In The Coils Of The Snake (30 page)

Hunter
jumped in alarm. The goblin King’s cloak hung in the
air
right behind him. He jumped again. Now the goblin King stood right behind him.
Marak Catspaw studied the nervous elf as he retrieved his cloak. Miranda didn’t
even bother to look up.

“Here we are,”
announced the goblin King.

“Where are we?”
snapped the elf. “And why?”

“This is
Miranda’s new home,” replied Catspaw. “I can’t bring
her into my kingdom because of those stars, so we’ve
renovated some
old guest quarters.
Right through there.” He nodded at the cliff.
“Go ahead.”

Miranda
looked up and remembered Marak bringing her through
the
front door only a few months ago. She had been so happy to be
going home with him at last. Her happy future had
crumbled several
times since then.
She wondered if it would continue to crumble
every single time it
appeared that it might possibly be happy.

Hunter glared
desperately at the sheer, broken rock, his whole
being rebelling against it. No worse destiny awaited an elf than
being
dragged into the goblin caves. He stalled for time.

“I’m not
bashing my face into a rock wall,” he told the King. “I don’t want it
to look like yours.”

“Stop
acting like a child,” replied Marak Catspaw calmly. “Tat
too,
you go first again.”

The goblin promptly
disappeared into the rock. Hunter couldn’t let himself be outdone, so he closed
his eyes and hurled himself at
the cliff
face, almost jerking Miranda off her feet. A second later, he
collided
with Tattoo. They were inside a large stone room.

“What
happened?” demanded the surprised goblin. “Did he
have
to give you a push?” The distraught Hunter felt that rudeness could go no
further. He couldn’t even frame a reply.

The
goblin King walked past them to a door in the far wall.
`And
through here,” he said, pulling it open. Tattoo walked in and
looked around with interest. Miranda stepped in
looking at her feet.

Hunter staggered in
and closed his eyes against the bright light. Marak Catspaw examined the elf.
Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his breathing was shallow.

“Miranda,
you’d better help your guard sit down before he faints,”
Catspaw
concluded.

Miranda helped
Hunter over to a thick mat on the floor while
Tattoo
brought a handkerchief dipped in water. Hunter leaned
back against the
cave wall and slowly began to revive.

“I’m
fine, really, Sika,” he muttered, opening his eyes to glare at
the
goblins. “It’s just that this place is so dreadful.”

“What
a shame you don’t like it,” remarked the goblin King, not
sounding
particularly sorry at all. “These quarters were designed especially for
elves.”

They
were in a cave about twenty-five feet wide and so long that
Miranda couldn’t see the end of it. It curved away
steadily in a shal
low bend. Unlike the
goblin palace, this cave had been left close to
its natural state, or perhaps, decided Miranda, it was just supposed to
look natural. The bumpy, irregular walls curved upward to become
the sloping ceiling about twenty feet above them,
and the cave floor
was uneven, too.

The cavern, full of
shadows to her human eyes, was just light
enough
that she could distinguish colors. The walls and floor shone
milky
white, as if they were covered with ice, and hanging globe lamps cast a dim,
pearly glow. Columns stretched from ceiling to floor here and there, like
stalactites or tree trunks. They were the
color
of fine jade, and they matched the wide, thick green mats scat
tered on
the floor near the walls.

A few feet in front
of Miranda, a fountain bubbled up in a wide basin, bobbing in five uneven jets
of water that sparkled and sang.
The water
spilled over the sides of the basin into a shallow channel
three feet wide that ran down the center of the
cave room; composed
of large chunks of light blue stone, it was designed
to look like a brook’s natural bed. It broke the flow of the water into small
rapids as it twisted out of sight around the long bend of the cavern room.

“The elf lord
Girzal was our last guest,” said the goblin King.
“He stayed here for several months as his ransom was being
arranged.
He and Marak Blackwing became somewhat cordial, and he pro
nounced the place quite livable. Hunter, I
realize it’s bright for you,
but farther down the cave, you’ll find a
small cavern off to the side that isn’t lit. It has hooks in the floor for your
tent.”

Hunter
looked slightly relieved. “Ransom?” he muttered, looking
around
with a little more interest. “What ransom could elves pay?”

“The
elf lord’s youngest daughter Lim paid it for him,” answered
Marak
Catspaw. “She lived with the goblins for three months as a
guest before she accepted the terms of the ransom.
Then she became
the goblin King’s Wife, and her father went free.”
Hunter grimaced in disgust.

“Miranda,”
continued Catspaw, “the dwarves have added new rooms suited to a human,
and you can reach them through the stair case over there. This door will be
locked, these quarters will be
guarded, and
the guards in the outer room will bring you your meals.
Hunter, you may
stay here as long or as short a time as you like.
You’re a guest, not a prisoner, but if you leave, you won’t be allowed
to
come back. Tattoo, you’ll remain here as long as Miranda does,
and I’ll have the guards bring you whatever you
need. You can sleep
in a tent, too,
if you like,” he suggested. “Remember, you did when
you were
little.”

Under
the scrutiny of his monarch, Tattoo tried not to look dis
mayed.
Miranda felt no such constraint.

“So I have to
stay locked in here for the rest of my life,” she declared.

“Of
course not,” replied Catspaw. “Just for the rest of the elf
lord’s
life. Then you can come back into the kingdom.”

Miranda gave him a
suspicious look. “You promised me,” she warned, but he only smiled at
her.

“Don’t worry,”
he answered. “I’ll keep my promise.” And the goblin King left.

Elf, human, and
goblin sat and gazed dejectedly at the fountain for several minutes, each
depressed for a different reason.

“Tattoo,”
began Miranda, “is your mother really — I know what Catspaw said — but
Sable can’t be dead, really?”

“We’re making
her stay alive,” growled Tattoo” but it doesn’t
work very well, and I don’t know what good it
does when she won’t
stay alive on her own.”

“You don’t mean
that elf woman is your
mother?”
exclaimed
Hunter. “Stars above!” Then he turned red when they both looked
at him. “Sika, don’t you believe
that goblin claptrap,” he insisted. “Nir
would never attack a
woman, much less an elf woman. He didn’t even let us hurt the revolting humans
we found near camp — no offense,” he added hastily. “They didn’t look
like you.”

“It’s
not a lie,” declared Tattoo. “I was on duty when my mother
came in. She looked horrible, dead white and covered
with dirt. First,
she
told Marak — he hesitated — “well, she said what he told you, any
way. And then she fell right down, not four feet from
him. We thought
she’d fainted, but
she wasn’t breathing. Seylin said he knew some spells that could do it, but not
delayed and at a distance like that.”

Miranda
covered her face with her hands, overcome at the thought
of
Sable dying because of her.

Hunter furrowed his
brow in thought. He pulled his set of knucklebones out of his tunic and began
absently tossing them and
catching them. “Nir
didn’t put a spell on that elf woman to kill
her,” he said slowly. “And
he didn’t attack that other elf woman, either, the mother of the goblin King.”
He glanced bemusedly at Tattoo’s silver face with its faint black lines. “It’s
a shame you both
didn’t take after your mothers a little more. But Nir
just affects elves,
that’s
all. I can’t explain how he does it. He can be too much,” he continued,
waving his hands. “Too much, and not even know it.”

Tattoo raised his
eyebrows. “So you’re saying that the elf lord affected my mother to death?”

“I
just mean,” said Hunter, “that if he told her to drop dead,
she’d
do it.”

“My
mother? You don’t know
my mother!” scoffed Tattoo.
“She’s not
about to drop dead to please an elf man, and don’t think
they didn’t try to make her do it, either. No. I
know what happened.
The elf lord told her to take herself off, and she
gave him a piece of her mind. He just wasn’t used to being talked to like that,
him with all his affected elves.”

“No, no, no!”
declared Hunter. “That isn’t what happened.”

“Well, it
happens that my mother’s dead,” pointed out Tattoo.
“And your elf lord is, well… He trailed off,
glancing at Miranda
again. Another silence fell.

“Let’s have
some food,” suggested Hunter, opening his pack.

Miranda raised her
face from her hands and gazed at him reproachfully. “How could you think
of eating at a time like this?” she demanded.

“At a time like
this?” he wondered. “Well past the time for the
evening meal, which we haven’t eaten yet. I know,
we’ll take a walk
first and see the rest of this dismal hole. That’ll
work up an interest in food.”

It took the three of
them almost an hour to reach the end of the curving cavern. The milky walls and
randomly spaced pale green columns continued, as did the occasional mats. The
small artificial brook hurried along the middle of the cave floor, bridged periodically
by narrow slabs of stone. It reminded the wanderers that they were walking
downhill.

After some time, the
curve of the cavern became more pronounced. Hunter stopped and looked around
suspiciously. “It’s as if we’re in a giant snail shell,” he said.

“We’re walking
in a spiral, yes,” agreed Tattoo. “It makes sense
if you think of this as an elf prison. You elves
are active, and a spiral
ing tunnel gives you plenty of room to take
walks without using up
too much space. These
mats are for elves, too, to use instead of
chairs. Marak is right, this
place was designed just to suit you.”

Hunter
looked unimpressed, but in another minute he gave a cry
of
delight, unintentionally confirming Tattoo’s remarks. They had come around a
sharp bend and arrived at the center of the spiral, a large circular room. The
channel of water ended in a deep pool as
large
as the room was wide. Stone steps in front of them descended into the clear
water, and ripples cast their waving lines on the walls
and floor.
Hunter couldn’t have been more thrilled.

“A place to
bathe!” he cried. “Even underground.”

Tattoo
dipped a finger into the water. “It’s frigid,” he announced
sarcastically.
“It’s everything an elf could wish.”

Miranda
was hungry by the time they made their way back uphill
to the fountain. A low table waited by the door. On it
were plates of meat and cheese, rolls, buns, meat pies, sweets, and a bowl of
fruit.
Miranda and Tattoo realized that someone had
thoughtfully raided the pantries for them, but Hunter was very wary.

“Don’t touch
that stuff, Sika,” he ordered. “It’s probably poisoned. I thought of
this, so I brought food with us.”

“Oh, good,”
said Miranda loyally. She sat down and surveyed
the dinner Hunter handed her. A strip of dried deer meat and a stale
round
of bread. Then she watched Tattoo devour a meat pie. The goblin caught her
wistful look and grinned.

“I’d
especially avoid these jam tarts,” he suggested, biting one in
half. “The
cooks always poison them first.”