“A goblin...” Yorka muttered and sat down. “My name is perfectly normal.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I gave myself the name El.”
“What a stupid name! El what? Are you Mexican or something?”
“That’s just what I came up with.”
“Elb. That suits you better,” Yorka shot back.
“Elb,” I tested it out. “Elb. Almost like elf.”
“No. Like Elb.”
“All right, I’m Elb.” I agreed. “So? Who is she? And what do you owe her?”
“What do you care, Elb the goblin? Hm... That sounds even stupider. You’re definitely Elb! Elb the goblin!”
I interrupted her sudden glee. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. How about you stop changing the subject? Who did this to you?”
“What do you care?” She repeated tensely. “Hm? What’re you gonna do? Help me? Yeah, right! Or will the story help you pass the time before the second round of hauling? Find another way! Oh, and about how I woke you up — I’m sorry. I’m bleeding money, trying to catch up. But I can’t. I’m already at GBL. I’m already a goblin! I’m Yorka the fucking goblin, that’s who I am!” She snapped, her voice echoing around the room. “Elb and Yorka, a pair of happy little dirt-poor goblins!”
“Has a nice ring to it,” I shrugged. “Elb and Yorka, two happy little goblins in a happy little party. Elb’s the leader, of course.”
“What do you mean? What party? You need to chill, goblin.”
“We’ll get back to that later. But come on, tell me about your debt, the money you’re losing, that bruise, and who you owe this shirt to. No sarcasm this time. I ask, you give me a straight answer. I ask for more details, you tell me.”
“Fuck off,” she said, but there was no confidence in her voice.
“This is the last time I’m going to offer to help you,” I said evenly. “Think about it. And either start talking, or don’t.”
There was silence. I continued to look around casually.
There were three passages leading into the oval room. Two were across from each other, with the third between them. A large group was fast approaching from the far entrance. Morris, the man in the coat, looked exasperated, like he was tired of waiting for them. He waved them over so furiously that they started running.
“Where the hell have you been?” Morris shouted from afar. “You’re twenty minutes late!”
“We had a slight problem with water,” a middle-aged man started to make their excuses. He was wearing brown overalls with yellow straps, bulging with dirty rags that seemed to stick out of every pocket.
“I don’t give a shit! Get cracking!” Morris shouted again. “We’re behind schedule!”
“We’re on it.”
There were about fifteen people in the group. It was hard to tell exactly what race they were, but they didn’t seem like goblins. Orcs, at least. Maybe even halflings, going by their efficiency. Both men and women, ranging in age from fresh-faced to elderly. It was clear they were cleaners. They grabbed scrapers and rags, then began scrubbing the dirt from the closest mechanism. Morris paced impatiently around them.
I waited for a minute, then approached him and said confidently:
“We’re really good at scrubbing dirt. We can help for a small fee.”
“How about you go...” Morris started. The thug I had argued with earlier overheard, and excitedly came closer. “...Scrub.” The thug wilted as Morris finished his sentence. The impudent goblin had avoided another beating.
Morris hastily went over the terms of the deal.
“No sol! Only clothes. You’ll each get a handkerchief, a baseball cap, and... and one nutrition briquette. That’s all.”
“And a liter of drinking water,” I added, barely hiding my glee. “We still have to work later, remember? Which means we’ll be sweating.”
“And a liter of drinking water,” he waved a hand. “Now go, go!”
“We’re on it.”
I didn’t need to explain anything to Yorka. When she saw me pointing at her, she was smart enough to come closer, so she heard most of our conversation. The two of us grabbed rags and plastic scrapers and got to work, copying the more experienced workers.
“Thanks,” Yorka muttered quietly.
“What was that?” I got closer.
“I said thank you, Elb the fucking goblin!”
“You’re welcome, Yorka the goblin. Anytime.”
