Gillian Summers - The goblin's curse

Hob stormed out onto the porch of his shop and paced back and forth, weaving like a drunkard, clenching his fists tightly and mumbling to himself.

No, it wasn’t going to be a good day. Keelie reached for some loose soil on the ground and placed it in her pocket before strolling up to the mask shop. “Good morrow,” she said, in a Ren-Faire-standard faux English accent.

Hob stopped, startled to see Keelie. She cocked her head fifteen degrees. Earth magic flowed through her, and she focused on Hob.

Allow me to see truly. Thick slow ripples of true sight radiated from her in all directions; bright light expanded like a sunny pond, surrounding her. Keelie closed her eyes, then opened them. A shimmer glowed around Hob’s body, and then disappeared. She was getting the hang of this spell. But what did that shimmer mean?

Startled, she suddenly realized she was seeing everything truly. The Hot Tub wenches, despite all their makeup, looked like plain little girls. In the trees, balls of energy hung suspended like holiday lights. She realized she was seeing the bhata as they really were.

The spell had unintentional side effects that Finch should have mentioned. Keelie shivered, then turned to see that Hob was staring at her.

“Is everything okay?” Keelie asked, placing a foot on the first step to the porch of the mask shop. She ran into a skin-prickling wall of magic, which quickly faded.

Knot hopped onto the porch ahead of her and rubbed up against Hob’s leg.

Hob recoiled. “A cat! I hate cats!” His eyes turned bleary and his skin blotchy, as if just saying the word “cat” made him break out in an allergic reaction.

The illumination around Hob became brighter as Keelie felt Earth magic flow through her. He bent down, and she saw shadowy tendrils of magic twisting and turning like storm clouds around his face.

She bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to open the shop today.” Hob peered about the porch, wringing his hands together. “I need to find something.”

Keelie’s heart drummed against her rib cage, but she steadied herself, focusing on the magic. “What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Hob turned toward her. The weak muscles in Keelie’s legs almost gave way when she saw Peascod’s contorted and wrinkled goblin face underneath the glamour that masked him as Hob.

Hob was Peascod. Peascod was Hob. Keelie’s first instinct was to run, but she remained calm. She had to act like she didn’t know. She would be in danger if he discovered that she knew his real identity. Just wait until Finch found out! Imagining the dragon flaming the wayward and murderous jester steeled Keelie’s resolve to see the morning through until she could think up an excuse to report back to the dragon.

“Look, Mommy. There’s a mask store,” a little boy yelled. “I bet there’s puppets!” He grinned at Keelie as he stomped up the steps to the porch and ran right through the front door.

“I guess the show must go on,” Hob muttered. “Shall we entertain our faire guests?” He lifted his mouth in a snarl, revealing jagged teeth.

“Sure.” A cold sensation wrapped itself around Keelie.

When Keelie entered the shop, she felt another ripple of magic that set her on edge. The shop had a warped Willy-Wonka-meets-the-circus vibe, and the unique atmosphere was given a creepy twist by the puppets that hung from the walls between the hundreds of masks. It was as if eyeless faces and little men were staring at her.

Keelie walked behind the wooden counter (alder, from Colorado) and touched the brass register; cold metal, hard to the touch. It was very different from Heartwood’s wooden register. Her heart seized with sadness as she peeked through the shop window, between shelves loaded with papier-mache carnival masks, and saw the newly planted cedars, and the corn-on-the-cob vendor talking happily with a group that had paused by her cart.

Keelie strolled over to look at the puppets and was struck by their sameness. As Finch had mentioned, each one was identical to the Toshi puppet; the only difference was that they wore different-colored versions of the jester’s costume. Hob’s special friend wasn’t so special if there were hundreds of him… why was he so upset? He could have grabbed one of these.

Their little faces leered at her. Keelie shivered.

“What do you want me to do?” Keelie asked, backing away from the disturbing Toshi display.

Before Hob could answer, families started streaming into the shop. Everyone seemed to love the creepy masks and puppets. After they had been working for two hours, Hob-or rather, Peascod-came to stand at her side. Keelie fought to act normally.

“I no longer need your services.” He eyed the door as if eager to leave.

“What about the afternoon? Your customers?” Keelie had to find out where he was headed.

“I have other plans. I’ll just close up.”

Once they were out of the shop, Hob closed the door and locked it.

“Do you want me to come back later?” Keelie asked. “Tomorrow?”

“Things have changed.” He fumbled with the keys.

At least this time, Finch wouldn’t go ballistic about Keelie tanking at a job in under a day. Of course, Keelie hadn’t messed this one up.

“I’ll leave your wages with Finch. I’ll pay you for a full day.” Hob stared at her, as if about to say something else, but instead turned the corner around Hobknocker’s and was gone.

He’d vanished.

Keelie wondered if she should try to track him through the trees, but Knot sat down on her foot.

“Meow. No. Not safe. Meow will go.”

“Fine. I’ll go and tell Finch.”

The Admin office was empty, and Keelie let herself in and waited. The thin walls did little to mute the noise of the happy throngs outside. The dragon clock ticked loudly. What was Peascod up to? Why had he disguised himself as a shop owner? She wondered what Knot would discover by following Peascod. She hoped the fairy cat kept a low profile.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes passed slowly. Tapping her foot anxiously on the floor, Keelie didn’t know if she should search for Finch or keep waiting.

Goblins. Peascod. Keelie didn’t have any magical solutions. It was like she had used up all her luck in the Northwoods.

A lump of orange fur jumped through the open office window and landed on Finch’s desk.

“Knot!” Keelie ran to him, then stopped, aghast. Blood streaked the cat’s nose and slack skin flapped over one eye, loose from a deep cut.

“What happened to you?” Keelie asked, wondering if she should bundle him up and rush him to a vet.

“Meow, bad news.”

“What is it?”

“Meow, need to come.”

A sickening wave of Something Wrong welled up within Keelie. “Tell me.”

“I tried meow to save meow Cricket.”

Keelie inhaled sharply. “Save Cricket? Where is he?”

“Meow fought against Peascod, but he was angry, meow, he threw Cricket against the wall,” Knot said. He wiped his paw across his face, and he sniffed. “Meow dead.”

Peascod! Cricket! Keelie placed her trembling hand against her mouth at the dark and horrible image of Peascod tossing Cricket aside like trash. She could almost imagine the horrible smack his little body made on impact. Tears trailed down her face and a sob escaped from her lips as she sat down in the hard plastic lawn chair.

“Meow, Cricket Under-the-Hill.” Knot hopped onto Finch’s desk and reached out with his paw and placed it on Keelie’s hand. It was a tender gesture for the fairy cat, and Keelie felt comforted by his presence.

“At least you were there, trying to save him.” Keelie patted Knot on the head.