My Big Goblin Space Program

Chapter 7 - Rufus

It took a few minutes for the rescue squad to get poles and cordage sorted out. Eventually, they realized they’d need 2 poles and 8 goblins to lift the stone-sloth. But the heavy creature significantly slowed our progress back to the village—slowed for goblins, anyway. It was still a breakneck pace by any measure. Curiously, we didn’t reuse the trail we’d made coming down. The pathfinders just cut a whole new trail wherever they please. Rufus traversed along with us, sometimes on two legs, sometimes loping on all four. I could tell he wasn’t used to the pace, but slowing down seemed to be the one instruction my tribe couldn’t understand. Goblins only had two states. Asleep, and gotta-go-fast.

We made it back to the bluff by late afternoon, just before the sun slipped behind the huge moon. I’m not sure how the goblins managed to get the stone-sloth up the crag—despite having actively watched them do it. Rufus managed as well, so I suppose badgers could climb after all. Once he’d climbed fifteen or so meters, though, he was completely winded.

He took in the hilltop copse and once again donned his spectacles. “Fascinating. I must say, there are few who are privy to the inner workings of a goblin crag. At least, few enough who don’t end up split between those two piles, I imagine.”

I followed his gaze to the bone and scat mounds, and then beyond to a village quite different from the one I’d left that morning. The goblins who had remained had transformed the clearing, processed a great deal of the raw materials on their own, and had scattered the results with little regard for organization or structure. The lean-to shelters which dotted the bluff were facing every which-way without regard for direction or spacing. One of them had even been woven through that of a neighbor.

Most of the goblins had also started using needle and thread to repair their own clothing. A few had gone out hunting and brought back small game, as well. And, despite my orders, I spotted one of the plump little bomb-fruits sitting next to one of the shacks.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” I looked Rufus up and down. “I have to say, for such a dangerous situation, as you’d describe it, you seem quite at ease.”

Rufus looked down at me. “I know a learned voice when I hear one, and a learned companion does not kill without cause. Besides that, you have already saved my life once. I’m not sure how I can serve to repay you. But I am well traveled and have tales of many places.” he pulled out his journal again. “And this is your tribe, yes? I had thought goblin kings were myths, yet here you stand. And all the myths agree that the king has the absolute loyalty of his tribe. Where all myths agree, there is truth, wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “You’ve been lots of places in this world?”

A glimmer in Rufus’ eye struck me then, and I realized my mistake. I’d as much as admitted I wasn’t from around here.

“Aye. In this world, yes. I’ve seen the Crystal Halls of the Deep Dwarves, the Other-wood where the Fae play cruel jests, and the cities of men where ships sail to the horizon and beyond.

“What’s beyond?” I asked.

“We are. I’ve come to the newest frontier to uncover its myriad mysteries.”

I eyed the badger-man’s satchel. “Well, Rufus, if you’ve got something in there that can start a fire, we can talk over a haunch of your would-be devourer.”

Rufus did indeed have something. Two small somethings, in fact. Two small bottles that when their contents mated, a small flame appeared. Interesting. Not least of all the vials—glass, again. That meant furnaces and glassblowing. As for the fire itself, that wasn’t anything super mystical. There were a number of two-part chemical reactions that would cause instantaneous combustion on Earth. But, considering the makeup of the bomb fruits and the fact that I’d been reincarnated into a goblin body, oh, and that one of the tenets of technology here was literally impracticality, I had to assume the local periodic table differed somewhat as well. But there were at least people who knew it.

Rufus coaxed the flame to a decent burn that would eventually reduce down to a bed of smoldering coals. In the meantime, he glanced at the dubious pond, and pulled a round bottle out of his satchel. Glassblowing. He uncorked it, and the sweet-sour smell of beer wafted out. Distillation, fermentation science. He took a long pull and seemed to recover much of his stamina. He offered the bottle, but I’d never been much for warm beer, so I thanked him, but politely refused. Besides, either one of two things would occur: either this body would be the lightweightest lightweight that ever got smashed off one drink, or the anti-toxin ability of the goblin race would negate the alcohol entirely.

While we waited, two of my goblins presented me with a stitched poncho, what was left of the hide from the clifford. I pulled it on to much cheering, and directed the other goblins to mount the de-skinned rock-sloth carcass on a spit and frame it over the fire where it could be turned. Since the goblins would be too short to turn it normally, what with the size of the fire and the size of the sloth, I set up a sort of cross-bar, so that a goblin could jump, grab hold, and his weight would draw that section vertical, to which he would then slide off and the next goblin would jump and grab the next bar parallel to the ground.

Rufus watched me with curiosity, taking notes in his journal, as well as some rough sketches. He seemed comfortable enough on the ground, but I sent a pair of my goblins to gather leaves and moss to begin lining the floors of the shelters.

When I retook my seat next to him to watch the rock-sloth cook, I was the first to break the silence with an admission.

“I know little of this world,” I said. “I was born only days ago, and though I was born with the knowledge of many things, none of it pertains to the land in which I live. If you feel you want to trade for saving your life, then trade me honest answers.”

“A dishonest answer is no answer at all, but a lie,” said Rufus. “I feel I play a dangerous game, treating with a goblin king. My curiosity gets the best of me, but the myths all agree on something else about you.”

“What’s that?”

“That your appearance heralds a time of strife and danger. Goblins present little danger in the grand scheme of the world because they all pull whichever direction strikes their fancy. A goblin king has their loyalty and can point them all at a common goal. He is a unifying force with a powerful tool that, left unchecked, has the potential to be a blight upon the land if he sets his eyes on the world at large.”

“I assure you; my designs are entirely self-centered and I have no desire to be anyone’s blight.”

Rufus slapped his thighs. “Ah, well, since that’s settled, what of our world do you wish to know?”