pan-pipe version of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’.
We reach the basement and carry on going.
‘An outing to a goblin lair,’ Ronin says. ‘My, my, what did we do to deserve such an honour?’
‘You’re MK6.’ Norrd’s tongue licks his bottom lip. ‘You deserve far more than this.’
Eventually the elevator stops and the doors open to a darkness that seems to stretch for ever. I can hear the rough breath of the guards and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. I’m pushed forward through a series of turns. Finally light appears and I’m pathetically glad to see it.
We step out on to a walkway that spirals down into the earth. The walls are lined with dwellings, like high-rise flats in reverse. There are large grassy balconies that act as communal spaces. Goblin kids play among washing lines. A fat goblin in tight shorts and a Hawaiian shirt lying on a recliner in his front yard gives me a thumbs-up as we pass.
We descend into the goblin lair, passing shops, markets and even what looks like a hotel. The spiral walkway ends at a large stone amphitheatre plastered with posters for old movies. There’s a giant screen, and a thick wooden pole wrapped in razor wire with sharp steel spikes driven into it at regular intervals. It looks like some kind of industrial cactus.
‘Welcome to the Crimson Courtyard,’ Norrd says with a grin. ‘We mostly use it to watch music videos and TV series.’ He gestures to the wire-wrapped pole. ‘Although it does have other uses.’
An old Celine Dion concert is playing on the giant screen as we enter, and Norrd makes a kill-it motion, slashing his hand across his throat. The concert is paused and Celine is stopped mid-song, her face contorted like she’s caught in a perpetual scream.
‘I think I’ll pass,’ Ronin says.
‘Unfortunately your attendance is compulsory,’ Norrd says. ‘Please come and take your seats of honour.’
We’re led to the centre of the amphitheatre, next to the pole, and forced to our knees. Goblins begin to filter into the seats and fear starts to tingle in my fingers like little silver sparks. The audience chatters away, nudging, pushing, and imitating Celine’s screaming mouth with much amusement.
‘Now what?’ Ronin asks. ‘This goblin stink is going to make me throw up soon.’
‘Now we’re going to take your teeth,’ says Norrd. ‘And then your heads, as punishment for your complicity in the systematic oppression of the Hidden.’
‘Lovely. I take it your sudden interest in extreme dentistry has to do with this Muti Man degenerate?’
Norrd gives us a nasty little grin. ‘The Muti Man. Yes. I admit I was sceptical at first. He fucked with my business and I wasn’t happy about that. But he is very … persuasive.’
‘Rich, you mean?’ Ronin says.
‘The two tend to go hand in hand,’ Norrd replies. ‘That and he makes a lot of sense. He and his Bone Kraal have been organising us against the oppression of humans and dwarves. Like he says, separately we’re weak but together we’re strong.’
‘Do you want a bunch of pencils so that you can visually demonstrate what you mean?’ Ronin says.
A tracksuited goblin backhands him across the face and he sprawls on the bloody amphitheatre floor with a grunt. He pushes himself back to his knees and spits a mixture of blood and saliva at Norrd, but unfortunately the body-fluid cocktail falls short and splatters at the goblin’s pedicured feet.
‘Take their teeth,’ Norrd orders, and the goblin crowd begins to hoot and stamp in appreciation.
The goblin heavies grab us and Norrd produces a pair of ugly pliers and holds them up. The crowd roars with approval.
‘Fuck it, Ronin,’ I hiss, struggling to keep a dirty goblin hand from prising open my jaws. ‘Please tell me you didn’t bring me here just so that I could get my teeth ripped out and then be decapitated. Please, please, please, with motherfucking cherries on top, tell me that you have a reason for manoeuvring
We reach the basement and carry on going.
‘An outing to a goblin lair,’ Ronin says. ‘My, my, what did we do to deserve such an honour?’
‘You’re MK6.’ Norrd’s tongue licks his bottom lip. ‘You deserve far more than this.’
Eventually the elevator stops and the doors open to a darkness that seems to stretch for ever. I can hear the rough breath of the guards and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. I’m pushed forward through a series of turns. Finally light appears and I’m pathetically glad to see it.
We step out on to a walkway that spirals down into the earth. The walls are lined with dwellings, like high-rise flats in reverse. There are large grassy balconies that act as communal spaces. Goblin kids play among washing lines. A fat goblin in tight shorts and a Hawaiian shirt lying on a recliner in his front yard gives me a thumbs-up as we pass.
We descend into the goblin lair, passing shops, markets and even what looks like a hotel. The spiral walkway ends at a large stone amphitheatre plastered with posters for old movies. There’s a giant screen, and a thick wooden pole wrapped in razor wire with sharp steel spikes driven into it at regular intervals. It looks like some kind of industrial cactus.
‘Welcome to the Crimson Courtyard,’ Norrd says with a grin. ‘We mostly use it to watch music videos and TV series.’ He gestures to the wire-wrapped pole. ‘Although it does have other uses.’
An old Celine Dion concert is playing on the giant screen as we enter, and Norrd makes a kill-it motion, slashing his hand across his throat. The concert is paused and Celine is stopped mid-song, her face contorted like she’s caught in a perpetual scream.
‘I think I’ll pass,’ Ronin says.
‘Unfortunately your attendance is compulsory,’ Norrd says. ‘Please come and take your seats of honour.’
We’re led to the centre of the amphitheatre, next to the pole, and forced to our knees. Goblins begin to filter into the seats and fear starts to tingle in my fingers like little silver sparks. The audience chatters away, nudging, pushing, and imitating Celine’s screaming mouth with much amusement.
‘Now what?’ Ronin asks. ‘This goblin stink is going to make me throw up soon.’
‘Now we’re going to take your teeth,’ says Norrd. ‘And then your heads, as punishment for your complicity in the systematic oppression of the Hidden.’
‘Lovely. I take it your sudden interest in extreme dentistry has to do with this Muti Man degenerate?’
Norrd gives us a nasty little grin. ‘The Muti Man. Yes. I admit I was sceptical at first. He fucked with my business and I wasn’t happy about that. But he is very … persuasive.’
‘Rich, you mean?’ Ronin says.
‘The two tend to go hand in hand,’ Norrd replies. ‘That and he makes a lot of sense. He and his Bone Kraal have been organising us against the oppression of humans and dwarves. Like he says, separately we’re weak but together we’re strong.’
‘Do you want a bunch of pencils so that you can visually demonstrate what you mean?’ Ronin says.
A tracksuited goblin backhands him across the face and he sprawls on the bloody amphitheatre floor with a grunt. He pushes himself back to his knees and spits a mixture of blood and saliva at Norrd, but unfortunately the body-fluid cocktail falls short and splatters at the goblin’s pedicured feet.
‘Take their teeth,’ Norrd orders, and the goblin crowd begins to hoot and stamp in appreciation.
The goblin heavies grab us and Norrd produces a pair of ugly pliers and holds them up. The crowd roars with approval.
‘Fuck it, Ronin,’ I hiss, struggling to keep a dirty goblin hand from prising open my jaws. ‘Please tell me you didn’t bring me here just so that I could get my teeth ripped out and then be decapitated. Please, please, please, with motherfucking cherries on top, tell me that you have a reason for manoeuvring
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