began to disperse, but the looks they gave me as they turned away were despicable looks. I felt as if their glares were sharp enough to go through my ribs. I gulped down a big hurt.

On my way back to my Hand-O’War, I watched my boots walk one in front of the other. My mind was so full of thoughts that I couldn’t hear Boggo or Pinky-chew or Gabby. I mean, I heard them, but I couldn’t pay attention to what they were saying. Whatever they said, they said it softly.

“I’m gonna be alone for a bit,” I said. “Write Slime-tooth a letter.”

Boggo dropped from my shoulder. He hit the deck with a fat thunk. He and Pinky-chew worried their hands in front of their bellies.

I opened the hatch and descended two levels to the corridor that led to my forecastle. It was dark, and as I made my way, I heard something clatter at the end. A moment later, a goblin emerged from the dark.

“Gloat-Haha,” I said. “What are you doing down here?”

“Got lost.”

“Are you hungry? Here, take whatever you need, okay?” I offered a big chunk of onion.

“Gross. Like I would eat anything you touch. Can I just go? You talk a lot sometimes. Pretty much all the time. And I can’t just listen to you ‘blah, blah, blah’ all day. Anyway, I gotta go do some stuff somewhere.”

What? Why was everyone mean? I found myself once again too shocked to say anything right away. By the time I found something to say to speak up for myself, Gloat-haha had skipped up the stairwell.

I sulked the rest of the way down the corridor. I unlocked the forecastle and put my hand on the knob. I froze before I opened it. In the light of a porthole, I found an item on the ground. It was a coin that had been hammered thin into the length and size of a lock pick. The lock had scratches all around it. The wood of the door frame beside the knob and hinges had deep scratches.

At that moment, my chance of mutiny jerked up to 34%.

I slumped to my butt. What was going on? It was the rumors, wasn’t it? Everything was getting out of control, and I felt seasick. Why was my new family doing this to me? Were they really my family? Having to ask myself that was painful enough to blur my eyes. My tears fell onto my dress.

Of course they were my family. Pinky-chew was. Gabby was. Boggo was. Wait, what about Ella? Was Boggo temporary Captain because Ella didn’t like me either? My family felt suddenly very small, and I missed Slime-tooth with every piece of my heart.

Chapter 155

Dribble of Limeys

Gloom-glower

We were in another one of those phases where ships kept sinking. It happened every once in a while, but now was not the time. I had no choice but to spread out the survivors among the other ships and to take on as many as my ship could hold. I kept my Captains nearby so I could keep an eye on them.

Problem was, they didn’t want to do the grunt work. On and on they went about going out fishing with the rest of the sloops for another chance to catch more of the legendary lime smack.

It made my skin crawl that the migration of lime jellyfish was going farther and farther by the hour. My sloops ended up going farther out as a result.

I shouldn’t have let them go the first time. It had done almost nothing to lower my chance of mutiny. But as for all the sinking ships…

“It’s all because of those barnacles on the bottom of our ships,” I said. “And you know the evil goblin who’s to blame for that.”

“Will we get more than nibbles this time?” said Captain Whisker-mole. “Trot-hopper said you had a whole jellyfish to yourself.”

“I promise you’ll get more than what I get this time. And as your king, I always keep my promises. Now, help my goblins bail, and we’ll talk promotions next week.”

I could tell in their eyes that they were skeptical. They pursed their lips like I was just feeding them grime. I saw one too many eyeballs roll, and it took an internal scream to keep myself from throwing them overboard. Good for them for picking up bailing buckets and cutting in on the bailing line. That was just what saved their lives.

I stomped over to the taffrail. My snots did everything they could to clear their toes from my right of way. At the taffrail I peered between my mighty ships at the dim glow of the legendary lime smack. Those ships had been there way too long.

Stub-toes bowed deeply and proffered my extended monoscope. “Your majesty.”

“See? Is it so hard to read my mind? And you know what they say, Stub-toes. An old dog that finally learns a new trick better do it right every time from then on. So be a good boy and prove your worth around here. Otherwise your master will have to put you down.”

“I’ll do my very best, my king.”

Just as I suspected. The lime smack had drifted further west. My sloops were smaller than a pinch by eye. That was more than far enough.

Were they really fishing for jellyfish? Goblins could be conniving. Were they laughing at me behind my back where I couldn’t hear laughter? They were probably laughing that they weren’t sharing their catch with me. How dare they eat the jellies without providing the catch to their king! I had first right of refusal. Or were they just planning something diabolical? Mutiny?

“Flags! Wave the flags! Return those sloops!”

My flag bearers raised their poles and whipped the air. Their return would take a while, so I stomped back to the deckhouse. I checked that no one had slipped in with fatal curiosity.

“Close the door, Stub-toes. Now!”

“Yes, my king.”

I dove behind the couch and straddled my beautiful 5 gallon black barrel.

“Get over here!” I said.

“Your majesty? Where are you?”

Stub-toes peered around the corner of the couch back. He slumped to the floor before me.

“It’s gone up to sixty-six percent!” I said. “Why are you doing this to me when I’ve always treated you so well? Do you have no shame?”

“But, my king, I don’t control that!”

I pried open the loosened barrelhead. Shafts of bright lime-green light painted our faces and pooled on the ceiling. Current events made things too stressful, so I shoved a whole jelly into my mouth and forced it down. I slurped up the tentacles like they were noodles. Stub-toes stared agape at the barrel. He licked his lips and gulped what must have been his own saliva. When the fool reached in for a delicious jelly, I smacked the back of his hand.

“You want a limey?” I said. “First you gotta get me out of this mess! How am I going to deal with these greedy snots? My sloops have sailed too far out too many times!”

“They can’t help themselves when they’re so hungry.”

“You’re right, Stub-toes. They’ve been fattening themselves up all winter. A fast will do them good. I’ll call them back immediately.”

“If I may, my king. Calling your sloops back from a legendary delicacy is a bad idea.”

“Bad idea? Why are you so focused on bad ideas? I knew you were doing this to me! Now listen. Those sloops are way too far. Do you know what happens when sloops have been docked for this long and then suddenly stray? The chance of mutiny rises tremendously!”

“Your goblins would be much happier if you gave them a tiny taste of freedom.”

“Happiness? Happiness, Stub-toes? Oh, you make me sick. If they get a taste of freedom, they’ll start licking everything. And their bellies are already too full of lime smack for their own good.”

“But my king, don’t you have faith in your fleet?”

“Give freebooters an inch, and they’ll take ten knots! I can’t let them do whatever they want. They’ll eventually do what they really want to do, which is to mutiny! Just for some stupid jellyfish!”

“We have been here for years. A change in routine will be good for your snots. They’ll see that as a reward. That’s a good idea, right?”

“I want my snots to do the same thing day in and day out. Better if they have nothing to look forward to. No hope for their future means a bright future for me. Why if I let them experience adventure again, they won’t want to return to the beautiful monotony I give my ungrateful snots! They’ll start to feel like their lives are worth something. They will mutiny!”

“What if the whole fleet goes out together to fish the lime smack?”

“I’d have to leave some Captains behind to protect our spot. What if Ogo returns with all his orcs and swoops in? What if that revenge obsessed Gone-hand finds me after all these years and swoops in? What if that stupid Barnacle-eyes and her fancy fleet swoops in? She’ll take our spot. The Captains who get left behind will start to plot with her. And then do you know what will happen?”

“Barnacle-eyes has been so peaceful. She’s done nothing but try to share with us since she’s arrived. And your Captains won’t mutiny if you reward them. Give them twice the jellyfish for staying behind.”

I fit another limey past my teeth. “They’ll still despise me. Can’t risk it. Maybe if the chance of mutiny was much lower.”

“Please hear me, my king. What if—”

“—That’s enough out of you, Stub-toes! No one asked for your two coppers. Everyone needs to stick close to me where I can see and hear them. I won’t risk them sailing out of reach and that’s the end of it.”

Someone knocked on the door.

I was so startled that I flinched. I fumbled the barrelhead back on. With vigorous wiping, I tried to remove the lime residue from my mouth and chin. With haste I marched out of the deckhouse.

Stub-toes stumbled between furniture after me. “My king, you’ve got limey dribble all over you! The goblins will know you’re hoarding!”

A smug goblin greeted me just outside. “Sorry to bother you, King Gloom-glower,” said Punch-smiley. “We’ve been waving the return signal, but they’re not returning.”

“Oh, that smack will be their last meal if they don’t obey this instant.” I said.

I forced my way through goblins, stepping where I had to until I arrived at my biggest harpoon turret.

“Is the harpoon prepared?” I said.

“Yes, sir!” said Rub-neck.

I took up the slack of the harpoon line and ran it down a jutting slice of metal from the mixed materials of my ship. The line snapped in half.

“Aim for the sloop on the right,” I said.

“But that’s Arg-charlie’s sloop, my king!” said Stub-toes.

The turret was already squealing around. Forty goblins pushed and pulled my prized possession. The cannon was cranked up to angle. Twelve goblins aimed and bickered about the fireflies in their way.

“Fire!” I said.

Flames were shoved onto a fuse. Sparks snaked up to the butt of the canon. The ship and sea convulsed with a boom, and the harpoon sailed over the sea and struck Arg-charlie’s sloop.

Stub-toes offered me my monoscope.

“Why don’t you take a good look and tell me what you see,” I said.

Stub-toes, shaking, peered through the lens. “They’re doing a turning circle…They’ve hoisted sail…They’re returning.”

Walking off, I said, “That’s what I thought.”

Chapter 156

Goblin Behavior

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 47%.

My head felt like I’d absorbed one too many skill books in one sitting. I was feeling one too many not-so-good feelings all at once too, like my heart wanted to level up. But it felt more like it was leveling down instead. While I thought I heard a knock on the deckhouse door, I just concentrated on the feeling of the wood table against my forehead. I sighed.

There was a knock again.

Gabby trotted up beside me. “Admiral, please thank you. Should I get the door?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, thank you.”

I heard Gabby pad across the room, then the sea wind, then a goblin’s feet slapping the floorboards as they entered. I lifted my head and blinked to clear my bleary eyes.

“Lice-louser, come on in,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

Lice-louser flipped a bailing bucket over and plopped himself down. “Gimme a promotion,” he said.

“A promotion? I’m not giving out promotions right now.”

“Why not? You make boats really fast. You could make a ton of boats and promote everyone aboard.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I have to follow my Admiral quest path. As my fleet evolves, I can add more boats. That’s when I build the ones I need.”

“Sure, sure. But what about me?”

“I keep a list of everything everyone does. When it comes time for promotions, I take that list into consideration. It’s the fairest way.”

“Who are you to decide what my snots deserve? If you’re not gonna give it to us, then I guess we’re gonna have to take our promotions from you.”

What did he mean ‘his snots’? Oh, Peg-tooth. This is what Boggo had been telling me. So it was true after all. He had warned me that Lice-louser had started a faction. Now the head of that faction was boldly staring me right in the face. His snots must have encouraged him.

But I was still Admiral. “Promotions are not for taking,” I said. “They’re for earning.”

“We heard Gloom-glower’s goblins are getting lots of promotions.”

“Gloom-glower only promises promotions so he can take them away the very next day for whatever reason. Like if you cough wrong.”

“We heard he doesn’t just hand out measly promotions like you do. His goblins get super ultra rare promotion packages! And they come in big, shiny, special boxes, too!”

“All he has to offer are beaten up boots that he took back from demoted goblins.”

“How would you know?” he said. “Have you ever given out a promotion package?”

“I don’t give out something I don’t—”

“—I didn’t think so! You’re just taking the promotion out of the box and keeping all the other amazing stuff in there for yourself. And everybody knows the box is the best part! Your Commodores and Captains never complain that something’s missing, cause they never got their packages in the first place!”

“But you said I don’t give promotion packages, and now you’re saying that I do,” I said. “I don’t give away packages. I never did. I give promotions with promotion boots, and sometimes a Fable Stone, and sometimes a loot chest, and I always give out coin and canvas dresses and backpacks to all my crew members regardless of promotions. That’s a lot more than I ever got.”

“Exactly! Only sometimes a Fable Stone. That’s cause you’re a Fable Stone hoarder!”

I scrunched my face at him. The way he spoke to me went deep. Everything he said reminded me of all the ways I used to feel working for Gloom-glower. The way that he looked at me, like I was the source of his misery, stunned me. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Wow,” he mockingly drawled. “Mute for once. I can finally hear myself think. Maybe you’ll shut up long enough to listen to me for a change. While you’re over here hoarding everything for yourself, Gloom-glower is over there making promises to all his goblins. He’s making promises left and right and even below deck. Where are your promises, huh? You’re probably hoarding those too.”

I slapped the table and stood. “That’s enough. Listen—”

“—Please thank you,” Gabby said quite sternly.

“Yes,” I said. “Please listen, Lice-louser. King Gloom-glower is a master at keeping goblins under his toe. What good are promises if you can’t keep them? They just turn into false promises. I’ve given a lot of promotions over the months. And I share all our profits. That’s the reality of the situation.”

Lice-louser shook his head. “It’s all just talk with you. Talk, talk, talk; that’s all you do. Well it’s not going to work this time. We don’t want your stupid reality, we want promises!”

“I just promoted ten Captains a few weeks ago!”

“Hoarder! You’re a good-for-nothing hoarder! I knew coming to you was a waste of time.”

“Stop speaking to me like that! I’m supposed to be your family.”

“How are we supposed to be a family when you hate goblins? You’re just poaching us off one by one! Ya know what? I’m not gonna fall for any more of your cheesy tricks!”

Lice-louser rose, and he kicked the overturned bailing bucket across the room. He sneered, wheeled around, and stormed out.

“I’m not killing or poisoning anyone!” I said. “Those are all rumors!”

The door slammed shut behind him. I felt a wave of anger heat my blood all the way to my cheeks and eyeballs. I felt blood bloom in my ears. I wanted so badly to follow Lice-louser and to yell at him. I couldn’t because it would look terrible. I couldn’t let my snots see me behave like that. There was another reason why I couldn’t yell at Lice-louser, even though I really wanted to let him have it. I hated being yelled at when I worked for Gloom-glower. Hated it so very much. That’s not how you’re supposed to talk to goblins you care about.

I dropped to the floor. The wood flooring soaked up my tears. I was so unbelievably angry that I couldn’t believe it myself.

I just couldn’t take out that anger on goblins, especially when goblins were just being goblins. I might not be able to change goblin behavior, but I could at least recognize it and do my best with what I saw. Slime-tooth had something to say about that, didn’t he?

He said…He said…Oh, what did he say? How did it go?

I couldn’t remember! For whatever reason, that broke my heart above all else. I felt my heart shatter. All my boiling anger instantly melted into its same weight in sadness.

I wished with all the pieces of my heart that I could talk to Slime-tooth right now.

Gabby squatted beside me and patted my back. “I’m sorry, Barnacle-eyes.”

And my chance of mutiny rose to 51%.

Chapter 157

Protect Your King!

Gloom-glower

More than a dozen Captains pounded on the deckhouse door. Stub-toes and I braced our backs against it to keep it shut. I could hear my first mates on the other side doing their best to keep the Captains at bay, but every once in a while I saw the doorknob jiggle. We were cornered!

After dinner of all time. I hated that. What on earth was so important that they felt compelled to attempt a barge-in?

I whispered to my servant. “Eighty-five percent, Stub-toes! A few more points and it’ll be in the red zone!”

Too many ships had sunk. Mine was overcrowded. It was fifty goblins over capacity. The only way to traverse was to squeeze through. Goblins had to work in green ladder formation to keep up their speed. I could do without the Captains harassing me every second for every little thing. Sloops took time to rebuild; didn’t they know that? Especially when lazy goblins died on the job and had to be replaced. Things took time!

Stub-toes suddenly said, “Do you think Hawkin meant it when he said he couldn’t brew anymore beer until the boppin-flaggin-tuggin was fixed? Because we’re out of beer, my king.”

“Lower your voice, you fool!”

But it was too late. All the commotion behind the door came to a silent freeze. Gasps resounded. The ship creaked. With a glare, I tried my best to bore a hole between Stub-toes’ eyes.

The door rattled on its hinges. The interrogation began as Captains shouted through the door.

“Did I hear correctly? There’s no more beer?”

“What? Lemme in there, lemme in!”

“By Peg-tooth, my snots can’t handle a dry spell!”

“They’re gonna kill me! You better demote me right now, Gloom-glower!"

“Yeah, whose boots are these? I’ve never seen them before in my life!”

“Open up! We know you’re in there.”

“No more beer? Why not?”

“Is that true, Gloom-glower?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“He’s gotta be hoarding all the beer.”

“Gloom-glower! You’re hoarding beer?”

“Believe it! Just like the lime smack all over again!”

“My gods, he’s hoarding the beer and lime smack, too?”

“Why can’t we sail for the jellyfish?”

“Yeah, they’re right there, Gloom-glower! We can see them every day!”

“And they don’t have stingers! Easy catch!”

“When do I get to eat! I’m starving!”

“When do I get my new ship? Gimme my ship!”

“And how are we supposed to sleep? There’s too many snots!”

“I see…I see another ship sinking, Gloom-glower.”

“Yup, they’re doing a lot of drowning over there.”

“Isn’t Gloom-Glower going to save them?”

“Ha! Like he’d care if there’s no beer on board.”

“All I hear about is cheese. How come I can’t have any cheese? I don’t care how moldy it is!”

“Out of my way! I need to speak to Gloom-glower. Open up, it’s Salt-sweater. I found barnacles on my keel! What are you gonna do about it?”

“Look! Look at Barnacle-eyes' ships, everybody! See that glow? They’re feasting on lime smack while we’re sitting with no dinner and no drink.”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Stupid idiots! We haven’t run out of beer! It’s just sitting at that worthless human’s brewery. If I ever lay eyes on him again, I’m gonna—”

The door held against a barrage of fists. The hinges rattled. The doorknob spun back and forth. Stub-toes and I grunted against the onslaught, and I prayed the lock would hold.

At some point, I heard Shifty-looks. “Let me through! Move! Everybody move! Well fine then, I'm climbing over.”

“Ouch!” said a goblin

“Watch it!”

“My nose!”

“Get off me!”

When I next heard Shifty-looks, his voice came squeezing beneath the door. “Gloom-glower, I’m back! Let me in.”

“Grab your harness, Stub-toes,” I said.

“Forgive me, your highness,” said Stub-toes. “I…uh…lost it.”

“You know right where it is. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“But I hate it.”

“It’s an emergency this time.”

“B-but—”

“—Put it on this instant!”

Stub-toes scuffled to the back of the room. He flipped the lid of a chest and rummaged deep within. He returned with an item that was made of leather straps and slipped into it. The harness was tight on him, and on the back in the middle was a handle like that of a mug. Stub-toes returned to me and heaved the deepest sigh I’d ever heard. Something came over him. He stared through the floor, and the light left his eyes. They became hollow.

Praying the lock would hold, I rose and grabbed Stub-toes by the handle on his back.

Stub-toes uttered the song he liked to sing when things got tough for him. “I’m a little pot’s spout. Gotta pour a lot out. I splash, splash, splash. You glug, glug, glug. Cause I’m a little—”

He called it his coping song.

“Good boy, Stub-toes.”

I unlocked the door, and it swung open. Before goblins could stampede in, I used Stub-toes as a shield and bashed them back. I bashed those that tried to crawl over goblins, I bashed those that tried to squeeze by my knees, and I bashed those that tried to pull me out. Shifty-looks slithered by my feet like a desperate worm.

“Back! Back!” I said. It took some good bashings to retreat enough to close the door.

Shifty-looks helped me slam the door, and we both yelled at Stub-toes when he got stuck in it. We yanked him into the deckhouse, slammed the door shut, and threw the bolt. Then we dragged the couch to the door.

Stub-toes rolled around in agony. His lip was split, his eyes were bruised, and he wheezed his little song.

“You better have good news,” I said.

“Several of Barnacle-eyes’ Captains are going to defect,” said Shifty-looks. “They’re trying to gather up as many goblins as they can before they leave. They say she’s too weak to try to stop them.”

A smile crept up on me. “Oh! This is good! Now that’s promotion worthy information! When should we expect our new guests?”

“Soon. Very soon, my king.”

“Tell you what, Shifty-looks. Tell them they don’t need to come all the way over here. I’ll go to them. I just need to get things tidied up a bit first.”

The legendary lime smack was too far now to even think about giving in and letting my Captains sail for it. That chance was dead in the water.

What I needed was to promise trickle-down rewards. Barnacle-eyes’ fleet was more than enough to keep my Captains satisfied for years to come! Acquiring her ship will probably mean my chance of mutiny will be at the lowest percentage it’s been in years!

As for her goblins, I couldn’t take them in. Once a defector, always defective! I’ll blame their deaths on the slow-acting cheese molds.

But to pull off the attack, I needed the help of my Captains. If I wanted to leave the deckhouse in one piece, I especially needed their help. One more day should do. I needed one more day to think of some promotion packages to promise out.

I punted Stub-toes’ belly. “Nap time’s over. Get those hands ready to massage, Stub-toes!”

“I’m…a little pot’s spout…gotta pour…a lot out…”

I turned to Shifty-looks and rubbed my hands together. “Have a seat in my chair, Shifty-looks. Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite goblin?”

Chapter 158

Be Firm, Admiral!

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 85%.

“Wake up, Admiral!” said a little squirrely thing. “Wake up!”

There was something in Boggo’s voice that had me bolting straight up. A bright flash of a giant firefly’s blinking butt lit up one of the portholes in the deckhouse. Boggo tugged on my hand and strained to pull me by the arm.

“There’s a secret meeting going on right now,” he said. “Right now! The captains I heard whispering are all together. Hurry, get up!”

“What? Hunh? What-where?”

Boggo's grip slipped, and he fell back. He flipped to all fours and galloped off. His tail was unusually poofed in alarm. I could see his ratty tail through the blue fur.

I stumbled to my feet and fought to put my boots on the right foot. My eyes felt puffy, and my mind felt dazed. I wished I had gotten more sleep!

As I trailed Boggo out of the deckhouse, I took a quick look at my chance of mutiny. I choked on a gasp. It was way too high! I felt like it was only going to keep rising!

Pressing at the moment was Boggo’s squeaky insistence. I followed him down the long deck of the Hand-O’War in the pre-dawn light. That’s when something dawned on me too. Captains were whispering in secret? That was a sure thing of potential mutiny!

Monstrous fireflies were everywhere! I had to duck under some and dodge others. One of them zipped around my feet, and I had to hop over it. We crossed the gangway to a galleon, then descended another gangway to a ketch, and then flew down another gangway to a sloop. Head down for speed, I raced for the deckhouse.

“This way, Admiral!” said Boggo.

I slid to a stop on the slick deck, and I spun around. Boggo hopped up and down near the hatch and pointed at it.

He did his best to throw open the hatch. I flung it wide, and we descended to the cargo hold. We tiptoed down the corridor to the goblins quarters. I heard their hushed whisper-shouts along the way.

“I like it. It’s risky, but it’ll pay off.”

“Yeah, with all of us combined, it’s a sure thing.”

“I hate her.”

“Oh, me too. I really hate her.”

“I bet she’s not even a real goblin.”

“That’s what One-eye said.”

“Since he’s got single vision, he probably sees more clearly.”

“You guys are right. She’s stupid. How did we end up with an Admiral like her, anyways? Why wouldn’t any of us be a better Admiral?”

“I can’t stand one more day on this fleet. Nothing ever happens! We sit and nothing, we eat and nothing, we fish and nothing.”

“When will we go raiding? I’ve been with Barnacle-eyes for more than a year and we haven’t raided even once. Not once!”

“I wanna go raiding!”

“Yeah, me too. All she does is hoard. If we raided, then we could take our cuts, fair and square.”

“Stupid hoarder!”

“I hate hoarders! I bet that’s why she won’t let us go raiding!”

I heard the pad of soft footsteps behind me just as Boggo and I waltzed in. Gabby slipped in right after us. She rubbed her bleary eyes. All the Captains in the quarter groaned like their fun had been ruined. They threw their hands up and cursed under their breaths. Their reaction to my presence hurt worse than their words.

“Well, well, well,” said Rip-roar. “If it isn’t stupid. Finally come to crash the party with all her stupid talk. Isn’t that right, stupid?”

“That’s no way to speak to me,” I said.

“Says you. And you’re stupid.”

“What’s going on? What kind of meeting is this?”

Old Wrinkle-twinkle shuffled his feet. “Admiral, I don’t agree with these snots. I just came to listen.”

“Agree with what?” I said. “What are you all planning?”

Neigh-nose crossed his arms and glared at me. “You never let us go on raids. We wanna raid, and we wanna raid now!”

“There’s no one to raid here,” I said. “And why would we raid when we can trade? Raids are too risky! Many goblins would die for the sake of any worthwhile loot. And if we’re careful and only raid small villages, we’re not going to earn much. Nowhere near how much we do when we trade. Trust me, I’ve been on raids before.”

Drip-ding said, “Raids are the best! I used to go raiding too, and we earned lots of stuff.”

“Trading is much more profitable!” I said. I could prove it. “What did you earn on your biggest raid?”

“A whole chest of wine! A pitchfork! Pickles. Those pickles lasted me five whole months.”

“I know you’ve earned a couple pieces of gold since you’ve been on my fleet. Do you know how many pickles that can buy you? Decades of pickles. That’s why trading is better.”

“That’s just stupid-sense coming from someone stupid like you. If one raid earns me five months of pickles, then two or more raids would equal…”

“A lot more!” said Rattle-noggin.

“Not just that. A lot many more!” said Neigh-nose.

“Yeah, a lot many more!” said Drip-ding. “And like Slime-tooth says, a lot many more is a lot more than just a lot.”

Almost all the goblins agreed with that. They nodded as if there were no truer truth. And as they began talking over each other, I raised my voice because I had to take command. I was the Admiral after all.

“Hold on, hold on!” I said. “You’re missing the point. Goblins die in raids. It’s not worth anyone’s life on my fleet. You’re my family. I don’t want any of you to die.”

Heavy-foot blew a sharp laugh. “I’ll never understand why your name isn’t Scaredy-cat!”

“Yeah, or Lily-livered!” said Neigh-nose.

“Or Yellow-bellied!” said Rattle-noggin.

“I earned my very own name on a raid!” I said. “I almost lost this eye! I know what I’m talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter what your name is, where you’ve been, or what you did,” said Cross-knuckle. “We don’t like you. And we’re going to go raiding whether you let us or not. Didn’t we see some farms up the coast?”

“Saw ‘em,” said One-eye.

Old Wrinkle-twinkle stepped up. “I’m with our Admiral on this one. When you snots get older, you’ll realize that it isn’t worth dying for. And I’ve never made this much coin in all my hard working life.”

Drip-ding rolled his eyes one way and then the other way. “Shut up, Old Wrinkle-twinkle! Nobody likes you either. We’re gonna raid as soon as we can.”

“I’m the Admiral. We’re not raiding. And that’s final.”

“That’s just what a goblin poacher would say! If you wanna be like that, fine. We’ll just go on our own. We’re safer going on raids than staying here with you and your cheese!”

Once again most of my crew nodded. I couldn’t believe it. I stood, balking with wide eyes. But it was really happening. My balk turned into a gawk when my jaw hung down.

This was it. My chance of mutiny was rapidly rising. I was going to lose goblins and ships. By myself, how would I hope to stop this from happening? How could I stop them in the first place? Was it better for them to leave than to mutiny?

I couldn’t picture my fleet with a bunch of my ships stolen right out from under me. Would we sail with a handful of goblins? Would there even be enough goblins to man however many ships are left? I needed a whole crew just for the Hand-O’War.

Maybe I was going to be left by myself. No, I definitely had loyal goblins. How many, though? And those that don’t leave, but aren’t quite that loyal, would they eventually mutiny?

My quest path! What was going to happen to it? Peg-tooth was sure to be disappointed in me. If he’d been watching me before my promotion to Admiral, he was most certainly going to stop keeping his eye on me after I lose everything.

Then there was Slime-tooth, my like-a-father. I couldn’t handle his disappointment. I was even letting Hawkin down, too. He said I was the best goblin he’d ever met. I even promised him I’d be the best. Now I was taking one big giant step back in my big black boots.

So much was on the line—right on it, right on the thinnest line I could imagine. I had to remember what Hawkin said. I was a good leader. I had to stay true to my quest path. I needed to be a firm Admiral! I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t lose it all.

“As your Admiral, I command all my Captains to stay with the fleet. We’ll work this out. I’ll prove to you it’s better to trade than to raid for meager things and risk death.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” said Drip-ding. “It’s clear you want us to leave. We’re taking our ships, too! What are you going to do about it? Attack us with your harpoons? You have none.”

Chapter 159

The Most Majestic Prize

Gloom-glower

I needed all the lime jellyfish I could stomach. There had been no time to sleep. Captain after Captain had needed to be given promises. That was the only way to subdue them. I couldn’t even remember the last package promotion I had promised.

I was famished, exhausted, and overworked. My efforts were for the good of the fleet. If only all the lesser goblins could have seen how hard I worked. They would be inspired. Not a single one of them could ever hope to match my work ethic.

Stub-toes lay on his side, crumpled up. He whined into the floorboards. He nursed his swollen hands as though they’d been steamed raw.

A little melody floated from him. “I’m…a little…pot’s spout…”

“On your feet, Stub-toes. I’ve got work to do.”

It took a couple of kicks to get him up. Almost dizzy from the lack of sleep, I lurched out of the deckhouse. My blood pounded against my skull. I squinted at the rising sun which was just coming over the forest. On the sea’s horizon, there was no trace of the legendary lime smack. The jellys were gone for good. On deck, all my Captains slept around the deckhouse while the lesser goblins toiled in their bailing lines.

The lesser goblins glared at the sleeping Captains. More than a dozen times I saw a wad of spit shoot from the rush of goblins. They seemed to be aiming for my Captains’ faces. This was not a good look for me.

“Snots!” I said. “Rise and pick your ears!”

The Captains rose at their leisure as if they had nothing better to do. They stretched, yawned, sighed, gazed at the bailing goblins, and even told them they were doing a mighty good job.

But now it was their time to get to work. With a quick massage, a shake of my head, and after clearing my throat of lodged phlegm, I stood tall. “Today is the day we purge the poacher from the sea. Your soon to be goblin god will pry what’s rightfully his from her greedy, murderous hands. And you know what that means? Every one of you will get a trickle down reward! The trickle will trickle so far down, even the lowest of goblins will get a drip of something. Isn’t that nice? Oh, yes that's nice.”

“Promises, promises,” said a goblin.

“Who said that? Show yourself!”

“Uh, must’ve been Slime-tooth,” said some other goblin.

Slime-tooth—that mangy ball of wrinkles! “How dare he speak to me like that! Fetch Slime-tooth!”

“Yes, my king,” said Stub-toes. Having completely forgotten he was there, I jumped.

Just as he began to speed off, I knocked him over. “Not you Stub-toes! I need you harnessed and ready in case that wench has a trick up her sleeve.”

“Please, not the harness again. I can’t—”

“You there,” I said and yanked a goblin from the infinite bailing line. “Find Slime-tooth, now!”

The little snot shivered before almighty me. HIs eyes went wide, and he ducked away to do my bidding. What a good snot! What was his name? It was…Oh, whatever. I just wished more were like him.

“How do we know we’ll get trickle downs this time?” said another goblin from the moving bailing line. “We didn’t get them last time. Or the time before the last time before that.”

Who the hell was talking back to me? The line of goblins was moving so fast that I couldn’t pick out who was causing trouble.

“Yeah, when do we get trickle downs?” said another.

“Today my goblins, today!” I said. “We’ll sail for that evil Barnacle-eyes and take her spoils!”

A black blur raced out from the throng. It was a black promotion boot, and it struck me right in the throat. I keeled. I couldn’t take breath for a moment while I scrambled to my hands and knees. I felt my face swell like a singing frog’s. My head pounded fiercely, and my eyes rolled to their whites. My head rang. As the ability to breathe slowly returned, I gasped while grasping for something to hold on to. I found the ankle of a yelping goblin, and I yanked him down with me. I stumbled to my feet, swung the goblin overhead, and tossed him overboard.

With rasping fury, I addressed my goblins. “I’m going to throw a hundred goblins overboard the next time someone even thinks about throwing something at me! Haul up the anchors! Bear the flags! We’re sailing out!”

The bailing line slowed. Every glare suddenly softened. Hundreds of eyes gazed upon me. Every expression held what seemed like a mix of hope and disbelief. But it was true, my dear goblins. We were sailing out for the first time in two whole years.

In those two whole years, never had so many flags gone up at once on thousands of ships. The sea was suddenly filled with flapping rectangles of dark green flags. My flags!

Those flags snapped in the wind as sloops began turning about and sailing south with me. My conjoined ship began turning starboard like a spinning wishbone. Some of the flags of my sloops lowered to sea as their ship sank. But how could freebooter goblins forget how to sail in two years? Or were those the ships with sick goblins who were also overworked? Didn’t Stub-toes mention something about that? No, no, no. What did they know about working hard, when I knew all about it? They were lazy! Useless, good-for-nothing-at-alls.

But the harpoons! Each sinking ship meant one or two lost harpoons! Ah, but now was not that time to worry about it. Oh, my precious harpoons! I had to get them back before the sloops sank to the bottom of the sea! There was still time to reel them up. Ah, but my Chance of Mutiny was too high! I had to prioritize priorities.

I bumped away the couple of green ladders at the helm of my ship and spun the wheel. “Are you ready for your rewards, my Captains? Today, victory is ours!”

But my Captains had rushed port side, and they were whispering to each other as they gazed out at sinking sloops. The line of bailing goblins slowed by the Captains, and I saw their ears perk.

My Chance of Mutiny rose. I grabbed Stub-toes by the collar and hoisted him to my face. In as lethal a whisper as I could produce, I said, “It’s gone up to eighty-nine percent, Stub-toes! You better do something about this now, or you’ll glug, glug, glug at the bottom of the sea!”

After I let go, Stub-toes hit the deck with the soles of his feet. He stumbled and fell, and then he pulled out his rusty-crusty kitchen knife and waved it around.

“Our king has decreed!” he said. “To arms, goblins! To arms!”

It wasn’t until he began poking the Captains that they begrudgingly got to work. All of the idiots rolled their eyes. At least a couple of them seemed fearful, and I smiled at them. A couple Captains seemed excited, which filled me with hope. If I could excite them all, I could stomp down the rising Chance of Mutiny.

We didn’t have far to sail to Barnacle-eyes’ fleet since we were already so very close. So many of my ships moved at once that it seemed like an entire mass of land was shifting. But aboard all of those sloops, not very many goblins looked enthused by the impending attack. What happened? They used to leap like hordes of fleas with the potential for the spoils of a raid and for trickle-downs.

I gazed upon the mightiest of the spoils, the massive Hand-O’War. It was twice taller than an orc’s ship. As the sea split at the prow of my ship, I watched the taffrail of the Hand-O’War. Barnacle-eyes’ goblins amassed there to watch us sail in.

The Admiral herself pushed through her goblins. I smiled at the sad and dejected looking goblin. I found myself smiling gleefully. I gave her a little happy wave just before I said, “Prepare the harpoons!”

Chapter 160

No One to Help

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 86%.

“Gloom-glower-ho!” called Boggo from the crow’s nest once again.

Gloom-glower’s fleet was already upon us. Watching thousands of sloops suddenly swoop in was like watching a crescent bay swing itself around. There were so many ships that their movement made the sea come alive in harsh crashes. Gloom-glower’s conjoined ship plowed the sea straight for mine.

[Chance of Mutiny: 87%.]

With every one of Gloom-glower’s sloops that lurched toward me with full blown sails, the whispers of my goblins grew louder. Boggo’s shrieks pierced the air like the clang of a bright bell.

[Chance of Mutiny: 88%.]

“Do something, Admiral!” said Roll-forward.

“Come on, stupid! Do something!” said Blister-bubble.

[Chance of Mutiny: 89%.]

“Only thing she knows how to do is talk!” said Brow-vein. “We’re all gonna die while she just talks, talks, talks!”

My goblins began hopping in panic. They scurried along the taffrails and bumped into each other. They scrambled like startled cats.

It had only been a few moments since Boggo had first shouted lookout. There was still time to swiftly move out. I didn’t think Gloom-glower was moving his entire fleet over just to say hello.

“Churn the capstan!” I said. “Raise the sails!”

“Please thank you!”

[WARNING. Chance of mutiny has reached 90%.]

[Chance of mutiny is now in the red zone.]

[Ally headcount has begun.]

[If enough goblins no longer recognize you as the leader, system mutiny mechanics will commence.]

Our sails weren’t being raised. Capstans weren’t being churned. My goblins were either bickering with each other or blatantly refusing to work. They watched and smiled while I tried to gather the help to escape. Was this the beginning of the mutiny?

Who exactly wanted me gone? Double-cross definitely wanted me gone. Talk-backer also wanted me gone. On the other hand, who was loyal to me? Gabby was most certainly loyal. I could count on Pinky-chew to stay by my side. But for the other hundreds of goblins, I didn’t know who I could trust. Probably Old Wrinkle-twinkle…

I spun around to try and pick out the goblins I could safely assume would be loyal to me. If I could gather enough of them, we could churn the capstan together and—

Sudden cannon fire disrupted my thoughts. Several cannons exploded. Harpoons whistled through the air from Gloom-glower’s ship. Harpoon lines wiggled behind each harpoon. My Hand-O’War took the barbs of each harpoon with splintering thwacks. I felt the sound from the floorboards through my boots.

The harpoon lines were reeled on giant spools beside Gloom-glower’s turrets by at least sixty goblins. My ship rolled, but it was Gloom-glower’s ship that started closing the distance.

That was it. My ship was stuck. We’d have to cut the lines. Before we did that, I needed to warn the rest of my fleet to flee.

“Raise the flags!” I said. “Signal retreat!”

I sprinted for the mainmast and climbed the rope shroud. With one hand blocking the sun, I peered out at my fleet. They were sailing in, and each Captain was smiling wickedly. They sailed close enough to scrape their sloops and ketches against my Hand-O-War. Goblins rushed to drop their gangways up to my ship. Gangways creaked as they rose and fell. One by one they smacked against my ship. Wood beat on wood. Gangways crashed through my taffrails. Goblin feet soon pounded across the planks. Goblins rushed aboard, baring their teeth like a school of green piranha. Captains’ boots thundered across the deck as they came to surround me. Snickers and glares and jeers haunted me from my goblins.

A massive boom of wood striking wood shook the Hand-O’War. Gloom-glower’s gangway was the largest by far. Goblins dove out of the king’s way as he ascended. His boots thwacked the gangway with such ominous volume that a disquiet settled over all the goblins. A horde of goblins trailed him and Stub-toes.

He strode aboard my ship like he was stepping into a soothing hot spring. He seemed to take it all in: the sails, the floorboards, the taffrails, the masts, the plants…His eyebrows bounced like he was impressed.

Stub-toes, wearing a strange harness and holding a knife, stayed close to Gloom-glower's side. The little goblin looked worse for wearing that harness. His hands were so swollen, they looked like big green mushroom caps. His fingers looked like sausages. He seemed dazed.

Gloom-glower patted his belly and smiled. “Long time no talk from you, Barnacle-lice! And what a nice silence it’s been. My snots tell me you’ve sailed around the world to fetch the best of the best for your king. Why I hear you’ve even built these ships just for me! Trying to buy my forgiveness is a good trick, but it won’t work. I can forgive all your talking, even though it’s annoying as hell. But I can’t forgive all your evil deeds. Goblin poacher! Cheese poisoner! Plier torturer! Isn’t that right, snots? By Peg-tooth, I promise that this murderer will be brought to justice for all her crimes against goblins. I hear she’s even hoarding raids from her poor, poor goblins. Rest assured, we’ll perform hundreds of thousands of raids under my command. Join me, little goblins, and all the loot will trickle down until every one of you little snots becomes rich! So how about we do this nice and easy, Barnacle-lies. You’re gonna skip the part where you try to talk your way out of it with your buts and your ands and your manipulations. Now shut up and get off my ship. I’m commandeering everything.”

Chapter 161

Monster

Chance of Mutiny: 95%.

The past days had been some of the worst in my whole life. I didn’t mean to be hated by everyone. It was an accident. I thought I did a good job trying everything I could to be an Admiral and manage mutiny at the same time. What was I supposed to do? Let everyone walk all over me? I tried to draw the line and stick up for myself and assert my command without hurting my goblins. There was nothing left to do. When I felt the first two tears run down my cheeks, I couldn't stop the rest from quietly following them.

[WARNING. Take immediate action to reduce Chance of Mutiny.]

But it was too late.

Gloom-glower stomped up until we were twenty paces from each other.

“It’s over, Barnacle-cries. Where’s your hoard? In the forecastle? Hand over the key. To all your goblins, come work for me! I’m here to rescue you, as I’m sure you’ve heard all about what Barnacle-lies is really up to. Moldy cheese poisonings! Boiling water poachings!” To his goblins he said, “Have I ever poisoned or poached any of you?”

They all gave one big “No”, and there were a couple of late little “No”s in there too.

“Have I ever ground any of you up into meatballs?”

Not a single snot spoke up. Goblins turned this way and that as if they were looking for they who had been meatballed.

“Hmm?” continued Gloom-glower. “Speak up. Speak up if I’ve ever ground you into a meatball.”

Once again, not a goblin spoke up.

“Well, you didn’t grind me into a meatball,” said a goblin.

“Ah! There, you see?” said Gloom-glower. To my goblins he said, “You poor snots have had to grind through so much of that she-devil’s abuse, haven’t you?”

My entire crew scanned themselves. They lifted their arms and legs to check their limbs as if any evidence that they’d been ground into meatballs would have been there.

“Eyes on me,” said Gloom-glower. “Gimme a nod. Yes, just like that. Nod, nod, nod. Good, very good. Isn’t it easy? Why I bet everybody here can nod.”

It wasn’t only the goblins on my crew that nodded. Gloom-glower’s goblins nodded, and even Stub-toes eagerly nodded.

“There you have it,” the goblin king said. “Proof.”

“That’s horrible, my king,” said Stub-toes.

“Don’t interrupt, Stub-toes! I can’t have these goblins miss any more of the atrocities that Barnacle-lies has been covering up. But fear not, disfigured ones, I’ll take you all in. Defect onto my fleet, and I’ll keep her from ever grinding you up again.”

“You’re so kind, my king! But they all look fine to me—”

“—Quiet, Stub-toes! The point is that I don’t churn goblins into meatballs. All this giant onion business is a lie. She’s really feeding you goblin meatballs!”

Little-whittler, who had come from Spickle-Spack’s galleon spit out a mouthful of onion mush. He stepped back, screeched as though a moth had landed in his mouth, and scraped his tongue with his fingernails. He promptly fainted back into catching arms, whose owners glared at me.

A loud and long line of beer splashed from my Crow’s nest. Beer splattered on deck and foamed across the floorboards. I recognized the weird color of the beer. It was a dreambon ale. Boggo held the bottle aloft upside down, and he was shaking it vigorously.

A sharp white gash appeared in the air. It opened like an oval had just been poked into transparent paper. Thrush stepped through. All of Gloom-glower’s goblins took eleven steps back. Even Gloom-glower shuffled back.

“Hello,” said Thrush.

I was surprised to see my own crew shrink back too. They had just shared cheese and smoked meats with us the other day! What was with the sudden change? Did they come to hate him too? Was that my fault? They hated me so much that it spread to my friends?

“They’re attacking Barnacle-eyes!” said Boggo. “It’s Gloom-glower! He’s attacking!”

Ella appeared bright and round beside Boggo. Stumble-not was there too and standing upon the rungs of a peg ladder just below the threshold of the crow’s nest. The besties pointed at Gloom-glower with fingers as tiny as baby birds’ beaks. Stumble-not furiously pointed with them.

“What are you doing here?” Gloom-glower said. “This isn’t delivery day! Now scram, Thrush monster. These are goblin matters for goblins only.”

“I only need one bite to become part goblin,” said Thrush.

“If you eat a single goblin, I’ll make sure I kill that old fool your Hawkman keeps whining about.”

A goblin struggled through the line of snots along Gloom-glower’s gangway. He made such a commotion coming through that we all watched and waited for him to emerge. He trembled as he approached Stub-toes and covered his mouth by the old goblin’s tilted ear.

Stub-toes hid his rusty kitchen knife behind his back and approached Gloom-glower. “Um…Slime-tooth…is missing, my king.”

Goblins whispered all at once like they were a hushed chorus of one of Soft-song’s pieces. Gloom-glower spun around while he clenched his fists. Veins throbbed in his neck.

He aimed his boiling anger at his closest goblin. “How dare you lie to me! Have you turned, too, Stub-toes?”

“I-I’ve always been loyal you, m-m-my—”

“—Shut-up! Everybody shut-up! And you—go away, Thrush. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll finish off Slime-tooth when I find that ungrateful traitor.” To his own Captains he said, “Tie up Barnacle-eyes. It’s over for her.”

His Captains didn’t move a fingernail. They didn’t even blow a single nose hair out of place. Their gazes snapped to Thrush. Gloom-glower must have noticed that.

“Ignore the Thrush monster,” he said. “If you don’t want to go missing next, tie her up this instant!”

The very same goblins all ended up gulping at some point. They wrung their hands and clenched their jaws. Still, they remained as though they belonged in my raised beds.

Gloom-glower stomped. “Take-backs, Slippery-palm, Always-lost, go get her! Now!”

Those Captains shuffled forward. They brandished bent blades on rust-freckled hilts. As soon as Thrush’s voice grated, they halted.

“I’m hungry, Admiral,” said Thrush. “Mind if I have a snack?”

Thrush was hungry enough to eat the goblins! But there wouldn't be much to eat from Gloom-glower’s goblins. Their ribs were keeping their skin at bay from their organs. If I kept looking, they seemed to me like skeletons with green sheets tucked into their eyes and pulled over their joints. It was horrible to see how much they suffered and how scared they looked.

And Thrush would eat them. Hawkin had recounted his battle with Gloom-glower where Thrush had eaten dozens of goblins. The human had been deeply regretful of that. I had shrugged it off and told him that was the life of a goblin. Dying was part of living.

Dying should have never been so much a part of living as a goblin. I suddenly understood exactly how Hawkin felt. Goblins didn’t have to get needlessly slaughtered because of the whims of a belligerent king. How come Hawkin knew this about goblins? How did he see this when he was a human?

No matter how Hawkin had been able to see that back then, I saw things differently now. I could ask Thrush and what few allies I had to battle back Gloom-glower’s goblins. Only so many could swarm us, and Thrush was already keeping them at bay.

Would I pitch us into battle just to keep my position as Admiral, even when I would probably still have to deal with my Chance of Mutiny in the red zone? That’s what Gloom-glower would do.

“Please, Thrush,” I said. “Don’t eat them.”

“I said go tie her up!” said Gloom-glower. “What are you waiting for? The Thrush monster won’t eat you. Barnacle-wise just said so herself.” He said to my goblins, “Whoever ties her up first will receive the ultra platinum fable carat promotion package!…What’s the matter with everyone? Somebody step up and obey me, now!…Oh, I see what’s going on. This is that mind control I tried to warn you all about. Mmhmm. We have to break out of Barnacle-vices’ evil mind control spell. She controls the Thrush monster, so we gotta tie her up. Quickly, before we’re all under her control. Don’t let the hoarder take away your promotions from you!”

Gloom-glower’s Captains edged forward. More were hefting weapons. They gritted their teeth. When Thrush yawned, they went pale and shuffled backward. Gloom-glower’s eyes went wide at the small retreat.

In a small whisper-shriek he said, “It’s now ninety-seven percent! This is all your fault! All of you! But most especially you, Stub-toes. How dare you put me in the red zone!”

“But your majesty, I really can’t control that number—”

“—Shut up, Stub-toes. Useless…just like the rest of them. You’re all a bunch of useless snots. Attack! I said attack this instant! Attack!”

“My king, we can’t survive the Thrush monster,” said Fly-booger. “I’ve seen him eat whole hands of goblins…I think we should retreat and maybe try again next time.”

Fly-booger wasn’t alone. By the nods and murmurs, all the other Captains agreed with him.

Stub-toes held up one finger, and he said, “I have to agree, my king. Please, think of your goblins.”

Gloom-glower spun madly, like he had a tail he couldn't catch. He glared into his crowd of goblins. “You’re all against me, aren’t you! Good-for-nothing, lazy, dying-all-the-time, trash! That’s all you are! Trash! And you, Stub-toes, are the trashiest of them all. How dare you put me in the red zone! Liar! Traitor! Nobody orders me to retreat. I’m your king, which means you snots do as I order. When I sound the call for an attack, every last one of you better obey and attack!”

Poor Stub-toes. How has he managed to survive so close to Gloom-glower for so long?

Stub-toes softly patted Gloom-glower on the arm. “My king, please get a hold of yourself. Your goblins are looking at you, and they look angry.”

“Stay away from me!” said Gloom-glower.

“Whoa there,” said Grease-finger. “Easy now, easy. We’ll turn our ships around and pretend like nothing happened…”

Gloom-glower charged Stub-toes and wrenched the rusty kitchen knife from his swollen hand. He shoved the blade in Grease-finger's neck and snapped the blade out the other side. Grease-finger hit the deck and writhed.

I had seen too many goblins die. It never ceased to surprise me how much blood a goblin had in them. When it spilled out, it seemed like way too much for what a body could hold. Grease-finger thrashed in his own blood.

Gloom-glower stepped over the body and splashed the blood with his boots. He let out a sigh, like he was once again floating in a hot spring bath.

“I’ve been meaning to freshen up my figureheads,” he said. “They’ve gotten a pinch too ripe. Anyone else want to join Captain Grease-finger and tell me what to do?…No, I didn’t think so. You idiots! I’m the one you should fear! Not the Thrush monster.”

I stared in horror at Gloom-glower. Not once had I seen him cut down a goblin himself. He always made some other goblin do it. If that was his tactic, it made it seem like he never harmed a goblin himself. Yet here he was getting his hands dirty in front of the world.

I would never treat my goblins like that. Never in a hundred years or more!

Chapter 162

It Doesn’t Have To Be Like This

Chance of Mutiny: 97%.

What would Gloom-glower do to get to me? Thrush would defend me, but countless goblins would die. Even with goblins on both fleets against me, I couldn’t ignore the endless cycle of goblin death.

Goblins suffered as bundled bodies for Gloom-glower’s figureheads. Stub-toes suffered punishments just as vile, and my Slime-tooth suffered worse than any other goblin. Goblins were starving. Why hadn’t they fished the lime smack when it had been a few knots away? The decision not to go after the jellyfish must have come from Gloom-glower, and it was a cruel one. I could remember goblins dying from hunger way back then. Nothing had since changed. Goblins were still starving years after I defected. They were still overworked. In their faces I felt like I could see hopelessness—the utter kind.

I knew from experience that things didn’t have to be this way. Gloom-glower’s way of treating goblins wasn’t the only way. We could have good lives. We didn’t have to be killed on a goblin’s cruel whim, even if he was king. And who made him king anyways!

How could I stand up to Gloom-glower? He was much too powerful. But did I hear correctly? Only moments ago, he’d told Stub-toes that he was in the red zone. Just like me!

His snots wanted to mutiny. My snots wanted to mutiny. We were two different goblins at our core. He wanted to use goblins. I wanted to give goblins a better life, and I think they’d have a better shot of finding it if they knew it could exist. They just needed a chance! Just like Hawkin gave me when he let me live in his woods.

Hawkin said I lead with a good heart and that I should trust myself. Well now was the time for that trust. So what was I supposed to do?

If I were a goblin—which I was!—I would hate Gloom-glower, and I would definitely want to mutiny against him. Since he was in the red zone, that would give all the goblins what they wanted. But I guess the same went for me too. My goblins wanted to mutiny against me.

I heaved a hard and heavy sigh. Goblins deserved better, and I just wanted to give them what they wanted. Sure, I couldn’t give them everything, and I wouldn’t give them my life. But there was something I knew they wanted really bad, and now was the time to deliver!

I stood straight, gazed at the firefly-filled sky, and prayed that Peg-tooth would watch over me, because I had just come up with a plan.

If they want a mutiny, I’ll give them a mutiny. And I’ll make sure they mutiny against Gloom-glower too.

I turned to my Captains and looked into every one of their mean faces. After stepping out of my boots, I scooted them forward.

“I get it!” I said. “You don’t like me, and you think I’m stupid. You don’t want me as your Admiral anymore, and you're willing to cross me and steal my ships. I wanted to build a fleet that all goblins could call home. I wanted to fill it with giant onions and giant garlics, and I did. We hired hundreds of goblins, and we sailed the sea. I thought we were happy. I thought we were doing just fine…Guess I was wrong. But I can’t be like Gloom-glower. I won’t threaten or kill you to stick with me. I won’t promise you things I’ll only take back tomorrow. That’s not the way I want to treat goblins.” I withdrew the key to my forecastle and tossed it by my boots. “Take the key! The hoard is up for grabs! Who wants to be the new leader? Raise your hands!”

“My hands are up!” said Dirt-lobes

“Me too! Everybody look at my hands!” said Barrel-chest.

“No, look at mine!” said Wrath-fellow. “See? See?”

“Um…that’s just one hand…” said Big-guy.

“I’m putting both of ‘em up. Clear as gloop from a runny nose.”

“Liar!” said Lice-louser. “You don’t have a left hand. That’s a stub!”

“Yeah, how can you be the leader when you can’t even show both your hands!” said Funny-smell.

“Mine reach higher!” said Stretch-cracks. “I should be the leader!”

“Well I’m already a Captain, so my hands mean more,” said Lice-louser.

[You have relinquished your fleet.]

[You have lost your Hand-O’War.]

[You have lost 2 galleons.]

[You have lost 7 ketches.]

[You have lost 9 Sloops.]

[You have lost 10 jolly boats.]

[You have lost 1 craft.]

[You have lost your mutiny status. Mutiny status will be reassigned to the new goblin leader.]

While my Captains fought over who got to be the next leader, I turned to Gloom-glower’s goblins.

“Gloom-glower is a bald-faced liar!” I said. “I’m sure he’s promised his Captains Fable Stones and promotions and boots and spit beer and ships and loot. I’m sure many of you were promoted and then demoted the very next day. That’s how he works. He’s always been like that. He’s a scammer. He’ll tell you what you want to hear and stab you in the back.”

I looked directly at Stub-toes. He was going to become the next Slime-tooth. I would bet my life on that. I’d seen him endure so much, and it looked like that’s what he was still doing. He’d always been kind to everyone, even though Gloom-glower rarely ever showed him any. He knew everyone’s name aboard a fleet of thousands of goblins. And he was the second best listener of them all.

“How many of you have spent your whole lives working for him?” I said, still looking at Stub-toes, but addressing the rest. “He’ll treat everyone he wants something from very well to their face. And the goblins who work harder than anything get mistreated by him. Look at Stub-toes! He’s one of the hardest working goblins I’ve ever met, and see how Gloom-glower treats him?”

All eyes turned to Stub-toes who looked absolutely destroyed. He was so bruised that he looked purple. One eyelid and his lip was split. He stood hunched, and one eyebrow was swollen. His hands were so big they looked like meaty hammers.

Gloom-glower smacked Stub-toes on the back of his head. “Stub-toes, don’t you dare listen to her, you idiot!”

“Don’t be mean to Stub-toes!” I said. “Stub-toes did nothing wrong!”

This was it. I had to lead with my heart. I had to say what I needed to say. This was my only chance.

“A true goblin,” I said. “A true leader—”

[Attention all snots! Captain Cheese-pits is now fleet leader. Report to Captain Cheese-pits for further instructions.]

I felt a sharp pain in the center of my chest. My crew suddenly murmured altogether, and I knew they were all receiving the system notification as well.

Tears nipped my cheeks as I climbed the shroud so that all goblins could see me.

I made my voice as big as I could. “Leader or not, a true Admiral would never treat her goblins like that. All the nasty rumors you’ve heard about me are a lie!” I withdrew a chunk of blue cheese from my inventory and swallowed half of it after one bite. Hundreds of goblins gasped at once. But I had more to say. “The closer you get to Gloom-glower, the more he’ll treat you like Stub-toes. And no goblin should ever be treated like that!”

“But…this is my duty,” said Stub-toes. “Gloom-glower says I deserve it. He says all his snots deserve to get treated the way I do…”

His last comment seemed to trigger Gloom-glower’s Captains. They lowered their weapons, turned to each other, and grumbled.

“No goblin deserves to be hurt by him, Stub-toes,” I said.

The little old goblin scuttled forward. “Are you sure…Is that true?”

Gloom-glower yanked him back. “She’s trying to use her mind control on you, moron!”

“You’re one of the bravest goblins, Stub-toes,” I said. “You’ve survived him through everything—”

“—Don’t listen to her! You’re nothing without me. You would be dead without me.”

To Gloom-glower’s Captains I said, “Stub-toes is one of the most skilled goblins I’ve ever met. He does everything for Gloom-glower. He can manage snots and Captains alike, he can pour the best beer-and-grounds I’ve ever had, and he’s someone you can talk to when you’re afraid to speak up about—”

“—And he gives the best massages,” said Fly-booger.

The Captains really came together on that one. Heads nodded vigorously. There were even a few sighs that seemed wistful.

“And no goblin who works that hard should look like he’s been kicked and punched with words and fists!” I said. “Or like his ears have been blown and pinched with yells and fingernails! Or like his nose has been knocked and twisted with whacks and smacks!”

Stub-toes brought his hand up to his heart. His eyes became big, and he seemed for a moment like a small goblin child. It was like a new light glowed from his soul through his eyes.

Gabby suddenly spider-climbed the shroud. She snatched a smear of blue cheese from my palm and stuffed her face. “I’ve been eating the moldiest of the cheeses, and nothing bad has ever happened to me! Please thank you.”

Pinky-chew skipped up the rope rungs of the shroud, and she also swiped blue cheese from my palm. “Me too! Gloom-glower’s just been telling you lies.”

“The blue cheese is my favorite,” said Soft-song from below.

I looked at Stub-toes as if he was the only goblin that existed at that moment. “Things don’t have to be this way. You know Gloom-glower better than anyone else. Say something Stub-toes! Now’s your chance.”

Stub-toes seemed about to speak, but Gloom-glower cut him off. “Shut your mouth, Stub-toes!”

“You don’t have to listen to him anymore, Stub-toes.”

“That’s enough! I knew you would use your talking on us.” Gloom-glower charged his Captains until he was screaming at their faces. “Attack! Attack! Attack! What’s wrong with you! Attack!”

Thrush’s cavernous laugh resounded. It filled the hollow of the cargo hold and shook the leaves of all the vegetation. It even knocked many goblin knees together. Gloom-glower’s goblins shrank back until there was nowhere left to retreat. I heard a couple splashes off the gangway.

“Remember those promotion packages I promised?” said Gloom-glower. “If you don’t obey, you’re all about to lose them. Fly-booger! Don’t you want that awesome basic package?”

“Now wait a minute,” said Fly-booger. “Didn’t you promise me the brilliant diamond package where I could become a buddy god with you when you ascend? You even said I was your favorite goblin!”

“Nuh-uh!” said Meat-fist. “I’m his favorite goblin. And how come Fly-Booger is getting a better promotion package than me?”

Needle-nose seemed outraged. “Fly-Booger gets to be a god? All I get is the exquisite silver package!”

“You guys got packages?” said Cough-knack. “All I got was a massage!”

The Captains erupted in outrage. They seemed one poke in the eye away from brawling.

“That’s enough out of you idiots!” said Gloom-glower.

His Captains began shoving each other, and Gloom-glower took an elbow to the rib. He hit the deck and wheezed. Stub-toes rushed over and offered a hand to help him up. Gloom-glower knocked his hand away, rose, and loomed over Stub-toes.

“This is all your fault, Stub-toes!” he said breathlessly. “You’re just another infected hangnail that needs to get peeled off. Oh yes, I’m going to take my time and enjoy this…”

Gloom-glower ran his hand over the rusty kitchen knife that was still wet with his Captain’s blood. He loomed over Stub-toes and raised the blade. His eyes betrayed his killing intent.

“Stub-toes!” I said. “It doesn’t have to end like this!”

Chapter 163

100%

Stub-toes’ line of sight flicked over to me and then up to the knife that was so rusty, it couldn't hold a glint. The knife descended. Stub-toes grabbed Gloom-glower by his wrist and halted the knife’s descent.

Something came over Stub-toes. It was hard to tell exactly what happened, but he looked different. He looked fierce for once. He glared up at Gloom-glower’s snarl.

The act of defiance from a little old goblin hushed all goblins. Gloom-glower strained against Stub-toes’ bracing arm.

Stub-toes’ lips began to tremble. He muttered something, and as one, all the goblins leaned in to hear. He mumbled again, and we leaned in even more.

At last, Stub-toes found his voice. “M-m-mutiny!”

During the hush of goblins, the sea breeze blew by. Monstrous fireflies droned. The sea crashed against the hull. Rigging clanged up high. Sails flapped and snapped. In the distance, a fish leapt out of the water and arced.

“Mutiny!” said Stub-toes.

That word was suddenly spread by whisper. It was whispered as a question, as a statement, as a matter of fact. The whisper rose to a mumble. It was mumbled with trepidation, with excitement, with hope. The mumble rose to a vigor. It was shouted with freedom, it was screamed with defiance, it was shrieked from throats that clanged like bells of war!

The deafening cry for mutiny spread to the goblins behind me. They were Cheese-pits’ crew.

“Mutiny!” said Lice-louser.

“Mutiny! Mutiny!” said Rip-roar.

“Mutiny! Mutiny! Mutiny!” said Neigh-nose.

Cheese-pits trembled in my boots. He trembled so hard that the key to the forecastle bounced in his hand. His crew descended upon him, shouting for mutiny.

The call to mutiny engulfed my former ship and spread throughout both fleets. It was so loud, fireflies scattered in what might have been something like fear. Birds leapt from the jungle of the raised beds. Never had goblins been so loud.

I suddenly received a system notification.

[Attention all snots!]

[System mutiny mechanics commencing.]

[All ships are up for grabs.]

[Any goblin may capture the hoard of a ship to claim it.]

[Claimed ships are subject to mutiny flag mechanics.]

[Flags will change to represent the new ship owner.]

[Mutiny ends when all flags have been captured.]

[At the end of the mutiny, each ship owner will receive a Fable Stone.]

Once more it went quiet, and I realized that every single goblin received the same system notification. Hundreds of thousands of goblins gazed at the sky as if Peg-tooth had addressed them directly.

[A second mutiny has been added to the fray.]

[Double mutiny mechanics commencing.]

[Goblins from either fleet may capture any ship regardless of whose fleet they once belonged to.]

With that, every single goblin eyeball turned to look at the Hand-O’War. It was like having all the stars in a night sky focus directly on you. With all the eyeballs, it seemed like there were less leaves in a forest, or there were less shiny scales on all the fish combined. And that’s how they gleamed, like fish scales under sunlight.

The hush lived for a heartbeat more before the world lurched into absolute pandemonium. Goblins stampeded the Hand-O’War. They raced to the hatch, and I knew they were going for the forecastle where I kept my hoard.

Like the crest of waves, goblins clashed together in skirmishes. By the dozens, goblins splashed overboard like it was raining bodies. Goblins fought for their lives. Dirty fingernails raked across green skin. Yellow teeth sank into shoulders, arm pits, knee pits, bellies, and pierced through ears.

Goblins leapt from the shrouds and grabbed onto firefly limbs. In moments, goblins were riding fireflies. Tons of goblins clambered up and onto the backs of fireflies.

A muscled goblin rode one that was as big as a warthog. It was Fighting-girl!

“Every snot for themselves!” said Fighting-girl, then she dug her heels into the firefly’s side.

So many goblins could die for a chance at a hoard. Had mutiny been the wrong choice? But that’s where everything was headed, and it was a chance to change things. The pieces of my heart each broke for the goblins.

Goblins swarmed me, but a large furry hand picked me up. Thrush cradled me in his arms.

“We’re on quite the adventure, Barnacle-eyes.”

“Thrush, goblins are gonna drown! We have to save them. Will you help me?”

“What about your ship?”

“It’s not mine anymore. I lost it all. I lost everything. I have nothing left.”

Goblins smashed into Thrush, but Thrush did not budge. Like waves bashing a boulder, goblins were forced around him by the rapid rush of green bodies.

“Everything?” said Thrush.

“Everything. Wait. Slime-tooth is out there! He’s in trouble! We gotta find him. Help me save the goblins, and help me save Slime-tooth. Oh, and help me save Gabby and Pinky-chew, and Old Wrinkle-twinkle. Soft-song too! And Boggo and Ella! Tell Hawkin and Abigail to help save goblins from drowning. I don’t want them to die! And Remember-not too! Please save her too!”

I leapt from Thrush’s arms with desperate tears flying from the rims of my eyes. My family! I couldn’t lose my little family! I squeezed through the mob. I had to find Slime-tooth first! He needed my help the most.

Chapter 164

Capture the Flag

The air before Thrush sliced open. Bright white light emitted from the gash. It was like trying to look into a star that was way too close. Thrush stepped into the slice like he had to first put one leg over a small fence. After he entered, the slice closed up without a trace.

Stampeding goblins replaced the view. They trampled goblin noses, legs, ribs, arms, and toes. They shrieked hysterically, screamed with bloodlust, and cried out the names of goblin gods.

And what a show the goblin gods must be watching. The dark green flags on thousands of ships suddenly bleached white. The distant ships fizzled with goblins. They reminded me of the carbonation of beer that leapt from foam. Thousands of monster fireflies carried goblins off into the world.

Those flags began changing. They began filling out with colors and images in the blink of an eye. One flag turned brown. In its center, two squinting eyes appeared by a spreading stain of white. Almond-gaze must have captured the hoard. Another flag turned blue, and the image of a wet thumb manifested in the middle. That had to belong to Suck-thumb. Dented-skull’s flag depicted a green caved-in skull with cracks that ran from the dent to the jaw. A sleeping goblin was depicted on yet another flag at its very bottom, and I recognized that goblin. It was most certainly Laze-lay. Orange suddenly stained a white flag. A bumpy tongue filled the whole flag a moment later. I couldn’t believe Wart-tongue was still alive! She was an old goblin. Pierce-nose was another older goblin, and I could tell by the multiple rings in the nostril of a giant nose that the flag belonged to them.

They were good goblins, and they looked out for their snots. I needed to look out for mine too, which meant I had to start with Slime-tooth. What if he got hurt? What if his ship sank with him on it? He could drown, or he could get trampled. Scenarios circled my mind, and I saw changing depictions of his death.

“Gabby!” I said. “Pinky-chew!”

I knew they would help me, but I couldn’t find them. Goblins maddeningly ransacked the ship. They cut into onions and garlics, they tore at the vines, they pilfered whatever they could find in barrels, and they shoved into the hatch. It seemed that every goblin aboard wanted to try and commandeer the Hand-O’War. That left the jolly boats, swinging on their davits, untouched—but only for a moment.

I raced to the jolly boats, elbowing my way through goblins. I pulled myself over shoulders and slithered over heads. I pushed between backs and pulled on limbs like they were ropes. Goblins were commandeering the jolly boats just as I got to them. I leapt into one and unleashed it from its davit. The jolly boat plummeted in a tip and hit the water with a smack.

I tumbled between thwarts, and then I beat the sea with my paddle. Goblins treaded water, and my jolly boat bumped into Wide-waddler.

“Help!” he said.

“Grab my hand!” I said.

I heaved Wide-waddler over the gunwale. He tumbled in and rolled onto his back.

“Have you seen Slime-tooth?” I said.

Wide-waddler shook his head as he closed his eyes and panted.

“Please save me!” said a floundering goblin.

It was Slither-lisp, and I hauled her aboard.

A pair of small green hands clutched the gunwale. “Pull me up!” said Dimple. “Up! Up!”

Wide-waddler and Slither-lisp helped yank Dimple aboard.

“Have you seen Slime-tooth?” I asked Dimple.

“Saw him on a figurehead a week ago!” he said.

How terrible! And that was no help at all. Which one?

I scrambled for the paddle and with it I smacked the sea. The other goblins aboard used their bare hands to help paddle us forward. We paddled right into a group of goblins that were spilling off of a sinking ship.

“Get the goblins!” I said.

One by one, we pulled them aboard. The jolly boat became too full to take on any more. I had barely enough room to paddle.

“Row!” I said. “This way!”

But we went nowhere! The goblins were all paddling in different directions. Now was not the time to train them.

“Good luck!” I said, and I dove overboard.

I swam past water-gurgling goblins. Dumb-happy was one of them, and he dog-paddled to me and climbed my back. I was pushed underwater. When I grunted, bubbles blew from my lips and shot to the surface of the sea. Dumb-happy’s heels beat my head and my shoulders and my spine. I had to wrestle him off of me, and I struggled with panic to breach.

Wreckage from the sunken ship broke the surface. I led Dumb-happy over and helped him and other goblins onto a panel of wreckage that floated like a raft.

“Slime-tooth?” I said. “Have you seen Slime-tooth?”

“Isn’t he on Gloom-glower’s ship?” said Dumb-happy.

Sneeze-faker pulled himself up onto the wreckage. “Sometimes,” he said. “He’s usually on the dark ship with the barrels.”

Gloom-glower’s conjoined ship loomed right over us. Goblins were tumbling over the taffrail and splashing into the sea. I swam to the ship through water-gobbling goblins and hundreds of bumping bailing buckets. The mixed material that made the hull was easy to grasp onto and easy to climb.

Aboard the conjoined ship, the white flag turned bright orange and a black illustration of a crescent smile and triangular teeth stained the fabric. It must have been Pumpkin-teeth that successfully commandeered Gloom-glower’s old ship.

It must have been quite a battle, because goblins were just as voracious about brawling over this ship as they were for the Hand-O’War. I fought my way through the horde of goblins, avoiding as many claws and yellow teeth as I could.

When I got tackled to the deck, someone’s jaw clenched around my arm. Their fangs broke my skin, and the pain drove me to shriek. I jabbed the goblin in the eyes which released my arm from their biting vice. I jumped to my feet as if staying down a half second more would be the end of me.

“Slime-tooth!” I said.

I shoved goblins out of my way until I made it to the shroud which circled the main mast. I climbed it, and gazed around at the fleet.

Flags were blinking colors everywhere! The fleet looked like a color changing quilt. One of the flags had an image of an arm bent in the wrong place, and I knew it was Broke-arm’s flag. Another green flag had an illustration of a fast hand. That had to be Slip-steal’s new ship. A bright yellow flag suddenly flashed, and a purple gaseous image filled the space. It belonged to none other than Crouch-farter. A fleshy pink flag bore a picture of two cheeks being crushed. Just below that flag, I saw Captain Squeeze-wheeze celebrate around goblins with raised hands. They were probably already asking for a promotion. A shiny black flag with images of tied knots flapped in the wind. If there was any goblin that should be Captain, it was most certainly Braid-back. She was a fierce goblin; she could survive anything.

Others weren't as able to survive as she was. Hundreds of bobbing goblins flailed at sea. Their arms should be used for swimming, not flailing! A group of them suddenly vanished, and I frowned. They didn’t sink, they just vanished in thin air. Another group of goblins beside them vanished a moment later.

On the other side of the ship Thrush sped through the water with insane speed. He aimed for a group of goblins that were screaming for help. Thrush stretched his massive mouth so wide that his cheeks split into stringy strands. He scooped the goblins up into his maw, imprisoning the goblins behind bars of fangs and bars of ripped cheek flesh. Goblin limbs poked out between those bars.

“No eating, Thrush!” I said. “Save them!”

Around a mouthful of at least eleven goblins, Thrush said, “I can carry more this way.”

Then he sped to the coast, leaving behind a wake that rolled over wreckage and goblins until smashing into the hulls of nearby sloops.

Wet-pants rode the wave created by the wake. He cried for help, and our gazes met.

“Hold on!” I said.

I emptied a nearby barrel of fresh water, rolled the barrel to the taffrail, and heaved it overboard. It bounced in the water. Wet-pants clung to the rim and hauled himself inside.

“Go that way to the coast!” I said.

It wasn’t only fresh water that swirled around my bare feet. My own blood was mixed in there. It was streaming down my bit arm. Ignoring the throbbing, I sucked a deep breath, leapt from the shroud, and thrashed my way through goblins. Just as I descended below deck, I saw the flag change to a stripe of brown-green scabs. Stripe-scars must have defeated Pumpkin-teeth as the new Captain of Gloom-glower’s old conjoined ship.

“Slime-tooth!” I said as I explored the ship.

Adrenaline felt like an infinite strength. I bashed my way through the cargo hold and as many corridors as I could. Without goblins to bail, water was seeping in through the walls. The ship was slowly sinking. I scoured the ship. I even dunked my head below the water just to be sure that Slime-tooth wasn’t sleeping on the lowest floor.

He was nowhere to be found, and when I emerged back on deck, the flag was new. It was blue, and lips ran diagonally across the flag over angry teeth. Dogs-growl had captured the hoard from Stripe-scars.

More and more ships were losing their white flags. Wax-noble’s flag was bright yellow, and in the middle was a figure that looked resolute about something—I don’t know what. The sloops beside that one had a purple flag with two green hands with specific fingers. I’d seen Sign-hands make those exact same hand signs before. There were also two of the same flags on two different sloops! Both flags were brown with black caterpillars on them. Ah, it was Bush-brow that commandeered both sloops! Pink-lip’s flag was white with a big fat smooch in the middle. Foul-scowl had a multi-hued green flag with a dangerous eyebrow on it.

But none of those flags belonged to the dark ship that Sneeze-faker had mentioned. Then I saw it. Its flag had an incomplete ear on a red background. There were two goblins it could have belonged to, but my guess was that it was Ear-tipped’s.

Oh, I hoped Slime-tooth was aboard Ear-tipped’s ship. I threw myself overboard and smacked into the sea. As I swam past struggling goblins, some of them tried to climb me.

“No! No, don’t climb me. Follow me! Swim like this.”

Jagged-sad and a few other goblins were able to follow me as I led them to the hull of the dark ship. We held onto the mixed material of the hull with all our strength because the waves tried to smash us off.

“Have you seen Slime-tooth?” I asked Jagged-sad.

“He’s supposed to be on this ship, but we’re not allowed to see him.”

It was tough climbing the hull, but I chewed my tongue until I hauled myself up. Along the way, I heard water trickle into the ship from the hull. As soon as I was aboard, the flag altered to show a green itchy head on a red background. Scratch-scalp was the new Captain. He must have had it easier than other Captains because there weren’t many goblins aboard.

“Slime-tooth!” I said as I threw myself below deck. “Has anyone seen Slime-tooth!”

The ship was very dark below deck. Water sloshed along the floor of every level, and there were a ton of barrels. I bumped into goblins, but they didn’t fight me over it. A goblin checking behind barrels must not have seemed like a threat to them.

I checked under barrels too, just in case Slime-tooth was sleeping in one of them. In my search, I found no sign of my like-a-father.

When I returned above deck, a flock of fireflies flew just over my head. Goblins dangled from the monstrous hairy legs, goblins straddled their backs, goblins clutched their hairy manes, and some goblins slipped off and plummeted to the sloop deck or to the sea.

“Slime-tooth! It’s me! Where are you?”

Thirty sloops away, I saw a flag change into Gloom-glower’s dark green flag. Then it changed to an orange flag with a red hand print in the middle. Palm-stunner must have just captured the hoard from Gloom-glower’s attempt to recover something in the mutiny.

Goblins were still vanishing at sea. Thrush rose like a monstrous fish-bear to capture more goblins in his mouth-cage. Pinky-chew came zooming between sloops on a jolly boat, propelled by her breath. She was yanking goblins out of the water and piling them between the thwarts. Stumble-not was with her, but I couldn’t spy Boggo or Captain Ella. What happened to the sloop besties?

I gazed back at my old Hand-O’War. The flag had Gabby’s cheeky face on it. Then it changed to Sharp-Elbow’s flag.

Oh where could Slime-tooth be? He wasn’t on Gloom-glower’s old conjoined ship; he wasn’t on the dark ship.

I peered around at the flags, hoping to see one of Slime-tooth. Two of the nearest flags were definitely not Slime-tooth’s. If I had to guess, they were Comb-under’s and Foggy-squinter’s. I recognized the speckled flag of Lice-louser. The ship rolled onto its side and sank. Cheese-pits’ flag became stained over by Runs-in-sleeps, before Cheese-pits was carried across the deck and thrown overboard.

There were still thousands more flags. Tons of them were sinking without goblins to bail them. Where did I need to look next for Slime-tooth? How could I find him in time?

I braced myself on the taffrail. My legs and arms were shaking so much from running and swimming and protecting myself from skirmishing goblins.

An overburdened firefly slammed into the sea. Its wings slapped at the waves as it kicked with its legs. When its butt blinked, a big ball of light flashed underwater. I saw the silhouettes of sinking goblins in the flashes. Overhead, some goblins had gotten hold of Pinky-chew’s bags of breath. They zipped across the sky, holding tight to the deflating bags.

“Slime-tooth!” I called to the sea.

There was no other option. I leapt overboard once more and slammed into the sea. I had to check the sloops one by one until I found him. The closest sloop sank before I could get to it. More than a hundred goblins bobbed on the choppy sea where it went down. Their haunting wails were sure to give me nightmares.

“Slime-tooth!” I said as I felt a stitch in my ribs.

Chapter 165

All Together

I clutched the taffrail of the tenth sloop that I scoured for Slime-tooth. I could barely stand. My chest was heaving faster than ever before. I panted like a dog under a summer sun. My throat was raw from screaming. My muscles burned with every move I made, and I couldn’t help but wince. Every wince squeezed salt into my eyes. I had such a hard time catching my breath that I felt dizzy. Not to mention my salt-stung bite marks, and the many bruises I got from diving through mobs of goblins.

On my knees, clutching the taffrail, I gazed out at sea. There was Gabby’s flag again! It wasn’t on the Hand-O’War this time. It was on one of my galleons. Among a hundred goblins I couldn’t even try to recognize, I caught glimpses of Old Wrinkle-twinkle and Soft-song. They pushed back goblins that tried to force their way below deck where the hoard most definitely was stashed. And the galleon slowly turned and sailed for shore.

Goblins meanwhile dripped from passing fireflies. Many more were carried away. At least 40 goblins riding fireflies flew over the Mist Hidden wall.

Was Slime-tooth on one of them? Maybe he was still on a sloop. I scanned the thousands of flags for Slime-tooth’s flag, just in case he captured a hoard. A tan flag had an image of flopping green ears on it which could only belong to Ears-back. A striped flag was all the proof I needed that Stink-skunk was alive and well. Callous-kicker’s flag was colored like a bruise blurred beneath a peel of thin skin. Oh, and there was a flag depicting a drop of slime! But as the flag waved, I also saw a sleeping goblin’s mouth, and I realized it was Nap-drool’s flag.

Two sloops crashed together behind me. One of the sloop’s Captains was riding a firefly over the deck. She brandished her own fist as the firefly bucked.

“That’s right,” she said. “Captain Bee-bee! I finally got a piece of the pie!”

As goblins erupted from the hatch, the flag stained to a cross of bones over a mean skull. Cross-no had captured the new hoard. Bee-bee’s firefly bucked, and then it sped off over the woods.

The flag of the other sloop that had crashed wasn’t Slime-tooth’s either. I hauled myself up to my feet, but I fell back down. I tried again, and I fell. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t throw myself overboard.

“Slime-tooth…”

He needed me. So, with a shouted grunt and with spit flying from my teeth, I forced myself up, and I toppled over the taffrail. I hit the water belly first and the wind was knocked out of me. It floated up in bubbles. I was sinking. My arms wouldn’t move right. They were too heavy, and my muscles didn’t want to keep working. I kicked, and I rose. I kicked, and my lips and nose breached.

“Slime-tooth!” I gurgled.

My wide eyes tried to peer at the sloops, but the sea kept rolling over my head. From underwater I could only see a flashing show of blurry flags changing colors. Come on, Barnacle-eyes! You can do it! But my arms—

I found myself suddenly on shore. I was floating above the sand. At least a hundred humans were swimming out and saving goblins from drowning. Hundreds of goblins choked and coughed water ashore.

“What happened?” I said. “What’s going on?”

I was cradled in Hawkin’s arms. The only thing that could explain it was that he had been drinking Slow Time beers. That’s why the goblins had been vanishing in the sea! He’d been saving them. I looked up at his beard and chin.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Where’s Slime-tooth?” I rasped.

“We haven’t found him.”

I scrambled in his arms. He had to let me down because I had to go back out to sea and continue my search. “I gotta go find him!”

“We’ll find him. But you’re out of strength. If you go back out there like this, you’ll drown. And I have to follow the Admiral’s orders. She made it very clear that I have to keep goblins from drowning, okay?”

I wasn’t going to let him hold me back. I kicked and scratched until he dropped me. After stumbling and sliding on the sand a few times, I forced one green foot in front of the other and ran to the sea. A blur tackled me. It was Abigail, and we rolled in the sand.

“Let me go!” I said.

“Wait, wait!” she said.

“Get off of me!”

I chomped on her arm and tried to grind my teeth in her flesh. Somehow, she endured it.

“Barnacle-eyes! Stop that! Ouch! I’m trying to help you. Let me give you strength. I have fortification beers. It’ll keep your stamina and strength up.”

I pulled my teeth from the holes they made in her arm. She dropped a few beers in the sand and I rushed to pop their corks out. With each sip, I felt renewed of strength and stamina and fire!

I then bolted for the sea. “Sorry I bit you!” I said, and I hoped she and Hawkin understood that I had to keep looking no matter what.

A giant brown hand made of beer with fingernails of beer foam wrapped around my torso. It lifted me up, and I craned to see that it was the hand from Abigail’s Third Hand attribute.

“We’ll help look for Slime-tooth.” she said. “Which ship are you going to?”

As soon as I pointed to a sloop, I found myself on its deck by the helm. The flag snapped in the wind. The illustration on the flag was of two round cheeks squeezing a small smile. That meant Cub-cheeks had captured the hoard.

On the sloops around us, I saw a purple and green flag with a set of long eyelids on it. I couldn’t see Droop-lids on deck, so he was probably below deck with the hoard. Slime-tooth wasn’t there either. Another sloop had a brown flag with strokes of black lines which belonged to Tangle-beard. One of the flag’s had a grey tooth! Oh, but that was Grey-tooth’s flag, not Slime-tooth’s. Another flag stained with a new image. It was an entire mouth surrounded by bouncing teeth. It belonged to one of three Captains, most likely Cackle-laugh.

Below, Remember-not and Knot-knuckle paddled a jolly boat. Boggo and Ella were with them, and they headed straight for the dark ship which I had earlier searched.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “He’s not aboard that ship! He’s not aboard that ship!”

I tried calling out again because it seemed as though they couldn’t hear me above the pandemonium. Waving my hands didn’t work to catch their attention. Neither did jumping in place.

As soon as the jolly boat collided with the hull of the dark sloop, Boggo and Ella leapt onto the materials of the hull and slipped through. Just then, the ship’s flag changed to show an image of a crusty booger with wings.

A crowd of goblins lurched into me, and I was flattened against the helm. We were then all pushed starboard, and the goblins that hit the taffrail first toppled overboard. I elbowed goblins off of me and pushed them off of my feet. I checked to be sure that none of the goblins who fell overboard were not Slime-tooth. It broke my heart to see their terrified faces.

I turned away and ran for the hatch to search below deck.

“Slime-tooth!”

Just as I took the first step down, a goblin came running straight up at me. We grabbed each other by the arm to stop from colliding.

“Barnacle-eyes!” he said.

“Stink-lip! Have you seen Slime-tooth?”

“No, not here.”

“Do you know where he could be?”

“He’s on the dark ship.”

“I checked there already. Are you sure he’s not on this ship?”

“Sorry Barnacle-eyes, I haven’t seen him.”

“I gotta go find him.”

I turned and started running, but Stink-lip grabbed my arm.

“Wait! Barnacle-eyes, wait!”

“You know where he is?” I said.

“I never believed anything they said about you. I couldn’t believe it. The poisoning, the poaching, the mind control—none of it made any sense. That’s not the kind of goblin you are.”

“Thanks, but I gotta go.”

“Wait! You were my only friend. I’m sorry I went on Meat-fist’s ship.”

“It’s the way of things, but I gotta go, Stink-lip. Slime-tooth might be in danger.”

“I’ll help you! I’ll help you look for him! I’ll check this way.”

Stink-lip bounded across the deck. He flung himself overboard. I ran port side and flung myself overboard. As I fell, I thought about all the humans and goblins helping me.

Hawkin and Abigail were saving goblins and helping to look for Slime-tooth. Pinky-chew and Stumble-not were out there pulling snots out of the sea. Remember-not and Knot-knuckle were clearly on a mission to find Slime-tooth. Thrush was doing a Thrush job of things. Gabby and Old Wrinkle-twinkle and Soft-song were looking after one of my galleons. Even Stink-lip was helping!

They were what was left of my family, and their help was sure to help Slime-tooth turn up. Just that thought gave me more strength than any of Abigail’s beers.

Chapter 166

All That’s Left

The sand was warm. I lay in it, unable to move. All of Abigail’s beers put a tremendous thirst in my throat. Even my tongue was out of energy. It lay lolled outside of my mouth. Breaths were hard to come by since I felt so utterly weak. I didn’t know a goblin could break through her limits of endurance over and over.

My heart felt the weakest. I couldn’t take it. I felt useless when I couldn’t return to sea to search for Slime-tooth. All I could do was let my head roll on its side so that I could look out at all the ships. There were only a handful of white flags left. One by one, they became stained with colors and symbols.

One of them stained bruise-purple. Crusty bubbles filled the flag from corner to corner. Bubble-scab had always wanted to be Captain. I was glad she got one. Another flag turned black and shards of bones appeared upon it. Ouch-kneecap was probably the owner. The last white flag stained green, and a darker question mark appeared in the middle.

Might it be Brain-hunh’s flag?

Below the line of the sea, humans dragged wet goblins ashore. They worked quickly to revive and bring comfort to the goblins. Only a speckle remained at sea.

Around the Mist Hidden wall, a ship cruised up. It was one of my sloops, and Gabby’s flag whipped in the wind. The jungle had been squashed underfoot, and some of the sails were torn.

With tremendous effort, I leaned up on an elbow. I couldn’t believe it. Gabby was on deck holding Stub-toes’ hand! There was Soft-song and Old Wrinkle-twinkle too! They had at least a dozen more goblins onboard who I recognized. I couldn’t return their eager waving, but I could smile back at them.

A jolly boat sped around the sloop. Pinky-chew was at the stern, blowing a massive gale from her lungs. Stumble-not pulled goblins from the water as they went. With such speed, the jolly boat slid up the sand and bumped into a handful of goblins.

Remember-not and Knot-knuckle arrived right behind them, and they carried exhausted goblins ashore and passed them to the humans who tended to them.

Thrush waddle-sprinted ashore. He leaned over and dumped goblins out of his mouth. The goblins looked petrified, and they trembled with wide eyes. Not a moment later, Thrush cut through the world, and a giant chute of water gushed from a splash behind some sloops.

I struggled to my knees as my crew came barreling to me. They dropped to their knees to hug me, and I couldn’t hug them all back at once, however hard I tried.

“Slime-tooth?” I asked them.

“No Slime-tooth, yet,” said Gabby.

“Where’s Boggo and Captain Ella?”

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” said Stumble-not. “I had to follow Captain Ella’s orders.”

“What happened to them? I saw them go aboard the dark ship.”

Hawkin and Abigail suddenly appeared out of thin air. They had a bunch of goblins in their arms, and they awkwardly set them down like they were dropping off squirming cats.

“Haven’t found Slime-tooth yet,” said Abigail. “We’ll keep looking.”

“Wait, take me with you!” I said.

Hawkin and Abigail already had beer to their lips. They vanished, and all I was left with was a view of the small Craft bobbing at sea. It was empty. Wait!—It wasn’t empty! I was just able to see a blue bestie and a yellow bestie inside.

Hawkin and Abigail suddenly appeared once more. They carried the Craft between them, and they lowered it to the sand right in front of us.

“Whoa!” said Boggo. “That was fast!”

Boggo’s fur was matted with blood. His teeth were red, and he was trembling. He winced as he favored his weak rib. Ella was on guard.

“We’ve got him!” she said.

“Slime-tooth?” I said.

Hawkin and Abigail lifted Slime-tooth out of the Craft. He seemed dazed but alive. After rolling out a stack of bedrolls, they gently laid him down and made him comfortable.

“Give him space,” said Hawkin. “Back away.”

While the humans tended to Slime-tooth with healing beers, I wrung my hands something fierce. I chewed the inside of my cheek. My heart beat rapidly.

“He looks terrible,” said Gabby.

“Gloom-glower did this,” said Stub-toes.

“I have to go back out there!” said Pinky-chew. “There's more goblins to save!”

Already there were hundreds of goblins around. There were so many that they split off into the woods. There were those under the care of the humans, and there were those who found out that the humans were passing out food.

“So he’s not a god?” said Stumble-not as he stared at Slime-tooth.

“He’s not?” said Knot-knuckle.

“He’s my like-a-father!” I said. “Is he going to be okay?”

It wasn’t too long until Slime-tooth was able to sit up. He smacked his lips after the beers he’d just had. He smiled a crooked, mangled smile. His cloudy eyes searched us until his gaze landed on me.

Squinting, he said, “Barnacle-eyes? Is that you? My like-a-daughter?”

“It’s me! I’m most definitely me! I saw you on Home Camp but I couldn’t wake you up, and I didn’t want to wake you up. You always warned me about waking up a sleeping goblin. But now I wish I’d woken you up! I wish I’d carried you away! I couldn’t see your face under the blanket! I couldn’t see—”

“—Come here.”

Being in his arms wasn’t a question of how much strength I had left.

“Not too tight,” he said. “Not too tight please. I’ve got many things that hurt to touch.”

“I found you,” I said. “I found you.”

“I’m right here.”

“But what about before, where were you? I kept looking and looking, and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I was sleeping on Home Camp. When I returned, the ship was sinking. That fat sloop rat and her little friend saved me.”

Boggo had until then been tending to Ella. He paused to say, “We’re going to let that one slide.”

“What’s going on?” said Slime-tooth. “Did I miss something?”

“Barnacle-eyes started a mutiny,” said Stub-toes.

“Shh! Shh! Don’t say that! Oh no, please don’t say that!” Slime-tooth was suddenly taken with fervor. He thrashed like a flopping fish. With his crumpled fingers he started desperately digging in the sand. “Please, don’t hurt me! I promise I’ll never say that! Please, I can’t take it anymore! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything you said I did wrong. I didn’t mean to sink the ship. I didn’t mean to drink the beer. I didn't mean to eat the food. I didn’t mean to sneeze. I didn’t mean to sleep. I didn’t—”

Abigail swooped in to calm him down. “Slime-tooth, you’re with Barnacle-eyes now. You’re safe. Gloom-glower isn’t king anymore. There’s no more fleet.”

There were now less than a thousand ships left. Each of them had a new Captain. Goblins were back to bailing water. Ships were sailing off in the three remaining cardinal directions. It was a great disband.

“It’s okay Slime-tooth,” said Remember-not. “All your friends are here. We’ll protect you.”

Slime-tooth, although calmed, still cowered at my knees. I hugged him fiercely as if he were being attacked, like I could be his shield. Then my entire crew came closer to pat him on the back and say sweet reassurances. It must have worked because Slime-tooth uncrumpled, and he stopped shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it. I get nightmares.”

I couldn’t keep myself together. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that’s sorry, Slime-tooth. I’m so sorry.”

How did things get like this? Why didn’t we save him sooner? I should have gone to see him the moment I returned. Why did he refuse Hawkin and Abigail’s help? I wished I could have saved him sooner!

“I should get back to work, shouldn’t I?” he said.

“No!” I said. “No more work. Gloom-glower’s gone. It’s over.”

Slime-tooth searched me with his foggy eyes like he was finally catching on to things. Another mangled smile came to him. “Oh, Barnacle-eyes, it’s over!”

My crew gathered to hug him. He tilted his head back, and under the sun I could clearly see pure joy on his face.

“Are these your friends?” he said.

“Now and forever,” said Soft-song. “We’ll follow her anywhere.”

“Where’s the rest? Where’s your fleet?”

“No more fleet,” I said. “They mutinied. Well, I guess they mutinied against Captain Cheese-pits, but either way, it’s gone. I lost everything.”

“Well ptooey on them! They didn’t know what they had in you.”

“I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, little one.”

We must have been causing quite a commotion. Goblins around us started taking peeks at us. They whispered to each other what we could clearly hear.

“That can’t be Slime-tooth can it?” said a goblin.

“I think that’s him,” said another.

“Didn’t he smite Gloom-glower?” said a snot. “Why isn’t he up in the sky with the other goblin gods?”

“What do you mean?” said another snot. “That’s Slime-tooth. He makes the ptooey for the spit beer.”

“Some of the goblins think I’m a god?” said Slime-tooth.

Boggo let out a sigh that I thought sounded guilty. “It happens.”

“Would it be all right if I could sleep somewhere?” said Slime-tooth. “I’m awfully tired, and I don’t feel well.”

“What would make you comfortable?” said Hawkin. “Home Camp?”

Slime-tooth pinched his chin with fingers that looked like they’d been rebent by hammers. “Could I sleep somewhere around Barnacle-eyes and her friends? I haven’t been allowed to talk to another goblin besides Gloom-glower in over a year.”

“Then how about we get all of you to Home Camp,” said Hawkin.

And Hawkin passed everyone a sip of Home Camp. One by one—poof!—we found ourselves on Home Camp under the weird colors of the ethereal plane. We gingerly helped Slime-tooth roll onto the cot. He gave a happy sigh as he wiggled until he was comfortable. At least ten goblin hands tucked him in at once. He smiled at that.

“We’re going to make one last search along the coast,” said Hawkin.

He and Abigail left.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” said Gabby.

“I’m wide awake,” said Stub-toes, and they were still holding hands.

“I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight!” said Stink-lip.

“I’m sorry little ones,” said Slime-tooth. “I’m just so tired. I wouldn’t mind if you talked. It would be a nice sound to fall asleep to. One of my favorite sounds in the world. In fact, why don’t you tell me all about your adventures so far?”

The best way to tell a giant big story was to blabber about it! So we babbled all at the same time. We had to take turns being louder than everyone else to be heard.

Slime-tooth quickly fell asleep with tears in the corners of his eyes. And however much I wanted to blabber about all the sailing we’d done, and all the goblins we’d hired, I found myself speechless. As I gently rubbed Slime-tooth’s back, I listened so deeply to my crew.

Losing my fleet had been worth it. Now I had my before family and my after family together.

So I listened and laughed, and so many times I wanted to jump in, until Slime-tooth was softly snoring in what seemed like a really deep sleep.

That was when Gabby said, “Admiral? I’d like to hand over the sloop to you. You’re the most capable Admiral of us all, and I would please thank you if you were our Admiral once again.”

“I would like that too,” said Remember-not.

Everyone except for Stub-toes nodded at that. Stub-toes seemed downcast.

“As long as I don’t have to be Stub-toes anymore,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t wanna be Stub-toes?” I said. “But look at your feet.”

“That’s not my real name. Gloom-glower did this to me. He’s been stepping on my toes since I was a little snot.”

“What’s your real name?” said Gabby.

“Sweet-thumps.”

“Will you all be part of my crew?” I said. “Sweet-thumps, you too?”

“I already miss our home,” said Gabby.

All my goblins nodded. Even Stink-lip.

“So what do you think, snots?” I said. “Wanna start over? With the sloop Gabby commandeered?”

“Aye aye, Admiral!”

“As your Admiral, I’d like to propose our first new rule! Protect Slime-tooth.”

“I’ll protect him from anything!” said Stumble-not.

“Me too!” said my goblins altogether.

“What about the other rules?” said Remember-not.

“Let’s start with just the one for now,” I said. “And after Slime-tooth gets some well deserved rest, we’ll start rebuilding our fleet. We’ll build the best goblin freebooter family that’s ever existed!”

Chapter 167

Time Was Happening

Thrush

Satiation:

55%

Composition:

54% Dreambon

20% Fish

08% Cheese

04% Wood

04% Beer

02% Warthog

01% Goblin

07% World

100% Ethereal

02% Red Bestie

There wasn’t much left of the scent of goblins. I had searched the wilderness around the Mist Hidden wall for lost goblins and brought them to the shore. The woods now smelled of the gritty musk of pollen, warm green leaves, damp earth, and the afterbirth of freshly cracked cocoons.

From the cushioned seat on the threshold of my yurt, I watched small and giant fireflies fly by. With all the goblins I’d had to carry behind my teeth, my taste buds had come alive. It was when my belly then thundered that I felt it was a good time to pause and raise my Satiation.

The smoke on another filet of purple tuna had gone a few hours over, and the meat was drier than usual. Some of the cheese I had topped it with was black and flaky. The fish truly looked like a slab of oak, bark and all.

I feasted on the treasure. My fangs split the filet like a ship split water. The blackened cheese crumbled in the wakes of my bites. Though the top layer of cheese was unrecognizable, I felt the moldy colors of blue cheese flush through my veins. I felt my eyes take on green and blue speckles. My eyes bounced in their sockets, and my irises pumped like veins moving bulbs of blood. My tongue became soft, and the vapors that bent the air reeked of wet sock.

As I ate, I found my thoughts drifting from something to another. My feasting was mindless which drew me to frown. Something was off. Was it the smoke? I greatly enjoyed the mistake of too much smoke, so that couldn’t be it. Was there something wrong in the flavor? What flavor was mightier than smoked cheese over smoked fish? So, no, it wasn’t that.

I wondered if perhaps a dreambon would help center me—a nice big juicy one that cracked open like a snapped twig.

The first dreambon tasted like pomegranate. The second tasted like raspberry and bones. The third…

Oh, the dreambons weren’t cutting it. Was there something off with me then? Three was hardly any to get a good snack in. That had to be it. I cracked one open and spilled its seeds onto the ground.

“Nightream eternal.”

Each seed cracked open the way that acorns split when they fell from trees onto stones. Taproots pierced the earth, and sprouts flung their shells off as they shot up. Buds instantly produced leaves. Flowers popped open, then died, then bore fruit.

Among the dreambon plants, one of them bore red leaves. The red was as dark as crusted blood. It struggled to produce fruit as it danced in its instant growth.

A dreambon evolution? Already? It had only been several thousands of millennia since the last one. If that were the case, then the dreambons with the belts of silver which I had been gorging on won’t be around for much longer. How different would the new one look like?

Ah, memories filled me. The sky had been grey for centuries. Across the world, magma frothed the great waters. My dreambons evolved just when the air was beginning to thin of the grit of ash. I remembered when my nose batted at the trunks of the plants as I sniffed and searched the plants for the previous dreambon fruits. With the evolution complete, I never saw them again. Not only did they die with time and evolution, I could not dredge my memories for them.

But this dreambon, which will likewise see its end to a new dreambon, gave me my Composition.

Ah, those flavors. They were scrumptious. No matter how hard I scratched my head, nor worked my tongue, I could not remember their flavors.

Time. Time was happening to me. This evidence of an upcoming dreambon evolution meant that I was in for a new era. The evolution happened too quickly last time. Was it two thousand years until the new plants overtook the previous?

I couldn’t wait to share with Boggo and Ella. They were sure to still be around. Besties lived for much longer than that, after all. Yes, I would have to be patient and meanwhile look forward to sharing them with the besties.

It struck me that I wouldn’t be sharing the new dreambons with the humans or the goblins. I felt a pang. I felt a pang of…sadness? A ball of gas bubbled up my throat, and I burped. Ah, no, that wasn’t sadness. It was the ghost of cheese and smoked fish. My tongue searched the slopes of my fangs.

I was still hungry! It was time to collect.

“Eternal ends.”

The dreambon plants withered in place, composted where they shriveled, and scattered as dust. Dozens of ripened dreambons pelted the earth.

While I ate, I again and again grew more dreambons. Their creamy centers slid down my tongue. Their seeds delivered notes of spice to my palate. The juices flowed like warmed honey.

But something was still missing in the flavors, just like the smoked cheese and smoked fish. A bandit’s spoon seemed like it too was missing something. So did a pile of crispy leaves, and so did a handful of river stones, and so did freshly shed antlers, and so did the exoskeleton of a deep sea humanoid.

When I paused after a satisfying gulp, a deep quiet pervaded. Though there was no wind, it was a quiet I hadn’t heard in years. A quiet that was with me before I met Hawkin. Had it already been more than two years since then?

Time. Time was happening to me, and it was happening to my friends too.

Will Hawkin die first? Will Barnacle-eyes? Humans and goblins didn’t live as long as besties. However, Abigail was going to live centuries longer than Hawkin, so it was possible. I could share some with her in a few hundred years before she passes. We could reminisce about Hawkin, unless Hawkin reached diamond rank…

And what of Barnacle-eyes? How long did goblins live for? Could she achieve longevity through her quest path? Slime-tooth looked thrice as old as he smelled.

I’ll have to ask him.

I broke dreambon after dreambon between my toadish tongue and the roof of my mouth. Their juice cascaded down my throat and bubbled in my gut.

Ah! Still, something was missing.

Whatever it was eluded me, just as I caught an altogether different kind of stink than that of cheese.

“I smell twelve lost little goblins.”

After collapsing my yurt into its backpack form, I followed the scents and waded through the fern. I burst free of the fern with a magnificent toe-shaking burp. Leaves shook on shrubs and in the canopy. Twelve little goblins fell back from my sudden appearance. My gaze settled on the goblins. And since the percentage of cheese was growing in my Composition, one of my fangs broke in half in crumbles. The goblins screamed their lungs raw.

Chapter 168

Slowly Beating

I had yet no music for the yurt. It was enough for me to hear the crashing of the sea. I had set it up on the sand before Hawkin’s pier. Barnacle-eyes’ sloop was moored there, and it knocked against the dock with every other wave.

Her crew had dwindled to twenty-five goblins, and almost every one was wading in the sea. Some ripped razor clams from rocks. Others reeled in fishing nets which they had borrowed from Hawkin. They put everything they caught into 15.5 gallon barrels.

As I withdrew a giant purple tuna from my inventory, I knew there was no way it would fit in a barrel. It would instead have to go in the smoker for a few hours. Fileting the beast was a simple matter of peeling one side off the spine and ribs. The bones were crunchy, and chalky clouds plumed from between my fangs as I munched. After rubbing the tuna with salt and pepper, I submerged it in the channeled blue smoke of smoldering oak. I laid the filet on the rack, and it sizzled. Before shutting the smoker door, I placed cubes and wedges of hard cheese upon the filet. There was enough wood to keep the smoke up for another hour, so I gulped down a barrel of Anti-gravity beer and sat lightly upon a cushion at the threshold of the yurt.

Smoke and the smell of purple tuna drifted over the pier from over the yurt where the smoke stack poked out. The goblins put their noses to the sky, and they often cast glances my way. As they fished, cleaned the sloop, organized materials ashore, and completed what Barnacle-eyes called help-tasks, the goblins slowly made their way closer.

Those that pried clams from beneath the surf started meandering on the sand. Those that fished began bringing over emptier nets every time. Other goblins came sniffing and chewing their lips as they walked by. Their eyes would get big, and they would look over my shoulders.

Oh, little goblins. They were hungry, weren’t they.

Stink-lip popped up from beside the tent flaps. “Barnacle-eyes told us you’re not gonna eat us. So you’re not gonna eat us?”

“I’ll try my best,” I said.

“Barnacle-eyes told us you have fish to trade. So you have fish to trade?”

“I am like an ocean.”

“Guess you do look a little blue…and gooey. So anyway, do you have fish to trade? And Barnacle-eyes said you have cheese to trade. So do you have cheese to trade? She said you also had beer.”

“Yes. Cheese and beer and smoked fish and a world of things.”

“Barnacle-eyes said we could ask you for lunch. So can we ask you for lunch?”

“Come in.”

I repositioned behind the low table where I spread out smoked fish and smoked cheese and bottles of Goblin Spuck. As soon as Stink-lip ventured in, goblins sprinted in after him.

Gabby was one of the first to arrive, and she was pulling Sweet-thumps by his hand. “Have you met Thrush before? He’s a monster!”

Sweet-thumps gave her high and deep nods. “I’ve known him for almost…” He counted several of his fingers. “…a goblin hand’s worth of years.”

“He has the best smoked fish and the best cheese. Wanna trade with him?”

“Come on in!” I said. “I’m trading for high-fives today.”

“You better be ready,” said Pinky-chew. “Cause I’ve got lots of those!”

Barnacle-eyes was one of the last to arrive. With one arm around Slime-tooth’s back, she helped the slow goblin dawdle in. “You wanna catch up to Captain Ella?” she told him.

“I certainly do!” said Slime-tooth. “I’ve got a stomach to use, and it’s no use not using it!”

There was more than enough for everyone. It felt like an achievement to turn each of their bellies into a fat, round bulge. Eating among such creatures that gobbled their food was an absolute delight! The fish was full of salt and flavor! The cheese was rich, sharp, and creamy! The beer bubbled ferociously, and the malt and okra had many goblins shaking their heads in what seemed like impressed bewilderment.

“All right, snots! Let’s get back to it,” said Barnacle-eyes. “We don’t have onions and garlics anymore, so we gotta collect the clams and grab the fishes!”

“Aye aye, Admiral!” said the goblins.

They filtered out on wobbly legs while they cradled their full bellies with two hands.

“You gonna stay here?” said Barnacle-eyes to Slime-tooth who lay back upon a row of newly available cushions.

“I’ve got a good view right here,” said Slime-tooth as he rolled to his side to peer out of the yurt.

Barnacle-eyes skipped off to help her goblins.

I popped open a cold bottle of Goblin Spuck.

“Still thirsty?” I said.

“And starving too,” said Slime-tooth. “I’ve been starving for more than a year. No matter how much I eat, I still feel hungry.”

“This is the clone brew made with okra. It’s called Goblin Spuck, and it won a bronze medal in a competition. It has your name on it.”

“Well I’ll be. Is this really my name?”

“Yes.”

“Barnacle-eyes is a special goblin, isn’t she?”

“No. She smells like all the rest. But she’s my friend.”

“The beer’s okay. The humans must’ve done away with the ptooey. Doesn’t taste as good. It’s close though.”

“Yes.”

“I never thought too much of you until the mutiny,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

“Why’d you do it? Rescue goblins?”

“My friend asked me to.”

“You’re not a goblin, but I like you.”

“I’ve been more goblin some days than other days.”

“Even if one day you were all goblin, you still wouldn’t be a goblin.”

“Yes I would,” I said.

“No,” said Slime-tooth. “You’d have to have lived a goblin life alongside other goblins to be a goblin. That’s where the heart of a goblin comes from.”

“Does that mean I’m not a nightream? I’ve never met another nightream.”

“I’m talking about goblins.”

The goblins wrestled with clams while the surf slapped their legs. More than one or two goblins fell into the sea everytime a fishing net was spun out. A few had fallen asleep belly up on the sand. We passed the bottle of Goblin Spuck back and forth. Every now and then, Barnacle-eyes’ commanding voice rang out like a belting seagull.

“How long will Barnacle-eyes live?” I said.

“How would I know?” Slime-tooth craned his neck as if to locate the Admiral. “I hope a good long life. A short life can be longer than the longest life if it isn’t good. But the longest life can feel like the shortest if there isn’t any bad in it. Life’s gotta be somewhere in the middle, but still on the good side.”

“How long do goblins live?”

“I’ve never known a goblin that’s lived long enough to have a natural death. I’m the oldest goblin I know, and I didn’t bother to keep track of how many goblin hands it’s been.”

“As long as humans?”

“Less than half of that. And less than half of that half for most.”

“I’m going to spend more time with Barnacle-eyes and her goblins. I love eating with them. And Boggo and Ella will be there too.”

With a tight sigh, Slime-tooth’s head dropped. He curled up as if he were in for a long sleep. I heard his heart beat slow until it was the slowest I’d ever heard a goblin’s heart beat. It reminded me of ripples on a calm lake that were in no rush to reach the shore. I could hear his slow breaths. It sounded like he was holding something in his breath. It reminded me of the way that creatures breathed around pain.

Oh, little goblin.

I draped a bandit’s blanket over Slime-tooth and left a whole dreambon by his side in case he woke hungry.

Chapter 169

When Are You Going to Die?

Hawkin cooked squash in his wood oven stove. He had cut a blood red squash in half and neglected their bake. He, Abigail, and I sat around the table where I spread out as much cheese as I could.

I had eaten so much cheese lately that it wafted from my breath like steam on a wintry morning. Both humans had wet eyes like they’d been cooking onions. Hawkin propped the door open as far as he could.

Abigail and Hawkin ate far less than I did. How could I stop when that missing flavor seemed to have returned once more. It was there when I shared with the goblins, and it was there as I shared with the humans.

It was a rare moment where we didn’t share beer. Instead, Hawkin had made us chilled sumac tea. Against the lemony taste of the tea, the cheeses really came to life.

My feast began by carefully selecting small bites between a hard shifra cow’s milk and a sharp omya tome. Both were bronze-orange. One was as big around as a cushion, or like a really fat coin. The other was in crumbles, like pieces of it had been collected from the side of a gold mountain.

Those weren’t enough to satisfy me, so I quickly stuffed cylinders of rafiq sheep’s milk down my throat. The cheese was soft, and the rind split apart like dried mud upon the surface of a trail in the sun that had seen rain the night prior.

Obviously, those bestie-sized columns of cheese weren’t enough to satisfy me either, so I began shoveling cheese indiscriminately onto my tongue. I piled everything into my mouth. I frenzied! It was an attack on cheese!

My reserve of cheese was surely depleting, but it deserved to be binged. At first I paired runny cheeses with smoked fish. I topped the fish and half chewed my food. Then I started to pull out monster bones to pile cheese on top of. I pulled out fabrics, pecan branches, a river rock that stunk of clay, oyster shells, and a bandits iron pot. I slathered cheese on everything!

Composition:

44% Dreambon

22% Cheese

16% Fish

04% Wood

04% Beer

02% Warthog

08% World

Creamy whites bled into my spongy irises. Another one of my fangs crumbled like dried cheese. My skin drooped, and my fur slipped with it. My claws became so soft that they dented like pinched gold.

The humans stared at me in what I could only take as horror.

Hawkin was the first to say something. “So Thrush…exactly how much cheese have you been eating?”

“As much as my system allows.”

His line of sight fell to my belly. He must have noticed that I had to scoot back from the table, because as I ate, my belly slid the table away. “Looks like you’re nearing the edge,” he said.

“Not to worry, Hawkin. I’ve had to take a few naps here and there because my Satiation has crept up on me. But I’ve saved room for our meal today.”

“This must be expensive,” said Abigail. She gestured to all the cheese that hid the tabletop beneath.

“I’m a Merchant,” I said.

Barnacle-eyes bounded in through the door. Her nose twitched, and she tilted her head back. Her nostrils flared. “Thrush, could I have some cheese for Slime-tooth? And can he have more dreambons? He really liked the one you gave him.”

“Hmm. If you enjoy some cheese soup with me, I’ll give you double what Slime-tooth wants.”

She overturned a bailing bucket from her inventory and stood atop it. The humans used their Fire and Roast skill to melt a family's years worth of cheese in bowls. The cheese dripped like hot molasses, and Barnacle-eyes and I poured cheese over our teeth.

I had to share dreambons with everyone which cut the cheese with beautiful fragrance and sweet acid and tangy fruit. And while we ate, Barnacle-eyes talked non stop about her goblins.

Their voices fell to the background as I devoured whatever my paws brought me. Everything suddenly had so much more flavor! That had to be why I wanted to eat the whole world. Cheese was a wonder of the world. I wondered if humans realized what an accomplishment crafting cheese was.

The goblins knew. They adored cheese as much as I did. So while Barnacle-eyes and her goblins were still alive, I had to share with them as much as possible. Afterwards, I could share more and more with Hawkin until…

“When are you going to die?” I asked Hawkin.

The human seemed surprised. “Uh, not for a very long time, I hope.” He smiled, and it seemed somewhat mischievous. “Why? Are you going to pile some cheese on top of me?”

“No. I want to know how much more time I have to spend with you. I’ll have more time with Abigail than with you, so I’ll be able to spend time with her after you're dead.” To Abigail I said, “Do you know when that will be?”

Abigail did not smile. She placed her half eaten dreambon on the table, and she rose. “Please excuse me,” she said.

Barnacle-eyes reached over the table, hooked a finger on the edge of Abigail’s bowl of cheese soup, and dragged it to her.

“I suppose it all depends on reaching diamond rank,” Hawkin said with his gaze out the door.

“Will you?” I said.

Hawkin leaned back and sipped his sumac tea.

Barnacle-eyes pointed at his untouched bowl of cheese soup and said, “Are you gonna eat that?”

Chapter 170

Sleep too Deep

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

[Admiral Level 1012.]

[488 levels until Fleet evolution.]

[Acquisitions needed to return to fleet evolution path:]

[1 Hand-O’War.]

[2 Galleons.]

[5 Ketches.]

[8 Sloops.]

[8 Jolly boats.]

[1 Commodore.]

[24 Captains.]

So stupid. This meant that I couldn’t evolve my ships the same way as last time. Every time I had a fleet evolution, the system mechanics helped me evolve all my ships at once. Now I had to build them back by hand from the bottom up. I had to expand them myself with my Boat Builder skill. So stupid! They weren’t going to be made from the same material, and they probably wouldn’t look the same. The only thing I could do was bite my tongue, do the work, and hope my skills can at least produce ships that matched the last ones.

At least one of my sloops had been recovered, thanks to the daring Gabby. Wow, what a goblin! Keen on detail, I knew I could match it. Expanding the sloop into a ketch and then a galleon and then a Hand-O’War was going to be the toughest.

Now was not the time for expanding. The sloop needed a lot of work. It had been mistreated during the mutiny. So did the jolly boats. With the help of my crew, we tackled our to-do list.

The raised beds needed to be rebuilt. The jungle of giant vines and flowers and roots and green growing things needed to be hauled off the ship. All the doors that had been bashed in needed to be replaced. Sails needed mending. Busted barrels needed to be coopered all over again. Fireflies needed to be swatted out of the way—there were so many! Bailing buckets needed to be recovered from the water and cleaned. Split ropes needed to be spliced. Pulleys needed to be unclogged from fingers that broke off in them. Davits needed to be built for the jolly boats. I needed to rest. Soft-song needed to rest. Slime-tooth needed to rest more than anybody…

But no matter how endless things seemed, no matter how overwhelmed the task was to bring the sloop up to sail-worthy, I was in such high spirits. I was in super such-high-spirits! Everything just felt better.

Hawkin told me that it made his heart happy to see me smile and hum and skip. He gave me control of the Home Camp ethereal plane as a gift. He used his Dream Cutter stone to make nooks of stone-mirages on the plane where I could store anything that I couldn’t fit in my inventory. I could put everything in there! He called it an inventory beer.

So that’s where I stocked up on sustenance beers and a few attribute beers that Abigail made for us. There was a nook just for cheese! Another nook was just for Goblin Spuck. I put a blanket in another nook to put me in!

I didn’t sleep there quite yet. I wanted to sleep or nap wherever Slime-tooth slept or napped, and all the goblins felt the same way. They still saw him as a goblin god and sometimes asked for blessings and stories and sayings and answers to prayers.

The only two goblins that didn’t sleep with us were Remember-not and Knot-knuckle. They stayed up at night to stargaze together. Remember-not had just finished mapping out the Night-wise constellation. When that happened, the constellation lit up like a stick figure drawing. Then I got a system notification.

[Your Stargazer has completed the Night-wise constellation.]

[Your fleet has earned the Piercing North Star boon.]

[Anyone on deck on your fleet will see the north star at night, no matter the weather.]

[The Piercing North Star boon will also be reflected on your sea map.]

[Your fleet will now take 50% reduced damage from impacts.]

Then there was Gabby. She had earned herself a Fable Stone after capturing the flag of the sloop by the end of the mutiny. With it she assigned Chum-hook to her Shark Charmer quest path.

“Chum-hook said that I can make friends with a familiar and evolve it,” said Gabby.

When she wasn’t checking our fishing nets for sharks, she screeched at the sea.

Soft-song helped her with that, and just this morning we had another spontaneous gob song! Slime-tooth was so overjoyed that he smiled from mangled ear to mangled ear.

The only voices missing were the besties. Boggo and Ella were up in the crow’s nest, and Boggo had strongly refused to take commands. He said something about being blind about something or other. The chaos of the mutiny must have been a doozy for the sloop besties. Welp, Stumble-not might be able to figure out what’s going on.

I was too excited to focus on one thing for long. I hadn’t felt this ready for sailing since I first assigned Peg-tooth to my Admiral quest path. I had my loyal goblins with me, and my before-family and after-family together in one place.

All my excitement had me bounding over to Thrush’s yurt. I whirled in and nearly fell onto Thrush’s domed belly. He lay on his back, and it was obvious he was in the middle of one of his Satiation naps. He stank of cheese! He stank so good! My mouth watered so bad that I had to step outside to drool into the sand with my hands on my knees for a moment.

Thrush wasn’t the only one sleeping. Slime-tooth was deeply asleep.

“Slimy-slime, time to wake up!” I said. I gently rolled his shoulder, but he didn’t stir. “Wake up, my like-a-father! Wake up! Wake up!” I gave him a shake, and his limbs lolled around. I gave his cheek a good patting. My heart beat. “Slime-tooth! Slime-tooth, please wake up!”

Goblins came running into the yurt.

“What’s going on?” said Gabby.

“He won’t wake up,” I said.

I wrung my hands as goblins took turns slapping his cheeks. Tough-I-Am shouldered her way through the goblins. She raised her big hand for a good smacking.

Her open palm whipped down through air, but I caught her by the wrist and said, “Wait! He’s stirring!”

Slime-tooth crushed his eyes several times. He stretched his limbs and made fists. Then he rubbed his eyes over and over. He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed like he was having a tough time with it. He rubbed and rubbed some more.

“Where is Barnacle-eyes?” he said, peering through a squint.

“I’m right here in front.”

“Is it dinner?”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just tired. Would it be all right if I slept for a bit longer?”

“That’s what Thrush is doing too! I’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner.”

Slime-tooth heaved a ginormous sigh. He settled back down on his cushions beneath his blanket.

As we all helped to tuck him back in, I couldn’t help but stare at the old goblin. I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing. My Slime-tooth didn’t seem the same anymore. He used to be really big and really strong. Right now he seemed frail and delicate and weakened.

My heart ached, and I sat beside him and brushed his hair out of his eyes. I wanted to see him better, but I also wanted to take care of him.

Chapter 171

Like-A-Grandfather

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

The raised beds were filled with fresh soil. Bulbs of garlic and onion were buried beside companion plants which Abigail had helped us plant. The soil smelled like rocks and the underside of wet leaves. All that work deserved a mouth and belly filling feast, so Stumble-not cooked us up some fish-on-sticks and clams-on-sticks. Knot-knuckle fed Remember-not as she set up her telescope. The sun was going down, and a harsh orange was on the horizon just above the Mist Hidden wall.

“Where’s the sloop besties?” said Gabby.

“They’re not coming down,” said Stumble-not.

“But we’ve got hot fish-on-sticks!”

“That’s what I said! Boggo told me to beat it. Wouldn’t let me set foot up there.”

Pinky-chew said to Slime-tooth, “So you make the famous ptooey?”

“I do!” said Slime-tooth. “We’ll have to make some soon.”

“Spit beer is the best,” said Knot-knuckles. “Barnacle-eyes says that without spit beer, we wouldn’t have sailed the sea!”

“Is it easy to make?” said Gabby.

“All you have to do is ptooey,” said Slime-tooth.

When goblins were curious, they had lots of questions. I guess they had so far been keeping their curiosity about Slime-tooth to themselves. Well, they reached their breaking point on that. Slime-tooth was swarmed by goblins, and it seemed like everyone felt it was best to ask all the questions all at once.

“Is it true you bested the blue yeti from the north?”

“Oh, and the purple sea snake at the gate of the black bay! Is that true too?”

“Yeah, I heard you rolled a one hundred on a twenty-sided die. Will you teach me how?”

But some of those stories had come directly from Boggo and Ella’s game campaigns. Slime-tooth had been ever present during those hours in the deckhouse.

“Weren’t you a god once?” said Soft-song.

“Ooh! I wanna learn how to be a god! Will you show me how?” said a goblin.

“Me, me, me! Can you teach me how to smite someone?”

“So do you know all the humans now since your beer is famous?”

“I wanna be famous too! How do I get famous like you, Slime-tooth?”

“What was it like working on a big fleet? Did you get lost a lot, cause I would probably get lost a lot. But I heard Captain Ella found you. Will you come find me when I get lost?”

“How old are you? I wanna learn how to be old too!”

Slime-tooth was all smiles. He had so many different smiles. Some reached his ears. Some were open smiles. Some smiles were in preparation for a laugh or a gasp or a solid guffaw. Some of his smiles squished his eyes. And for every goblin whose question he did his best to answer, he had a unique smile. I was surprised he wasn’t overwhelmed by all the chatter. But I guess being isolated from the ones you loved made you patient for them when you saw them again.

All ages of goblins seemed to look up to Slime-tooth. Old Wrinkle-twinkle wiggled his toes like he was listening to a great like-a-grandfather tell stories. Even the littlest ones like Gabby were so rapt that their ears were reaching forward. Sometimes it was faster to catch someone’s voice that way.

In a lull of questions, Slime-tooth told us the worst of his experience on Gloom-glower’s fleet. “I spent five days with skeletons and rotting goblins on a figurehead! The sun was the worst, and my head burned with blisters. The ropes gave me scars! But I had Barnacle-eyes’ letter in my pocket to keep me alive.”

Once more he was bombarded with questions. My goblins wanted above all else to understand how Slime-tooth survived the mutiny. But all the questions came again at once.

“Is it true you rode a water horse with a harpoon as big as a star?”

“Is it true that the moon is faster than the sun and you’re even faster than the moon?”

“Can you teach me how to breathe toxic fire too? I want to vanquish enemies like you did in the battle for the pickled shark’s eyes jar!”

“Are you going to take back all the blessings you gave us when we left offerings at your statue?”

I was the only one without questions. I had a ton, but I couldn’t get them out. Watching Slime-tooth have so much fun left me speechless. When he smiled, I smiled. When he laughed, I laughed. I couldn’t take my eyes off his happiness. He deserved all the joy of goblins.

While voices rose to speak over voices, Gabby fell back from the crowd and joined me at the back.

“He’s the best storyteller,” she said.

“I learned more than I know from him.”

“There’s something else you might want to know…I saw Gloom-glower’s flag this morning when we sailed through the mist to check for wreckage and goblins. Two of the last sloops had his flag, and they were sailing west.”

“I’m not surprised he made it out alive. And I’m not going to let him get in the way.”

“In the way of what?”

“Of goblins being goblins,” I said, and I nodded at the happy hooting goblins that pressed closer to Slime-tooth. “I’m a goblin too, you know.”

The sky darkened, and Slime-tooth kept smiling and nodding and answering questions. When he had the chance, he told stories. Sometimes he laughed so hard that tears trickled down his cheeks.

Before our stock of fish-on-sticks and clams-on-sticks dwindled, everyone offered Slime-tooth something to eat. He declined all the food.

“I never dreamed I would see this much food at my fingertips,” said Slime-tooth. “What a life we’ll share from here on!”

“Will you be a Captain?” said Stink-lip.

“Oh, I won’t be doing much work for a bit. Admiral’s orders. And I’d be too tired for that even if she let me.”

I offered Slime-tooth a bottle of Home Camp beer where he could sleep in peace. “Have another one! There’s lots more!”

“Where is everyone else going to be?” he said.

“On the sloop.”

“Then I’d like to sleep on the sloop. It’s nice to hear goblins again. I’ll fall asleep to that in no time.”

“You can sleep in the deckhouse! There’s a couple of cots in there, and it’s super comfortable.”

Like one big cluster of green grapes, we surrounded Slime-tooth as we helped him up the gangway of the sloop. Altogether we tucked him in, and we stayed by his side, laughing and spitting and picking noses through midnight.

Chapter 172

Last Soup before Sailing Out

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

Most of the food Hawkin and Abigail gave us went toward our stock of supplies. Because of that, our lunch was a simple scrounge-soup. We hung a pot over a cooking fire. Lots of seaweed went in, clam shells went in, and a few tomatoes from Hawkin and Abigail’s garden on the ethereal plane went in.

I ladled out a slurp’s worth of soup for Slime-tooth. “It’s not much, but what do you think?”

“Fine,” he said. “But let’s make it finer! Grab a bailing bucket.”

I picked the best bailing bucket. The staves were all even. It was completely dry. The hoops weren’t warped or rusted all that bad. Even Slime-tooth gave it a good nod.

“Gather round, all you snots!” he said.

While I went deep into thought, Slime-tooth kicked things off with a “Ptooey!” He passed the bailing bucket around, and one by one the goblins went, “Ptooey!” We had to make do with what we had, especially since Thrush was still sleeping. “Ptooey!” No more cheese. No more smoked meat. My goblins didn’t seem to mind too much. “Ptooey!” We all knew food came and went. It was the way of things. “Ptooey!” As long as there was food, we couldn’t complain. We could only be surprised when it was good. I swished, I swashed, I gargled, and then I gave a hefty “Ptooey!”

The bucket was returned to Slime-tooth. He tilted it and watched the foamy ptooey ooze from one side to the other.

“There’s not much of us, but we don’t need a whole lot,” he said. “We just need each other.”

The ptooey went into the soup, and goblins took turns churning, churning, churning. Churning, churning—

“Give it a taste,” said Slime-tooth as we all rolled our shoulders and massaged our arms.

I plunked the ladle into the pot and pulled out a good few slurp’s worth.

“Oh, well that’s…that’s…Oh, wow!” I said. “Everyone grab a bucket!”

It was a race to the water where hundreds of bailing buckets still bobbed at sea. We could only fetch so many before we got tired of the task. In a few days, we’ll have recovered all of them.

We especially didn’t want to do that when it was feasting time. I ladled soup into everyone's bucket. And once again, we all gathered around Slime-tooth to hear his handynotes. …Hawkin said they were anecdotes, but they seemed more handy than anec-y.

Slime-tooth couldn’t keep up with the goblins. He lost energy so fast that it felt like I was watching him deflate before my very eyes. He seemed content to fall asleep to the chitter and blowing noses of goblins.

I couldn’t wait to hear all that noise on the sloop at sea again. And wow, I couldn’t believe my Chance of Mutiny was still at 0%! It had never been 0% for this long. Please stay that way. Please forever stay that way!

I wanted my before-family and after-family to stay like this too. Even though I would have to work so much harder than before to get my fleet back, it wouldn’t be worth it without happy goblins.

Soon finger claws were scraping the bottom of the buckets for last moistnesses of soup. Conversation was in a lull.

“Is Slime–tooth okay?” said Soft-song.

We all turned to Slime-tooth. He lay frozen stiff. I squinted hard to make out any rise and fall of his chest, but I couldn’t make out any movement. We must have all been looking for the same thing because we rushed to him at the same time. We said his name, we shook him, we slapped him, and we lifted him. By the time he finally came to, I was shaking, and my heart was pounding.

“Oh! I had a wonderful dream!” said Slime-tooth. He looked at each one of us. “And it was just like this. And we were sailing, too!”

“We’ll be sailing soon. We’re going straight to Laven-smack-vitch. I want you to meet the goblins at Green-fin! Maybe you can meet my human butler too! His name is Smith, and he’s annoying, and he follows me everywhere. There’s a thing I want to show you in the city; oh, and then there’s this and that too; and you’ll have to see that other thing, of course; but that’s next to this other thing, so we’ll have to go there first before the other this-and-that stuff.”

Chapter 173

Cleaning Up

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 99.

Forest leaves rustled not only from the wind; fireflies burst through the trees. Debris on the forest floor rustled not only from my footsteps; a dozen soaked goblins followed me. They had been a difficult bunch, especially when it came to earning their trust. As we went, they gulped, and they smacked their lips. All it had taken was a bottle of Goblin Spuck each. After their first sip, they didn’t seem to care where I led them. After their last sip, they started to grumble and look around.

“Just a little farther,” I said.

“You better not be lying, human. Cause if you are, you're gonna get killed.”

The trail we had made was only a few paces ahead. We crossed into it. The massive Mist Hidden wall flared tall. Down the trail, Abigail led her own group of goblins. It seemed that she must have had a difficult time coercing them to follow her as well. Each one beamed over a shiny copper coin as they skipped alongside her.

“There were some others, but they were running away full force,” she said.

“Any idea if Thrush is still sleeping?”

“I’m guessing he’s still out cold. That belly was terrifying. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it get so big.”

Thrush’s belly was a powerful thing. He had stuffed it beyond full when we battled Gloom-glower on the coast. When they raided my cabin, he had stuffed it just as full too. I wanted to put a number on how many goblins he could eat, but I feared he could keep expanding his stomach. Forty goblins? Could he fit fifty? At some point, he would be digesting them as fast as he was shoving them into his mouth. Yet even when he had tripled in size after those grisly meals, he had only slept for a few days at most.

“Yeah, he’ll probably be up soon,” I said.

With another batch of Goblin Spuck beer and another round of copper coins, we successfully led the goblins back to where the trail ended at the shore. Already the trail was useful.

Humans were reeling in wreckage from the sea. Hundreds of goblins were abiding the two ship building rules and building sloops. Not a single human seemed to be exempt from astonishment. Watching the goblins mesh wreckage together to build sloops shouldn’t have worked. The sloops sank at first. Goblins clambered in regardless and started bailing. There were more than enough bailing buckets floating around.

Water trickled overboard. As more goblins joined the bailing, the trickle turned to a constant waterfall. Astonished, bewildered, and utterly astounded, the bailing worked. The sloop rose from the sea. Under a blue flag with two big toes forming an X, the sloop sailed off.

“Well I’ll be,” said a dungeon crawler.

At a makeshift table, one of the scholars scribbled ferociously. His parchment took the strikes of his black bleeding quill, but not without curling at the corners. “What an event!” said the Scholar. “What timing! A massive goblin battle at sea! The battle for Goblin Spuck!”

It was really a mutiny, but I had implored everyone to help me save the goblins while keeping an eye out for Slime-tooth. The energy to correct him was not in me.

The goblins we had led to the main group, however, did have energy. They bounded forward and joined the crews that worked to erect the next sloop. Another rose from the sea with a yellow flag. A hand without a thumb was at its center.

“Don’t forget some supplies!” I said to the remaining goblins.

Within large tents, Brewers were hard at work producing sustenance beers. I had given them as many ethereal forged barrels as I could, and they filled them and gave them to the goblins. There were also a ton of Goblin Spuck and Furnace attribute beers in there too.

“I wish I could make barrels this easily,” said one of the Brewers as he rolled my ethereal forged barrel across the ground. “No wonder you can distribute so much so quickly.”

The Alchemists were also using ethereal forged bottles which I had given them. They filled them with potions and handed them out among the goblins.

I felt a hand slip in mine. Abigail pulled me to her, and she nodded back down the trail.

“Another round?” she said. “Shouldn’t be too many stragglers left.”

I strengthened my grip. “I’m glad Slime-tooth is safe.”

The hoots of the goblins faded as we took the trail. When we could no longer hear the sea, Abigail swung our arms.

“I can’t wait for a good night’s sleep,” she said.

“We’re going to need it to finish the tavern.”

“I heard that the Scholars have been recording every detail of the mutiny.”

“They misunderstand what happened.”

“We’re going to be in it. According to them, we withheld goblin spit beer from Gloom-glower, and that was the start of it all. Dethroners of the goblin king, I think they called us. You think it’ll affect our Brewer’s Reputation?”

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “Mine is just above one hundred now.”

Abigail whirled on me. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s at ninety-nine.”

“Hawkin! Dellia might be right! You might become the best Brewer in the world! Reaching the top one hundred is already a feat! Let’s celebrate! Tonight?” She closed the distance between us and took my other hand. With soft eyes she said, “Let’s celebrate, you and me.”

Chapter 174

Darkness Within Darkness

Brewer’s Reputation: 98.

The coast was strewn with sleeping goblins at predawn. They woke as one and staggered to their feet as though they were undead resurrected. In their sleepy, bleary-eyed states they sure seemed that way. They staggered, seemingly confused until they swarmed their sloops they had been building the day prior.

They were some of the last goblins to resurrect one of Gloom-glower’s ships. Like the rest, there was no way it was going to float as well as Barnacle-eyes’ sloop did.

As Barnacle-eyes and her crew sailed off, we waved. Our waving was earnest, and I stood on tiptoe until I could no longer make out the goblins aboard. Soon I wouldn’t be able to make out the ship on the water as it would shrink with distance, bound for Lavenfauvish.

“Just like that, it’s over,” I said.

Abigail and I strolled down the path away from the coast. We shared cold pink apples. Our footsteps padded the trail, the apples crunched at our mouths, and our hands wiped the juice from our lips. Oh, how candy-juicy pink apples were. What a fantastic liquid.

“We’ll be brewing a lot less goblin spit beer from now on,” said Abigail.

“Ogo’s going to be in for a surprise when he returns. I think we should keep up our production until we see what he has to say. He’s been wanting as much as we can brew.”

“No more spit at least.”

“Thank Dellia for Erik,” I said.

Alongside the trail, the fern bobbed as though to cast small spells of wind upon us. Molten orange dawn light shafted between the trees. Bushes broke the light into fragments. When fireflies crossed the bright orange beams, and they blinked just then, the color flashed a purple-brown.

The shadows of trees striped the path black. Where the jewelweed grew, but were months away from flowering, a coolness nipped at my ankles. The birds hushed. A feeling of dread loomed in the back of my mind, and I found myself frowning and scanning the forest. Abigail’s pace slowed the moment mine did.

Horse hooves tapped the forest path. A horse in a walk came up the path into our line of sight. The horse was draped in black cloth, but through splits in the cloth, skeletal legs carried it onward. It bore a gaunt and pale rider. Beneath the hood of its cloak was an eerie sight. The man was gaunt and pale. His skin was canvas white, and it looked as if someone had stretched it to his back and stapled it there. The only color on him was the deep purple bags under his eyes. They appeared almost as tattoos.

The horse halted, and the figure and I stared.

Abigail took a subtle pose of defense. “Make one move and you’re…”

“Dead?” the man said. “It’s a tad late for that.”

Who else could this be if not the necromancer? “Hiccup mentioned you were on your way,” I said. “But that was months ago.”

So it was Aosh Vacomb. He gestured to his horse as though he were presenting the bottom of the sea and said, “We are in no hurry.”

“How did you come upon us?” I said.

“I saw the mist. Then I followed the trail markers.”

Abigail and I shared knowing glances. The trail was working.

However, this necromancer which the trail had led to me surely wanted something of me. Would I work with him? Given Hiccup’s non-confrontational experience with Aosh, I decided there was no harm in at least speaking with him. And when else would I have the chance to exchange with such a person.

Could I call him a person? Was a necromancer in fact still human?

“Are you hungry?” I said along our walk back to camp. “Thirsty?”

From his walking horse, Aosh said, “I am nothing that hungers or thirsts.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Can it really be that simple? I tell you what this soul needs, and you help me?”

He asked that just as we arrived at the camp on the coast where all the other adventurers I had helped throughout the weeks paused. They stood as we passed through. They gasped and whispered. Dungeon crawlers bristled. Scholars stepped forward with round eyes.

We passed them by and entered one of the larger tents. Upon logs we made ourselves comfortable.

“I don’t know much about necromancers apart from their presence not being welcome in cities,” I said.

“Mortals are wise to take caution against necromancers,” said Aosh. “There are those that take any action to acquire the darker arts. But then there are those that keep human sentiments in mind as they progress along the necromantic path. The living distinguish between the two by calling them either evil or good.”

“So you’re the good guy?”

“I’ve no intention of being either.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want a phylactery. Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t.”

“A phylactery is an item wherein the soul resides. There it will remain until the nightream devours the world once more.”

“Did you say nightream?” said Abigail.

“An old fable we tell the apprentices to give them a little scare,” said Aosh. “Now Mr. Ballow, if you grant me an ethereal beer, I will stow my soul there. If my experiment is a success, I shall persist.”

“Hawkin’s fine,” I said. “Sounds like you don’t know what you’re doing, and I certainly don’t want to contribute to anything that would cause harm.”

“The harm was forewarned and will come to pass with or without your help. My first appeal to the necromantic path was for longevity. The appeal withered when I reached gold rank. It was during winter when I first awakened. I had just exited the final fast where food and drink become things of the past. I will put it simply, but you will still not understand. The path was to become one.”

“One with what? The world? I’ve already gotten an earful about that from a certain sect of Scholars.”

“Just one. There is no difference between this body and the world.” Aosh pulled one of his skeletal fingers. The skin dented in where the last knuckle was pulled from the hand. With more pulling force, the skin ripped, and the finger popped off. Not a single drop of blood beaded at the site of the amputation. He presented the finger in the palm of his other hand. “I am not this body,” he continued. “I am not this mind. Things do not exist independently, Hawkin. The form of a tree depends on water, sunlight, and soil. The tree is itself and all of those things that allow it to exist. Without those other things, it cannot be. The tree is simply a form of one.”

“And what does all this have to do with me?”

“If you’ve no appreciation for a tree then consider the crest of a wave.”

“Actually I very much care for—”

“—The crest of a wave has a form; it is a crest. But the form means nothing. It is empty, because regardless of the crest, it is water. Water too is a form. The tree you quickly disregarded is also a form. I am a form. And you are a form. But you are not Hawkin. You are everything that has come to be. You are like the crest of a wave. And all around you are other crests. You were born upon the surface just like all the other living things. When your body dies, it is the crest returning to the sea. All crests come from and return to water. That winter, I understood that the path of a necromancer is to persist…neither as a crest, nor as the water…”

“Then as what?”

Aosh let a silence fall between us, and he looked at me. What seemed like a genuine smile came to him. His eyes seemed to be asking me if I understood what was in the silence.

“Yeah,” said Abigail. “You definitely sound like that certain sect of Scholars.”

“The sea is itself a crest of something deeper,” said Aosh. “Water is a form of something deeper. The necromancer’s path travels deep. A Scholar only sees the tip of a crest before being drowned by the form itself.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “So after you become…whatever you are, what’s your aim?”

The necromancer’s gaze softly fell. “To achieve true darkness.” His gaze returned to mine. “So that I may become a true god.”

“Sorry, friend. After everything you’ve said, I’d have to agree with Abigail. And I’m still uncertain of your intentions.”

“My word remains as it was given. I’ve no intention of being good or evil. My purpose is to achieve true godhood. But I know not what such a thing will entail. If I can persist, then perhaps I’ll find out. I’ve met necromancers who have become true gods. They are neither kind, nor unkind. They will just as easily feed a man as they would watch him die. Yet they all believe that life is precious. The crest of a wave is precious. Just as water—itself a crest of something deeper—is precious, too. To become a true god is to become darkness. And when a necromancer becomes one, they have achieved darkness within darkness.”

“I think this is all beyond me, honestly.”

“Is it? You dabble in the arts of necromancy. Have you not raised the dead thousands of times? Every necromancer is studying your actions. You must have developed a sense of what I’ve described.”

“I don’t raise the dead. My magic allows loved ones to return as ghosts for a day.”

He bobbed his hand which held the finger like he was testing its weight. “They are not their bodies, Hawkin. You have brought back their minds in the form of a ghost—in the crest of a ghost. Any one of them would say they know things they couldn’t possibly know. And yet they do know these things. You must have heard such stories about the resurrected.”

“By the gods,” said Abigail. “Hiccup. Hiccup said that Ashlee knew things about him since she passed, but that she didn’t know how she knew them.”

“It is because she was one,” said Aosh. “Death brought her there. She knew everything. Her mind could only process what she knew as it related to her in her un-death. The necromancer circumvents that. The necromancer doesn’t perish to become one. The necromancer simply persists as one.”

I massaged my forehead. “All right, this is definitely above my understanding. Hiccup is a friend, so I’ll choose to believe you’re not trying to hurt anyone. I’ll brew an ethereal plane for you. But if I find out you’re lying, you’re in for a real scare. Thrush isn’t the fable you’ve been telling your apprentices.”

“So it’s true! You’ve been visited by the nightream! The one who eats the world. The one who is all. The one who has no form. Together, darkness and nightream complete the world’s dualism.”

Ahem…Using all ethereal ingredients, and using the Erupting Stream Foam Cascade sub skill, I brewed an ethereal plane beer. Aosh sipped the beer and vanished. He returned within the hour without his finger. He smashed the master beer of the ethereal plane on the ground. Beer foamed in a crackling hush as the liquid seeped into the earth.

I dove to recover some beer with my hands. I took up blades of grass and dirt with what I could scoop. “No! Don’t! I can only replicate master beers by cloning them!”

“The point of a phylactery is to protect the necromancer’s soul,” said Aosh. “Destroying the beer is like throwing away the key.”

“You put your soul on the plane?”

“A worthwhile risk. Had it not worked, I would have been doomed to perish regardless. I stand a chance now.”

“Your soul is eternally trapped on the plane!”

“Forever more.” To Abigail he said, “Perhaps you’ll also have a taste of some longevity. Do I sense correctly? You’re diamond rank?”

“I am,” said Abigail.

“I imagine you’ll have to find another to help you on your path after he perishes.”

“I’m not here to get something from him. I’m here to be with him.”

“Hawkin, you’ve only scratched the surface of the dark arts. Love and longevity are a disastrous mix. Join the path of the necromancer. With the right guidance, it could be a faster path to longevity than breaking into diamond rank.”

“Why?” I said. “So I can be neither kind nor unkind to her? So that I can just as easily save her or watch her die if she becomes ill? What would be the point if I had no emotion for her?”

“Yes,” he said. “Emotion does get in the way, doesn’t it? I can still observe such a phenomenon, though the experience is lost to me. Let me apologize if I have offended you. My intention was to help.”

“Risking your life by stowing away your soul on the plane came so easily for you. Is that why? You had no emotion over losing it?”

“I’ve no life to risk. It was my immortality at stake.”

“Well, I can understand your intention now…I guess.”

“That is all I can ask for. And Hawkin, I won’t be the only necromancer seeking you out. Others have been watching the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients since you’ve been brewing with human and animal remains. You have no idea how many people are watching your rise. And receive this from me as thanks. Powdered arcul bones. They will double the effect of the beers you brew to raise the dead as ghosts. Those ghosts will now linger twice as long.”

Aosh bowed as if he meant to remain bowed for minutes. Then he left the tent, and Abigail and I looked at each other, dumbfounded.

Horse hooves shuffled over grass. The saddle rustled, and the riding stirrups jingled. The familiar walk of the horse began to recede.

Chapter 175

New Magic Ingredient

Brewer’s Reputation: 95.

The atmosphere on the Hermit Tavern plane was deeper than any other plane. With some modifications, its own light was close to true sunlight. Dusk domes of spectral colors mottled the distances.

But right here in the center of it all, Dream Cutters labored to continue the tavern’s build, block by block. I felt foolish working alongside them. My Dream Cutter skill was in its infancy, despite meanwhile leveling up. However, I could not help but to put in as much effort in building the columns, the flooring, the seating, the yard, the cave.

The cave was made of every stone that the Dream Cutters could pull from their dreams. They drove a tunnel through the stone with alternating chambers on either side. The tunnel screwed below the tavern for at least a thousand feet. Soon it would be filled with bottles and barrels which the bartenders would heave up to the bar.

The construction of the eucalyptus wood globe bar had just come to a finish. Dream Cutters worked on the details of columns and chairs to show a picture of craft. There were nearly one hundred chairs sprawled amongst the columns. I wondered if the tavern would ever receive that many patrons at once.

The tavern was surrounded by acres of gardens. Dream Cutters installed the most fantastic plants which thrived in the nourishing atmosphere. It was decided that some of the plants could remain half formed. I could pass my fingers through some flowers. It gave an illusion of some ghostly ethereal light among the plants. Firmed plants intersected with the more mirage ones.

And among the tangle of true nature and mirages, Abigail appeared.

“Do you have a moment?” she said. She came to me, drifting in the light gravity of the plane like wings over a warm current.

“For you,” I said. “Of course.”

We shared smiles, and we took each other’s hands. My heart pressed against my ribs, and I blushed in her presence. Did she feel the same? Is that why we chuckled together? The moment was at the same time fleeting and eternal. It was fleeting for the experience, yet now a fond memory.

We left the plane like it too was some memory and returned to the coast.

“Look,” said Abigail.

Two ships bobbed at sea. There were humans and goblins aboard. The goblins seemed miserable, and each one was wrapped in a cloak or towel too large. They filled rowboats and rowed ashore.

I addressed the goblins first. “See all that wreckage there?”

“Maybe,” spat a goblin.

“It’s yours. You can use the freebooter ship building rules to fix up a sloop. Maybe something smaller with how many of you there are. I’m sure you’d like to go right back to sea.”

“Eyes off the goods! That’s our wreckage no matter what you say!”

The shorter goblins, seemingly bolstered by their leader’s attitude, growled at me. Yet, judging by the way they cast off their borrowed cloaks and towels to skip across the sand to the wreckage, they were shedding their misery. In just a few moments, they had shaped together a keel.

The humans struggled with their own keels as they dragged their rowboats ashore. Their robes were gilded at the edges. There were golds, silvers, rose golds, and emerald threads of metal embroidered in their robes.

“Everyone here looking for the same man?” said one of the men, dashing the sand of the coast from his hands. “Hawkin Ballow?”

“That’s me.”

“Elliot Allencour. Gold rank Glass Glower.”

He withdrew from his inventory a glass bottle. It was the second torpedo style bottle I had ever seen. The glass was volcano-red and the neck was pleated. A dragon had been reliefed around the belly of the bottle. Diamonds had been etched around the dragon. As Elliot rotated the bottle in his hand, the light of the volcanic red glass changed hues from yellow to orange to blood red. The play of light colored the dragon, and caused an illusion of animation. It seemed the dragon was slithering around the bottle like a screw turning in place.

“Wow,” I muttered. “I’ve run across some beautiful bottles in the last couple of years. Built up quite a collection.”

“I guarantee you haven’t run into any of mine.”

“I believe it. Here, this has to be my favorite so far from my collection.” I showed him the bottle made of the skeleton of leaves. “The cork disintegrated.”

Elliot picked the bottle from my hands like it was a kitten. “This is the work of the Alik. It’s worth several thousand gold.”

“I just thought it was awesome.”

He gestured to his comrades who had come up behind him. “Most of us are Glass Blowers. Is there anywhere we could talk?”

The large tent had the most seating, and it offered conversation the most privacy. We sat circled around a table where the Glass Blowers set their most impressive works of art. I couldn’t help but think of Boggo. Each one would have seemed to him like a colossal rare gem. They seemed to move light on their own. I couldn’t take my eyes off the brilliant show of near gems. It was thus hard to stay focused on Elliot's proposition.

“So you don’t want me to just choose a beer?” I said.

Elliot possessed a book that was new to me: The Brewer’s Reputation Leaderboard. The book was flipped open to the               second page.

“You have quite the reputation in the Brewer’s world,” said Elliot with a finger on the page on my name. “We do too in ours. I’m in the top ten percent. Instead of pulling a beer from your current catalogue, we should work together on something new.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“The most important aspect of blowing glass is light. It gives glass its definition. Whatever you put inside anything translucent will affect light. We’d like to collaborate on a beer style that will pair best with our particular bottle designs.”

I couldn’t believe how thrilled I was to work with a Glass Blower. It was almost strange to be excited to work with folks. Part of me had been wanting to work with a Glass Blower since the beginning of my quest path.

“I would love to work with all of you.”

“We would purchase eighty percent of the bottled beer from you to sell to Collectors and high profile customers. You’ll keep twenty percent to do with as you please. We’ll ask in writing that you treat each of our brands with respect, and that you never sell below a threshold price.”

“I’ll have to summon Thrush if you want to draw up contracts. He’s the Merchant who takes care of all of that.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

I pulled a smoky crystal bottle from the cluster on the table. It was a twisted cylinder from top to bottom. The neck was offset and shorter than a quarter of an inch. It reminded me of the stone bottle from the Vale of Ara ale.

“Where do we start?” I said.

“Could you brew your lightest and darkest styles?”

“Gladly. But before we begin, I have a condition of my own.”

∞

Abigail and I strayed north along the coast.

“I spoke with the folks on the other ship,” she said. “They’re here to propose an idea to you.”

“Would you want to work with Elliot and the Glass Blowers as well? I’d love to see some of your beers in their bottles. They’re gorgeous. No other Brewer would be more deserving than you.”

“That depends on them.”

“My condition was to include your beer. They already know who you are, and they’d love to work with us together.”

“I’ve never worked with a Glass Blower before. But I’ve always wanted to. Margaux zapped me of any free time to explore such a thing.”

“So this will be a first for you?”

“Guess we’re doing a first thing together!”

We lay in the sand and listened to the surf foam over the rocks. The sun warmed our shoulders. I kissed her knuckles.

“About those other folks,” said Abigail after we’d brushed the sand from our clothes and began our amble back to camp. “They want to propose that you create inventory beers.”

“Easy enough. The Dream Cutters and I are already one step ahead of them.”

“That’s a yes, then? They’ll be thrilled.”

Sand shifted beneath approaching footsteps. Maz the Alchemist stumbled toward us. “Hawkin! My lady!”

“Is everything all right?” I said.

Maz whipped out his Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients. He wet his thumb and flipped to the S section. He put himself beside us so we could see the page he isolated.

“Is this because of you?” he said. “A note of origin hasn’t yet appeared in our Alchemy journals.”

Soul (Human).

(New Ingredient!)

Necromancy (WARNING: See rules R.4.1 regarding laws on necromancy.)

Aggregate addition: Human soul.

An ethereal plane must first be obtained. The necromantic Osmous ritual must be performed to seal the human soul upon the plane. Product: Ethereal Beer Phylactery.

I found that my Brewer’s Reputation had risen to 89.

Chapter 176

What’s On Tap?

Brewer’s Reputation: 74.

The tavern was empty. Dream Cutters’ voices drifted through the gardens but arrived at hushed volumes. They were deep in the gardens, and I had given them Soil Landmark ales to expand the grounds. They were surely drifting farther and farther from the globe bar.

The bar was made of eucalyptus burl. The only things on it were a couple of stuffed folders and two small bottles of beer. The stools at the globe bar were each made from a different tree. The one I sat upon was made of dotted hawthorn wood, and it had the color of pale cherries. Abigail scooted over a stool made of wildgoose plum wood. The dark rings in the light wood made it look like some kind of cinnamon roll.

That’s how Abigail’s ice billy goat beer tasted—like a cinnamon roll with double milk cream cheese icing. It tasted like she had added three different cinnamons from around the world. The rice and buckwheat lent the beer a baked pastry malt. The earthy hops brought out a perfume of raisins mashed in brown sugar. It was one of those beers that you couldn’t help but quaff too much down and then choke on. Then I found myself stomping a foot and shaking my head. What an astounding diamond rank beer. It had to be the first beer we served on tap!

“Am I weird for feeling kinda proud about the tavern?” I said.

“If that’s the case, I’m just as weird as you are,” said Abigail.

“We’ll have to serve dungeon beers.”

“And some Anti-gravity ale as homage to Thrush.”

“Then we’ve gotta have Goblin Spuck for the goblins too. And warm-warm root beer for Boggo and Ella.”

Abigail smacked her lips of beer. “What if we use some of the wreckage for the finishing details? Maybe construct a fountain with it in the beer garden to commemorate the goblins that lost their lives during the battle?”

“We can put up a plaque that tells of the battle.”

“How about we grow flowers everywhere? Not just in the garden. If we used Aggravated Wild Growth, this could become a place of absolute wonder and magic.”

“Speaking of magic. The fireflies…”

“It’s kept me up at night. I can’t help but watch them light up the woods. If Corylus were here, I’m sure he’d try to nab one for Hiccup.”

“You know, I think I’ll want to brew some special beers for the grand opening. How about…”

[Billy gush ale.]

[Gold rank. 09/100 Chimeric.]

[Brewery Hawkin.]

[Brewed using dark malts of billy goat style beers and saltier malts of the gush style beers. The beer is the color of suede. Condensation on the glass gives it a matte appearance. The aroma carries the oceanic fragrance of sea beans. The malt is slightly briny, with a beet sugar caramel which seduces the tongue. The foam is Crumble Cloud. Careful if you sneeze; crumbs of the foam might blow away.]

“It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed a gush ale!” said Abigail. “Gush mixed with billy goat is wild.”

“Increased my quality tier a few points,” I noted.

“I wonder if it would have gone higher if you’d brewed in one style.”

Hmm. “Let’s see.”

[Coffin Dark.]

[Gold rank. 24/100 Chimeric.]

[Brewery Hawkin.]

[Fantastic! Dark peringle malts were roasted until the edge of dark chocolate in aroma and color. The hops offer birch and maple resin which lend a sugared cream to an already thick beer. The foam is Black Greater Classic, which lattices like architecture over the rim and provides a pleasant charcoal nose. The beer is black from foam to malt. Don’t put it down in the dark.]

“I knew it!” said Abigail with a clap. “I could taste something in your beers today.”

“How I love brewing with you,” I said.

Abigail smiled big. “You know, this’ll be my first tavern.”

“Have you wanted to open a tavern?”

“I think all Brewers…” she began. She looked at me then with half of a smile. “Well, I think most Brewers sort of daydream about it. And ours is going to be highly sought after for years to come. That’s my bet.”

I eyed the stuffed folders. “It’s a good thing Hiccup will be managing it. I’m happy to leave all those applicants in his hands. I don’t know what I would look for in a bartender.”

“This tavern will change things for you. More so than anything else has.”

“I’m doing my best to use it as a base-building tactic, so hopefully we’ll be shielded from anything too earth shattering.”

“If you distribute the beer to this plane, Brewers from around the world could come here. You wouldn’t have to be the one doing the traveling…” She slid the bottles of beer out of her way, and she reached for my hand. “And you could make connections which would help you reach diamond…if you ever wanted to try to fulfill those kinds of quests.”

When she looked at me the way she did now, I felt heartbreak. It was so palpable that I wouldn’t have been surprised if her irises split in half.

I wouldn’t have to travel so much. I could work with people beyond the young man I intended to work with every weekend or so. I didn’t like that I’d also grown more comfortable around visitors.

Oh, Abigail…I couldn’t promise her something that might not happen. What if I gave it my all but still didn’t reach diamond rank in time? She would be so disappointed. I would be crushed and disappointed as well. If I spent that time throwing myself into the attempt to reach diamond rank, would we miss out on everyday tender moments? Our time together was so precious to me. I also didn’t want to fill our days with constant worry over reaching diamond. How could I promise her this?

“Few people ever make it to diamond rank, regardless of how hard they try,” I said.

“Hawkin, what better position could you be in? If your reputation hits number one, you’ll be recognized as the best Brewer in the world. But it won’t last long. Others will surpass you and take that spot. You might linger there for a while, but you’ll eventually see your reputation drop.”

“You’re about two thousand levels ahead of me. And I’ve got the Planes Cutter and Brewer paths to grind.”

“It will be very hard to come upon an opportunity like this again. What a stepping stone this could be for you.”

“The chances of reaching diamond for someone who doesn’t want to travel…”

“You may not have to. At least not at first. Adventurers of all sorts will travel to you if you distribute the ethereal beer to major markets. Hiccup can help with that. Erik too. We could ask Thrush for help. Hawkin, I want to be with you. Not just for now. For always.”

“I want to be with you too,” I said.

“There might not be much time to act on such an opportunity. Please think about it. I can help you. I can help you while there’s still time. Centuries, Hawkin. We would have a few more centuries together. And if we reached fable rank…”

I leaned back and drank. I smiled and tried to steer our conversation. “So we’d live as long as the besties? The goblins might start calling us sloop rats.”

“I want to age with you. I want to watch you age alongside me. What I don’t want to do is watch you age and pass away while I’m only on the first third of this new lifespan.”

In her eyes was that earnest heartbreak. I gulped down my own emotion of this all.

“Please consider it,” she said.

“Of course, my love. It’s all I think about.”

We refreshed ourselves with a few more sips of beer. Ah, what a drink to share deep conversations over!

Abigail patted her lap as if a matter had been solved. “I have something very exciting to show you. The beer that I shared with you earlier completed my Thewwy’s Puncheon Tap quest.”

She withdrew from her personal inventory a floating spigot. It was the size of Boggo. A big circular handle opened the pipe. When she let go of the spigot, it floated in midair.

I embraced her. “Congratulations, my love!”

“It’s connected to a puncheon barrel in my inventory. The puncheon barrel is on the heavier side, but anything within it is weightless.”

“What are you going to brew for it? How are you going to use it?”

I followed her lead when she returned to the coast where our trail saw its destination. She placed the spigot in the middle of the clearing we had made and left it to float there.

“Could you wrap it with your ethereal label skill?” she said.

I employed my Forge Ethereal Label skill and chewed my tongue while I wrapped it around the spigot and wrapped it around the handle. The spigot threw spectral colors onto the sand. Its reflection was a starburst of weird colors on the waves of the sea.

“How’s that?” I said.

“Try moving it.”

With all my strength, I could not move the spigot from its suspended position. I even hung from it like I was dangling from the branch of a tree. Abigail, however, repositioned it with ease.

“Only I can move it,” she said, “but anyone can fill a pour from it. I’d like to keep it here and fill the puncheon barrel with your Hermit Tavern ale.”

“It would be perfect here. No one would miss it.”

Chapter 177

Home

Ogo

Home. The volcano loomed over the docks. It was a wrinkled volcano, and it was all black. There was no other proof that Pol the legless crawled upon the world. The volcano was his. The first oral story I ever learned by heart was of Pol the legless. He hunted a prime saber-toothed bear when he found himself crawling over boiling tar. The tar burned his skin, but he swam in place for one thousand years. His struggle to pull himself from the tar had piled a mountain behind him. For all his efforts, he could not escape. He held his breath before he sank. He still lies there, and his heart is angry at the injustice of his slow death.

Pol was in another fit of rage. The volcano trembled. Magma sluiced from its decapitation. Ash speckled the air and tasted of acid. The ashfall covered the mouths of caves, decorated the tongues and shoulders of orcs, and lightened the wood of the newly built ships on the water.

Orcs of the volcanic isles moved as slow as turning elephants. Hundreds of my kin had come out from their caves to celebrate Pol’s rage. New caves were dug as communal rituals that symbolized the search for Pol’s legs. He needed those legs to climb the flute of his own rage to free himself of his hot tomb.

I would join them in their digs after I acquired my twenty commissioned ships.

Flax, their maker, found me grinning. “Thirty thousand gold,” he said. “Pay me annually until your debt is paid off. Twenty-five percent interest.”

I gestured to the carts of gold coin which my orcs were wheeling down the gangways of my ships. I hadn’t needed to gesture. Orcs and little orclets thronged the docks to gawk at the clattering piles of gold coins.

Haf came to shake hands with Flax.

“Haf, pay Flax his thirty thousand for the ships,” I said. I ripped the head off of a waterskin and guzzled the water. With it empty, I scooped it full of gold coins. I slapped the sack into Flax’s hand, and I grinned. “Deposit for another twenty ships.”

“Son of Khil!” said Flax. “By the Fourteen Tusked Boko, I can’t believe it! How in the Six fingered Fist of Irna did you come upon this much fortune! Pol’s legs!”

Orc sailors huddled around us.

Buto shouldered his way through. “Ogo,” he said.

“Buto, I’m pleased. The ships are well built.”

“You did it.”

“And over and over again I’ll keep doing it.”

“Is there even a mouthful of spit beer left aboard?”

“Enough for a toast with my captains.”

The mention of spit beer aboard had everyone shift their line of sight to my ship. Fur appeared at the top of the gangway. He lugged a sack at his back filled with scrolled maps.

Waving big, he said, “Maps for sale! Updated maps! Explore the Sea of Ogo!”

The sailors suddenly abandoned me and sprinted down the dock. Their footfalls thundered loud enough to send ripples racing off in what I could call fear.

What a commotion my return was causing. By the size of eyes, my kin had never seen so much gold. And I did this! Mighty Ogo did this! With my maps, orcs will sail upon my sea, and their fingers will sail across my name. I wanted my name in grunted guttural songs. I wanted to hear the tale of Ogo the MIghty, Ogo the enduring; Ogo, he who pulled one thousand times his weight of magic beer over a mountain.

I looked up high, as if the mountain we had crossed could be pulled from my memory. But in my vision I caught Jix waving over the taffrail at the prow.

“Sailors!” she boomed from the drum of her belly. “Five hundred gold a year! Sailors needed!”

The docks once again thundered. the sea trembled. Shadows of fish fled. Even sluicing magma escaped into the sea and boiled the water under great clouds of screaming steam.

Another shriek joined the screaming steam. It came from a young orclet, not even ten years old. He raced toward the dock as if he charged an entire army by himself. His mother was faster. She scooped him up by the leg and lifted him like he was but a pig to be rammed with a spit.

“Not yet, you don’t!” said the mother.

“I’m going to be like Lif!” said the orclet.

“Lif the warlord who popped skulls with a pinch?” said Buto.

“A promper mentor,” I said. “The lad will grow well.”

“Fetch a goat and rake it over the coals!” said the mother.

“I’m old enough to go!”

“Wash your hands in the magma. If they come out green, I’ll let you go. If they come out black again, you stay home.”

The orclet must have known that his hands would come out black. He probably already discovered his skin wasn’t quite thick enough yet.

He crossed his arms and pouted. “Fine!” he spat.

The father joined them, laughing. It was then that I noticed all of my orcs were likewise reuniting with their families. Sweet moments were soon interrupted when all eyes turned once again to my ship. New creatures were debarking: the legkeds and the golem.

Lady orcs swarmed the golem. He was the biggest, the largest creature they must have ever seen. They fawned over him, and his deep laughter had the ladies batting their eyes at him.

He wasn’t the only one whose size and presence brought a flutter to lady’s eyes. I wasn’t naive enough to misunderstand my own aura. My gaze met many others. I wanted more than anything to bring them treasures. I wanted to bring back spit beer, I wanted to buy goats from Lunstad, I wanted to bring pearls for my kin. There were stories to forge with my muscle against the world. I wanted to inspire the younger generations. The orcs deserved everything.

A trumpet blew at my ankles. A group of young orclets had gathered at my feet. One of them blew his nose again. They gaped at me. Their eyes were young enough to still soak light like sponges soaked water. I hoped they were looking forward to becoming as huge as me when they grew up.

“What are your names?” I said.

“Piw.”

“Wed.”

“Sop.”

“I have a quest for you,” I said. They tilted their heads. The one whose tusks were just coming in lapped at the protrusions with her bottom lip. “The next time I come back, you better be full grown. If I’m gonna put on a fight, you’ve gotta be ready to beat me.”

They made mean faces, and they growled.

Of course I wouldn’t brawl with them the next time around. I’d throw them around like a father throws his laughing children for play. Nor would I brawl with them the time after that. But one day I would like to brawl with them when they are stronger than me. Armed with double the strength that I have built, they could provide for our kin twice as much as I could. It is my hope to inspire them.

I pointed to the pearl ring around my tusk. “Whoever beats me next time gets this ring. This ring will show you the slug riders who have thorns for teeth.”

Chapter 178

Shh…

Boggo

The sloop wasn’t quite nearly as fast as all the buffs that Barnacle-eyes had for her fleet through evolutions. We still made our way south through warmer weather. This morning it was unusually hot, and a fog peeled off of the sea and streamed on by.

Ella and I were cuddled together in the crow’s nest. It was a gentle, quiet morning. Most of the goblins were still asleep.

Whispering as quietly as I could, I said, “Ella? Ella… Ell—”

“Shh,” whispered Ella.

“Sorry. I couldn’t tell if you were sleeping.”

Ella opened her eyes. The scleras were ruby red, and her topaz eyes exposed her weariness.

“I’m too exhausted to sleep,” she uttered.

I felt almost just as exhausted as her. My eyes burned red; I could feel them. The mist cooled us as it wandered through our furs. We had lately been through so much. So, so much!

“I can’t believe all that mutiny drama is finally over!” I said.

“Shh,” said Ella.

“It’s finally over, and we’re finally back home!”

“Shh. Boggo, please.”

I lowered my excitement. “This is the beginning of something great, don’t you think?”

“It’ll be a while before I can even begin to feel normal again.”

“We still have an hour before all the goblins wake up and then—”

“—Shh!”

Ahem. “I said we still have—”

Ella nuzzled my snout with hers. Our whiskers touched, and an intimate sensation of love rushed me. “I heard you,” she said. I’m looking forward to seeing Bailey again and showing him our final game.”

“It’s gonna take some time till we get there. I forgot how much smaller the sloop’s crow’s nest is compared to the Hand-O’War’s.”

“Boggo, lower your voice, please.”

“Sorry.”

“Same here. But it’s comfy. I like it. Do you like it? Do you think it's gonna be big enough for us?”

“It’s way bigger than the bestie tunnels we grew up in, right?”

“True,” she said.

“But with the sea and the wind and the seagulls and the goblins, it does get louder than what a bestie would normally be used to.”

“Oh, I think that’s all right.”

“I wish there was dirt,” I grumbled. “A bestie has gotta have dirt to dig in.”

“Digging is important.”

“No roots or insects either. Do you miss roots and insects?”

“Sometimes when I think of home,” she said.

“Do you think we’re too high up?”

“Compared to the Hand-O’War, this is nothing.”

“But still,” I said.

“I miss gillagrubs the most. I can’t wait to eat some.”

“We’re gonna have a whole pile of gillagrubs.”

“And dreambons?” said Ella. Her glossy eyes repeated the question.

“You betcha.”

“I can’t wait to see the red besties again.”

“And the green besties!” I said. “I hope we get the chance to meet the green besties one day!”

“Shh!”

Yipes! We froze together. Our eyes went wide. We held our breaths.

Between us, in a little blue poof-cocoon, tucked between the warmth of our bodies, a little blue ball of fur lifted its head. A mouth opened in the middle of the round fluffy poof to yawn. And after it yawned, it settled its head down into the depth of its blue-cocoon.

“That was close!” said Ella.

“Whew!”

“My back. I gotta rearrange myself. Do you want to hold them? You haven’t held any of them yet.”

“I’m too scared. What if I don’t do a good job? What if I’m a bad holder?”

Ella shimmied up, and she dumped a blue poof-cocoon, a yellow poof-cocoon, and a speckled poof-cocoon into my arms.

I held my babies for the first time. A blue one. A yellow one. A blue and yellow speckled one. By the elder besties!—Wow! They had all my attention: the attention of my gaze, the attention of my ears, the attention of my hold, the attention of my pounding heart.

As I held them, I felt keenly fearful. All other fears I’ve experienced paled in comparison to this new fear. But a new thing happened to me. It was the first time that I didn’t tremble one iota. Not a single fur—not a single whisker!—trembled because of my fear.

I knew that I would never forget the moment I held my three little besties for the first time. I spoke to them like I was trying to coo a perfect snowflake without blowing it away.

“Hello.” I gulped. I couldn’t find my voice for a moment. “Can I be honest with you guys? Geez, I don’t know how to say this. You see, I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my whole entire life. The world is filled with danger. And I may not have the weapons or magic or bravery that my friends have, but I promise you this. Your dad will fear nothing to keep you safe.”

Chapter 179

For Bollo, Egga, and Leggo

The fog had lifted, and the sloop was zigzagging over the sea. A hot sun warmed the wood of the deck, but it relaxed my toes.

Stumble-not followed me across deck. The little besties climbed him like he was an infinite tree. They leapt across his shoulders, bounded over his head, swung from the creases of his shirt, dove into his pockets, hid behind his ears, wrestled with his thumb, tunneled under his shirt, scrambled up his back, and scrabbled under his arms.

When the goblin’s hands quested for the little besties—in particular when they tickled him—they squealed and sped around his torso like they were being chased. Every time they leapt from his hand, he said, “Oop!”, “Yip!”, “Oopsy!”, and carefully caught them. Stumble-not was supremely gentle with them.

“Ella was past due for a big ‘ol nap,” I said. “I wish we could switch bodies. Sometimes I feel so useless.”

“Captain Ella is the best Captain I’ve ever worked under,” said Stumble-not.

“Yeah. Same. Listen, you’re uncle Stumble-not now. Don’t let a single one out of your sight.”

“Aye aye, temporary Captain!”

I skittered up the goblin and hopped onto his shoulder. “All right, that way!”

As Stumble-not lurched forward, my little besties squealed and hung onto his collar. The garlics were coming up quite fast. Some of them had red blades of grass. The onions were slow to follow. Remember-not and Knot-knuckle napped in the dappled shade of chamomile flowers.

We reached the prow to find Barnacle-eyes wrestling with Stink-lip. He seemed very adamant on climbing on the bow where a figurehead might be. Barnacle-eyes tugged on his arm; Stink-lip tugged on his arm.

“We’re not doing that anymore!” said Barnacle-eyes.

“I spilled my spit beer,” sniffled Stink-lip. “I think I know what I deserve.”

“Stink-lip, stop! This is my ship, and I make the rules. No goblin should ever be hung as the figurehead!”

“Are you sure?”

“I keep telling you. You have to believe me.”

“She’s right,” I said.

“Then how should I be punished?” said Stink-lip.

“No one’s going to be punished for spilling beer,” said the Admiral.

“Really? Like, really-really? Then why isn’t there a figurehead? It's so empty.” Stink-lip turned to the prow. As if from a daze, he said, “It’s…it’s calling me.”

Barnacle-eyes hauled the goblin away from the bow. “Why don’t you go water the garlics and onions.”

“If you’re sure…” Stink-lip gave the bow a good look before he sped off to the raised beds.

Barnacle-eyes heaved a huge breath of relief. She patted her hands together. “Well if it isn’t the newest additions to my crew. I knew the day would come. I thought if sloop rats multiply, sloop besties must multiply too!”

One by one I said, “This is Bollo, Egga, and Leggo.”

Barnacle-eyes tried to introduce herself to each one. They scrambled all over Stumble-not when her giant green hands tried to pick them up. A simple hello from Barnacle-eyes wasn’t left to one word. Oh, no, she had a lot to say! Whenever she reached for one of the besties I smacked the back of her hand.

“They’re so fast!” she said. “Well, welcome aboard little besties. We’ll put you to work right away!”

“No, no, no. It’ll be a while before any of that can happen. Barnacle-eyes, we gotta chat. I’m counting on you to make sure that they don’t get stepped on or sat on or anything on-ed!”

“Well, goblins are goblins.”

“No, no, no. You’re the Admiral. You gotta make sure every goblin on your crew knows that they have to look out for the little besties. They gotta watch where they stomp, where they nap, where they run.”

“We’ll make it a new rule. It’ll be rule number two!”

“And that goes for future freebooters too,” I said. “Your crew is bound to get bigger and bigger.”

“Oh yeah, I can’t wait!”

“You have to make sure that every new crew member knows that the baby besties must be protected.”

“Within the day, every goblin will know to watch out for the sloop besties and to be careful, and that they must be protected,” she said.

“And no eating them! Little besties are not for roasting like sloop rats! I’m gonna chew a hole through your sloop if any of them go missing!”

“No eating little besties. I promise.”

Bollo, Egga, and Leggo were chasing each other beneath Stumble-not’s shirt. The goblin twirled himself round in an attempt to reach them, giggling hysterically the while.

“What was that with Stink-lip?” I said as the world spun around me.

“Like Slime-tooth always says, old habits are hard to kill until they’re dead-dead.”

When Stumble-not finally came round about, the sun was in my eyes. It was there like a big bright idea.

“Would you say that all your goblins look up to Slime-tooth?” I said.

“Of course they do! He’s the best goblin that ever lived.”

“What if I carve a huge Slime-tooth sculpture for a figurehead? I’ve made a mini version before and your goblins loved that one. Maybe they can strap it onto the bow together. It’ll be a little bonding experience for everybody. Then Stink-lip and the other goblins from Gloom-glower’s ship might finally feel like the past is behind them.”

“Wow!” said Barnacle-eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a goblin statue that big! Come to think of it, not even Peg-tooth has something like that!”

The Admiral fell in love with the idea. She went on about how awesome it would be to have a giant Slime-tooth, a symbol of the best a goblin could be. As she went on, I rubbed my chin. There was a way to benefit from the massive project.

I knew how much the goblins looked up to Slime-tooth. Ella and I had helped to inadvertently establish him as a god figure. They revered the last statue I made of him, so surely they would revere an even bigger one! The best thing to do then would be to carve three little besties in Slime-tooth’s arms. That way if Slime-tooth the goblin god protected the besties, each of the goblins should know to look out for them too. And maybe a couple of campaigns wouldn’t hurt to threaten what might happen to a goblin if they didn’t help Slime-tooth protect the little besties…

Chapter 180

Training the Goblins

My pads were burning! It was the salt that wore them raw from all the walking. I had to slip into my black booties. I marched everywhere on the sloop. I climbed the shroud of the masts, I took the hatch down to the cargo hold, I stormed into crew quarters and did laps around all the goblins, I explored the corridor to the forecastle a dozen times, I crossed from prow to stern and from starboard to port side again and again.

In my wake, I left little crystals. They were nothing too special, just some quartz crystals. In the sunlight they glinted like hard drops of geometric dew. Along the way, I was sure to point them out to goblins. “Oh, look! A trickle-down gemstone!” I’d holler. “I wonder how many there are right under our feet? Better keep my eyes on the floor!”

I continued my hollering.

“Excuse me!”

I waved my arms big.

“Bestie walking here!”

I stomped my booties.

“Watch it! Watch it!”

I pushed goblin ankles.

“Down here! Watch your feet.”

I even dared to pounce upon a goblin’s leg. I gently nibbled their calf, but I made it look like I was rabid. I growled and snapped my teeth to make a good show of it too.

The goblin yelped. “What-what was that?”

“That’s right pal,” I said, hopping off of them. “Pay attention. Oh, and here’s a crystal for your efforts.”

“Whoa, it’s so shiny! Do I get to keep it?”

“Sure do if you watch where you’re stepping.”

Farther down on deck, Ella marched out between raised beds, like a rolling ball of fluffy sunlight. She waved her hands big and left crystals in her wake.

“Out of the way!” she said. “Excuse me! Good job; crystal for you!”

On and on and in circles and circles we marched. The idea was to appear as often as possible everywhere all at once. Being loud did a good job of drawing attention to two little besties walking underfoot. We had to start training the goblins to keep an eye out on the ground at all times. After discussing our tactics in depth, it was good to see that it was working. Goblins were scouring the deck for little crystal fragments. They kept their eyelids peeled up.

I often watched the Crow’s nest as I went. Stumble-not was looking after Bollo, Egga, and Leggo with undivided attention. It was a marvel really for a goblin to have such focus. I suppose a rampage of besties was the best thing to keep a goblin occupied and focused.

I suddenly switched directions!

“Right behind you! Careful!”

I switched directions again! An unsuspecting goblin had his back to me. I aimed myself at him, and I stopped right at his heels.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Hello.”

Static-sparks wheeled around. “Um, hello again?”

“I’m a bestie.”

“Uh-huh, you’re a sloop bestie, same as the last time, right?”

“I know a bright goblin when I see one! Just like this crystal.” I picked a larger quartz crumb from my fist to proffer. He snatched it up and smiled with his lips, his nose, and his eyes. “One more thing,” I continued. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m walking here!” I said, and I strode off.

It was best to engage with them. I needed to interact with as many goblins as I could. They needed to see me over and over. I had to get their line of sight used to angling down. Our trail of crystals worked wonders.

I zipped between raised beds, hollering this and that.

“Sorry!” said a goblin who hopped out of the way. “Sorry!”

I stuck to him like roots on a tunnel wall. I followed him around and forced him to keep it moving. “Blue bestie walking here! Could be a yellow one next! Could be a speckled one next! Could be a crystal next!” I snapped my teeth as I increased my speed. “Chomp! Chomp!”

Up in the crow’s nest, upon the threshold, I heard my little besties chant, “Chom-chom! Chom-chom!”

Oh boy did I puff with pride! I was so floofed, I was almost twice as big. I stuck my arms out wide. Ella crossed the deck again. She must have heard our besties chant because she too was poofed with pride. She really looked like a rolling ball of sun now. She darted between the legs of a strolling goblin and began weaving around his ankles.

She eyed the goblin dangerously. “Careful,” she threatened. “Careful.”

Ella suddenly lay herself down in the middle of a group of goblins by the helm. She rolled around on her back like she was stretching to let sunlight shine on her yellow belly. The goblins gave her space, and she rewarded them with a shower of crystals.

So the day went. We used all the energy we had to keep the goblins on their toes. When my little feet couldn’t take much more walking, I asked Barnacle-eyes to put together a huge block of wood made from planks. With two teeth, I began ripping away the grain. Ella was with me the whole time, directing the rendition of Slime-tooth. And what a huge figurehead it was going to be! It was twice as tall as Hawkin!

“Make his eyes more wise,” said Ella before we moved from the rough sculpt to the final sculpt.

“Like, like this?” I said.

“Mmm…it’s missing some trust.”

“Like that? How about that?”

“Oh, that’s good! Why I’d almost feel safe putting our real little besties in that Slime-tooth’s arms.”

“Yeah, maybe I did too good of a job. Let’s stick to the replicas. We’ll put carved Bollo here, carved Egga here, and carved Leggo there.”

“Wait, make the besties bigger. Make them stand out. Let’s give them some color, too!”

Just then, three colorful besties arrived in the cradle of Stumble-not’s arms.

“I have to go make clams-on-sticks,” said the goblin. “Admiral’s orders.”

It took a moment to capture the little besties. We had to almost juggle them altogether. Stumble-not kept ending up with one or two at a time until they finally clung to my fur. One of them hid in Ella’s fur. I had to go picking through her fur like I was looking for a big 'ol cackling furry tick.

We had them captured for but the whiff of a moment before they leapt onto the sculpture and raced all around it. Following Ella’s lead, I leapt onto the sculpture, and we chased them round and round.

As I climbed, upside down on Slime-tooth’s torso, I knew that this would be one of those cherished moments where the family is all together, and we’re happy, and the littles ones don’t know up from down, and the love of my life is beaming with joy.

There was no way! There was no single possibility! Absolutely, in all totality, was there no way in the world that any two creatures could be more in love than Ella and I. My family was the center of the world.

Oh what a beautiful soul, that bestie of mine. Such a gentle caring—

Ella tackled me to the ground. The besties leapt after her, chom-choming at my snout.

Oh, original elder besties. Give me this for the rest of my life. Let this be my forever.

But Bollo, Egga, and Leggo soon ran out of energy. They plopped straight down as much as a ball of fluff could plop down. Their energy had blasted them through the entire day, but they didn’t make it a second past dusk.

We wrapped them in poof-cocoons and laid them to rest in a nest made from both of our furs. I sat at the threshold of the crow’s nest to look down at the moon breaking on sea waves. Ella clung to my shoulder, asleep.

The light of a star flashed like it had burst. Down by the helm, Remember-not and Knot-knuckle jumped in celebration. The sloop suddenly lurched forward and picked up speed. The fleet must have acquired another buff.

The jolt of the movement woke more than a dozen goblins. They came to celebrate with the stargazing goblins until the starlit statue of Slime-tooth drew their attention. I couldn’t quite make out their conversation, but by mime, they seemed astonished by the statue’s size.

One by one, they left little offerings. Crystals glittered at the foot of the statue. Goblins pet the little bestie’s heads after climbing up Slime-tooth’s legs and belly.

I kissed the top of Ella’s head.

Chapter 181

Bailey’s Surprise

Remember-not had finished observing the Surf-gurgler constellation. Every one of the stars had contributed to an increase in sailing speed. When the constellation was complete, the sloop rode upon the back of a wave as it sailed. It was one of those rogue waves that stands above the dark sea on stormy nights. Because the sloop had to drift zigzag to take the wind, the wave moved with us.

Pink-chew also dedicated herself to exhaling massive gales which propelled us in bursts.

Those weren’t the only things that granted Barnacle-eyes’ sloop more speed than when she had her whole fleet. Gabby had charmed a young hammerhead shark, and the shark had guided us to stronger currents. Months of sailing were reduced to a single week.

One week was enough for the little besties to double in size. Their fur was extraordinarily poofy, like a ball they’d have to grow into. In the wind, they looked like scampering sea urchins. Double the bestie meant double the weight. Carrying two of them was like carrying two hammers. Two clung to the waterskin of dreambon ale I had strapped over my shoulder. Ella carried the other one.

We crossed Lavenfauvish city. Ella looked like she was carrying a huge blue dandelion ball on her back. I’m sure I looked the same with a speckled and a yellow one. Most of the humans smiled at us as we made our way to Bailey’s Game Enthusiast: Board and Card Games shop.

Lucky for us, there weren’t that many humans in the early morning. We passed through blocks of orange sunlight when we passed between buildings. The morning air was no longer cool like it usually was in spring. It was warm. I could still smell the fog that had drifted off the cobblestone streets only minutes ago.

I banged on the door of Bailey’s shop. I rapped by the hinge. I knocked a third time but harder.

“Open up!” I said. “I’ve got campaigns galore, and I’m not afraid to use them!”

Through the dimpled side windows, I saw the silhouette of a figure approach the door. The colors of the face showed like a smear through the dimpled glass as they peered left and right out the window. As soon as the figure withdrew, I banged again. It returned, and I hopped and waved.

Bailey opened the door wide. “Gracious! Come in!”

Ella and I scampered in.

“We have some time before I open!” said Bailey, and he shut and locked the door. “How have you been? Oh, don’t you two look poofin’ adorable! Your matching accessories suit you perfectly.”

We put our poof-balls down, and the little besties started running around. Because their little feet could not quite be seen beneath their fur, they looked like sliding furry balls. They raced around the shop as if they'd finally escaped from the clutches of the gardener-eating orange! Ella and I scrambled after them.

“Gracious!” said Bailey. “What are those little things?”

“Get back here!” I said. “No running! Watch it!”

Leggo hurled themself at a shelf. They climbed as if magma were flooding the shop. In their scramble, they overturned a whole basket of d12s.

“My, that’s a lot of damage!” said Bailey.

Ella and I used all our skills to capture the little besties. With deft acrobatics we hauled our butts after them. We used a very special item to pacify them: the dreambon. And with them once more clinging to our backs while they munched, I spilled Thrush’s dreambon ale in the middle of the shop.

“Boggo!” said Bailey. “What are you—you’re making a mess!”

Oopsy. “I totally forgot where I was, sorry. It’s for Thrush.”

“For—oh, here we go.”

Bailey seemed to prepare himself for Thrush’s arrival. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. I didn’t think he did a good job, because when Thrush showed up out of thin air, Bailey went pale. His nose wrinkled, then he frowned, and then he coughed.

Ella and I ended up coughing too because Thrush reeked of cheese. The little besties were the only ones that didn’t cough. In fact, they didn’t do anything. As soon as they saw Thrush, they froze. Each one was petrified, and their eyes were glued on Thrush. They hid their snouts right behind our shoulders. It was going to take some time until they got used to him. The first time we tried to introduce him, it didn’t go so well.

“Phew, Thrush!” I said. “You’ve been engulfing cheese lately, haven’t you!”

“More cheese than dreambons,” he said.

Bailey trembled, and he said, “It’s good to see you again, Thrush.”

“Yes,” said Thrush.

“How about we all sit and catch up.”

The little besties were so well behaved—I mean, terrified—that introducing them to Bailey was a breeze. They shyly gurgled as their eyes stayed on Thrush.

But Bailey’s curiosity only began with the little besties. He wanted to know about our adventures. In great detail, almost on our toes the whole time, Ella and I took turns recounting every detail while the other paused to catch their breath.

While we caught Bailey up, the little besties had climbed off of us. They stood as their own little pack and gawked up at Thrush.

When Thrush appeared in our stories, he told things from his perspective. His graveled voice rumbled my insides. The little besties twitched their tails. And like three balls of colored cotton were slowly moved by an invisible wind, they made their way closer and closer to Thrush.

By the end of our tale, they were all standing on one of Thrush’s paws. They attempted to climb him, and they were taking deep whiffs of his probably cheesy fur.

“Thrush, could we get into our loot chests?” said Ella after Bailey told us how glad he was to see us again.

“Yes,” said Thrush.

Thrush opened his yurt without hesitation, and Bailey squealed as it began to fill the space. Lucky for Thrush, the shop was just big enough to accommodate it.

Familiar with the space, the little besties zoomed through the tent flaps and bounced around inside. From our designated loot chests, which the besties kept bumping into and kept climbing, we fetched the final-final version of our finalized board game.

We showed the pile of papers and tokens and player pieces to Bailey. Bailey picked up the player pieces and studied them like he was looking for flaws. Although we had tons of pieces, we showed him the ones most chosen: a slime-tooth piece, a jellyfish piece, a boot, an orange with teeth, a bestie, a pickle, and a monster fish-bear.

“Quite the player pieces!” said Bailey.

“Obviously we have to play a game!” I said.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to open after noon. All right, let’s play!”

Ella and I spread out the board game. We organized character sheets and laid the rulebook down. As we set up the first campaign, Bailey scooped up the rulebook. He lifted his eyebrows as if that were something that would grant him better vision. As Ella and I placed tokens, Bailey pored over the rules.

”Before we begin,” said Bailey, suddenly. “I have to say I’m quite impressed with some of the mechanics I’m reading. It seems that you two have really put your heart and sweat into this game.”

“And fur, too!” I said.

“You’ll see once you read about the land of yellow and blue,” said Ella.

“Humans would love this,” said Bailey.

“No way to know for sure until you try,” I said. “Right, buddy?”

Bailey dashed his hands together like we’d set a fabulous dessert made of dreambons and gillagrubs before him. “Absolutely!” he said.

Ella cleared her throat. “It was a wet and stormy night in a black and foggy graveyard where a cold and grey tombstone crumbled—”

“—I’m sorry, excuse me,” said Bailey. “Just reading the rulebook is exciting! I was wondering if after we play, I could hold on to this for a week or so.”

”Yeah, I don’t know about that,” I drawled. “What you're holding is our final-final version, and it’s one of a kind. Thrush’s inventory is the best home we can give it.”

“You have my word that nothing will happen to it. I’ll treat it with the utmost care.”

“Why? What’s it mean to you?”

“I’d like to do something for you, and I want it to be a surprise.”

Ella rubbed my back. “I’ve known Bailey since I came to the red colony. We can trust him, one hundred percent.”

“A surprise, huh?” I said.

“Oh, yes,” said Bailey. “I think you’ll like it.”

I took Ella’s hand. “Well if Ella trusts you, then I definitely trust you.”

“Splendid!” said Bailey. “Oh, one more thing. Have you thought of a name?”

Chapter 182

Freebooter Goblin

Slime-tooth

There were no sharks, no manta rays, no jellyfish; and there was no sandy bottom and no light. It was dark, but I could breathe. It felt as though the depth of the sea rocked me in its peaceful ebb.

As if surfacing from the bottom of the sea, I woke up. I crushed my eyelids together, but bright light seeped through. My ears perked where their muscles still worked. The ship was rolling, and from the lack of speed, we must have anchored. Was Gloom-glower coming?

Oh no! Collect the ptooey! Move your body, old goblin! Lift the barrels. Lift them now! Get under them, hoist and scream and heave. Wake yourself up. Tell yourself the story you like. Gloom-glower can’t see you sleeping. Work! More!

“Slime-tooth, can you hear?” said a raspy voice. “Can you hear—”

That was a voice I recognized! Barnacle-eyes! She was looking for me! The ships were sinking. The mutiny was in full swing. Goblins were screaming, and my like-a-daughter was looking for me! I was looking for her too, as fast as my twisted ankle would let me. My precious goblin! Where are you?

Letting the light into my eyes was liking letting someone poke them with a crusty butterknife. It made them water, and I had to blink two dozen times.

I saw the colors of the deckhouse. I was in Barnacle-eyes’ sloop. The mutiny was behind me. Barnacle-eyes put her arm around me. She asked again if I could hear her. What was so urgent? Did she need ptooey?

“I-I hear you, I hear you. There’s more ptooey on the way. Lots more—”

Barnacle-eyes hoisted me up with a fish-bear hug and a tongue-squeezing grunt. “Slime-tooth, c’mon! Can you hear the goblins? They’re goblin-ing for you!”

I wobbled on my feet, but Barnacle-eyes stood with me like she was a sturdy orc. What muscle she must have developed. She steadied me as I swayed, and she fixed a kink in one of my ears. That ear picked up a sudden deep air, and I heard a commotion outside.

Oh, but I had to sit back down.

“Up, up!” said Barnacle-eyes. “Gotta get moving!”

She hoisted me up to my feet. Everything usually hurt. It was usually so bad. Things had been hurting so bad for so long, but today was different. I didn’t feel the pain as much. My body wasn’t listening to me anymore. Thank the goblins for Barnacle-eyes. If she weren’t here to help lead me…

“Barnacle-eyes,” I said. “When a goblin takes the lead, they lead the next goblin after the leader, okay?”

With an arm over my shoulder, she let me lean on her as she walked me out on deck. We went to the starboard taffrail which overlooked her favorite city to visit. The pier was filled with goblins! They were shouting my name! They called for Barnacle-eyes. Half of them had bottles of goblin spit beer in their raised hands. They cheered when they saw us. And—by the goblins!—there were humans too, and they had bottles of Goblin Spuck! Some of the humans were pointing at me, and they looked as excited as a goblin with cheese under their nose. They had open books, and when I squinted, I saw pictures of goblin spit beer and Goblin Spuck beer.

“I gotta show you Green-fin,” said Barnacle-eyes. “It’s one of my favorite places. We got some time before Erik the skull man comes to get us.”

“By the goblins,” I said. “Humans drinking spit beer? How come they’re saying my name?”

“Easy! Cause you’re famous! Humans and monsters have heard of you all over the world now! Now c'mon, lazybones! Green-fin is right there, Let’s go!”

I couldn’t turn with Barnacle-eyes, and I fell. I didn’t feel the fall, but all I could suddenly see was the floorboards where sea salt made squares between the boards. Strong and gentle hands gripped my arms and pulled.

“I’m sorry, Barnacle-eyes. Maybe later. Maybe if I take another nap first.”

“Who knows when I’ll be able to wake you up again.”

“I’ll make it a fast nap. I’ll sleep in my sleep. Then I’ll sleep in that sleep. And then in the one after that.”

“But all you’ve done is sleep. All the way here.”

She hefted me to my feet once more. I did my best to help her. “I can’t,” I said. “I just can’t right now. I’m too tired.”

“Slime-tooth, I really want to share this with you.”

She hopped in front of me, squatted, and pulled me onto her back.

“I gotcha!” she said. “You just sit back and relax.”

“Whoa!”

“There we go!”

With a couple of hops, she made me as comfortable as I could be. I tried to wrap my arms around her neck, but it was using too much of my strength, so I let them dangle over her shoulders. I laid my chin between her neck and shoulder.

With sure stomps, she carried me down the gangway and through the throng of goblins. They were gloriously loud! Were they all her friends? They were so nice to her; oh, how wonderful!

“Hello, hello, hello!” she told the goblins.

And the goblins appeared through the crowd to talk to her, one after the other.

“Welcome back, Admiral!” said a goblin.

“Bring any spit beer?” said another. “Goblin Spuck’s fine too!”

“I missed you!”

“I missed the hiring last time. Can I be part of your crew?”

Goblins pushed each other for the space to talk to her.

“Me, me, me! I wanna get hired, too!” said a rather well-fed goblin.

They wanted to work for her? Nobody ever wanted to work for Gloom-glower! Oh, what a sugar-thing to see! Most remarkable was how Barnacle-eyes gave every goblin a hello and a this and that. After losing her impressive fleet and almost all of her crew, how was her spirit not hampered? With quite little left, she was still the kind goblin I’ve always looked up to.

I didn’t know any of the goblins! My heart felt like it was green, like a plant—like something that grows when it's watered and given sunlight. Oh, how I wanted to say hello too! Ah, but it was much too hard to muster the strength to talk. Ha! What did that matter? All the goblins were smiling and laughing and following the leader up the dock.

“There’s a farm-a-market on the pier sometimes,” said Barnacle-eyes, turning her head to me as much as she could. “It's on a this-day and a that-day during the this-season and the that-season. It comes and goes like magic. Over there is where the painter humans painted my ships when they used to have great big gigantic jungles on them. Up there is the laven-stitch city where all the humans walk around. If you go up that street and do some lefts and rights, there’s tons of boot shops, but they sell out a lot. Promotion boots are terribly hard to find here. Oh, and I have a Smith butler! Did I tell you that already? Anyways, he’s gotta meet you.”

After a long and big blink, I made out a beautiful building. It was breathtaking. Huge stacked boards were each a different color of wood. I could make out ship parts that were used in the construction.

“What’s this place?” I said as Barnacle-eyes brought us closer to it.

“That’s Green-fin.”

With a big kick in the middle of the double doors, Barnacle-eyes burst into Green-fin. I felt like I was sailing on a sea of goblins. Their voices fell to a crashing surf of whispers as we entered. The whispers soon grew into shouts and hollers and hoots and calls. But as we squeezed our way through, I saw many worried gazes, and I heard the hush of many whispers.

“Is that a goblin?” some goblin said. “There’s too many scars to tell.”

“Yeah, and there’s a lot of parts missing, too,” said another.

“How come his skin’s so grey? I’ve never seen a goblin that grey before.”

“Slime-tooth, you wanna meet everybody?” said Barnacle-eyes. “You haven’t said a single hello so far.”

With great strength, I said, “Could you…” My voice went hoarse.

Barnacle-eyes spun a circle. “Huh? Who said that?”

Because my arms were too heavy, I tapped my Barnacle-eyes on the shoulder with my nose. I prepared myself with a hefty breath. “Back here, Barnacle-eyes. Could you say the hellos for me?”

“Phew, you didn’t sound like you just now!”

“Please, I’m too tired to talk.”

“You can count on me, sleepyhead!”

A yellow-green finger poked my cheek. “Um, who you got there?” said a yellow-green goblin.

“Slime-tooth, the best goblin I ever met,” said Barnacle-eyes. “He says hello.”

Several goblins gasped. “Wha…what happened to him?” said a goblin.

“Gloom-glower happened to him. Hello, Click-claws! And hello from Slime-tooth.”

Hellos were flung back and forth as we went. There were so many faces that I wish I knew the names of. I would have settled with just remembering their shapes and features. I smiled as much as I could until smiling drained me of energy. I hoped my eyes were smiling for me.

What a dream come true. Everyone was being so nice. My prayers were answered. All I ever wanted was for Barnacle-eyes to be accepted and treated well. Having such a dream come true relaxed me all the way from my nose to my toes to my heart.

My eyelids fell over my eyes. I wanted to tell Barnacle-eyes that I needed to sleep for just a moment, but I just didn’t have the strength. At least I could hear everyone. There were hellos here, hellos there; and some hellos from way up.

There were so many hellos that they started to mush together. They mixed with whispers and laughs and chortles and guffaws and giggles and shouts; and all the sounds of goblins began to sound like the sea crashing against a shore.

The sounds of goblins crashed all around me. They reminded me of the sea crashing against the hull of a ship. What a comforting sound for a freebooter goblin.

The sound was calling me. The big blue sea was calling me. I could hear so definitely that it was like I could see it clearly in my mind. The sea that I saw was a magic sea. There were goblins in the water, goblins on the waves, goblins in the sky, and goblins in the stars. The sea was very dark and very deep and very quiet and very peaceful and very dark and…

Chapter 183

Heavy

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

The crowd of goblins was already tight, but a new few dozen made us all squeeze together. Green-fin was as boisterous as I remembered. I gave goblins a hello from me and from Slime-tooth whenever I could.

There were humans, shark monsters, half orcs, and two red goblins! Slime-tooth was so quiet, and it felt like he was getting heavier. He was still, probably because he was so overwhelmed. I didn’t want to bother him too much, and he did ask for me to talk for him, so I answered particular questions for him, and I made my way ever closer to the packed bar.

There were so many goblins that I was no longer stepping on the floor as I squeezed through. I didn’t think any single goblin was stepping on the floor. We fit in Green-fin like one giant cork in the fat neck of a fat bottle.

Goblins were pressed up against the bar, and I saw Gabby! She was at the top of a green ladder with Sweet-thumps as the bottom. She paid for a couple of tankards, and they moved through the crowd, spraying beer foam as they went.

“Two spit beers, please!” I said to the bartender.

“Your goblin there doesn’t look like he’s in the shape for a drink,” he said.

“This is Slime-tooth. Slime-tooth says hello.” I took his hand and made him wave. Then to Slime-tooth who I couldn’t quite see, I said, “Do you want a beer, Slime-tooth? Hmm?” He probably wanted me to answer for him. To the bartender, I said, “We’ll share one please.”

“Coming right away, right up, right now. Two coppers!”

I paid my two coppers, hefted the tankard from the bar, and licked the yellow foam that streamed over my knuckles. I lifted the tankard to where I thought Slime-tooth’s mouth was, but he didn’t respond, much less move a single muscle. Whew, he was getting heavy!

“Let me know when you want a sip, okay?” I said.

I felt I had to shout to be heard. There were so many goblins talking at once that I couldn’t make out a single word. I was only able to make out laughs and nose-blows.

I made a quick squat to readjust Slime-tooth’s body. “Is it just me or are you getting really heavy?”

My tankard was also getting quite heavy the more I held it in one hand. The only way to fix that was to keep drinking. Alternating between a faceful of foam and a faceful of goblins, I crossed the inn. Goblins popped up between goblins for small chits and big chats. I had so much to say, especially since everyone was curious with what I’ve been up to. Slime-tooth received a lot of concern.

It was when I became breathless that word of Slime-tooth’s arrival at Green-fin had spread. Almost every goblin there came asking for blessings from him. I jostled him, but he never responded, so I told everyone he might be up for doling out some blessings later on.

And all the while, it felt like Slime-tooth was getting heavier and heavier.

“Admiral!” said a goblin. “Admiral!”

When I found the owner of the voice, I said, “Stumble-not! Where’ve ya been?”

“I heard about the farm-a-market. Since our garlics aren’t ready yet, I went to buy some. I got four different kinds! Try this one.”

I gave the garlic a good chomp. “So, so good. It’s almost the best!” Like it was a bitten apple, I offered Slime-tooth a bite right next to my teeth marks. “Want some, Slime-tooth? You hungry?”

I jostled him once more, but he didn’t answer.

“Um…Admiral?” said Stumble-not.

Goblins slowly lowered their voices, and eyes were turning my way.

“What,” I said. “What? Is there garlic on my face? Slime-tooth, they’re staring at us. Why is everyone staring? Slime-tooth?”

I circled myself in an attempt to get a good look at Slime-tooth. It felt like I was chasing a tail. He was much too heavy after the second circle, so I lowered him off my back and onto a chair that a goblin eagerly offered.

Oof! I stretched my back out and groaned.

When I opened my eyes from such a big stretch, I noticed that Slime-tooth had lost his color. He was greyer, and he was slumped in his chair. His jaw hung down. I touched his face.

“Slime-tooth?” I said. “You’re really cold.”

“Admiral?” said Stumble-not.

“Up you go, Slime-tooth! Gotta get moving if you wanna get warm.”

Goblins began to whisper slowly and softly, like their voices were leaves in the fall that were settling on the ground.

Stumble-not’s voice was also soft. “Admiral, I—”

To the crowd of goblins, I said, “Slime-tooth’s had a hard time waking up lately.” I jostled him real good, but he just flopped in his seat. “Up you go, Slime-tooth! Time to wake up!” Gabby came through the crowd. “Gabby, help me wake him up. Slime-tooth, wake-wakey! Lots of goblins around waiting on their hellos!”

Gabby didn’t budge to help me. She just stared at Slime-tooth and then at me. Not a single goblin budged to help me. Green-fin had gone completely silent.

I gave Slime-tooth a vigorous shake.

“Slime-tooth?” I said. “What’s going on? Gabby, what’s going on?”

Chapter 184

Battle Through the Kneecaps

Gabby

Sloop besties lived on the sloop, but they weren’t on the sloop. Sloop besties didn’t swim, so they weren’t in the water. Sloop besties dug tunnels—that, I knew—however, a farm-a-market was on the land. A short goblin like me was the best one for looking for sloop bestie tunnels. I was closer to the ground than any other goblin, unless they were lying down, or unless they were napping, or unless they were sleeping, or unless they were…

Come on little legs! There were no tunnels around big rocks, no tunnels around trees, no tunnels on the corners by the streets. There were a lot of dips in the ground, but my fingers didn’t go that deep.

“Hey! Out from under there!” said a human.

There were no tunnels under the farm-a-market vendor tables.

“Sloop besties!” I hollered. “Help!”

I ran under tables no matter how many times humans yelped or shouted or fell back in fright. I had to find the sloop besties! I dove under the table cloth of a garlic vendor and thrashed around, looking for tunnels.

“Young lady, is everything all right?” said a voice through the table.

“My Admiral is in trouble! I’m looking for Hawkin or Abigail or Boggo or Ella or Thrush or Hiccup or the Smith butler! The sloop besties know how to call the Thrush monster for help!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know those names, do—”

I bolted out from beneath the table. A startled dog shrieked and jumped back. They were just like humans, shrieking all because a desperate goblin was bumping into them and sometimes clawing at the ground by their feet. Didn’t they know I was trying to help my Admiral? Wasn’t it obvious?

“Boggo! Please thank you, I need you!”

When someone was in trouble, you were supposed to help them! But none of the humans were helping. My favorite voice in the world outshone every other chattering voice in the farm-a-market.

“Sloop besties!” echoed Sweet-thumps. “Captain Ella! Help!”

I tried to peer between humans to try and find Sweet-thumps, but I couldn’t see the goblin. While I looked, I smacked into the legs of a human. I bounced off and staggered but stayed on my feet.

“Please excuse you!” I said.

“Whoa, slow down there, what’s all this hollering for?” said the human.

“My Admiral sounds like she’s gonna die! I need the sloop besties, or Hawkin, or Hiccup!”

“The gold rank Brewer? Well, I suppose he’s been keeping a lot of goblin company lately. Follow me.”

The human sprinted off. He was lucky that other humans got out of his way. I guess he was easier to see, so other humans moved out of his way. They didn’t do that for me!

Oh, wait! “Sweet-thumps!” I turned to call. “This way!”

Pumping my legs, I raced after the human. I put so much effort into running as fast as I could that I screamed. He dodged humans. I dodged them too, but I needed to make sure they saw me.

“Move! Please thank you! Excuse you, please thank you!”

I slammed into the human where he stopped on the boardwalk.

Panting, he said, “Up this road, then take a right—”

Up the road I went! “Hiccup!”

The human shouted after me. “Take a right onto Rue…” His voice was quickly drowned out as I ran.

At the first intersection, humans were filtering to and from the farm-a-market. There were so many humans! More than half of them had long, dark cloaks. I couldn’t break my stride, so I barreled through them. Legs were swinging like pendulums all around me. Cloaks flew and rippled and snapped like moving curtains. I pushed legs, elbowed the backs of knees, and stepped on boots as I went. I forced myself through because I had to save my Admiral. I’d fight off as many kneecaps as I need!

Humans were cursing and shouting. They were stumbling and falling. Whole piles of humans slammed onto the road all around me. The meat on their legs and bellies were too soft and unstable to walk on, so I had to crawl. Crawling over slithering cloaks and groaning, writhing humans was even more difficult, so I had to swim. Stroke after stroke, kick after kick, I made my way across the sea of humans. I pulled on hair, I pulled on cloaks, and I pulled on limbs to get myself through the crowd.

By the time I got through, the humans were in an uproar. I leapt from the mess and landed on the cobblestone road once more, running deeper up into Lavenfauvish.

I took the first right that I could. “Hiccup! Hawkin! Smith-butler! Please, somebody thank you!”

There were fewer humans there, but none of them seemed to know who I was asking for. I choked on a recovering breath, turned about, and bolted back up the street. I took the next right.

“Has anyone seen Hiccup? Thank you, please.”

I returned to the main road and bolted up the hill. I had to push off my knees with my hands to keep up speed. I had to tuck in my chin and heave my breaths to keep going.

“Hiccup! Please—”

I slammed into another human. This time I bounced off and fell to my butt. As I got to my feet, I tried to scoop more breath in with my tongue. Sweat was pouring off of me. But nothing would stop me. I had to push myself. I slammed into the same human again. Gah, this one was tough to go through.

“What have we here?” said the human. “A wee goblin come up from Green-fin?”

“Out of the way, please thank you!”

The human squatted and gently grabbed my shoulder. “Whoa now! Yer bleeding from green ear to green toe.”

Bleeding? Oh, from the battle with all those kneecaps?

“I’m looking for Hiccup,” I said.

“Yer one of Barnacle-eyes’ goblins? I’m on the way to deliver this little something to Slime-tooth before I head over to the grand opening of Hawkin’s tavern.”

I looked up at him. He was the biggest man I ever saw. He carried a trophy, and it was a bronze trophy. There was a name on it, and I think it was Slime-tooth’s name.

But I was suspicious. “You know Barnacle-eyes? Hiccup too? How come I don’t know you?”

He laughed like he was trying to blow out stubborn earwax candle wicks. “Erik Skullander, at yer service. Hiccup’s one of me lackeys. I’ll have to scold him for not making our introduction. Now what’s the matter, little spitfire?”

Tears jumped out of my eyes. “Barnacle-eyes is in trouble! She screamed like she got stabbed in the chest. Then she fell into a little ball and started crying. She kept grabbing at her chest. When I moved her hands away there wasn’t any blood. But she wouldn’t stop crying. She was crying and crying and crying. We need healing beers and healing stuffs!”

“Stabbed?” said the human, and he seemed immensely shocked. “Are you sure?”

“Right in the heart! Please thank you!”

The human scooped me up under one arm, but I grappled his arm and pedaled my feet to help us run faster. Along the way, we came upon another kneecap beaten goblin who staggered zigzag up the street.

I pointed at the goblin, and the human scooped him up with me.

Chapter 185

Nerves

Hiccup

I opened my eyes to absolute splendor. Now Hawkin’s ethereal plane always had colors that were beyond what I could barely recognize. This plane, however, was one of his best ones yet. The flora was divine, absolutely divine. Some of them were translucent, and they gave the gardens a phantom dreaminess.

The tavern was larger than I thought he’d have made it. The grounds spanned more than the square footage of my entire estate, barley fields included. The globe bar was massive, and it looked like it might take a full minute to walk around it.

The oddities of goblin ship wreckage used in furniture or sculptures brought a worldliness to the space. The tavern was bustling with adventurers and many of my guests. Folk ambled through the gardens, and their delighted gasps filtered through the greenery.

I deposited the invitational beer for the grand opening into my inventory, and I wrung my hands. How nervous it was to be put in charge of Hawkin’s tavern! What an opportunity to make things right between him and Abigail, and I. Part of me worried I would squander the opportunity.

“And where is Erik?” I muttered. “He should be here by now.”

“Shall I send a search and wrangle party for him?” said Riggvelte.

“No, that’s quite all right. I’ll exercise patience.”

“Of course, Master. Don’t forget to stretch first.”

I nearly choked on a sudden laugh. That was the Riggvelte I’d made friends with! Ah, but if he could be more himself, I would love that. My favorite side of him was his human side. There were always ways to draw it out of him, such as dungeon crawling with him. Oh, it brought out his wit and mirth time and again.

Ah, those dungeon beers had certainly helped to pump up my Brewer’s Reputation. But managing Hawkin’s tavern would certainly improve it. With Hawkin and Abigail as partners—friends, foremost—I might be able to reach halfway through gold. Level 3000 seemed just around a few corners! Beyond, like a lantern light across rural landscapes, was diamond rank.

As if squinting to see such a far away flicker of light, I searched the crowd for Hawkin. Was this the day that I was going to finally meet him? I had an apology in mind which I had been rehearsing all week.

All I’d ever had of his image was what I concocted through Abigail. She never sat me down to describe his features, but I had still ended up with an image of him. He seemed a sweet man.

When Abigail spoke of their adventures together, I couldn’t help but to picture myself and Ashlee. Their adventures reminded me of mine with hers. For Hawkin’s mausoleum beer, I had to thank him. My life was all about beer until his beer changed my life. I could never repay him for giving me one more day with Ashlee. Riggvelte could attest that it changed me. Erik could too.

I slapped my palm with the back of my hand. “Where could Erik be? He might look like an ogre but this isn’t in the man’s character.”

“Say the word, Master Hiccough. I’ll send for him immediately.”

I sighed. “I shall wait…I shall wait…It’s just so unlike him. He’s always been prompt, especially for such an event! Oh, there’s Thrush.”

Preceded by split white air, Thrush stepped onto the plane. Save for Riggvelte and I, everyone shuffled away from the nightream in fear. Gasps trapped air, hands went to hearts, soft curses dropped into beards or blouses.

Abigail strolled out from the gardens holding a man’s hand. Ah, so that was Hawkin. But they weren’t the only ones to suddenly appear. Butlers emerged from the winding ramp of the beer cave behind the bar. They carried steel firkins on their shoulders, and they lined them up on the bar. One by one, taps were malleted into keystones. A few of the firkins showered out a spray of beer foam.

The bartender raised his hands and smiled wide. “Welcome all! We will begin with a selection of twenty different beers produced by Hawkin Ballow and Abigail Yak. Pairings have been provided by a very special guest. Would the man of the hour be so kind as to introduce Thrush?” The crowd was silent. “…Hawkin?”

Hawkin stepped up, and he cleared his throat. I almost had to laugh; he seemed as nervous as I felt!

“Uh, whoops,” said Hawkin. “Sure. Hello, everyone. Uh, this here is my friend Thrush. He’s just as, uh, scary as he looks, unless you’ve, uh, got some smoked fish for your first encounter. “ He chuckled perceptibly, but his joke was answered with silence. “Uh, sorry, I’m not used to these sorts of things. Thrush wouldn’t try to eat any of—”

He was not good at this, so I stepped forward and whirled around. “Gentlefolk, welcome to Hermit Tavern on Dellia Lucerne’s ethereal plane! Fear not our beloved friend, Thrush! He comes in peace, bearing a thrill of delights for your palates. Please enjoy his divine smoked meats, extravagant cheeses, and charming smile!”

Thrush tried on a smile. He curled his lips back from his fangs. His teeth seemed so soft that they swayed in his gums. His eyes beat like hearts, and their creamy depths pumped nodes of blood along their mossy veins.

Everyone understandably gave him even more clearance. In that new space, Thrush set up his yurt. When it was all ready and open for folk to meander in, blue smoke rose from a smokestack that protruded through the top. The smell of smoked fish humidified the air.

Chapter 186

My Challenge

Thrush

Hawkin had put thought into inviting me on the ethereal plane. Between Dellia’s wrath and including me in this new beginning of his, it was important to him that I come to the grand opening. The way that he looked at it, at worse, Dellia wouldn’t kill him. She was relying on his rise to becoming the world’s greatest Brewer.

And what better pairing could his beers have than smoked fish and smoked elodon ribs, and smoked bowls of cheese? But the humans didn’t seem too hungry for any of that. They seemed hungrier to talk with Hawkin. By the smell of sweat and dread radiating from Hawkin, he was having a tough time with all these humans.

They didn’t all go to him at once. Some went straight for the bar where foam cascaded from firkins and sloshed in freshly filled tankards. Others stayed as far from me as they could. Fear permeated the air with its astringent fragrance.

But I was a Merchant, and I had food aplenty!

“Come inside, I have delicious fish! Smoked purple tuna! Bark as thick as bark!”

Eyeballs flicked to me from profiled faces, and there was ample uneasiness in almost every gaze. The only humans who faced me were those in colorful robes. From what Hawkin had said, they could only be Scholars. They stared wide-eyed.

Yet even the Scholars did not approach me. Each of their hearts pumped blood which carried fear that sank through their skin. Perhaps I was more terrifying than usual. My skin was drooping like cream-colored cooling magma. I could not stop eating cheese. My fangs were soft, and they often crumbled over my tongue. Only by purring could I replace them. Fur was molting off where I was most cheese-like.

I wanted them to approach despite their fear, but humans always obeyed their fear. There was food to share, and I had lately learned that food tasted better when shared.

“I won’t bite,” I said, but I supposed that wasn’t quite true. “Or perhaps I will. Yes, I’ll bite fish and smoked fish and meat and smoked meat and dreambons and trees and—” A small man screamed and fled. The rest went somewhat pale, and they turned away. “Wait. I suppose I’ll bite lots of things, except for humans…Yes, I won’t bite humans anymore…Unless they endanger my friends…” Adventurers shuffled away from my yurt. “Join me! Come in for a bite, everyone!”

One of the Scholars stepped forward on a trembling leg. “You are the nightream, are you not?” he stammered. “By gods new and old, you are magnificent!”

“I’m just Thrush.”

“It can’t be true that you have a system. You are the system. Hawkin must be mistaken. Why would he spread such ridiculous nonsense?”

“Let’s talk over smoked fish.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Thrush. I am Richard Jollos.”

I shook Richard’s hand, but my skin and fur dripped between his fingers like he was squeezing slime. My Composition was too runny. My fur stuck to him the way that wet deer fur sticks to trees and trampled grass where the deer had brushed itself.

I heard the Scholar’s lungs shrink, and I heard his breath become shallow. He gulped but kept his eyes wide. The smell of smoke spiced the air, and I heard dozens of lungs rapidly intake breath to smell the meaty fragrance.

Whether it was the handshake or the smoke, the mood lightened. Scholars were the first to enter my yurt. Other adventurers were curious, but they still kept some distance.

What a new experience. When I had traveled north by myself, my trades had been mostly when my Composition was largely human. In Lavenfauvish, Hiccup had prepared humans for my arrival. Without preparation, it was difficult to trade with them. How disappointing it was that my appearance was a challenge. Would trade with humans be then out of my reach without the help of my Composition or my friends?

I didn’t want to eat humans again. Even the thought didn’t sit quite right in my belly. However, there were still bandits about…

Lessons along my Merchant quest path had taught me a thing or two, so I made things easier for humans. I moved my low table just outside the yurt, and I filled it with smoked meats and cheeses and melted smoked cheese bowls. With Scholars coming to surround me like I was a sight to behold, adventurers felt much more comfortable diving in to swipe food.

With all that settled, Scholars began asking me questions. They peppered me with questions of historical accuracy, questions about dreambons, questions of time, and questions about the system.

I didn’t respond because I suddenly caught a whiff of raw elodon meat, and lots of it! I spotted Eileen through the crowd. I went after her, leaving footprints of molting fur behind.

I ran into Hiccup along the way, and he said, “Thrush! I am thrilled to introduce you to Corylus.”

“Pleased to meet a friend of Hawkin’s,” said Corylus. “How do you do?”

“How do I do what?” I said.

The small giddy man bounced on his toes and said, “Oh, jolly!”

“He means to ask how you’re feeling,” said Hiccup.”

“I am worried about how short some lives are,” I said. “How do you do, too?”

“Marvelous!” said Corylus. “Absolutely marvelous! May I fetch a beer for everyone?”

Hiccup stood on his tiptoes and glanced around. “I would’ve liked to wait for Erik to arrive first. Thrush, you haven’t seen Erik, have you?”

I sniffed for him. “He’s not here.”

“Blast! Oh, I hope that fool is all right.”

“I’ll share beer with you after I talk to Eileen. She’s very important to me.”

I left molting fur in my wake.

Chapter 187

Never Ever

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 44.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been around so many people. It was easy to put on a smile and to shake hands, but it was draining. When adventurers had begun showing up in my woods, it was at least on my home base. The tavern didn’t quite feel like it belonged solely to me, especially with the hand which the Dream Cutters had in crafting the environment. I was surprised to find myself expecting some kind of ownership over it. It had at first seemed like it was mine, and everyone congratulated me like it was.

One by one, I thanked everyone for their words. Then I met Corylus for the first time.

He smiled like a child. “The man himself!” he said. “It’s an absolute delight to meet you! Tell me, how is little Bellesweet? Has she grown? My, what a joy it is to finally see your face. Please forgive me, I’ve gone quite giddy. What you’ve done for me…Gah, I’ve no words…” Corylus stammered mutely for a moment. “No words!”

“My pleasure,” I said. “And thank you for being so kind to Abigail.”

“Young man, that woman is remarkable! I can’t imagine the kind of wretch who’d behave in any other regard toward her. Well, Hiccup did mention a man, but that was well before you blossomed in her heart. It seems you’ve turned all our worlds upside down.”

“Looks like I’m turning my own world upside down too.”

“My dear boy, until now I’ve only known you through Abigail. I thought perhaps she’d exaggerated your particularities. But now it’s painfully clear, even to my aged eyes. This is far too many people for you to be around in one day, isn’t it?”

“Yup, I’m so far outside my comfort zone that I might as well be traveling.”

A butler approached me, and I knew from their bearing that it was Riggvelte. “Master Ballow—” he said.

I waved my hands. “Oh no, don’t call me that. Please.”

“Master Hawkin, I would like to introduce you to Ethan Hiccough.”

I nodded to Riggvelte, and said to Corylus, “It was a great pleasure to meet you. Your little bear was a beautiful girl. I’m so glad I got to meet her.”

Corylus beamed. He almost seemed as happy as Barnacle-eyes got when she found the perfect onion. Pure joy was in his eyes, and he returned the nod before I followed Riggvelte.

We conversed as we crossed the tavern, and no matter how many times I asked to be addressed by my first name only, he would respond with “yes, Master Hawkin”. This went on all the way to the bar.

Hiccup was there, and he had just filled a tankard with one of my spontaneity beers. The pink foam was proof that the beer was an apple wheat beer which Abigail and I had collaborated on. He was in the middle of a conversation with Abigail when he turned to Riggvelte and I.

“Abigail, did you swap my beer for an anti-gravity ale?” he said. “It feels as though my soul may take flight. Quickly, hold me down before I lose my chance to meet the world’s most evasive Brewer!”

“Master Hawkin,” said Riggvelte. “May I present Master Hiccough.”

Hiccup put on an authentic, charming smile. “Enchanted to finally meet you!”

“Are you truly Abigail’s friend?” I said.

“Pardon?”

“You lied to her. It hurt her deeply.”

Hiccup sighed. “Hawkin, I have no excuse. However, if I may be frank with you, I don't regret it. The events that transpired afterward have ultimately saved me.”

“If I may, Master Hawkin,” said Riggvelte. “As witness to Master Hiccough’s character, I can corroborate that.”

“What I did was foul,” said Hiccup. “But how can I regret the path that led to one more conversation with my late love? Though it may seem empty to you now, I promise to never break Abigail’s trust again.” To Abigail, he said, “And I do realize that there are still so many steps I’ve yet to take before that trust can be repaired.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Please Hawkin, I must thank you a thousand fold. Come to my estate. Let me treat you to all I have to offer. You’ve haven’t seen Silo #43, have you? I’d be happy to accommodate you for as long as you’d like.”

“I won’t be going to Lavenfauvish, but thank you.”

“Ah, but you must come see my beer cave. As Abigail can attest, I’ve got quite the collection. Several fable rank bottles which I’ve been saving. Enough to last us for months!”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, “but I don’t see myself ever going to Lavenfauvish. The bar here is as far from my home as I’m willing to go.”

“How could any Brewer forgo Lavenfauvish? The city boasts the highest concentration of prestigious breweries in the world. If you’re in a rush, I’ll narrow down the best of the best. A week should be enough time. But we must search for treasures while you’re there. So perhaps two weeks would be best. There are shops brimming with some of the rarest, most sought after ingredients in the Brewer’s Guide. We can explore it all when you visit. I’ll buy you anything you fancy!”

“Again, very kind, but I will never go to Lavenfauvish,” I said.

“But what about the festival? Not to enter, of course, but to enjoy the festivities. You should have seen how much Abigail and our companions enjoyed this year's extravaganza! All that was missing was you!”

“I appreciate how hard you’re going at this. Really though, nobody, not even a god, could convince me to travel right now.”

“One day,” he said. “Give me just one day. You won’t have to set foot away from my mansion. I’ll bring the wonders of the city indoors. It would allow me to show you a small thank you for all that you’ve done for me, for Ashlee, for Abigail, for Corylus, and even for Eric.”

“Hiccup, I thank you very much. But the amount of people I’ve had to deal with lately has pushed me into burnout. It’s been painfully reaffirmed that some things just aren’t for me. And they never will be. So please understand. I won’t be traveling to Lavenfauvish. Ever.”

“Then perhaps an evening? Only a few hours of your time. Please, I’m desperate to treat you to a lavish feast.”

“It’s not happening,” I said.

A group of adventurers raised their voices in what sounded like alarm. The crowd began quickly parting.

“Hawkin!” said a man. “Aye, where’s the bastard!”

“Good heavens!” said Hiccup. “Is that Eric?”

Riggvelet rocked on his heels. “Who else would have profanities precede him?”

Erik burst through the crowd, and he halted before us. “Hawkin! Is this Hawkin?”

“I am. What’s going on?”

“Barnacle-eyes needs you!”

Chapter 188

Piece of You

I staggered. The uneven cobblestone hurt my chances of staying upright. My head spun, and I brought a hand up to still my head, but I couldn’t find myself. Using a Brewer’s Portal over such a distance felt like I’d absorbed too many skill books at once while being punched in the gut. Nausea welled within. Though the Brewer’s Portal was a diamond ranked beer, it still depleted my mana to near zero which left me feeling even more drained. I could barely make a fist. I fell to a knee as the street swayed in my vision.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

“Up ye go!” said Eric.

He lifted me, and I shook my head to clear my vision. I regained my senses after a moment, and I leaned into a run the moment I felt sure of my foothold.

“Which way?” I said.

Eric pointed. “Ye don’t need to be a fish to spot the vast body of water straight over there.”

Eric raced past me, and I urged on. Footsteps beat the cobblestone right behind us. Hiccup and his butlers sprinted after us. Abigail flashed forward with Corylus beside her. Only Thrush was missing, but he said he’d be right by her side.

It was uncanny to be in a city again. Where there would have been pine needles, cobblestones filled the street as far as the eye could see. Where there would have been trees, people walked about. Where there would have been ridges, buildings blocked the view. Where there was the sea, there was still the sea. I kept my line of sight fixed on the water above Eric’s head as I trailed him. We nearly plowed through people.

“Excuse me!” I said.

After a few blocks, I started to see more and more goblins milling about.

“Excuse me, sorry!” I said as we broke through a group of folks.

What happened to Barnacle-eyes? I should have asked Eric, but I had instead jumped into action.

“Eric?” I called, but he was too far ahead of me.

I clipped someone’s shoulder, and I nearly lost my balance.

“Watch where you’re going dingleberry!” they said.

“Apologies!” I said.

As we descended the hill to the pier, I saw tons of goblins. They surrounded a rough shack, and I knew they were going to be tricky to speed through. Eric tripped over a couple that ran right in his path.

“Listen up snots!” I said with my whole chest.

Every single goblin froze. Their ears went back, and they went wide-eyed. Most of them glanced around for the owner of that voice of authority. In their pause, I slipped by them without issue. Eric rose to his feet. A few goblins hung from his body like he’d picked up sticky hitchhikers in tall grass. He set them down one by one as he hurdled over others.

“That’s Green-fin!” he said, pointing at the rough shack right by the water on the boardwalk. “She’s in there.”

Goblins were in a panic just outside the doors to Green-fin. I recognized Gabby and Remember-not. They waved as they hopped. There were humans among the goblins. Some of them looked like the city guard. Others looked to be city Healers. Something must have happened. I hoped Barnacle-eyes wasn’t hurt.

I kept hoping as we came upon Green-fin. “Barnacle-eyes!” I said. “Where is the Admiral?”

Goblins wrung their hands, and they pushed me through the door to the shack. A goblin was wailing horribly. The sound was coming from someone’s soul. It was a sound that the heart and the voice were made to create together. Green-fin was packed, and all the goblins wrung their hands and ears.

“Out of the way, please!” I said, as I pushed through the crowd.

Goblins pressed back, and I saw Thrush sitting beside Barnacle-eyes. She was crumpled over Slime-tooth’s body, rocking and wailing.

I halted. “Shit,” I whispered.

I knelt beside Barnacle-eyes. She had placed cheese all around him. There were cracked open dreambons and open bottles of spit beer.

“Barnacle-eyes, I’m so sorry,” I said.

The goblin was a wreck. It couldn’t be said that tears were falling from her eyes. Two streams of fast water flowed down her cheeks and fell from her chin.

“H-hawkin?” she said. She gestured to the cheese beside Slime-tooth’s body. “Hawkin, he’s not waking up for the cheese. The humans couldn’t wake him up either. They said…They said…”

City Healers came up beside me. Abigail, Eric, and Hiccup were there with them.

A city guard said, “He’s passed. There was nothing we could do. Several Healers worked on him. They said it was his heart.”

“Barnacle-eyes, do you understand what’s going on?” I said.

“I don’t want to understand!” she said. “I want Slime-tooth!”

“I know you do, and I can see that. I want Slime-tooth too.”

“Why him? Why now? Why can’t the humans help him? Humans are supposed to have all the magic! Why isn’t anyone helping Slime-tooth? Is it because he’s a goblin?”

“There's a lot of things that magic can’t do. Did humans come in here and take a look at him?” Barnacle-eyes nodded as light sparkled from the two streams that poured from her heart. “Were they gentle?” She nodded. “They must've done everything they could.”

She looked at me with eyes that I could have sworn had changed since I last saw her. “What about you?” she said. “You’ve always done more than everything. You can do anything.”

I had to look away. “Slime-tooth was one of the best goblins I ever met,” I said at long last. “It seems like he’s gone now, but he’ll always be with you. And with me too. You’ll find him again after a while. He’s in our hearts now.”

“No, no, no! Don’t say that! You only say that when someone dies!”

“I know this is hard but—”

“Thrush, can you do something?” she said, and she wailed after her sentence.

“No, Barnacle-eyes,” said Thrush. “Never more than now have I wished I could do something about that. Slime-tooth is dead.”

Barnacle-eyes clutched her dress over her heart. She toppled over her knees and said, “I think I’m going too! It hurts so much!”

That feeling was a ripping crushing madness that transformed a person. It was a true horror of the world. Thrush could not match its horror. It was a feeling that would stay with her all her life, and though it would change colors and shapes, there will forever be that endless hole.

“Do you feel like a piece of you is gone?” I said. Barnacle-eyes rolled to her knees, and she nodded big. “And it’s very, very painful.” She nodded. “It feels like a piece of me is gone too.”

“So it’s spreading?” she said.

“Look at all the goblins around you.”

She wiped her eyes over and over like she was trying to wipe away grease. “I can’t see anything.”

“Then I’ll tell you what’s happening. It looks like every goblin here knew Sime-tooth. Gabby, Pinky-chew, Remember-not, do you feel like a piece of you is gone too? What about everyone else?”

Goblins sniffled and murmured and whispered and choked on their own breaths.

“You guys too?” said Barnacle-eyes.

“We’re going to share our grief together, so that no goblin goes through it alone, okay?”

She looked straight through my eyes. “Me and Slime-tooth were supposed to be the best there ever was together. Why would he leave me behind?”

Chapter 189

Arrangements

Like a stiff board upon a green sea of goblins, Slime-tooth’s body was brought aboard Barnacle-eyes' sloop. They moved altogether like an oozing liquid across deck. Slime-tooth’s body was passed overhead to the starboard taffrail. Gabby gripped one of his ankles, and Barnacle-eyes gripped the other. A pair of goblins took up his arms. All four began swinging him like they meant to toss him overboard.

“One,” said Gabby. “Two, and—”

“S-stop!” I said. “What are you doing?”

Barnacle-eyes wiped her eyes with one hand. She looked at me, her bottom lip quivered, and her chin scrunched.

“Slime-tooth was a freebooter, so we’re putting him back at sea,” said Pinky-chew.

“Okay,” said Gabby. “One, two, and—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I said. “Barnacle-eyes, is this what you want?”

“No, but we have to,” she said.

“Let’s think about this. Bring Slime-tooth into the deckhouse.”

The goblins were clearly perplexed. Each one whispered to their neighbor who answered with shrugs. On Barnacle-eyes’ weary commands, they moved Slime-tooth’s body to the deckhouse. Abigail, Thrush, Hiccup, Riggvelte, and Eric met us there.

“Uh, what are we doing?” said Pinky-chew, who seemed offended. “Slime-tooth belongs at sea.”

“What happens when a goblin dies?” I said.

“If they drown, there’s not much to do. If they die aboard, we throw them overboard.”

“Okay, so then what about when a captain dies?”

“Same thing,” she said. “All goblins go back to the sea.”

“Is there any sort of ritual done before that?”

“Like magic? A spell?”

“I think what Hawkin is trying to say is that humans would want to give Slime-tooth a respectful burial,” said Abigail.

“No!” said Pinky-chew. “No burial. That’s not how goblins do things. He’s gotta go back to the sea.”

I looked to Hiccup and said, “We can’t just toss him overboard.”

“The city wouldn’t like that,” he said, “and Barnacle-eyes will incur a fine, but if that’s what she wants, I can cover the fine. However, they may bar her from mooring.”

“How are sailors usually buried?”

“If at sea, the body is typically wrapped in weighted sailcloth and given to the waves below,” said Riggvelte.

“How do you know this?” said Hiccup.

“A butler must be prepared for every scenario, Master Hiccough.”

“Maybe around here,” said Eric. “Me da’s da was a whaleman. They threw him in his skiff on peat and timber and set him ablaze on the water.”

In a small voice, Barnacle-eyes said, “Slime-tooth liked the fires when we were allowed to have them.”

Once more I looked to Hiccup. “What are the city's regulations on that?”

“I can have a chat with the officials,” he said, “but I’m certain they’ve only got a mile of jurisdiction at sea. Beyond that, there’s nothing they can do.”

I squatted to talk with Barnacle-eyes. “What if we gave Slime-tooth a funeral rite at sea? You could build a small boat to set on fire. And we could all be there together.”

“It would allow time for a ceremony to honor his life,” said Abigail.

“Like a final goodbye thing?” said Barnacle-eyes with big glossy eyes.

“Like a final goodbye thing,” I said.

Barnacle-eyes bowed her head, and she touched her chin. I saw her brows furrow. As she seemed to go deep into thought, I delved into my own thoughts.

Slime-tooth was indeed quite the goblin. I had known him from the beginning of our relationship to be firmly for goblins. He cared for his green folk with a huge heart. What a goblin he was to have earned such genuine admiration from all these goblins.

“I don’t think any goblin has ever had a funeral before,” said Barnacle-eyes.

She looked to her goblins as if any one of them might educate her on the matter. I could almost see them think as they chewed their lips or their tongue or the inside of their cheeks. Over a few moments, they all shook their heads. Not a single goblin had ever heard of a goblin funeral?

“Never heard of it,” said Gabby.

“No one’s ever mentioned giving a goblin a funeral,” said Pinky-chew.

Sweet-thumps stammered for a moment before he locked his voice. “Gloom-glower was afraid of mutiny, and even he never mentioned a funeral for himself.”

“Then Slime-tooth will be the first,” I said. “He was a special goblin, wasn’t he?”

Goblins began nodding to each other. Barnacle-eyes put her face in her hands, and she cried. “O-okay,” she said through her fingers before lowering her hands. “Let’s give him a funeral b-b-because he was a special goblin.”

We sat with Barnacle-eyes around the deckhouse table and coordinated the funeral. Both goblins and humans were eager to contribute, and I was pleased to see that the humans were quite respectful of the goblins' wishes.

Barnacle-eyes wished to build Slime-tooth’s boat by herself. Thrush supplied a few trees on deck, and humans began dividing the trunk while goblins ripped the branches off. Leafy limb by leafy limb and rough plank by rough plank, we handed supplies down to Barnacle-eyes as the boat slowly came together.

As it did, goblins began to grow more excited.

“Add some thwarts,” they said.

“A sideways mast,” they said.

“A crow’s nest on every corner.”

“Davits.”

“But what would go on the davits?”

“I don’t know,” they said.

“Add extra bailing buckets.”

“And bailing ladles!”

Thrush and I meanwhile watched Barnacle-eyes work from the taffrail. The goblins worked hard to be sure Barnacle-eyes had all the pieces she needed. At least one hundred goblins were pushing forward for a chance to help. Slime-tooth should have been around goblins like this in the last years of his life.

“Goblins don’t live very long,” said Thrush.

“Yup,” I said.

“Same with humans.”

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.”

“Will you reach diamond rank?” said Thrush.

I shifted from foot to foot and readjusted my lean against the taffrail.

“How about fable rank?” said Thrush. “Then would you live even longer.”

Fable! I chuckled. “Probably. If diamond rank adds a few centuries to your life, then fable rank would have to add…I don’t know. Maybe a millenia? I’ve only heard rumors.”

“My dreambons will be evolving in a few thousand years. I’m hungry to share them with you.”

Chapter 190

An Important Ingredient

Barnacle-eyes was clearly beat. She had slogged until dusk. The skiff she had been building turned out to be as long as the sloop. She lay plopped between thwarts. She had the back of her head rested against the gunwale. My collection mana jar was now only a third full, and it glowed a sharp azurite blue beside her.

We worked just as hard as she did to chop trees and rip branches to hand down to her. When I had thought the skiff was complete, Barnacle-eyes had a few more finishing touches to make.

Once the skiff was complete, we all worked with Third Hand attribute beers to cross-stack logs in the middle. Abigail gently lowered Slime-tooth onto the bed of logs where I had forged an ethereal label big enough to be called a quilt. Against the spectral colors of the ethereal material, Slime-tooth was silhouetted.

Barnacle-eyes boarded her sloop. She came to me wearily.

“Guess that’s it?” she said. “We burn him.”

“Would you like to send him off with something?” I said. “How about we brew a special beer together, and we can put it on his ship.”

“But he can’t drink it.”

“It’s a way to do something for him.”

“Can we make it a spit beer?” she said. “The one you were helping Slime-tooth make? Oh! And can we add garlic to it?”

“I’ve got some goblin spit left. How about you throw in one last ptooey into Slime-tooth’s black barrel?”

Barnacles sucked air in through her nose. She rattled the deep of her throat. After working her tongue, she shot a big ‘ol ptooey into the floating sphere of Brewer’s Bubble. The beer reached a quality of 28/100 Chimeric.

“According to the quality tier, this is the best beer I’ve ever brewed,” I said. “Why don’t you put it right beside him.”

Barnacle-eyes climbed down the hull of the sloop, boarded the skiff, and gently laid the bottle between Slime-tooth’s arm and his torso. The bottle blended with the label Slime-tooth was laid upon.

A few fingers nudged my shoulder.

One of the beer Collectors who’d been helping said, “Excuse me, would it be all right if I gave up a bottle of beer for Slime-tooth? Most of us came to Green-fin to add one of the weirdest beers in the world to our collection, but we’ve gotten to know the goblins quite well.”

“Barnacle-eyes!” I shouted.

“I’ll be right up,” she said. “I’m just telling him that he was my favorite goblin.”

“Would it be all right if…” I turned to the man, and asked with an expression.

“Lance,” he said.

To Barnacle-eyes I said, “Would it be all right if Lance gave Slime-tooth a beer too?”

“Well there’s plenty of room!” she said.

Lance offered up a blueberry pie spontaneity beer. As the bottle was passed through the crowd of goblins, each one sniffed at the cork and licked their lips. Green bellies began to rumble.

Lance must have inspired the rest of the humans who’d been helping. In turn, they each offered up a bottle from their collection. There were a few Brewers who brewed up some sustenance beers and attribute beers.

Hiccup came to me and said, “I was hoping we could offer something, so I had Riggvelte fetch a few items.”

Butlers ascended the gangway. Goblins parted for the men and women who carried baskets of garlic and onion. Goblin eyes went wide, and they stared at the piles. I caught Hiccup smiling as he observed them.

“Would you all like to offer something to Slime-tooth?” said Hiccup.

Goblins looked at each other as if they should respond as a group. Heads began eagerly nodding. They kept on nodding until Hiccup grabbed a basket from one of his butlers and set it right on the deck at the goblins’ feet.

“Why don't each of you grab an onion or a bulb of garlic and offer them with some kind words,” he said.

Goblins formed into bailing lines like the formation was gravity’s destination. Were it not for the baskets, I was certain the onions would have rolled into line with them. That’s how second nature their bailing lines seemed.

One by one they plucked onions and garlic from the baskets and went down to load the skiff. At Slime-tooth’s feet, each one said a prayer or whispered for what must have been a request for blessings. A few of them told Slime-tooth that they hoped he liked the garlic.

And what a strange sight it was when the skiff was at last loaded with garlic and onion. Where humans would have received rows of packed flowers, the goblins loved the piles of bulbs.

The goblins, Brewers, and beer Collectors weren’t the only ones to offer something. Thrush descended to the skiff. Boggo and Ella’s snouts poked out of the flaps of his backpack. Several colorful round poofs tried to escape. The besties left a wooden figurine of Slime-tooth, and Thrush left an enormous wheel of cheese. Upon seeing the cheese, goblins cheered as if they’d just battled to victory.

Smith offered a brand new pair of black boots, and Barnacle-eyes lost it when she fit them on Slime-tooth’s much smaller feet.

When it was my turn, I descended the netting attached to the skiff. I offered pink apples, some of my favorite beers, dandelion roots, and ingredients for beer. Then I clipped his hair and kept it in my inventory.

“I don’t think we can fit much else,” said Barnacle-eyes just as the last goblin had asked for a blessing.

One pile of onions was too tall. The boat rolled over a particularly large wave, and onions rolled over the gunwale and splashed the sea.

Gabby rushed to the taffrail and she chirped at the sea like a chipmunk. Before I could ask what on earth she was doing, goblins gasped and pointed at the water beside the skiff where onions bobbed. A hammerhead shark surfaced and retrieved the fallen onions for Barnacle-eyes. Gabby tumbled down to the skiff, and she reached out and petted the shark.

“This is pat! What a good familiar! Such a good familiar!”

“Toss down the tow rope!” said Barnacle-eyes after the goblins bid Pat farewell.

Things went rather quickly after that. The skiff was lashed to the sloop, and Barnacle-eyes sailed us off to deeper waters.

Under Barnacle-eyes’ strong command, goblins lowered a jolly boat from its davits. The Admiral and Pinky-chew climbed aboard, and Abigail gave them Fire Dagger attribute ales.

While the two goblins rowed the jolly boat, Pinky-chew blew impossibly strong gales of wind to push the skiff ahead of them until they were far enough to blend with the dark sea under a clear night of stars.

A flame sprouted in the dark. It stabbed the pile of wood on the skiff, and flames began to spread. Smoke began rising from the piles of garlic and onions. By the time Barnacle-eyes and Pinky-chew returned and boarded, the skiff was engulfed in flames.

“Hawkin?” said Barnacle-eyes as firelight flickered over her.

“Hmm?” I said.

“It still hurts so bad. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts. I wish there was a magic that could make me feel better.”

“I wish the same thing.”

“Will you hold my hand?” she said. “I think that would help.”

I gave her my hand. She reached for Abigail’s beside her. She wept as flames touched the stars.

Chapter 191

One More Goodbye

With everyone returned ashore, Barnacle-eyes wanted to return to sea where Slime-tooth’s pyre had bobbed. I didn’t know where the skiff had been, but Barnacle-eyes said she felt that it was right where she set anchor.

We sat together atop the deckhouse. The night was cool. Stars sparkled overhead, and one of them seemed to burst with light. The sloop was cast in a white glow for nary a second.

On deck, Remember-not rolled out from under her telescope, and she rubbed her eyes. She opened a journal whose pages were sparse with dots. With her finger, she quizzically connected the dots.

Thrush and Abigail asked Remember-not what buff she earned, but I couldn’t pick up her answer. Her entire crew cavorted over, and they sat on the deck to chat while Thrush passed around smoked meats and bowls of melted cheese.

“Bite-tongue is the only constellation I know,” said Barnacle-eyes. Her gaze still lingered on the stars. “Slime-tooth taught it to me.”

“Are there a lot of goblin constellations?” I said.

“I don’t know. Remember-not says there are. I guess so.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m so confused,” she said. “I’ve seen hundreds of goblins die before. I never liked it, but it was just the way of things.”

“You really looked up to Slime-tooth, didn’t you?”

“He was taller than me for sure. But I don’t think that’s why I’m so sad.”

“I was sad after my grandfather passed away,” I said.

“Was he a goblin? Probably not, but was he?”

“He was a regular human, but there was no one else like him.”

A shooting star threaded between stars. Its tail was white, and the edges glowed yellow.

“Wow!” said Barnacle-eyes. “A sneaky star!”

“You know, my grandfather used to tell me that seeing a shooting star means that somebody you love is thinking of you. Maybe Slime-tooth is up there in the heavens and thinking about you.”

“That’s stupid. I saw his body burn all the way up. He's dead for sure. Dead, dead, dead.”

Barnacle-eyes sat up with a huff. She rubbed her eyes, and she seemed to stare more intently at the sky. Her eyes darted like she was trying to see everywhere all at once, just in case she missed something.

“Slime-tooth used to say that a thing in plain sight is the hardest thing to see,” she said.

“That can definitely be the case.”

“He was so wise. More wiser than any other goblin I’ve ever met. One day he said, ‘sometimes I understand and sometimes I don’t’. I think I get it now.”

Her crew had moved to the prow. They leaned over the taffrail where Slime-tooth’s huge figurehead hung. The goblins began to mimic the pose. In place of the little besties in Slime-tooth’s arm, they placed three bulbs of onion in their arms. When one of the goblins snatched an onion to eat it, they were wrestled to the deck and scolded like what he’d done was a damnable sin.

The commotion drew chuckles from both Barnacle-eyes and I. As we watched the goblins banter and erupt with laughter, Barnacle-eyes swung her feet. Her heels knocked the wood of the deckhouse, She chuckled everytime the onion-besties were gingerly passed around and protected.

“That was funny wasn’t it?” I said.

Barnacle-eyes cleared her throat. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t be laughing right now. No one should be.”

I regretted making her aware. “Did Slime-tooth ever say not to laugh?”

“He said that laughing wakes the heart and makes it jump.”

“Barnacle-eyes, I’m one hundred percent positive Slime-tooth would want you to feel happy.”

Barnacle-eyes wept. “I don’t even know how I feel, but I just wanna feel how I feel, however that feels.”

She sobbed, and I scooted closer to her. I rubbed her back and sat with her until her sobbing calmed to sniffles.

I couldn’t help but sniffle with her, and I worried over what I could do for her. Then I remembered. I withdrew the clipping of Slime-tooth’s hair, and I brewed a purely ethereal beer with it. I bottled the beer in a boot-shaped bottle.

“I have something very special to give you,” I said.

“I’m not too thirsty—or hungry if it’s got onion or garlic in it.”

I passed her the bottle. “This is a mausoleum beer. It’ll let you give Slime-tooth one more last goodbye.”

As if Barnacle-eyes was just handed a Fable Stone, she took it tenderly. She looked at it for a good moment before she hugged it.

Chapter 192

Loved One

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

I’d never been on this plane before! Hawkin had so many. I stared at colors I’d never seen before, even if I counted the labels he forged. I recognized the plants, however. There was so much honeysuckle, it felt like a fence that bordered the path of gravel. Big oaks were dark, and they looked mean and old and grumpy. The clouds of the atmosphere were shimmery. Crunch went the pebbles under my boots.

My ears perked at soft sounds. I heard faint murmurs. A lot of people were crying. Someone sobbed somewhere. I heard a lot of joy too! Oh, I couldn’t wait for all those feelings! I wanted the joy one the most because it reminded me of Slime-tooth and when we used to spend time together.

“So what do I do?” I said to Evon.

“Right this way, young lady,” he said.

“C’mon, Smith. C’mon, Gabby.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Smith.

“Of course, my Admiral,” said Gabby.

Evon was a really slow walker. I had to stop to wait for him when I went too fast. Gabby kept bumping into me, which kept interrupting my thoughts.

What was I gonna say? Oh, Peg-tooth! I was so nervous. Our time was gonna be limited, so I had to choose my words carefully; or I could not choose my words carefully and just talk really fast. It really was an either or thing, especially with Slime-tooth who was a really good listener. Maybe I should switch things up and try my best to be the listener this time. His time was going to be as limited with me as mine with his!

So that’s what I started doing. I practiced listening. The problem was that there was nothing to listen to except for the sounds that came out of the alcoves of nature where people had been paired up with their lost ones in a private place surrounded by nature. I was able to peek in a few of them as we went. There were lots of mirage-benches, and people were talking with people or pets.

It was strange to see a blue person and a blue cat! I could see right through them, and it was like only their outline was blue. The rest was a hazy blue, like when it was a good twilight out.

Gabby bumped into me once more, and I took the chance to whisper, “Is Slime-tooth gonna be blue too?”

“I’ve never seen a blue goblin before,” she said.

We passed by alcove after alcove of honeysuckle bushes until Evon turned into an empty one. I bet it was mine! There was a hole in the honeysuckle, and in the hole was a beautiful view of the shimmery atmosphere that seemed endless.

“The bench is for your comfort,” said Evon. “There is a path through the columns if you’d like to go for a walk. The path belongs to this alcove, and it will be private.”

“I just drink the beer?” I said.

“You must pour a libation. In the blink of an eye, Slime-tooth will appear.”

“When do I start?”

“At your leisure,” he said. “If you have any trouble at all, Gabby or Smith may come fetch me.”

Evon bowed, and he left.

“Would you care for some privacy?” said Smith.

“No, no, Slime-tooth loves company. Well, sometimes he doesn’t like humans, so if he gets grumpy, I’ll have to shoo you.”

I popped the cork of my very own special mausoleum beer. I turned the bottle upside down for one glug, and beer splashed on the pebbles.

I smiled really big, and I waited. Gabby and I spun around, and I waited. I looked at Smith, and I waited.

Pebbles crunched under Smith’s boots. “I’ll fetch Evon,” he said, and he ran off.

“Where’s Slime-tooth?” said Gabby.

“Didn’t I pour the beer?” I said.

Gabby and I circled the bench, and I waited. We sat on the bench and swung our feet, and I waited. I heard footsteps crunching pebbles, and Gabby ran up to look down the path between the columns. Evon and Smith entered the alcove, and it was clear the footsteps came from them.

“Has Slime-tooth not appeared?” said Evon.

“He has trouble walking,” I said. “Maybe he’s on his way.”

Smith gave Evon a long look until Evon said, “I have no idea what the problem could be. You poured the beer right on the ground?”

“Yeah, right there.”

“May I try?”

But he did the same thing I did. Beer foamed between the pebbles with a hush. The gravel and pebbles were darker where they were wet. We waited, and the pebbles dried up.

“Sometimes, the deceased will appear at a distance,” said Evon. “Smith, will you walk the path and look for Slime-tooth? The path makes a complete loop. I’ll check the nearby alcoves.”

They left, and I returned to the bench, just to give my legs a break from all the standing and pacing and checking the paths.

“What if he’s not coming?” said Gabby.

I smiled, but my lip quivered. It was suddenly harder to breathe, and my chest was hurting. But I was sure it wouldn’t hurt for much longer; afterall, Hawkin promised I would have one more day with Slime-tooth. He was just a little late.

He was so late that he wasn’t yet here when Evon and Smith returned.

“I am so terribly sorry,” said Evon. “This has never happened before.”

“Could Master Ballow have made a mistake with the beer?” said Smith.

“It’s possible, but this would be the first.”

“I saw him use Slime-tooth’s hair,” I said.

“I’ll go see if I can find Hiccup,” said Evon.

“Shall I continue looking?” said Smith.

“That would be best.”

Once more, Gabby and I were left alone to keep a lookout and an ear out. We sat on the bench, we laid on the bench, we sat on the pebbles, we laid on the pebbles, we walked around the alcove, we peered down the path between the columns, we searched the sky, we peeked between the honeysuckle bushes, and we even checked nearby alcoves. If I went too far, I sprinted back to the bench just in case Slime-tooth came while I was gone for two seconds. I swung my feet and tried my best to smile. Gabby wasn’t smiling.

She was asleep when Smith returned.

“Lady Barnacle-eyes, there’s no sign of another goblin,” he said.

I jumped up and kicked the pebbles. What was going on? Hawkin promised! He said Slime-tooth would come! All the other people on the plane had their Slime-tooths! How come not me? I was so upset that my stomach started grumbling with me.

“Are you hungry?” said Smith. “Shall I fetch something for you?”

“Slime-tooth loved onions,” I said.

“I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Smith left…again. I stared through the ground while I listened to Gabby snore. Several times I almost went exploring the entire area, but I was terrified Slime-tooth would appear the moment I went looking for him. All I could do was look both ways down the main path and peer as far as I could down the path between the columns.

Smith returned with a platter of delicious goblin treats. I looked at the food, but I felt nothing. My heart didn’t care for the idea of eating. All it wanted to do was share some with Slime-tooth. Even though I was told that I wouldn’t be able to touch him, and he wouldn’t be able to drink and eat, maybe Slime-tooth was special. I wanted to save the platter just in case.

“I’ll see if I can fetch Master Evon,” said Smith. “He’s been absent for some time now. Will you excuse me?”

“I’ll be right here.”

As soon as Smith exited the alcove, Gabby snored harshly enough to wake herself up.

“Please thank you!” she spouted. She gazed around the alcove and then shot off the bench. “By Surf-gurgler, did I miss him?”

“No Slime-tooth yet,” I said.

“Why not?” she said.

My vision went blurry. “Do you think Slime-tooth doesn’t want to see me? Is he mad at me?”

Chapter 193

Achievement

System

[A goblin has qualified for System assessment postmortem.]

[Assessing the rise of Slime-tooth.]

[1 Goblin god is following.]

[Multiple tier 1 achievements have been cataloged.]

[Tier 1 achievements:]

[Snot like the others: Widespread fame among goblins.]

[Unlikely allies: Widespread fame among humans.]

[From tusk to dawn: Widespread fame among orcs.]

[Palate of fangs: Widespread fame among monsters.]

[Oceans apart: Widespread fame across the western sea.]

[Slime-tooth is legendary!]

[3 Goblin gods are following.]

[Assessing the rise of Slime-tooth.]

[Multiple tier 2 achievements have been cataloged.]

[Tier 2 achievements:]

[In a league of their own: Bronze medal award winner for Goblin Spuck beer.]

[Green-sense: Spread of lore through goblin proverbs. Status: perpetual.]

[Ready, aim, ptooey!: Spread of lore through rumors of adventure and glory. Status: perpetual.]

[Slime-tooth is fabled!]

[45 Goblin gods are following.]

[Assessing the rise of Slime-tooth.]

[Multiple tier 3 achievements have been cataloged.]

[Tier 3 achievements:]

[The biggest, the largest: Multiple shrines with increasing size.]

[Beyond the veil: More than one hundred blessings have been given by disembodied voice.]

[Green pact: Devout following earned.]

[Like weeds: Spread of influence among goblins.]

[Merciful martyr: Self sacrificed sixty-four times to save goblins from punishment.]

[Spit-fire: First goblin to receive ritual burial.]

[Two feet in the grave: Received promotional boots after death.]

[Assessing the rise of Slime-tooth: final.]

[All goblin gods are following.]

[Final tier ascension requirements have been met.]

[Slime-tooth is ascending!]

[Slime-tooth is a god!]

Chapter 194

Great-father

Barnacle-eyes

Chance of Mutiny: 00%.

The sun made the calm sea shine. All the other ships by the pier pitched with every small wave that rode up to Lavenfauvish. Rigging and seagulls clanged. The murmur of goblins and humans meant that the rest of the world was back to their daily doings. Oh, why didn’t Slime-tooth show up?

Hawkin leaned on the taffrail beside me, just like I did.

“I did everything right,” he said. “It should’ve worked.”

“I stayed there for a really long time,” I uttered.

“Barnacle-eyes, I’m so sorry. Up until now, it’s worked for everyone; for people, and even for animals, so I don’t see why…”

I sighed into the wood of the taffrail, and I could smell its salty, oaky tang. As I thought, Hawkin’s voice became muffled because my thoughts were that much louder.

Oh, why didn’t Slime-tooth show up? What did I do wrong? Again I wiped quiet tears from my eyes. My cheeks felt so raw, my eyes stung, and some of my eyelashes had come out from all the wiping. The calm sea was blurry, and I couldn’t even care to look at it. It was just something to look away from the world at.

Oh, what did I do wrong? My own thoughts became muffled as the pain in my chest became that much louder. When I was finally coming out of the deep hole of missing Slime-tooth, it was only because I was being poked in the ribs by a goblin.

“Admiral?” said Pinky-chew.

Hawkin squatted, and he seemed worried. “Barnacle-eyes?”

“Uhm…what?” I said.

“I finished the hiring. And you usually promote some goblins right about now.”

I turned to Hawkin. “It’s okay, Hawkin. We tried. It’s my fault anyways. Slime-tooth probably didn’t want—”

“—Evon told me you did everything right,” he said. “I’ll check on you soon, okay? Anytime you want to see me, just ask Thrush. We can meet at Hermit Tavern.”

I nodded as much as I could, and I followed Pinky-chew across deck as fast as I could.

“I’m sorry, Barnacle-eyes,” she said over her shoulder.

“Me too. But goblins need promotions, so I gotta promote.”

“How many goblins?”

“Just one,” I said. “Lost most of my Fable Stones when my ships got commandeered. Should’ve kept them in my inventory.”

“Who’s it gonna be?”

With a heavy arm and a limp finger, I pointed. “That one.”

Old Wrinkle-twinkle was the oldest goblin on my crew, and he was swabbing the deck like he was the youngest. His swabbing was really good, and he even got the salt out between the planks.

“Good morning, Admiral!” said Old Wrinkle-twinkle.

“It’s promotion time,” I said with as much care as I could muster. “I’ll be building another jolly boat today. It needs a Captain, and I choose you.”

I offered up the Fable Stone from my inventory. It was lumpy and brightly turquoise.

“By the goblin gods!” said Old Wrinkle-twinkle. “Never thought I’d see the day! But why me? Why me out of all the other goblins?”

“I think you’ll make a terrific Captain,” I said, and I hoped my smile was big enough to show that I cared.

He grabbed the Fable Stone like it was a super crumbly wedge of cheese he had to be careful with so that he didn’t lose any morsels. His eyes rolled to the back of his tilted head.

My chest rose with a big inhale, and it deflated with all the air in the world. That’s what my breathing felt like lately. …Oh, What did I do wrong?

With my gaze on my boots, I trudged back to the taffrail so I could stare at the sea again. How could I give my fleet all the attention it needed when my heart suddenly didn’t seem to care? Then there was my mind which was too busy.

“Oh!” said Old Wrinkle-twinkle. “Oh, wait! Admiral, please wait!”

I turned. He made enough of a commotion that goblins got curious. They bounced over and circled him. I sauntered over to them.

“I’m on the Great-father quest path!” he said. “My quest path provides buffs for whichever fleet I’m on, just like Remember-not’s quest path.”

“What sort of buffs, please thank you?” said Gabby.

“The first branch helps to lower the fleet’s Chance of Mutiny!”

“That’ll sure help!” said Pinky-chew.

“Great-father,” I said with as much excitement as I could show. “Congratulations. Well, I better get—”

“—Wait! Admiral, that’s not the best part! I got to assign the most awesome goblin god of all time to my quest path!”

“Surf-gurgler?” said Gabby.

“Peg-tooth?” said Sweet-thumps.

“Frog-marcher?” said Stuck-dimple

“Chum-bits?” said Thick-cheek

“Ice-licker?” said Itch-elbow.

“Bite-tongue?” said Crude-manner

I pictured them all, though I had only ever seen Peg-tooth. Would Surf-gurgler have hair like seaweed? Probably. She probably foamed at the mouth. Frog-marcher would probably look like a frog with big eyes that sort of popped out of his face. Chum-bits sounded like a big round goblin with a charming smile. Ice-licker sounded like he was stuck in the frozen waters of the far north. And Bite-tongue seemed like he had huge teeth that snapped all on their own! Then I pictured a wonderful old mangled goblin with warm-hearted eyes and a gentle like-a-father smile.

The sudden hush of the goblin brought me out of my imaginings.

“Admiral,” said Gabby. “Did you hear what he just said?”

“Slime-tooth!’ said Old Wrinkle-twinkle. “I assigned Slime-tooth to my quest path!”

My chest froze. I couldn’t breathe out-ways or in-ways. My eyes popped wide.

“But, he’s dead,” said Pinky-chew. “Like, dead and burnt-dead-again-just-in-case kinda dead.”

“He’s a god now!” said Old Wrinkle-twinkle. “An official goblin god!”

Goblins frenzied. For a moment they seemed like imps that had just hunted down enough food to last a lifetime. They hollered their throats raw with triumph.

In the deafening volume, I said, “One of us? One of us actually became a god?”

Old Wrinkle-twinkle came right up to my nose so that we could hear each other. He steadied me by grasping both of my shoulders. “Slime-tooth said that he misses you. He couldn’t answer your calling because it doesn’t work on gods. He asked how you were doing, and I said terrible, and he was very sad about that, but he said he’s proud of you, and he asked for me to take good care of you.”

Clearer tears than what I’d been crying lately dripped down my face. My breath was returning, but I couldn’t utter.

“He said that you’re his like-a-daughter.”

At last I said, “I-I am! I am!”

“And he says he loves you.”

“So he’s not mad at me?”

Old Wrinkle-twinkle drew us together, and he hugged me tight. “This is a Great-father hug, directly from Slime-tooth.”

It was a hug that made me feel like I’d never really been hugged before. Even the sound of the word suddenly made sense. Hug. Hug-hug. I couldn’t believe that a hug was capable of wiping everything clean. It was better than a shield, or a yurt, or a cabin, or even a mansion. It was like a home. Of course the Great-father quest path came from Slime-tooth! I was instantly sure that no other goblin quest path was as amazing as Great-father. Sorry, Peg-tooth.

Now Slime-tooth was with Peg-tooth and all the other constellations! He did it! Oh, Slime-tooth! I felt triple incredibly proud of him. I couldn’t believe that I got to grow up with him. What an honor it was to be his friend. I knew he was a special goblin!

I gasped. Hawkin was right! The sneaky star was a Slime-tooth thought, and he was thinking of me!

How did Hawkin know? How did a human know such ins and outs of goblins? For sure, Hawkin was a true goblin friend. Even if his magic beer didn’t work sometimes, Hawkin himself was magic.

Chapter 195

Through Rank or Through Gods

Thrush

Friends and adventurers returned to Hermit Tavern. Everyone was eagerly welcomed back by the bartenders and the tending butlers. The grand opening was again underway, and again I lay out a spread of meats and cheeses and smoked cheese bowls inside my yurt.

The only way to share the delicious feast was to remove myself from the yurt. Only then did humans eagerly dive inside. I put myself instead at the globe bar. A nervous bartender trembled before me.

“May I have a…” I raised my snub nose and sniffed repeatedly. I could smell the beer within each firkin. Abigail and Hawkin must have really put thought into which beers they were going to serve. The aromas stirred my imagination, and I curled my toes and accidentally scraped the wood of the bar. Being as soft as a wheel of gumundur cheese, my claws crumbled away instead of leaving marks in the wood.

“The fifth firkin there,” I said. “I’d like a gallon of that.”

“A gallon?” said the bartender. He eyed the small firkin. “Let’s start you off with a pint.”

“Yes. I’d also like three more pints of the same beer.”

The bartender sighed perceptibly, but it was hitched like he breathed in fear. He fetched four pints. As he plunked the tankard bottoms before me, Scholars took up stools beside me. A young boy used all the strength he had with a grunt to heft a massive tome onto the bar.

“Oh great immortal nightream! I beg you to grace this old man with your divine wisdom. I am Barnaby Whittlebeethus the XI.”

The young man cleared his throat.

“Oh, and this is Thomas,” said Barnaby.

“I am Thrush. The first.”

Barnaby hooted as though his life depended on him being as boisterous as he could. He slapped his knee. His face went red with stifled mirth. I laughed with him, but the sound made the crowd hush. Blood drained from Barnaby’s face.

“Thrush,” he said. “I am beyond honored to finally meet you!”

He kicked off his stool which scraped backwards. He dropped like he was throwing himself off of a mountain cliff, and he prostrated himself beneath my dangling paws.

Thomas dropped to a crouch and attempted to yank Barnaby to his feet. “Master! Master, please! Rise!”

While they squabbled, I downed the first pint of beer. The foam was white, it sparkled like crushed bone, and it had the same formation that desert rose crystals had. From around my lips, the foam lifted off and fluttered to the air like butterfly wings in search of butterfly bodies. They disintegrated before making it twelve feet.

While Thomas at last hefted Barnaby to his feet, I thought it would have been nice to see the butterfly wings of foam fly around a little longer. It was a magic too fleeting. It was like a goblin in that way. Goblin lives were fleeting. Although they were probably better compared to moths, I wished both couldn’t disintegrate so quickly. If only they lived at least as long as humans.

The young Thomas finally lifted the old Barnaby to his feet.

“Apologies, eternal one!” said Barnaby. “Please forgive this old fool. Now I must ask, are you the system?”

“No. I have a system.”

Barnaby seemed crestfallen. His entire visage turned down on two corners. “So Hawkin must’ve spoken the truth…But, you’re still a god, are you not?”

“I’m just Thrush.”

“When did your system first manifest?”

My system? I turned my gaze to the sky of shimmering clouds. I must have been thinking too long because Barnaby’s voice drew my attention.

“And what about the dreambon?” he said. “How did you come upon it?”

“I’ve always had it.”

“Are there others that share your powers?”

Once again, I went silent in thought.

Barnaby at one point seemed like he could not contain himself any longer. “Thomas, turn to the dreambon, quickly!”

Thomas shook himself out, took a wide stance, and gripped a handful of pages from the tome. I reached over and helped him turn heavy pages which took no strength from me. My proximity to Thomas must have terrified him. I heard his blood bubble in his veins, and his heart raced.

I heard Barnaby’s heart race as well when he put a finger on the illustration in the middle of a page. It was an illumination of a dreambon. The fruit was green, and bronze squares speckled it all around. In one open half, needle shaped seeds sat in a thick, lathered cream.

I retrieved one of my red dreambons from my inventory. Barnaby’s body seemed to stutter. Thomas almost fainted, and he had to brace himself on the bar.

“No, no, no!” said Barnaby. “This isn’t possible! How could these records be false?”

I pointed to the illumination of the green dreambon and said, “My red one evolved from what’s been drawn here. I haven’t seen the green one in…”

“Evolution…It evolves? But then… How many iterations have there been? By the gods, just how long has the dreambon existed? If only humans lived long enough to observe the transformation of such wonders!”

I fixed my gaze on him. My eyes pulsed in their sockets like two thumping hearts. Barnaby gulped a shape down his throat.

“Please,” he said. “Might you give me one? As a Scholar of the Order of Ortus, it would be my greatest treasure. A great many secrets of the system could be revealed through the study of the dreambon! Please, I must try to discover its truths before I perish from this earth!”

Another man strode into our midst. “Pardon my intrusion,” he said.

Barnaby shooed Thomas into the man. He pushed on Thomas who pushed the man back.

“Jasper!” said Barnaby. “Wait your turn, you leech! Be gone with you!”

Bracing against Thomas, who slid him away, Jasper said, “Oh, I’ll draw blood the next time we meet, you senile fossil!”

“My Master wishes to buy you a drink at that table over there,” said Thomas. “Yes, far, far other there. Now please sir, let me treat you!”

“Unhand me, you mangy pup!” said Jasper. “How dare you put your filthy paws on an elder!”

Thomas overpowered Jasper, and I considered the immensely heavy tome that the young man must have been porting everyday.

“Nasty as always,” said Barnaby, returning his attention to our conversation. “But that’s to be expected of an Alchemist. Thrush, you must beware of that lot. They will promise you anything you want to hear in order to get your dreambon. Don’t believe a word they say!”

“What do they say?” I said.

“Absolute nonsense. Now Thrush, please answer me this. How is it that you’ve lived such a long life? Could the dreambon be responsible for that?”

Hmm. “…Could it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said.

“If I gave you a dreambon, would it help you find a way to give my friends more life?”

I held the dreambon between us. Barnaby’ eyes lit up. He froze, and it almost seemed like he was about to salivate.

“Ah, longevity…” he said absently. “I will devote all the years my body has left to dissect the mysteries of the world eater’s fruit!”

“So you think there’s a chance? My friends won’t have to die?”

The Scholar’s excitement dropped. “I can’t promise you something like that,” he said. “From what information I have, the dreambon seems to have a special relationship with you. It’s doubtful that bond would extend to others. Life extended past the dictates of natural laws is only achieved at the highest system ranks, and immortality is granted almost solely to the gods. You, however, are the exception.”

Hawkin, Abigail, Barnacle-eyes, Boggo, Ella, and Slime-tooth had eaten dreambons. And Slime-tooth died. No one received a Composition or Satiation stat.

“I think you’re right,” I said.

“But that doesn’t mean it won’t be worth giving me one. Please, there are so many other secrets that we might still glean!”

I sensed a change in the Scholar. I smelled his desperation as if it were fumes gushing from his pores. I too was something desperate to extend the lives of my dear friends. The other thing I sensed from the Scholar was that the thing we were both desperate for couldn’t be more different.

“I’ll keep my dreambons for myself and my friends,” I said.

Barnaby implored me, but I tuned him out. I mulled over what he said about gods and high ranks. Abigail was the highest ranking person I knew.

Chapter 196

If Long Life Was Stored in the Heart

I no longer gazed upon the shimmery clouds of the atmosphere on the Hermit Tavern plane. Instead, I gazed up at the canopy of Hawkin’s woods. Flies zipped across my gigantic vision.

They were big fat flies. Flies like these often swarmed corpses. They buzzed viciously, and they dove at my body. With every exhale, flies that were swooping over my mouth suddenly dropped. They pelted my tongue, my body, and the forest floor. The horrendous cheesy fumes of my breath wrinkled the air.

Composition:

67% Cheese

28% Dreambon

02% Fish

02% Beer

01% World

I felt my body melt beneath me. I was nearly the shape of a puddle. 67% cheese affected me enough that my bones had crumbled, and I fell in a slump. But I didn’t mind. These things never bothered me. It was a new favorite way to enjoy the feel of the sun as my skin ran like spilt bulgadew cheese. One of my eyes began to run out of its socket like the goo of egg whites.

My runny eyeball afforded me a new view of a path in the woods. Abigail appeared on that path. She jumped and muffled a blood-curdling scream of horror. Her hands trembled, and her scream shook through her fingers.

“Thrush?” she said. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“By Potere, what happened?”

“I understand what it's like to be cheese, Abigail. It’s delicious!”

She batted the air before her nose. “You smell awful. Gah, it’s like all the cheese in the world was forgotten under a bowl…And I just so happened to peek underneath.”

“I feel slow. I feel runny. My heart is creamy.”

“I can barely understand you.”

“Yes,” I said. “My own tongue is oozing down my throat.”

It must have been the stench that forced her to retreat. She snapped her fingers, and liquid tinkled within confining glass. She seemed suddenly refreshed, like she had armed herself against my stench. I heard her heart rate drop closer to its normal beat.

“Just in time,” she said. “I almost joined those poor flies. Thrush, I hope none of your friends ever see you like this. I…Oh gods…I’m going to face the other way. I just can’t look at you.”

“I suppose I should return to myself.”

I lifted my arm. Fur and flesh and tendon stuck to my body and the ground in long stretching strands. Abigail squirmed and turned away. With that hand, I was able to dump dreambons over my crumbling teeth. Laying like a jellyfish with a piranha's mouth, I devoured hundreds of dreambons until my Satiation reached 99% and my cheese composition reduced to 50%. It was enough for me to regain most of my structure, but not without the occasional bit of fur and skin that dripped like I was made of melting wax.

“That's…not entirely better,” said Abigail. “But at least I can stomach being in your presence now.”

“Perhaps you can convince the other humans to do the same. It’s been too hard for me to trade at the tavern. They see me and they sense me and they fill with fear.”

“People just need to get to know you. I still get chills around you, but it’s become much easier to manage.”

“You’re diamond rank,” I said. “Is there anything you could brew for me? Something like your Anti-gravity ale? But for blending in with humans? I don’t want to eat them again.”

“I’ve been studying attributes for the past year and some, and there might be a few things. How about I try out some recipes, and you can give them a taste test?”

“Okay. Could you brew something for Hawkin, too? But for helping him get to diamond rank?”

“Thrush, pursuing diamond rank is something he has to decide for himself first. I really hope he can reach it. Centuries of my heart are in his hands.”

Flies drove into my fur. They drowned in the corners of my eyes. Full green leaves rustled overhead. Sunlight dappled the forest. Bird song echoed tenderly through the woods.

“Is there a beer that can make Barnacle-eyes live longer?” I said. “She’s going to be the first to die.”

After a moment, Abigail said, “…I’m sorry, Thrush.”

I ripped off one of my fingers with a pop.

Abigail whirled around and said, “By the gods!”

Pastel pink blood oozed from both wounds. I placed my finger back and purred to heal the amputation. It was something humans couldn’t do, goblins couldn’t do, and Boggo couldn’t do. Why was I so different from my friends? From all creatures? Why was it that I had so much life? My long life wasn’t something I could rip off like a finger to give my friends. If long life was stored in the heart, I could break it and share the pieces with them.

I sighed big enough to break a few ribs.

“Are you okay?” said Abigail.

I simply lay back upon the forest floor. I watched the summer leaves sway in the wind. The branches bent, and the trunks swayed. Every now and then, a fly tripped on my eyeball, and my eyelids crushed it into my eyelashes.

Abigail sat with me, and I just stared at leaves I’ve seen for millions upon millions of years already.

Chapter 197

Collector’s Journal Update

Hawkin

Brewer’s Reputation: 57.

30,000 barrels of beer. Only 2,000 of them went into my Forge Ethereal Label barrels. The rest went into coopered barrels which Hiccup and Eric were able to scrounge up. I filled them all with cloned Hermit Tavern beers. People should be packing the tavern, and I had tons of beer to brew.

What a busy spring it had been. Despite having been completely out of my element, I felt drawn to slipping onto the Hermit Tavern plane just to witness everything. Perhaps it was everything that went into the tavern which called to me. Evident in the design were little things of my life with Abigail, Thrush, Barnacle-eyes, and even Boggo. Of all the planes I had crafted, it had a certain aura to it. Strange, considering how close to home my Beyond the Cabin plane was.

Having imbibed diamond ranked Chameleon Stealth attribute beers, Abigail and I stood in the thick of the Mist Hidden wall where we could clearly see Thewwy’s floating spigot. Beyond it, upon the sea, more ships had arrived. The spigot which threw pavonine and spectral colors must have caught their attention. Adventurers rowed to shore with the spigot fixed in their line of sight.

After dragging their boats ashore, they drank from the spigot. One by one, they vanished.

“The puncheon barrel is in your inventory, right?” I said.

“I can see its volume decrease,” said Abigail. “Still almost full.”

“Amazing. And you can just replenish it from your inventory?”

“Wherever we are.”

The last adventurer vanished. A single drop of ethereal beer fell from the lip of the spigot.

“And off they go,” I said.

“You know what this means?”

“Our base-building decoy was a success.”

“That, and we also have the woods to ourselves again,” said Abigail.

We returned to our woods through the Mist Hidden wall. The mist blasted around us like we were stepping through whipping flags of transparent purple-blue light. On exiting, I took in the sight of the woods.

Silver cocoons still blanketed the forest. In the distance, gigantic trees towered impossibly high. Fireflies of all sizes droned around us. A flock of sparrows dipped by and veered toward the sea.

“Would you like to walk back to the cabin instead of using a Brewer’s Portal?” I said.

“Still woozy from your adventures in Lavenfauvish?”

My fingers grazed down her palm and fit between her fingers as I slid my hand in hers. “Just to enjoy walking with you.”

We ambled along, and at times we swung our hands. One of us picked up a hum. Together we turned when we heard sudden sounds of the forest. We laughed when a bluejay cackled. We laughed when we mimicked the spitting great tailed grackle.

Despite those sounds, the forest was quiet. I turned to Abigail a few times to try to ask if she knew why it was so quiet, but I didn’t quite know how to put what I was feeling into words.

I found myself looking for blue bestie tunnels at the base of trees. I’d never seen one other than those in my cellar, and I didn’t think I’d ever spot one in the wild. I guessed that they were harder to find than ginseng. So instead of looking, I tried to keep an ear out for any bestie chitterings.

A chittering bestie only made me think of Barnacle-eyes. I smiled to myself as I looked up from having fixed my gaze on my boots as we walked. Perhaps I was expecting the goblin to bound across our path, talking nonsense and forever losing her train of thought for another. I chuckled to myself when I remembered the fits she threw when she was impatient that one of our hikes seemed endless. Oh, how grumpy she’d been.

Thrush was always patient with her, like he had all the time in the world. I laughed aloud, and Abigail smiled at me.

“What?” she said. “I wanna know.”

“I was just thinking that I miss Thrush’s burps. It’s so quiet now.”

Abigail had to agree.

Because it was quiet.

My woods were just quiet.

What was this place to me now?

Brewer’s Reputation: 5.

I halted, and my ears rang. I tried to gulp, but I couldn’t swallow my own saliva. My body froze.

“What’s wrong?” said Abigail.

“My reputation just jumped to five.”

“What! Five?”

“I swear,” I said.

“I haven’t met anyone whose reputation moved more than a single point at a time when they were in the top one hundred!”

“What happened?”

“I’ll check the Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients,” she said. “You check your Collector’s Journal.”

We sat right there beside the jewelweed which offered more cooling shade than any other plant. Abigail flipped pages, and I flipped pages. My heart beat in my ears, and my hands shook.

With a gasp, I shoved my Collector’s Journal over Abigail’s Guide in the middle of her scanning text with a finger and darting eyes.

“This has to be it,” I said.

Abigail read aloud as she skimmed one of the entries. “Goblin spit beer…Cloned by Champion Oude Brewer Hawkin Ballow of Brewery Hawkin…Instrumental in Slime-tooth’s rise from freebooter goblin to goblin god…Goblin spit beer has earned the God-Maker moniker…rumor has it that drinking the beer will improve one’s chance at ascending to godhood.”

“God?” I said. “Slime-tooth? Slime-tooth ascended?”

“That must be why your Loved Ones Mausoleum beer didn’t work!”

Now it was silent. Now a deep powerful presence weighed between us. It was as though the world had sipped a Slow Time beer.

“If this is true, we have to tell Barnacle-eyes,” I said.

Chapter 198

Absently Brewing

Brewer’s Reputation: 4.

The step to number 4 put a ring in my ears. I took deep breaths to soothe myself. It only worked so much before my mind began racing.

Abigail and I couldn’t believe it. For a while we looked at each other dumbly. Barnacle-eyes was first on my mind. Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle another portal to Lavenfauvish so soon, let alone the city crowd, Abigail went instead. She wanted to check other sources to find out the truth about the goblin spit God-Maker beer.

Barnacle-eyes had been absolutely devastated when Slime-tooth didn’t show up on the Loved Ones Mausoleum plane. We didn’t want to tell her that Slime-tooth had ascended if we weren’t absolutely sure. I couldn’t bear to let her down again.

So on my own, I strolled down the path to the sea from my cabin. I thought brewing beer would calm my nerves, and I thought I might as well attempt to brew a golden chapter beer. Along the way, I used Brewer’s Harvest to grow the Saint Maxt barley which were as big as lemons. They were the ones which gave the Brewer a chance at producing a diamond chapter beer.

Brewer’s Reputation: 3.

My heart pounded. I could feel my eyes go wide. I blew a raspberry and inhaled deeply. Damn, I should have asked Abigail to stay for a bit. I was terrified, which made me recollect the day that I met Thrush for the first time.

I wasn’t as terrified of him anymore, and we’d become great friends. I was touched that he wanted me to reach fable rank to spend more time with him. What a dream it would be to live that long.

Thus, I thought about Abigail and I. Diamond rank was the next step for me along my quest path. My quality tier was surely increasing. I was still leveling in multiple skills. Why wouldn’t it be possible?

I considered the traveling I might have to do as I passed between split boulders while holding a gallon of fermenting Brewer’s Bubble before me. Brewing had truly become second nature to me, and I didn’t even bat an eye to choose which Foam Cascade sub skill to use. Then Forced Carbonation came into play after some Hop Wallop dry hopping. I then bottled the beer into a simple blown gourd just to harken back to the days when I first started brewing.

Brewer’s Reputation: 2.

I almost tripped over my own feet, but I managed to regain footing while bottling the finished beer.

Despite the cool shade beneath the early summer foliage, sweat beaded on my brow. This couldn’t be happening! I was the second greatest Brewer in the world! Ah, what an achievement. I was both enthralled and petrified.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, It felt as though I were breaking that brief spell of petrification. It helped that I had to climb up the hill where the copse of sumac overlooked the coast.

Their foliage was green, and some leaves were just starting to tint an almost fluorescent red. Another round of their berry cones were just beginning to fruit. I couldn’t wait to harvest them midsummer. My mouth watered when I imagined drinking cold sumac tea.

I would have to store the berries on my Beyond the Cabin plane because the cabin was all out of room. In fact, I wanted to grow the staghorn sumacs there. It rained sumac leaves on the plane, but there were no actual trees.

I incorporated the sumac trees in a Landmark ale, and I entered the Beyond the Cabin plane. It was perpetually growing, and in the distance where the chestnut trees grew, I spotted Bellesweet and the golem. Bellesweet lifted its head toward me as if it could sense me. And was the golem slightly taller by an inch?

Bellesweet sprinted while I poured the Sumac Landmark ale upon the sand around the log cabin.

Brewer’s Reputation: 1.

[Congratulations!]

[You are currently ranked as the greatest Brewer in the world!]

[You have earned the Brewer’s Epoch boon.]

[Quest path skills now require half mana.]

[Brewer’s Harvest is now instant.]

[Forty legendary hop vines have been added to your inventory.]

[Alcohol you consume is now converted into mana.]

[Boon is permanent.]

Bellesweet arrived and twirled around my leg. I stood there in the quiet of the plane as leaves fell around us. My heart wasn’t racing anymore. I smiled a half smile, and I felt strangely relaxed.

Well damn. We did it. I thought of my loved ones. Would this mean that diamond rank was a real possibility?

Bellesweet curled a blade of grass around my leg and then leaned away and peered at the sky. It cocked its cone head, and I followed what I thought would have been its line of sight. An outline of the cosmos in the form of a woman with big hair alighted on the sand beside me.

“Congratulations, my dear Hawkin,” said Dellia. “For the moment, you are the greatest Brewer in the world. Your achievement strengthens me.”

“With all my heart, thank you. I never would’ve met Abigail without assigning you to my quest path.”

“Yet you did not visit my shrine when you were in Lavenfauvish. Its construction was recently completed.”

“I was preoccupied,” I said.

“At ease, Hawkin. I’m only teasing.”

“I wish I could relax, but my mind refuses.”

“You have contributed greatly to strengthening my power and influence,” she said. “Will you continue along the Brewer’s path with me? Will you aim for diamond rank?”

I gazed out across the ethereal plane while I pictured Abigail. In my mind’s eye I took her hand.

Chapter 199

Golden Day

Abigail and I met down at the coast by the docks where seagulls waded in the surf. They eyed us, and they scattered farther up the coast. The sea died on the shore and died on the sand and died on the rocks. Still, it lapped the land. Firefly lights blinked in the silver forest.

“It actually happened,” I said. “My Brewer’s Reputation rose to number one, and I received a notification that I’m currently ranked as the—”

Her arms were suddenly around me, and her shoulder was suddenly in my chest. I was forced a step back before I could brace myself against her tackle.

And she looked up at me with eyes that I had fallen in love with, and she said, “Hawkin! You did it!”

I wrapped my arms around her, and I spun us. We laughed, and the seagulls cackled and flapped their wings. These were beautiful sounds which fell away as I set her back on her feet.

“Thank you for everything,” I said.

“There’s also Dellia to thank.”

“Yeah.”

“And Thrush,” she said.

“Mhm.”

“And the goblins and the orcs and the besties.”

“I guess Hiccup too, hunh?” I said. “And Eric.”

Abigail smiled big. “To put it mildly, I’d say you’ve never cared for the fame that came from progressing along this quest path. So how does it feel now?”

“I mean, I can’t lie. It feels good. From the very beginning, all I ever wanted to do was brew something as good as the ale from the Vale of Ara. The beer that those three monks shared with me was the best thing I’d ever had. But I had a pretty rough start, so it feels really good to be where I am now.”

“I remember trying one of your early beers on my quest to find you. It was hard to believe that you were the one Potere was so worried about. But as it turns out, he had a very good reason for all that huffing and puffing. Congratulations, my love.”

“Reaching number one makes me want to brew more beer and level up skills that need some serious attention. I haven’t been able to grind levels since…” I gestured southwest where Thewwy’s puncheon spigot floated midair.

“You’ve certainly been busy playing the host,” she said. “Which skills would you like to revisit?”

Oh, now things got serious. “Well there’s Warm Nougat, Grains Like Sand, Downy Dew, Wesley’s Dollop O’Fluff—so I guess a lot of my Foam Cascade sub skills.”

“What about your Throughout the Ages skill?” Abigail said, chuckling. “I remember you were pulled away before you had much time with it.”

“That’s true. But most importantly, there’s my quest path.”

The sea seemed to pause its constant crash. The seagulls stared. Even the sea breeze fell, and its fresh passing left us hot under the sun. Abigail looked into my eyes, and her expression became vulnerable. She wrung her hands.

“But, are you sure that’s what you really want?” she said. “For you? Not just for us? I feel like I’ve been such a burden—”

“—I’m sure. Will you help me?”

It wasn’t that the sea breeze returned, or that the sea resumed, or that the whole world came jolting back to its pace of things. It was that her eyes sparkled, and her smile betrayed her sudden lunge at me. Into my arms she leapt once more, and I held her.

“Hawkin, I love you so much. Of course I’ll help you! You’re sure? This is really what you want?”

“I hope we’ve got ten thousand more walks to go on together.”

Abigail retreated a pace. She chewed the side of her lip as if she tasted a suspicion there. “Reaching diamond rank took a lot away from me,” she said. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it if I didn’t travel. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen my house on the hill.”

Ah. Travel. What was it to me with everything I’ve worked so hard to build here?

“I don’t want to lose the solitude I’ve worked so hard to carve out in these woods,” I said.

“The Brewer’s adventure isn’t one of solo dungeon crawling or monster hunting as so many quest paths tend to be. Ours is much more social.”

“It was never absolute solitude that I was after,” I said as I closed the distance between us. I bridged the gap by softly taking her hands. “I realize that now.”

“What was it then?”

“I didn’t like the life I was living in Lunstad. It felt lonelier there than it ever did here. I escaped to these woods because I wanted a choice in how I lived my life.”

“I fled south. Far south. I kept running until I found those hills and roaming goats.”

“Abigail, I’ve come to really know myself these past twelve years. I’ll never be one for crowds and city life, and I’ll always be uncomfortable around a lot of people. I know very well the things about me that won’t change.”

“Your current position favors those tendencies,” she said. “People are coming to you. They’re the ones traveling for the chance to level up. At the moment, you don’t have to leave the home you’ve built.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Strange, isn’t it. As my friends leave, strangers arrive.”

“That’s the beauty of our tavern,” she said. “You can still see them there, no matter how far they go. Just one sip, and they can step onto the plane whenever they like.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad to visit them every once in a while, wherever they may be.”

Abigail shook her head and blinked hard. Her brows rose. “You would choose to travel? Even though you could avoid it?”

“It would be selfish for me to always have a meet-up on my terms. And it seems I’ve already got a long itinerary ahead of me. Barnacle-eyes is always talking about showing me the ‘this and that’ of a place.”

“Then if we travel, this will be our home base. We’ll always protect it; we’ll always explore it. When friends or adventure call, we won’t be gone for long. And we’ll always have our Beyond the Cabin plane when we miss home. There are so many pieces of this place there.”

I twirled her and pulled her to me so that her back was to my chest. I wrapped my arms around her. The sun had warmed her hair, and I lived in it.

“There’s one more tiny thing I accomplished,” I said.

“Another skill reached gold rank?” she said, and I felt her voice through my chest.

“On my walk, while my reputation was increasing, I brewed beer. I was too distracted to worry about failing again, so I just brewed what I was feeling.”

I held an unassuming, simple gourd of beer before her.

She took it, and beer sloshed inside as she turned the gourd to read the label.

“A walk in the woods,” she read.

“It’s my best beer yet.”

“What is it?” she said, escaping my arms. She turned to me, and I smiled big at her.

She slapped my chest. “Is it what I think it is? Hawkin, what is it?”

“While seeing that number creep up to one, the only thing that kept me sane was thinking about you and all my friends that have walked alongside me in these woods.” I gestured to the woods, the sea, this place... “I finally did it. My first golden chapter beer.”

Chapter 200

It Was Never About the Beer

Of all our companions, it was Boggo that requested we meet on Hermit Tavern. How could Abigail and I say no? So we sipped the beer which took us there.

The place was slammed. There were as many goblins as there were humans. Folk and creature ambled the gardens because there wasn’t enough room around the globe bar. There were green ladders, and one or two groups of humans tried to make a human ladder three high for the fun of it.

The bartenders were overwhelmed. The firkins were gone. Beer poured without stop from the spigots of stacked chimeric-colored barrels. Goblins gathered around one side of the bar where I assumed they served goblin spit beer.

Orcs stood statue-still around standing tables they had conquered from the crowd. I would have thought they were decorative until one of them brought their tankard up for a swig. The only one I recognized was Ogo. He must have just arrived. With him were the strangest creatures I’d ever seen, and their presence commanded human attention. Goblins didn’t seem to care who you were. There was a golem, fantastically huge, and there were torsos with limbs that were like birch trees.

Unlike the goblins, Scholars stood like little mushrooms beneath the towering long-limbed monsters. As if without fear, the scholars interrogated them while the orcs gazed at the humans the way I imagined ancient gods observed philosophies.

Some of the orcs were themselves busied with Scholar’s questions. Ogo was one of them, and he poked a spread map on his table while the Scholars nodded as he grumbled. I heard him mention the Sea of Ogo.

The crowd obfuscated my view, one by one, with dozens of faces I’d never seen before. Well, there was one face I recognized. Hiccup appeared, having made his way sideways through the crowd.

“My favorite couple!” he said. “How good it is to see you so soon! Hawkin, your newest batches have been selling famously! Have you seen where your goblin spit beer lands in the Collector’s Compilation? It’s currently the most sought after beer in the world.”

”Is the price still reasonable?” I said.

“A man of my word.”

“Is that really a surprise given its description?” said Abigail.

“I suppose not. However, ptooey beer taking the place of the most famous beer in the world does take some getting used to.”

“I don’t see Boggo, Thrush, or Barnacle-eyes,” I said.

“There’s something I must show you,” said Hiccup. “Right this way.”

We followed him through the crowd and behind the globe bar. Behind the bar, it felt like I had entered an area where fighters slung beer at furiously avid spectators who wanted more, more, more! It was so loud that Hiccup had to beckon us along with a wave. We descended the ramp which spiraled to the beer cave. He led us into the fist left hand alcove, but it wasn’t an alcove; it was a tunnel.

“I don’t remember this at all,” I said.

“Me neither,” said Abigail.

Hiccup snapped his fingers. “I took the liberty to fund the labor for this little project. With the help of your Dream Cutters, I’ve designed something just for you.”

We emptied out into a huge well lit cave. In its center there stood a huge cherry burl table around which sat all our companions. There was Thrush, Barnacle-eyes, a few of her goblins, Boggo, Ella, and the three little poof-ball besties.

We said our hellos.

Boggo, standing on the table with his family, said, “Sit, you two. Sit, sit! We have something amazing and fantastic to show you!”

He and Ella rummaged beneath the table for a moment before returning atop, hauling a large colorful box. The box was covered with illustrations of scenes of adventure. Upon the center in legendary font, it read ‘Comforts and Caverns’.

Boggo opened the lid. “We’ve been working on this for the longest time, and our friend Bailey designed the box and the board.”

“And he bound the rule book,” said Ella. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“And he cast the player pieces and tokens in brass. Amazing craftsmanship, right?”

Ella winked at Hiccup. “And this future collectable game is on sale at the Bailey’s Game Enthusiast: Board and Card Games shop in Lavenfauvish for a special introductory price.”

And Boggo winked at Thrush. “And our Merchant here has helped sell four copies to terrified customers so far.”

“And now we’re all gonna play,” said Ella.

The goblins swung their feet as they sipped from tankards of goblin spit beer. They came alive with excitement, and they discussed what creature they should play as. Thrush passed around heaps of smoked meat on parchment paper, bowls of melted smoked cheese, and dreambons.

The campaign ran smoothly until Thrush ate the quest item. Boggo and Ella had to flip through their newly bound rule book. It took some time because they paused every other page to gush over the colorful illustrations.

While they scampered around their rule book, Abigail said, “Thrush, as requested, I have some beers that might help you blend in with humans.”

Thrush’s eyes pulsed. “Why thank you, Abigail. It’s difficult to purchase cheese when your kind screams.”

“The red, pink, and purple beers all have different attributes. Some are masking, and some are illusionary. Give them a try and I’ll do my best to tinker out any kinks.”

The besties closed the rule book as Ella said, “Yeah, there’s nothing in the rules against it.”

“What do we do?” said Boggo.

Barnacle-eyes jumped onto the cushion of her seat. “Open wide, Thrush monster! We gotta delve to the depths of the Thrush belly to get our quest item!”

The little bestie poof-balls hurled themselves across the table, aiming for Thrush’s mouth. Boggo blurred across the table and halted them with his body and spread arms. He explained that the game was still an imagination, otherwise they would die.

“Like really die,” he said. “Super dead, and dad and mom wouldn’t like that, and neither would you.”

It took more convincing until the little besties eventually backed away from Thrush. They hid behind Ella.

With everyone returned to their seats, the campaign continued. We delved into Thrush’s belly. It was dark, and we had to light torches. Thrush was omnipresent, and he had to roll to access memories on the twists and turns of his belly. He sometimes rolled a 1.

“You reach another dead end!” said Boggo. His voice dripped with danger. “Acid slimes rise up with big gloopy hands! Give me a fish! Give me a fish!”

“Back!” said Barnacle-eyes. “Everyone back!”

Backtracking had the campaign running underway once more. Laughs were shared, mistakes were made, companions helped each other…

I found myself having an absolute blast watching all my loved ones come together for such a game. I recognized a joy of life in those moments. I often found myself listening while stunned in one of those open mouthed half laughs.

I wasn’t the only one observing. Eyes were on me, and I caught Abigail smiling as she watched me.

“So when are they gonna get to try it?” she said.

“The beer?”

“You’re not going to let them miss out on your best brew yet, are you?”

All eyes turned to me. I supposed it was time.

“I can’t believe I get to share this with all of you, all at once,” I said. “It’s a golden chapter beer.”

Thrush rubbed his belly and said, “I’ll take a barrel, please. My Satiation is only at eighty percent.”

“Does it have ptooey?” said Barnacle-eyes.

“Alas,” I said. “There’s no ptooey to be found, but I think you might like where it takes you.”

I poured beer, and we clinked our tankards together.

“Cheers!” all said.

Foam was brought up to lips. Tankards were tilted, and then goblin lips smacked. Barnacle-eyes looked like she’d just bit into a lemon. Then her eyes went wide like everyone else's.

“W-what’s going on?” she said. “Where am I?”

“We’re in the woods,” Thrush said.

“It’s snowing,” said Boggo. “And the flakes are almost as poofy as I am!”

“That’s the onion tree!” said Barnacle-eyes. “And that’s the onion rock! And that’s the onion carving stick!”

“I can smell scorched earth, and metal, and fish, and potatoes,” said Thrush.

“The light through the cabin’s window is so warm and comfy,” said Abigail.

“Is that a blue bestie tunnel?” said Ella. “Wow, they’re all over the place.”

I sipped, and I was transported through visions of life in the northern woods. Of all the flavors of the beer, I was thrilled to have been able to capture the essence of a crisp and chilly wind.

The end

About The Author

James Ghoul

For as long as he can remember, James Ghoul has stayed up far past his bedtime reading about magic, monsters, and mythic lands. He grew up playing video games like Dungeon Keeper, Might and Magic, Fable, and Zelda. The gaming habit lives on, but not nearly as much as he’d like, with the exception of that one glorious week where he bunkered up in his living room and played Skyrim to his heart’s content. Now he can be found in a small New England village, where he spends as much time as he can writing LitRPG stories.

News and More

James Ghoul Facebook Author Page

https://www.facebook.com/JamesGhoulAuthor

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to the folks on the LitRPG facebook group.

LitRPG Facebook Group

https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPG.books