The Butcher of Gadobhra

Chapter 351: Avoiding the Bad Pudding

Ozzy looked at Suzette and winked. "Ladies first."

"Fine, but I warn you, I may not leave them with much." She looked at the Goblin but pitched her voice louder.

"I want to go home and not have to worry about some tricky Fae law or upset cousin showing up some night to complicate my life. I want this to be over. Really over. Whatever happened here is done. Anything between myself and the friends who came to my aid and the Duchess is between us and us alone. No vendetta from someone seeking to avenge her. No one claiming I owe them for any of our actions. No strings attached."

She looked around at the assembled Lords and Ladies. "It was obviously a private little war since none of the Fae intervened when she twisted the Laws of Guesting. Everyone looked the other way and left it to the mortals to handle. Well, we handled it, and it's over. Done. Finished."

Gombindle rotated one eye toward Oberon, who slightly curled a finger in agreement. The goblin spoke loudly, "Agreed. There is an old saying among the High Fae that is so ancient it has become a law. In the common tongue, it would translate to: Yesteryears shoes make bad pudding." He grimaced. " I know, the translation sucks. But If the King says it, it means things are done and over with."

Oberon said in a bored voice laced with dire threat. "And I say it. If I am forced to eat bad pudding, every one of you will eat it too." A ripple of fear filled the crowd, and a few people laughed nervously.

Gombindle scowled at the ones laughing and then pointed at the five lords. "You embarrass me. That was a threat, not a joke. Sod off back to your damned castles until you learn to read the room." They looked around, finding no support and left the gathering with heads down. The goblin turned his back on them and smiled at Suzette. "The King grants this request. That should tighten up the language a bit and make sure every one of them pays attention. What else? You knew that would be granted."

She had. "The Fairy Market I have been granted is insufficient and embarrasses me. I asked for a Fairy Market, and half the time when it shows up, it's only three stalls selling cheap potions, luck charms of dubious quality, and used romance novels made to look like magical tomes. I will not be scoffed at by some third-rate human merchant selling pickled beets who has better goods than my 'magical and mysterious fairy market.'

Alwyn winced and then bowed low three times. "I accept the responsibility for that, Lady Suzette. I have asked many of the merchants I deal with to attend, but they express to me the difficulties of traveling to the mortal realms and making a profit. I shall do better in the future and beg your forgiveness."

Gombindle eyed the Summer Lord. Among the lesser fae, Alwyn was known to be one of the better High Fae to deal with, but he was young and a bit clueless. He probably really had done his best. He simply wasn't a merchant of any sort. "Lord Alwyn, were those you approached High Fae or the lesser tribes?"

"Oh, High Fae, of course. I wished to find only the best for her."

The goblin nodded. He'd thought so. "A worthy attempt, my Lord. Perhaps I can assist you with this task." He turned to the mortals and dropped his voice low. "Does it matter to you who you have at your fair? There aren't a lot of High Fae merchants, and they only show up to the biggest fairs and gatherings. And much of their stuff is too high priced for the mortal realms. If you deal with them, it'll cost you a firstborn or your shadow. But if you don't mind dealing with brownies, hobs, and gobs, I can get you dozens of merchants with sort-of-enchanted stuff at fair prices."

Suzette nodded and said loudly. "I trust you to aid Lord Alwyn in this, Lord Gombindle; let it be as you say."

The goblin bowed, then turned to Oberon. "Lady Suzette asks for a grand fair in the mortal realms to be held quarterly in the middle of each season. I shall command thirty-three lesser fae merchants, picked by lot, bid, or my whim, to journey to her lands and trade fairly with the mortals who attend the fair." He waited for a sign from Oberon, who nodded and then spoke.

"It is a small thing and will make her happy. I will be unhappy should these festivals fail to appear. Since this responsibility is Lord Alwyn's, I charge him with allowing the merchants to travel from the front gate of his lands to the portal he has constructed to the mortal realm. Since I find his gate currently ill-placed and inconvenient, it shall be moved to a spot adjacent to the lands formerly ruled by Duchess Midnight."

That caught many people's attention. The lesser fae in attendance immediately sent word to their families. The High Fae monopolized the large festivals, but they would be too busy to attend these quarterly festivals in the mortal lands. The Fae Lords noted that once again, somehow, Lord Alwyn had cleverly negotiated an increase in his rank, moving ever higher in the inner circles. Lady Midnight's star had fallen, and they were watching the ascendance of the Summer Lord who was replacing her. Within minutes, dozens of rumors were flying through the assembled court.

Suzette inclined her head and bowed. "This pleases me, and I am happy."

Gombindle wiped the sweat from his brow. "One down, two to go."

Squirmie was fluttering in the air in front of the goblin.

Gombindle started to speak, then paused as fear shot through him. The shadow cast by the small butterfly had a wingspan far larger and more monstrous looking than the cute little bug he could see. He swallowed and regained his poise, but it was a near thing.

"Ah, of course, jewelry for the princess. Do you have anything in mind?" Gombindle hoped this wasn't coming out of his commission, but as long as it wasn't an artifact, the king was rumored to have buckets full of crowns in his basement. People gave the Royal family a lot of gifts, and they only had one head each to wear them on.

He nodded. "Got just the thing." He pointed at a messenger. "Off with you to the king's castle and bring me a crown of exceeding value that only the prettiest princess would wear. You understand?" The messenger looked to Oberon; the King nodded and whispered to him before sending him off. Within moments, he rode back on a lathered horse and handed a small, flat box made of ebony and sealed with a silver ribbon. Gombindle loosened the ribbon and stuck it in his pocket. Then, he pulled a shining crown of gold from the case. It shimmered in the sun's light, sending out dazzling rays of reflected light in all colors."

"May I present to Princess Squirmie of the Hive this small token of the King's esteem, and certainly not a bribe to make you forget the horrible insult that certain people may have done to you?"

Squirmie grabbed the crown and sniffed it.

Rolly took the crown for her. Gombindle bowed to the princess. Two down, he thought, and just the Captain left. He didn't like the way the Captain seemed to enjoy causing trouble. He was after more than just the profit from a cargo. Before he could talk, Ozzy started.

"Tell me about these big fairs the fancy folks are having. They sound interesting." He leaned back in his chair as if expecting a story. Gombindle gave him the details.

"These are ancient affairs of the kingdom, celebrating the turning of the seasons and the cycles of magic they are tied to. The greatest artisans will spend a year crafting just one item to bring and display. Other houses will bring wagonloads of fine armor and weapons, works of art, the finest cloth, and the softest carpets. Gold runs through the market in rivers and streams before filling the coffers of those with the best merchandise. Each of the fairs takes the theme of the season it falls within, and there are contests for the dances and songs made in a season's honor. They are grand holidays, unseen by mortal eyes."

The Butcher smiled. "Until now."

"um....excuse me? Until now?"

"You heard me, and I can hear the gears spinning in your head. The Duchess promised me a trade deal, we worked out the details, and then she altered the deal. So we altered her. But I don't have a trade deal. Those spiffy High Fairs sound like a place to do business. The Fae have proved too much of a pain in the ass to negotiate cargo, so I want something simpler. I'm sure they sell food at these shindigs, and I want to be there and sell my wares."

The Goblin scratched his head, wondering what they made in the smoke that was edible. "You got me. Can I buy a vowel or something?"

The Butcher smiled evilly. "I'm going to sell sausage."

The goblin crossed his eyes, thinking about this request. "Just sausage?"

Ozzy spread his hands and shrugged. "Mostly sausage. Maybe some burny bacon, smoke-infused wood, fire gems, and pearls. But mostly sausage. Try some." He pulled a barrel from his bag and opened it.

Gombindle saw it was half full of large sausages with a fragrance he couldn't place. He stuck his claw into one of the half-pound links and popped it into his mouth. The taste was interesting: a little fishy and highly spiced with a smoky flavor and a delicate sauce. The heat on his tongue began to build. As he swallowed the last bite, fire exploded in his mouth and his belly. He grabbed for his wine bottle, poured it down, and yelled for more to cool his insides before he exploded. Four bottles later, he got things under control. The entire affair had amused everyone watching as he hopped from foot to foot, smoke coming out of his ears as he poured an evening's worth of the king's vintage wine down his throat in a few minutes.

"Bloody Hell and Pancakes! What is in those things?!!"

The Butcher took one and ate it himself, sadly, with no hopping or antics. "The meat is from a crab that makes the Sphynx look small. My crew and I fished it up in the Sargasso. Too much to eat, so I made sausage out of a few tons of extra crab. The spices are a trade secret, and the sauce is from an old firewalker recipe. I'll bring a few dozen barrels, and that's only one of my recipes."

Gombindle was drooling. "How much for the rest of the barrel?"

Ozzy pushed it toward him. "How big is my stall?"

The goblin looked to Oberon, who was amused and a bit hungry. He nodded.

"I think we can find you a nice spot in the Court of Tasty Feasting with an extra-large tent, seeing you are an extra-large Captain. But I do have to ask? How will you manage such a business? One mortal who sails the Smoke is acceptable, but a gaggle of mortals could be a problem."

Ozzy had considered that. "I'll bring less than a half dozen with me, either the people you see with me or from my ship's crew. They are not normal people, no matter how you define them. But you bring up a good point. I may not always have the time, what with my busy sailing schedule. I'll need your aid in finding a dozen likely lads, lasses, or creatures to work for me, even if I only handle the delivery."

Things clicked together in the goblin's skull and not just the odd things that lived there. "I could find you those people. But they'd want a cut of the take. Lesser fae work harder when they get a bit of profit sharing. I'm thinking 10% of profits to the workers."

Ozzy laughed. "Ha! And be known as a stingy Captain? Never! They'll split 20% of gross sales and not a penny less! It's either that or the deals are off! My crews get rich, whether looting wrecks in the Sargasso or taking the money from hungry Fae! Do we have a deal?"

The goblin knew the Captain would be difficult to deal with, but this made his head spin. "Deal!"

Ozzy leaned back in his chair. "Good. That's my first request taken care of."

"First? Of course, shit. What else, and I'm warning you, we need to make it quick. That sausage is waging war on my guts and it's winning."

Ozzy chuckled. "Yeah, they have that effect on the people they don't kill outright. We'll make this quick. The account the artifacts go into is still mine, with some extra safeguards. If they aren't ever coming out, then I want their value to benefit my banker."

Tiberius smiled. "Thank you, sir, I appreciate it."

Ozzy smiled down at him. "And, they count as collateral against any loan I might need in the future. I'm sure you understand."

The Banker swallowed, "Of course, sir, that's a standard procedure that deposits count as collateral." He started to ponder what the Butcher would need that size of a loan for, then decided he didn't want to know.

The Butcher pulled a piece of parchment from his jacket. It had been torn from a book and folded in half. "Lastly, I have a list of seven names that I would like you to broker for me." He held the paper and did not show it to the goblin, instead placing it in an envelope and sealing it. "My girl wants this shit to be over. All of it. And it occurs to me that there might be some remaining bad blood having to do with a certain missing gnome and some mischievous Fae Lordlings. So, I'm willing to sell this list of names for an obscene amount of gold, the equal of the ransom of seven Fae Princes. I want the gold deposited in the Royal Bank of Sedgewick to the account of Prince Ragothorn, assuming that such amount will help him find forgiveness in his heart."

The gnomes were silent for a second, and then the Prince bowed with a smile on his face. "I think for that much gold, I can fake it at least."

Gombindle walked to the King for a quick conference and returned. "To do his Lordlings a favor, King Oberon will deposit the gold immediately. It actually solves the problem of what to do with his winnings. He is very interested in talking with the people responsible for this debt, but that is his concern, and no one else." Ozzy handed the envelope to the goblin, who took it to the king. Wagons were brought, and barrels of gold coins were loaded for the trip to Sedgewick. Then, a dozen more wagons were demanded by the Sphynx. Princess Sahkmet had bet heavily on the mortals, betting her treasures at very long odds of 176 to 1 and predicting a major win. There would be weeping amongst the bookies and badgers for many seasons and a complete revamping of the betting system that now had to deal with crafty mortal heroes. A hundred of the king's Royal Guard were sent as a precaution against roving dragons that might scent so many shinies.

Gombindle returned to where the Butcher was sitting. "I am hoping that this satisfies your requests and we can continue with the ceremony."

The Butcher nodded, then had one further idea. Gombindle was already steeling himself for the request and wondering how far Oberon's patience would go. Ozzy smiled. "These are nice pens; I think we'll keep them as souvenirs of the occasion."

Uncle Gom nodded, and the ceremony continued with several extra sheets added to the agreement. Finally, everything was finished. Much bowing was done, fake words of endearment exchanged, and perhaps a small bit of respect grew between the two sides. The wagons, accompanied by the Sphynx with the Beast Knights guarding her new hoard, left for Sedgewick. At an order from the king, all of the Fae, with the exception of Oberon and Alwyn, withdrew a far distance. The only people left in the blasted land were Suzette and her mortal entourage, Alwyn, Gombindle, and Oberon, High King of the Fae.

Suzette curtsied to him and said, "I'd like to go home if you don't mind."

Oberon smiled, "But of course. And I can make that happen." He snapped his fingers, and the Silverthorn gates disappeared, cutting off access to the Realm.

Ben and Rolly tensed. Squirmy snored. Ozzy balled his fists but couldn't seem to move. Suzette glared at Oberon, "What Fae bullshit is this?"

Oberon continued to smile, unworried by the threats around him. "Ah, the best kind of Fae bullshit. I kept my word. You are home. This is your Realm, Countess Suzette of Silverthorn Vale, and I thought we should have a somewhat private talk to discuss things."

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