Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Goblin-Slayer! Who, Me?

“It’s the goblin-slayer!”

“Nice that SOME well-off people get a tamed beast while honest working shopkeepers have to make do with a mangy, flea-bitten alley cat…it would be nice if someone could lend one to me at least one day a week. Possibly overnight to catch mice and scare off thieves.”

“Young Miss! I need to borrow your beast. I will pay handsomely. Well, I’ve never been the sort that has problems with goblins. But I have imps. Not a moment’s peace from sunrise to sundown. I swear, I am the most put-upon person in the village.”

“Young Miss! Our Adventurers’ Guild is in need of a beast and his tamer to join our quest. With your beast’s renown as a goblin-slayer, why, we can’t lose! It is a dark and treacherous undertaking that we’ve chosen. Let me tell you all about it.”

Walking through the village on an errand, Kaline and I have to turn away these offers and pitches right and left. Well, Kaline handles the verbal pitches with a polite “no” or “ask me again later” if the inquiry isn’t obnoxious.

In the case of the shopkeeper, Kaline says, “Ask me again later.” She feels badly despite the passive-aggressive tone, whereas I use my regal cat attitude, or cattitude, and ignore them. My Kaline is too sweet when it comes to the people of the village to put that shopkeeper in her place. I’m not so sweet. Demos and Gussie and Lobo would be worse, but they’re not here, thank the Primal Beast. I sympathize with them possibly being worse.

It is not Kaline’s fault that the shopkeeper can’t or won’t get a “good” mouser. And who is to say that the shopkeeper’s cat is doing a poor job? Maybe this shopkeeper expects way too much. After all, cats are born to catch rodents. And as for security, if you are worried about thieves, hire someone or get a better lock! Or a guard dog.

I also can’t embark on some quest for the Adventurers’ Guild, I have a tournament in two months. I can’t just go off on some adventure that I might never come back from. Not now, at least. To them, Kaline gives the “no” response. Full stop.

In the case of the person plagued by imps, well, imps are not in my wheelhouse. On the other hand, they’d probably help me level up. Kaline politely gives the “ask me again later” response.

I bump up against her. [Kaline, we should help with the imps.]

[Are you sure?]

[I have never been more sure of anything.]

Kaline turns to the farmer who has the imp problem, a no-nonsense sort of woman. “We have some time now. We can come back for what my mother wanted later.”

[Side Quest: Solve the imp problem. XP +5]

The farmer beams. “Oh, Young Miss, may the gods bless you. I have tried every magic charm that they sell. Everything. Every mousetrap. Leaving food out. The imps knock over the milk buckets. They scare the chickens…”

Chattering on about her woes, she leads us to a farmstead, a modest place with a farmhouse with a thatched roof and a rustic weathered barn with shiny white paint. The fences look tied together neatly, posts hammered in tight. The yard is spotless. A gorgeous Bengal-style cat and a white-and-brown dog lie napping on the front steps of the farmhouse. With them is an old, mottled dragonet whose scales have clearly gone through wind, heat, rain, snow, and all kinds of conditions. The dragonet puffs smoke and looks up at me with a morose gaze. I’m reminded of Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh.

[So, you are the one they got to replace us?]

It’s not hostile. It’s not even emotional. This is a regular day for her. I might as well be someone coming to buy milk or eggs or crops.

I stare at the dragonet with moldy-looking green scales. The green has become a sickly blue for some reason. [I have a job, thank you.]

The female dragonet belches smoke. [You’re a tamed beast. I’m not.]

I amble toward her. [Doesn’t make me better than you. You live here.]

This is a volunteer job for a member of the community. I don’t need to make enemies.

I continue. [What is your name?]

[Butterbur.]

A dragonet named Butterbur? Okay.

[Nice to meet you, Butterbur. So, are the imps keeping you awake?]

Plumes of smoke rise from Butterbur’s nose and mouth. [Why do you think I can barely move? All day and all night. Never-ending. They just will not stop.]

The dog and the cat can’t be bothered to move, lending credence to Butterbur’s story.

I growl in sympathy. [But you breathe fire. Aren’t they afraid?]

Naturally, I try to think of everything that Demos and Gussie and Lobo and Lightning would say. It is the first time I’ve been out without my beast family, but Vedette wanted some private training with Demos, Lobo was feeling tired after intense training and needed extra sleep, and Gussie needed to help Lamant study, as she put it.

This is really the first time I’ve been anywhere with Kaline on my own. It must be because of my reputation as a goblin slayer! Never mind that I didn’t actually kill any goblins.

[I didn’t kill any goblins.] I stare into Butterbur’s amber eyes. [That’s an inflated human story that I’ve gone along with. It makes me sound tougher, but it doesn’t make sense. I’m still a tiger cub.]

Butterbur flicks her tail in a lethargic manner. [That is your business.]

She’s not exactly my idea of a fierce dragon, but then, she is old. Maybe sick. I sniff to see if I can detect any sign of illness. None. Maybe dragonskin just gets brittle with age, like lizard skin or snakeskin. Also, Butterbur is part of the scenery, and has been for years.

[All I am saying is that I’m not some killing machine.]

Kaline scratches behind my ears. “Come, Blaze! You can talk to Butterbur later. See if you can smell the imps. The farmer, Mrs. Threadgood, says that the imps like to hide in the crops and the straw and even in the henhouse.”

A crude, rickety chicken coop sits close to the farmhouse, with clucking coming from it. Now, I know chickens. I did a science fair project about chickens and egg yields, and whether or not certain chicken feed brands yield better eggs or more frequent lays. I didn’t raise the chickens myself. I worked with family members who raised chickens outside of W City.

Chickens are sensitive. Laying hens are picky, even if they are used to people taking their eggs. And roosters hate the idea of someone sniffing around the hens. So, an imp who thinks it is hilarious to substitute a rock or a veggie or a fruit for an egg is asking to be pecked within an inch of its life.

That said, the easiest thing is to eliminate possibilities, so I investigate the chicken coop with my nose, and get pecked for my trouble. A short time and one sore nose later, I determine that the chicken coop is imp-free.

We search all over the farm, with Kaline trying something called Advanced Tamer Senses. Apparently, tamers can absorb some of the abilities of their beasts, including our superior smells, sight, and hearing. But Kaline comes up empty handed.

[Blaze.] She kicks some straw, watching it scatter. [Vedette can see things I can’t, thanks to Demos. You just became a Journeyman. Why aren’t I as good as Vedette?]

Although indignant, I try to empathize. [Well, my little brother–]

Ooops. Why? Why did I have to say that? What’s the matter with me?

Kaline is frustrated. [You don’t have a brother, Blaze. You are an orphan. You told me. Stop fooling around.]

Busted. [What I mean to say is that my BIG brother Demos has been a tamed beast for longer than I have.]

[But you fought goblins! Stop making excuses.]

My ears twitch. Kaline isn’t often one for tween temper over nothing. And this is just out of the blue. [Kaline, we make a good team. And you should know better than to believe the rumors. Let’s work together.]

After standing and stewing for a few moments, Kaline scratches behind my ears. The way to a tiger’s heart is not only through his stomach, it’s through his ears. [I’m sorry, Blaze. We’re a team.]

My muscles go limp, and after this intense frantic search, I can use a respite.

[Keep doing that and we’re good for life, Young Miss.]

My newly scratched ears pick up something. A rumble. A vibration. The very ground beneath my feet is like a busy sidewalk during peak shopping hours. My back arches.

Then…BOOM!

The ground explodes, straw flies everywhere, and petite green and yellow beings the size of Smurfs ambush me, shrieking in Common. “We got you! We got you!”

Mrs. Threadgood is wailing, “MY FARM!”

It’s an IMPossible situation!

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