We stood inside a dark passage, lit by the soft light of a candelabra. He held out a glove and said, “I will take that rose from you now.”
“I’m sorry for picking it.”
“You could hardly help it.” He shrugged, and I handed him the rose. He cradled the blossom in his hand. There was a small crystal vase with water sitting inside the passageway, and he put the rose there.
A faint rumble seemed to come from deep within the earth, and shake the passage so that dirt rained from the ceiling. I pulled my hood over my head with a gasp.
He looked up. “Tremors. You have nothing to fear from them,” he said. “Sometimes the caverns get moody when I have a guest.”
“The caverns have moods?”
“Very sour moods.”
Then he led me deeper into the passage.
“Oh,” I breathed, as he opened a door. The room opened up, and the walls and ceilings sparkled with tiny lights and glowing crystals. We were standing inside a hall that would be the envy of any palace. A fireplace was built into one wall, with a small fire burning within, and paintings hung on the walls, of wild little goblin maidens dancing with sticks of fire. It looked like fun, whatever they were doing (once I had double-checked that no humans were being burned or mutilated somewhere in the painting, as rumors occasionally suggested). Beautifully carved benches were gathered around the fire, and a loaf of warm bread and a shaped round of golden butter was waiting for me, along with some wine.
“Rest your feet and have some food,” he offered. “Make yourself at home. You have an hour or so. I will come for you at sunset.”
“Oh—all right—I mean—we haven’t even exchanged names.”
“You want my name? Most are content to think of me as the goblin king.”
“We’re going to…do something pretty intimate, I mean, I suppose you do it all the time, but…”
“I don’t know if I want you to have my name, pretty one. I know you’re only here for one purpose.”
“Like wanting a coin is any better than what you want me for.”
He stepped a little closer to me, and looked down. Slowly, his hand lifted to my face, and the somewhat stiff, yet soft material of his glove traced my cheek. “You know, tonight, I might actually enjoy it. But I’m not giving you my name, and I won’t have yours. It isn’t that kind of transaction, is it?”
“Just—don’t call me ‘pretty one’,” I said.
“Why not?”
“At home my father calls me ‘Beauty’. And half the time I think that’s all anyone sees when they look at me. I know I shouldn’t wish to be ugly; I probably wouldn’t like it. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be known for being clever or courageous instead of pretty. If I’m going to—submit to you—I’d at least ask that you not call me that.”
“Easy enough,” he said. “Now, I will let you have your meal and a warm bath.”
“All right—that is—where is the bath? Where is my chamber for the night?”
“Go ahead and explore. You’ll find it.”
He turned and disappeared down another shadowy hall.
I sat down at the table and spread the butter on the bread. I was so hungry I couldn’t really worry anymore. I poured some of the wine and drank it down. Maybe a little bit of alcohol would calm my nerves. But it was also possible that they were beyond calming.
When the entire loaf of bread was gone, I started getting my bearings. I’m going to be here a long time, I told myself. I needed as many gold coins as possible to keep my family from losing everything. But with my hunger no longer so pressing, my stomach squirmed with fears. It was hard to imagine just what I was getting myself into. I knew what happened between men and women, but I also knew it could hurt, or be pleasurable. It could be shameful or romantic. And strangely, I wasn’t sure what I expected out of the goblin king.
This house, if you could call it that, was not formed like other houses. The walls were uneven, the passages twisting and sloping. Crystals and rocks jutted from walls, and tiny lights sparkled in veins. One room had a dining table formed from a giant rock that came out of the wall, with stalactites reaching down like chandeliers. Another room had a pipe organ formed into the cave, and some of the pipes appeared to be shaped from the very rocks themselves, although truly it was hard to say where the organ ended and the cave began.
I had never seen such an astonishing, magical place. But there were no servants, no sign of any people at all.
Why is he here all alone? Who cleans and maintains this place?
Of course, there were hermits who chose to live alone, usually religious men. I didn’t think the goblin king was religious. I wondered if he was a king at all. He certainly didn’t have any subjects, but the caverns went on and on. I didn’t have time to even begin to explore them all. Just by the size of the rooms, it was obvious that there used to be large feasts and gatherings in the past.
He wasn’t really alone, I reminded myself. He paid women to come here. But when he touched my face, he said he might actually enjoy it.
There definitely was something going on here, something beyond the gossip, but I thought it must not be apparent or some other girl would have figured it out before me.
I poked my head into the next room and let out an audible gasp.
At home, we had an entire shelf of books. It was as tall as I was, and as wide as one of my father’s arms was long. I thought we were rich in literature.
Now I knew it was nothing. The goblin king had more books than the subscription library. The shelves reached to the top of the ceiling and wrapped all around the room, which was large enough to contain a number of tables and chairs. The shelves had been built into the uneven shape of the cavern, and one part of the room was a tucked away nook, a tiny cave of books. Two leather chairs were there, as if waiting for me to claim one of them.
I hardly knew where to begin. There seemed to be some book for every subject one could imagine. I ran my fingers along all the spines, bound in different colors, some in cloth and others in leather. Botany. Farm implements. Animals of the world. Histories of humans, goblins, elves, faeries, and every other thinking creature. Books with huge color plates showing different costumes, different birds, different maps, the placement of bones and muscles within the body. Myths and legends. Philosophy. Astronomy. Astrology. (Maybe it would tell me what kind of man the goblin king really was?)
And then there were novels. He must have owned every novel I had ever heard anyone mention in my entire life, and more besides.
I was still perusing the shelf, and probably had been for an hour already, opening one book and then another (with an occasional sneeze) when I heard a small clink of dishes.
Behind me, a tray of food was on the table. This time, it was a nice warm stew and a cup of chamomile tea—I could smell it all from here. Perfect for eating in the damp, cool interior of the caves, and relaxing before bed.
But where had it come from?
“Hello?” I whispered.