Read Online Nine Goblins by T. Kingfisher - Free Book Online

Nessilka wouldn’t have
put them against anything bigger.
    “I’m not suggesting we try to pillage the
town, Sarge. I had more in mind hitting a henhouse, and maybe
somebody’s laundry. Have you seen Thumper’s loincloth?”
    “Thank you, I’ve been trying not to
look.”
    “There’s a coupla isolated farmhouses on the
outskirts. I think a small group could raid one.”
    “I’ve got no stomach for killing farmers,
Murray, and if we do, we’re going to have hunters after us before
you can say “glarguk.”
    “Great gods, no, Sarge, I’m hoping they won’t
even see us.”
    She relented. “Okay, talk to me again when
we’ve found a place to hole up for a bit. I’m still hoping to put
miles between us and that wizard.”
     
    In the end, they found a kind of dirt cave in
a mostly dried-out riverbed. If it rained, they might flood out,
but the promise of even a muddy pool of water nearby was more than
enough to recommend the campsite. They had made at least three
miles, which wasn’t as much as Nessilka liked, but it was better
than nothing.
    Weasel had managed to bring down a rabbit. A
rabbit and a bird weren’t much between nine people, but along with
the dried field rations, it wasn’t bad, and everybody knew it could
have been a lot worse. Both rabbit and pheasant were cooked on a
spit, and were greeted with so many appreciative complaints—“Gah!
Tough as an old shoe!” “You call this rabbit? Looks like a
long-eared ferret. Tastes like one too!” “What was this bird
eating, stinkbugs?”—that the little goblin was completely
tongue-tied.
    “Okay, guys, tomorrow we’re doing a full
day’s march,” said Nessilka once the last bones had been gnawed.
Groans greeted this. She waved them off. “We’ve got a route back to
Goblinhome, but we’re sticking to the woods for now.”
    “How far are we…”
    “…from Goblinhome, Sarge?”
    “’Bout fifty miles as the crow flies. We’re
not crows, though, so we’re looking at seventy or eighty.”
    More groans. “Why can’t we take the short
way?”
    “’Cos it’s through human farmland, and I
don’t think they’ll be real happy to see us.”
    “Perhaps we could go in disguise?” asked
Gloober hopefully.
    “We’re four feet tall and green . I
think they’re going to notice.”
    Blanchett consulted with his teddy-bear for a
few minutes, and then said, “He says it’s a good plan, Sarge.” The
teddy-bear had one of the pheasant tail-feathers stuck behind one
ear, giving it a jaunty look.
    “Err…thank him for me.” Nessilka wondered
briefly what she’d have done if the teddy-bear hadn’t approved, had
a brief vision of a mutiny led by a one-eyed stuffed animal, and
squelched it. It had been a long enough day already.
    It was a long night, too.
    Goblins are good at sleeping on the ground.
They had all been doing it for so long that they hardly cared any
more—pack for a pillow, cloak if they had one. And tonight they had
the luxury of cut pine boughs for a mattress, which was
significantly better than camping on the hillside. No one was
complaining there.
    No, the problem was the noises.
    Generally the noises of goblin digestion,
snoring, and other indelicate processes were enough to drown out
anything outside. This time, however, the gurgle of nine stomachs
had nothing on the woods.
    “Those aren’t normal,” said Thumper, the
fourth or fifth time something went by with a swoosh outside, as if on enormous wings.
    “It’s owls,” said Murray.
    “It’s not owls,” said Thumper. “I’m a forest
goblin, ‘kay? Those aren’t owls.”
    “You can’t have been in the forest since you
were little,” said Murray.
    “They haven’t changed owls since I was a kid.
Owls are silent, like. They sneak up on stuff. That’s not an
owl.”
    As if exhausted by speaking this many words
all at once, he fell silent. Everybody listened.
    Something that probably wasn’t an owl wooshed
by again.
    “We don’t like this, Sarge,”