“What’s funny?” asked Alistair, bringing up the rear and feeling rather ill used. “What did she say?”
“She says your breathing is so loud, you might as well blow trumpets to herald our coming,” said Eanrin. “So duck your head and keep your mouth shut, eh?”
Alistair muttered, but the echoing of their voices unnerved him, so he did as he was told. He crawled in darkness so close he could scarcely breathe, in the wake of a talking cat and a girl who thought she passed for a boy, attempting to infiltrate his own home filled to the brim with goblins. And for what?
To rescue his cousin.
They were nearing the level of the castle. Up here, the passage broadened and the ceiling was higher. Alistair could almost stand. “So what’s our plan again?” he asked.
“Simple. Nab the Chronicler.”
“What, stroll in, pick him up, and stroll back out?”
“I never said it was a master plan, did I?” the cat growled. “I’m a cat, little lordling. I’ll improvise.”
“What about us?”
The cat didn’t bother to answer. Just then, they heard the stamp of feet above their heads. Something latched hold of Alistair’s arm, and he nearly hollered before realizing it was Mouse reaching back in fearful blindness for comfort in a world full of hostile sounds. Alistair smiled despite the awfulness of their circumstances. She really had no notion how to play her part, had she? He wondered if she had ever been around boys in her life. He touched her hand with the tips of his fingers, and she drew back as though stung, realizing her mistake. They proceeded in silence broken only by the thumping feet above.
The cat stopped. “I’m going on ahead,” he told them. “I’ll find where they’re keeping the Chronicler and see what is best done. You wait here and try not to be stupid.”
With that, he was gone. The two mortals, blind as they were, could sense the sudden absence of superiority. Alistair, sighing, took a seat on a cold step and rubbed his numb feet with equally numb fingers. Mouse, a few steps above him, leaned her back against the wall, her arms crossed, her head bowed.
Goblins marched the floors above them.
Alistair had not seen them clearly. Only vague impressions lingered in his imagination. These were, if anything, worse than reality, and he wished he could face one here and now and know his enemy. A known enemy could be fought. An imagined one, however, carried every advantage.
“You’re breathing too loudly,” Mouse whispered.
“Don’t speak, they’ll hear you!” Alistair replied.
Since neither understood the other, they lapsed back into silence.
A silence cut short only moments later when a voice rumbled, sounding so near, Mouse could have believed it was in the passage with them. A handful of frozen heart beats later, she realized that it came from the other side of the wall against which she leaned.
“What do you think the master is going to do with the little maggot?”
It was a goblin. The voice painted an ugly picture in both their minds. Uglier still because the speaker was mirthful.
“I couldn’t tell you, Ghoukas,” his companion replied. This one’s voice held a possible feminine lilt, heavily disguised behind chomping. Mouse realized this passage must run alongside the kitchen stores wherein the goblins now helped themselves. “I don’t see why he doesn’t crunch its head between his thumb and finger!”
“It’s got pluck,” the one called Ghoukas replied. “Pluckiest manling I’ve seen since we got here, though they’re a miserable enough lot. That one, it’s no bigger than a goblin pup, yet it had the cheek to stand up to Corgar! Were you there, in the great hall?”
“Nah, but I heard,” the female goblin said with a snarl-like laugh. “Imagine, refusing to give Corgar what he asks! Doesn’t it know it’s refusing the queen’s favorite?”
“Ah, but these little mortals don’t know or recognize our queen Vartera, do they?” said Ghoukas. “I hear they believe theirs is the only world.”
“What, this place?” The female laughed, sounding as if she’d bitten into something and now sprayed it across the room. “Such a notion! What a small-minded crew these mortals are.”
Alistair stood slowly, his heart in his throat. He could see nothing but reached out to find Mouse. He touched her shoulder, and she gasped but allowed him to drag her back down the steps. She couldn’t see him, so he could do nothing to reassure her, but at least she was quiet. He cursed the lack of the cat’s interpretation.
“They’re speaking of the Chronicler,” he whispered.
“I think they’re talking about the dwarf,” Mouse whispered.
They both stopped, each wishing for some idea what the other had said.
“They’ve got him in the great hall,” said Alistair.
“From what I understand, their leader has him captive in the feasting hall,” said Mouse.
They stopped again.
“I think we should go rescue him at once,” said Alistair as Mouse said, “We must wait here and tell the cat when he returns.”