Read The Map for Free Online Page B

maybe. I ’ ve heard miners call scrap materials gob, and of course, it ’ s slang for ‘mouth. ’ Maybe the mouth of a cave? It looks as though there might be caves down there, set into in the cliffside. Hard to see from here. What do you think?”
    “I think you ’ re right, Miss Rook.”
    “About which bit?”
    “I think it looks like goblins.”
    It took the horde mere moments to surround us.
    The goblins were sallow creatures, freckled with blotchy greens and browns. They wore stained, tattered clothing, all various shades of dirty brown, but each uniquely attired. Some wore little more than loincloths with twine for belts. Others wore complicated outfits, shirts layered with burlap vests and leather straps studded with dark metals. Some wore simple skullcaps, and others went bareheaded, their bald scalps dotted with freckles of dark green. The one accessory no goblin appeared to go without was a weapon. I looked from a long-handled spear on my left to a wide-barreled blunderbuss on my right.
    “ Jackaby? ” I gulped.
    “We ’ ll be fine,” he chirped a little too merrily as we pressed back-to-back. “Just raise your hands slowly to show them we ’ re unarmed. Don ’ t insult them in any way, and try not to look too tasty.”
    The circle broke and a goblin in a coal-black top hat with a spray of vivid red cardinal feathers tucked along the brim strode toward us. The top of his hat barely came up to my chin, but he walked with the authority of a born goblin chief.
    He eyed me through a suspicious squint as he approached. A scar etched a forest-green line down one cheek and through his upper lip, splitting it just off center. He looked me up and down slowly and sneered before turning his attention to Jackaby. Still smiling his ridiculous, cheeky smile, Jackaby faced the chief. Neither spoke for what felt like an eternity, and then, inch by inch, the goblin ’ s mouth spread. Sharp canines glistened as his scarred lip pulled back in a grimace. He chuckled with a voice that sounded like wet gravel, and then, at last, he spoke.
    “Baen a long time.” The chief ’ s accent was hard to place. It sounded like it would have been more at home in Britain—not quite cockney, but perhaps a rugged Welsh or Scottish layered with something not quite human at all. He jabbed a finger at me. “ Oo ’ s thas? Y ’ dinna gave Douglas th ’ sack, di ’ ya?”
    “No, no, Douglas is still very much a part of the team.” Jackaby answered. “He is, however”—he cleared his throat—“waterfowl, just at the moment. You know how it is.”
    The goblin nodded, sagely. “These thins ’ appen. ”
    “This is my associate, Miss Abigail Rook. Rook, this is my good friend, Nudd, high chief of the Western Tribes and ambassador to the Goblin Territories of the Annw yn, the fairy Otherworld. Say hello , Rook. ”
    I waved faintly, my hands still raised in the air. “Very nice to meet you, sir,” I said.
    Nudd ’ s smile fell from his face like wet slush from a drooping branch. He eyed me again with uncertainty.
    “And may I say,” I added hastily, “that is a particularly fine hat.”
    Nudd pursed his cracked lips and nodded in approval. “All righ ’ then. C ’ mon dow’.”
    The goblin crew led us down an impossibly narrow path, which wound around and down the rocky cliff face. More than once, the ledge, which was thin at best, proved too narrow to navigate and my balance failed me. Each time, before I could plummet to my death on the rocks below, a goblin at my rear gave me a steadying smack with the butt of his spear, driving me back against the wall. He seemed to take great pleasure in this helpful task, occasionally administering the blows even after I had found my footing. By the end of the trek I was a bit bruised but alive and whole.
    We stepped from the path and out onto a broad platform. The rocky hillside curved over us, completely concealing the landing from above. Just ahead, a wide cave was scooped