Stump could barely trace the faint glimmer of mycolight scattering around the outline of the invisible boots. They crept towards the door and kicked it shut.
And then Stump could see nothing at all.
It didn't take long for the darkness to retreat for him. He was a goblin after all, but in the lightless room even the rippling air was no longer visible. The occasional sigh of a floorboard or the muffled step of a careful footfall were the only indicators of where Germott might be.
Somewhere a sword whispered out of its sheath. Stump drew in a sharp breath. The bloodlust pounded in his chest, gushing heat through his veins.
Dresser doors groaned open.
"I know you're here," intoned Germott, almost playfully. "Show yourself before my blade finds you."
A second dresser swung open. "Do you know who I am?" His voice echoed from a different part of the darkness. "Do you want to find out?"
The door shuddered under a series of heavy raps. "Have you fallen asleep?" mocked the same voice that had accompanied Germott earlier. Footsteps preceded the door swinging open, inviting light into the room again. Boots shimmered invisibly in the doorway, in front of a recognizable pair of fine shoes.
"Why are you invisible?" said the lighter voice. "At least tell me you aren't naked."
The invisibility dropped with a hum. "Someone's been in my room."
Stump had taken the distraction as an opportunity. He slid out from under the bed and crept towards the corner, well away from the shaft of light and Germott's gear.
"Yes, you and I a minute ago," said the other figure.
"No, since then. My insignia is missing."
The corner was dark, wrapped in shadows. Stump clambered swiftly into one of the open dressers and wedged himself between the hanging fabrics. He steadied his heart.
Germott, now visible, looked to be human. "I rested it here, on the chair," he was saying as the two entered. He was wide at the shoulders, hair long and greasy, with a face tracked by scars.
"I'll be sure to inform her our reason for your tardiness is your misplaced badge," said the other one. black and silver fur covered his face and hands, and his feline eyes glittered like gold coins. A dark blue cloak was fastened around his tight leather cuirass.
Germott bent near the bed, but straightened a moment later and huffed. "I know they're here, Sylas."
"What, invisible? Germy, how many people in the Downs are Lumenurgists, do you think? How many haggard drunks are making use of the system?"
The system?
Stump eyed the two from the darkness, willing his body to remain as fixed as the furnishings around him. Hiding, at least, came naturally to goblins, who so often blended into their surroundings before an ambush.
Germott slid his sword back into its sheath and towered over his ally. "Don't call me Germy," he breathed.
Sylas smiled wryly. "Apologies, friend. But perhaps we return to this very important mystery a little later. She and Daggan are waiting on us, no?"
With that the catfolk departed, leaving his ally alone in the room. Germott stood there for some time, scanning the darkness. His eyes moved over Stump's dresser. He leaned forward, squinting at the shadows.
Stump had never remained so still.
"Shall I lead you by the hand?" Sylas mocked from the hallway.
Germott grumbled and started for the door, then reconsidered and grabbed the items resting on the chair. He gave one last glance to the goblin's darkened corner before he left, slamming the door behind him.
Stump let out a long sigh.
There was little to find once the two were gone, and he didn't want to spend much time searching, so he skulked back to the door and gently pulled it open.
From one direction came the warm chatter of the inn. The other led further down the hallway, where it turned sharply right, and where he was sure Germott's footsteps had receded.The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Stump pressed the door shut and moved along the wall towards the back of the inn and scurried around the corner, where the hall continued to a fungal bed beneath a closed window. In the middle of the left wall stood a pair of delicately carved and varnished doors.
Muffled voices leaked out.
Stump slid up close and pressed his ear beneath the doorknob.
"…If you wanted to retain your place, that is," Sylas was saying.
"I do," said Daggan. His gruff tone from earlier had given way to something much more panicked. "You'll have no argument from me."
"Smart. It's an argument you'd lose." Stump could almost hear the smile in Sylas' tone. "Your intelligence is why we like you, Dagg."
"As long as you uphold your guarantee that your inn is our inn, you'll receive your shipments as agreed," chimed a female voice. "But if I catch your hand in the pockets of another company again, you'll lose the hand." Beneath her words undulated whispers, too numerous to count and too quiet to discern. How many are in the room?
There was a heavy pause, and the whispers faded.
"I'll cause ye no trouble. Y'ave me word," said Daggan.
"And you have mine," warned the lady. Like a tide the ominous voices returned when she spoke and ebbed with her silence, but they were too wispy and tangled to comprehend.
"Only…" Daggan began in a nervous trill. "I worry 'bout these delays. Sometimes I wonder if Wasptongue isn't facing some difficulty… from the city, I mean. Reg'latory problems 'n such."
Wasptongue. Stump could recognize a goblin's warname anywhere. He pressed closer to the wood, imprinting its design on his cheek.
"We'll handle Wasptongue," said Germott.
"She faces no such issues," the lady corrected. "We simply needed to ascertain your loyalty, you understand. And you wavered, however briefly. As I believe it to be bad for business, you will not be punished for it."
"I…"
"But," the lady cut Daggan off sharply. Whispers. Whispers. "Consider our generosity a warning. Waver again and the tank may find itself under new ownership. Understand?"
"I do," said the dwarf.
"You may go."
Footsteps rose in volume until the doors were pushed open. Stump remained behind one of them as they swung against the wall, and followed it seamlessly as it closed again. Before they shut he spied Daggan turning the corner, his head low.
Stump reoccupied his listening post when the doors shuddered closed.
"Put a good scare into him, didn't we?" said Sylas.
"No punishment?" chided Germott. "You should've taken a larger share of his earnings, at least."
"You've got notes on my decision?" The lady swiped back. "Here's a note of mine: next time you find yourself about to impart sensitive information to our clients, swallow your tongue. Daggan was to be reassured of Wasptongue's reliability, not dissuaded of it."
The whispers swelled again, their tone as sharp as hers.
Sylas' chuckle cut the mounting tension. "Seems something must be done about her, anyhow."
"The two of you will pay her a visit before the next shipment."
"What's our approach? Friendly or nasty?"
"That depends on her. The result must be our supply returning to normal levels. If Daggan does make good on his promise, we must make good on ours."
"And if she causes trouble? She's got fifteen levels in Lumenurgy," said Germott.
fifteen levels? The number matched the eldest goblins of Stump's tribe, surpassing even some of the most fearsome raiders. But it was the way Germott said it that made his ears twitch. Reverence, with a twang of fear, the way goblins spoke of their matrons.
"What's one angry goblin against the power of our outfit?" the lady said dryly. "She has a business to run. If she feels our boot on her neck, she'll comply. Now, is—"
"You!"
Stump swivelled to face a green-scaled figure who had turned the corner, and whose hand gripped the pommel of a blade. "What're you doing here?"
He froze in place. Rapid footsteps sounded through the doors. The handle turned.
Stump pushed off the doorframe with a shriek and stole down the hallway, making for the shuttered window at the end. The door crashed open behind him and accusatory voices gave chase.
Mushrooms dimmed as he focused his magic on them, drowning himself in darkness. He leapt to the window, threw the shutters wide, and clambered onto the ledge where he turned and lowered himself for the climb.
He slipped.
The last thing he saw in the hallway of the Cantankerous Tankard was the piercing yellow eyes of Sylas.
The neighbouring roof collapsed under his weight.
His teeth clattered. Pain shot through his ankle. He tasted blood on his tongue.
"Tits," he gurgled amidst a slowly settling cloud of dust.
He struggled to his feet, rubbed the particles out of his eyes and squinted in the squalid darkness. Shafts of lantern light filtered through narrow windows and onto shelves cramped with glassware and pottery.
Frantic voices bled in from the night. He tracked to the back of the building and slipped outside before they came for him.
 

 
Pain. Queasiness. Adrenaline.
If not for the bloodlust Stump may have curled up in an alley and cradled his throbbing ankle until morning. Instead he hobbled back down Crooked Cranny, the deceptive main thoroughfare of the Downs, as the city yawned and closed up for the night. What few figures shuffled by barely offered more than a friendly nod.
It must have been a strange sight, him limping and sweating and bleeding, yet cracking just the barest hint of a smile.
Because he'd completed his first job. His first quest.
He wasn't quite a knight, but he was a mercenary.
He wished he could regale Yeza with the evening's adventure at the tank and all the secrets he'd uncovered, not that she'd understand. But she didn't have to. He just wanted her to know he was alright. Alive. Happy, even, at least in that brief stretch of road between the slumbering Downs and the charmingly crooked shingles of the Knight Inn.
He stumbled against a low stone wall somewhere outside Grimsgate, wind rolling over the Shadowlands and buffeting his cape. The bloodlust churned in his belly, and then it bubbled up his throat.
He vomited the last bit of it onto the road.
Stump wiped his mouth and made to keep going, but a sparkle caught his eye. Where he'd spewed the contents of his gut flared a dim white light.
What's that? he wondered, and bent for a closer look. Bits of fungus and pools of stomach acid glowed like the coins of Aubany. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but this time it was his ankle he noticed. Blood as bright as candlelight trickled over his foot, as if infused with the magic of Lumensa.
What's happening?