Part 14 (2/2)
She felt confused. They were saying nice things, and yet . . .
”My lovely one!”
”My darling!”
”Eat! Eat!”
They licked their dry lips with muscular tongues and pushed in closer to Jill, and closer.
”Stop!” she cried suddenly. ”Get away!” The goblins' sweat clouded Jill's nostrils. She could feel their thick, rough hands on her hair. ”Get away from me!”
But they would not. They pressed closer and closer and closer.
”Jack!” Jill cried. ”JACK!”
Jack stood in front of one of the dark entrances that led underground. He heard his name. He turned. A mountain of goblins seethed in the center of what appeared to be a fruit market.
”JACK!”
He squinted his eyes and took a step toward it.
”JACK!”
He saw one of Jill's thin hands appear above the goblins' heads.
He began to run.
Inside the scrum of goblins, Jill pushed and kicked and shouted.
”Pretty girl!” they cried.
”Beautiful one!”
”Come with us!”
”Be with us!”
”NO!” she shouted. ”GET AWAY!” She turned her head this way and that as the goblins tried to push peaches and pears and plums past her lips. ”JACK!” she screamed.
And just as she did, a muscular goblin with a vicious face shoved an apple into her mouth. She tried to tear her face away, but as she moved, her teeth pierced the apple's flesh.
And Jill collapsed.
Jack pushed at the backs of the thronging goblins frantically, trying to shove his way to his cousin. But the goblins were surprisingly strong. An arm thrust Jack backward. He pushed into the scrum of goblins again. ”Jill!” he shouted. ”JILL!”
And then he saw Jill, lifted up by a dozen goblin arms, being borne aloft and carried away. She looked dead.
”JILL!” he cried. He tried to follow her. But he could not penetrate the iron cord of goblin arms. Jack watched, helplessly, as Jill was swept into one of the dark openings in the earth, and out of sight.
”We've got to follow her!” the frog screamed. ”We've got to save her!”
The dust of the ground mingled with the acrid-sweet smells of the fruit market.
”I know,” said Jack. He squinted against the bright sun. ”I know.”
Jack stood on a ramp that descended into the ground. He looked out over the rest of the Goblin Market-an underground market.
Stalls and huts of clanging metal stretched into the dark distance under a towering ceiling of black stone. The frog shoved his fingers in his ears against the incessant clang clang clang of the smithy stalls. The underground market was even more teeming with life and strangeness than its counterpart aboveground. A thousand stalls stretched out into the distance, and among them wove goblins with baskets and bags of goods. Beyond the market, far, far in the distance, were taller buildings.
There was no sign of Jill, or of the band of goblins that had carried her away. They had disappeared like the smoke of a forge into a low-hanging fog.
But Jack had to start somewhere. He descended into the darkness, asking goblins as he went, ”Have you seen a girl? A human girl? Being carried by goblins? Have you seen her? Has anyone seen her?”
No one had.
Jack wandered on and on and on, past stalls with metal trinkets, axes of glowing iron, tiny daggers no bigger than Jack's pinkie. And swords. Wonderful, deadly, beautiful swords.
Jack saw a two-handed broadsword that hung in front of one of the shops. It had a long thick blade and a rounded tip. He wondered how much it cost. Not that he had any money. But still, he was curious. He examined its cross-guard, and found, dangling from it, a thread of leather with a small piece of parchment at the end. One Hand, the parchment read.
”Jack,” said the frog, ”come on. We need to find Jill.”
Jack let go of the cryptic message and backed away from the stall.
Just a few steps farther along, he saw another sword, with gold filigree all the way up the blade, and he thought, No, that's the one for me. This sword had no parchment attached to it. So Jack said to the crook-backed goblin who stood nearby, conversing with another weapon-smith, ”How much for this sword?”
”One hand,” said the goblin, as if this was obvious, and turned back to his conversation. Jack considered asking for an explanation. But he could not think of any possible explanation of the price ”one hand” that would make him able to afford it.
”Jack!” cried the frog. ”Come on!”
”Right,” said Jack. ”Sorry. I was just-” But he stopped there, for hanging from a rack of daggers was a tiny dirk-a thin, steeply graded blade on a guardless handle. It was gorgeous.
A wooden, hand-painted plaque hung above the rack of daggers. It read, ALL DAGGERS, ONE HAND. Jack stood before the sign.
The frog was about to shout at Jack again, but a goblin with a sallow, thin face and a little paunch of a belly asked Jack if he liked what he saw.
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