Runt halted. He forced a smile. “I’m back?” he mocked. “What a surprise! Tell me more.”
Squeaky reached him. “Are you hurt badly?” she asked low.
“No, I’m hale,” he blustered. “Hungry as a hellhound. Can’t wait till supper.”
Cockeye drew nearer. Worship shone in his blue gaze. “They’ll never make you cry,” he said. Yet it was Cockeye who last told the goblins when Runt thrashed Apples. Of course, he was a sprat then.
Runt paid no heed, for Squeaky offered her hands. He summoned his nerve and took them. How warm they were, delicate as Arcane glassware. Heat came and went in his face.
“I wish we could do something for you,” she murmured unsteadily. He had no way to tell her what she had just done.
Fear wobbled through Tummy’s voice: “Why’d they hurt you?”
Runt bit his lip. “I mustn’t talk about that,” he said.
“But I don’t know what I mustn’t,” Tummy protested.
Squeaky left Runt standing and bent to console the girl. Resentment boiled high in him.
“I know,” said Cockeye. “I’ll keep quiet.”
“Starting now, big mouth,” Runt snapped. Cockeye caught his breath, returned glower for glower, and slunk aside. Runt wondered desperately what to do. Standing still like this was foolish. He wished he had somebody to hit. Somebody who deserved it.
The room was getting murky. It would soon be time to take a punk stick, ignite it at a flame in the hall outside, and bring it back to light the tallow candles here. But it wasn’t his turn for that enjoyable task.
A noise brought everyone’s attention around. Apples came in. He was the tallest of the children, and his work in the kitchens had given him the opportunity to wax plump. Mess hall rations were mostly fruit, grain, and roots, but included bits of meat or fish. Apples was never actually seen slipping an extra for himself from the pot, and the goblins didn’t appear to notice his pudginess.
“You’re early,” exclaimed Cockeye. “What’s the matter?”
“No food tonight?” wailed Me Too, aghast.
Apples beamed. He rubbed his hands. His cheeks shone ruddier than ever. “Don’t fret, littling,” he said. “The help will bring it when it’s ready. And day after tomorrow, you’ll feast.”
The children stared. He kept them in suspense until he added: “When the masters have a banquet, you know, we get their leftovers. Not the flesh, no, that’s for them, but nuts and sweets, remember? And they celebrate with a banquet whenever any of us has gone to the Greenleaf World. They’ve got such kind hearts.”
“Are you going?” Squeaky gasped.
Apples nodded vigorously. “I am, I am,” he crowed. “I’ve reached the Measure.”
Red blew across Runt’s vision. “You lie!” he yelled. “It can’t be! You’re no bigger than—less’n an inch over me, and—”
It was a ritual, when the goblins brought the oldest children to their council hall. Pulse thuttering, you stepped onto the dais and stood your straightest against the Rod. Lord Hork solemnly lowered the arm until it rested on your head. If its pointer then passed the crimson line—you were allowed to laugh and weep and dance before the helpless envy of your mates.
Apples smiled and smiled. “This was special,” he said. “I’d done a proper deed, and when I went for my reward, I asked if that could be him reading my height, because I saw I’d gotten to the same as him and that’s when—Well, he did, and I am big enough and I’m going!”
Runt understood quite well what that proper deed had been. He gripped himself with spirit fingers, lest he fly at yonder throat.
“Oh, Apples,” Squeaky sang, “I’m so happy for you.” She sprang to him, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
He held her close. “I’ll wait for you in the Greenleaf World,” he vowed. Glancing past her head at Runt: “Looks like you’ll never join us, growlguts.”
Runt howled. He took a stiff-legged step forward, another, another. Apples released Squeaky and backed off. “I have to go,” he said fast. “The masters are meeting me. I just wanted to tell you. Goodbye, goodbye.” He wheeled and waddled down the corridor.
“You slime!” Runt screeched. “I’ll—I’ll kill—”
Squeaky caught his arm. “No, hold,” she pleaded. “If you start a fight now—Please!”
He shook free of her. “Let me be,” he raged. “All o’ you.” Her cry followed him out the doorway.
The flickery-lit dusk beyond breathed some of its chill into him. Indeed he could not afford to get into trouble again so soon. And yet, and yet. Apples was a whitish blob well ahead of him. It was as if an outside will settled into Runt’s skull. He trailed after. When at length he must retreat, he would spit in Apples’ tracks.
He kept to the shadows, though, close against the wall, taking advantage of every pillar, niche, and angle for concealment, then speeding to the next. Stealth was an art he had cultivated since the endless hunger came upon him. At the back of his mind he put together a story, in case a goblin spied him anyhow. He was sorry if he trespassed, he hadn’t heeded whither he went, for he was meditating upon the salutary lesson the lord Hork had administered, he was firming his resolve to become a better boy.
Apples turned into a passage toward the council chamber. Abruptly Runt quailed. He heard piping voices and the slither-click of taloned feet. Flattened against stone, he listened to Hork: “Ah, there you are, my lad. No, no, don’t beg our pardon. We’re gathered to send you off in the way you have earned.”
“What a handsome, stout fellow,” said Khreeh. Like most goblins, he had a smattering of human speech. “Exactly to our taste.”
“Thank you, thank you, masters,” Apples blubbered. “I’ll praise you to the people in the Greenleaf World.” .
“We understand how you feel,” Brumm assured him. “We will think of you as sharing the banquet we hold in your honor.”
“Come,” said Drongg, “let us hurry you to your prize.”
Again bitterness seared Runt’s throat. He could not help himself, he had to risk a peek around the corner, to cast a final silent malediction.
Torch flames flapped and streamed. A score of goblins or more swarmed around Apples. Their ornaments jingled as they capered, chattered, and cackled. The boy walked like one in an enchanted dream.
Astonishment rammed through Runt. Where were they bound? He knew the castle well. Errands had taken him everywhere on the ground floor and numerous places on higher levels, even into the belfry of the Ghoul-Calling Bells. No door barred on top lay in this direction.
Then those doors couldn’t really lead to freedom, he decided. The goblins had fooled the children, as a precaution. Runt gave a slight shrug. Lies were a part of life.
Excitement blazed. He could learn the true way out!
Crouched, heart athunder, he sidled onward.
Formerly he would not have been that reckless. On this day, he was driven half from his wits by pain, wrath, jealousy, heartbreak—Squeaky had kissed Apples—He gave scant thought to the likely consequences, were he seen. He scarcely cared. The possibility that he too might use that door seemed worth any hazard.
Yet his senses were strung wire-taut and he moved like another drift of torch smoke.
The hall went between rooms that stood open, deserted by those who thronged joyful Apples. It ended at a blank wall and a quite ordinary door. Runt had never ventured to glance behind it. Hitherto in this section, a goblin had always kept him in view. He had only vaguely wondered what lay there. All this while, the Greenleaf World?
He ducked into a chamber and lurked among grotesque tall vases. Peering around the entrance jamb, he saw Hork fling the door open with a flourish.