into a nearby store. Its sign, swinging precariously by one hinge, had originally portrayed a knight cutting a log in two. However, the chipped sign had been repainted to substitute a goblin for the log.
Marianne waited outside, hearing Robin’s raised voice as he tried to barter with the owner. “Well, no, I can’t pay you now. But I guarantee, after we rescue the princess—”
Marianne listened as mocking laughter leaked through the cracked window. She cringed and rolled the dragonfly ball around in her pocket before pulling it out. Clouds of ash blew down the street, whipping in and out of the ramshackle buildings. She tried to shut her eyes, but the minuscule particles pried through and stung them anyway. Abandoning her position, she sought asylum inside. It took an instant for her pupils to adjust to the dimness, and all Marianne could do was smell the rank odor of open whiskey bottles. Marianne saw row upon row of empty shelves as she advanced purposefully to Robin’s side. An unshaven, sinewy man, shifting nervously, was standing behind a counter. Marianne clutched her glass ball as she laid her hands on the display case. “Well now,” the owner said, slightly slurring his words, “I’ll give you a little something for that trinket.”
“It’s not for sale,” said Marianne sharply. The man looked up at her face. He had shadows outlining his black eyes, and he stared impolitely at Marianne. He gave a smirk, his eyes still fixed on Marianne. “I’m not for sale, either,” said Marianne in a deadpan voice. “Let’s go, Robin.”
“Huh?” said Robin, looking up from the weapons showcase. Marianne grabbed his arm and whispered to him as they walked out the door. “Hey! She’s my sister!” cried Robin, struggling against Marianne to go back and fight the shopkeeper.
The wind was revving up, and farther down the road a castle was barely visible above gray smog. Marianne let go of Robin’s sleeve, and pushed against the sharp wind. “Robin, we’ll be out of this village soon. Do you want to take Leo? Robin?” Marianne asked, turning around. Robin was nowhere to be seen. “Robin!” Marianne called. In an instant the wind failed, but not before a final gust at Marianne tangled her ebony hair about her face. Pulling it away, she saw Robin coming out of the shop they had just left. In his hand, he carried a lustrous sword, its blade glinting in the daylight. Robin hurried over to join her. He was examining the sword carefully, balancing it in his hand, a beam upon his face. As they departed for the castle, Marianne admired the glistening weapon. “What did you give the shop keeper for it?” she asked, as Robin practiced his swordplay. Robin stopped his parrying and gave a low laugh. “His life,” he replied, slicing the air with a quick movement.
As they made their way past the town limits, Marianne asked, “Robin, can we use Leo yet?”
“Not yet. I really don’t want anyone to see us flying about on a glorified, fire-breathing bellows,” Robin said impatiently.
“But did you notice how fast Leo could turn into his other state?” asked Marianne, holding up her dragonfly ball. “No one would suspect a thing.”
“Unless he switched conditions midair, in which case I would definitely notice. And I don’t want you to break that ball open until we need him. After all that flying, he’s going to be hungry,” warned Robin.
“Fine,” said Marianne resentfully. “I’ll be a good girl and walk with gaping holes in my shoes to liberate a princess I’ve never met and—”
“And have more money than the king himself,” Robin finished. “I just hope we can get there before dark,” he said, watching the sun gild the edges of clouds as it dipped towards the horizon. The castle was hardly close, and Marianne and Robin forced their exhausted selves to toil onward; only minutes were left before nightfall. Halfway up the hill leading to the palace’s opulent entrance, Marianne heard a faint sound. She seized Robin’s shirt.
“Listen,” said Marianne.
“Help! Please help me!” cried a pitiful voice from the overgrown bushes by the side of the path. Marianne and Robin hurried over. Using his sword, Robin parted the bushes. Lying contorted in a pool of green blood, an injured goblin turned his pitiful face toward Marianne and Robin. “Please—” With effort, he raised a frail arm in the direction of the pair, before letting it fall. Marianne recoiled at the sight, retreating back to the path. Oh, that’s disgusting. But shouldn’t I do something?
“Well, we’d better get going,” said Robin, pulling his sword from the bush. “We’re losing time.”
“Is he . . .” Marianne’s voice trembled, and words failed her.
“No. But soon. I think it’s best if we leave it in peace,” said Robin, glancing behind him as more moans emanated from the bush.
“Robin, we are not leaving here until we’ve done what we can. I don’t care that he’s a goblin. I don’t care what he’s done to deserve this. I won’t be able to sleep knowing I left a creature suffering while I went off to get rich,” said Marianne sternly.
“Ten thousand gold coins, Marianne. You could buy and sell an entire goblin city twice for less than that,” said Robin, cupping Marianne’s shoulders.
“Robin, you are my brother, and I cannot believe that any relative of mine could be so selfish,” Marianne said with her voice breaking.
“Well, I’d split the gold with you,” offered Robin, weakly trying to win Marianne’s favor. She inhaled haltingly, holding back her tears. Robin looked regretfully at her, apparently perturbed by visions of lost riches floating past him. He checked the fading sky. “Okay. I’ll do what I can,” Robin offered with labored goodwill.
Marianne crawled into the bush. “It’s all right. You’ll be fine. Where did you get hurt?” she asked. The goblin whimpered, and thumped his chest, across which there was a diagonal slash, oozing olive liquid. Marianne tried to conceal her revulsion. Thinking decisively, she ripped off the sash of her dress and bound the wound. As she did this, a shudder passed through the goblin, and he went limp.
“I’m sorry, Marianne,” said Robin, putting a hand on her shoulder, “There was nothing more you could do.” Marianne stood up, aching. She wiped the green slime onto some leaves. Evening had settled on the hill; a few dying rays of sunlight allowed for limited vision.
“He was so wretched, Robin. At least we tried to save him,” said Marianne. “Tomorrow I’ll seek the reward with you.”
“Why not make the attempt tonight?” challenged a voice. The question made them both jump with fright. Robin had his sword out before Marianne could turn around. Before them stood a man no taller than their waists, but with bushels of green hair spiking from his head. He guffawed heartily at their baffled expressions and shook a stubby finger at them. “You know how many folks I’ve tried that wounded goblin routine on? As of today, you are the three hundredth and sixty-fifth. You know how many people have stopped to help?” Marianne and Robin were still too astounded to answer, so the dwarf proceeded, “None. Nobody. Neither rich princes nor poor beggars. Every man alike ignored my dismal calls for help.” The little man was encroaching on them as he spoke. Robin halfheartedly raised the sword. “Hogswaddle! I’m not going to kill you! I’m going to help you awaken the princess!”
“Help us?” asked Robin, incredulously.
“Yes, my good fellow. After all, no one knows the passageways of a castle like a dwarf!” He winked at them mischievously. “I’ve watched a whole assortment of men parade into Penelope’s chambers, and seen not a one come out. Powerful magic is within those walls.”
“And
