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Getting to and from the Goblin realms is actually fairly easy, if you know what you are doing. There are in fact numerous entrances and exits from specific parts of the caverns, which open up into different parts of the human world above. Since we Goblins prefer the coolness and darkness, and we find cities rather easier to conceal ourselves in, it is no surprise that most of the portals to the Lower Realms are in the back alleys and quieter places of cities in the northern parts of the northern hemisphere. The route we were taking today was one already entirely familiar to me. With Campsie tagging along behind, I hopped a couple of the transit tubes which link the caverns together, and then it was a short walk to the portal building. I flashed my PI badge - and encouraged Campsie to do the same - at the border guards who discretely but effectively monitor the comings and goings from the Lower Realms. The guards waved us through with barely a second glance, although long experience had taught me that they almost certainly had positively identified both of us as soon as we had entered. Campsie looked nervous as we entered the departure portal, a circular room with a curiously conical ceiling tapering to a point high above our heads. The transfer point itself was marked by a raised circle in the stonework of the floor. "Relax," I told her, "This is just a vertical form of transit tube. Nothing to it." "I know," she said softly, "It's what's at the other end which worries me." "Time to put on our sunglasses," I directed, pulling my own from a pocket and slipping them over my eyes. I turned up my collar, pulled down the brim of my hat still further, then turned to Campsie. "Ready?" I asked, extending a hand. She took it and together we stepped into the circle. A moment later we were stepping onto the worn asphalt of a dimly-lit alley in New York city. Campsie staggered slightly but recovered quickly; the transition from cavern to surface always catches one out the first few times. Behind us, the otherwise featureless brickwork was a blur of overlaid graffiti, the riotous swirls of colour almost obscuring the runes which marked such places. There was nobody about, of course; just a few putrid dumpsters and anonymous fire exits lined the wall opposite. Such light as there was came from streetlamps at either end of the alley; a human would have described the conditions as darkness, although to Goblin eyes there was more than enough light to see by. We could have managed without the sunglasses; the glasses are more to hide Goblin eyes than as protection, at least currently. "Watdaya think?" I asked Campsie as I checked around, more out of habit than of any real need. She didn't answer. She had frozen, looking upwards. There wasn't much to see: it was a cloudy night, the moon hidden from direct view, but a few breaks in the scudding cloud allowed the occasional star to be glimpsed, even through the smog and streetlights of the city. I grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. Her head swung down to look at me. "You're not going to bug out on me, are you?" I asked urgently. This is a real problem. Many Goblins simply can't cope with the open sky overhead - even in its obscured and attenuated form in a city like this - and become catatonic with fear and terror. I've acted as a guide up here for all sorts of reasons in the past, and you simply can't tell who will freeze up and who won't. The toughest thugs - and the toughest cops, for that matter - have been entirely unable to function up here, while little old grandmothers in their third century were entirely unfazed. She took a deep shuddering breath. "No, no, I'll be fine," she managed to say, "It's just all so big." "Just keep your eyes on the ground and follow me," I said, "Let's go." Campsie shook herself, then looked around more alertly. "And does it always smell like this?" she exclaimed. Goblin noses are much more sensitive - as well as much larger - than the typical human example. The alleyway stank, the assorted odours clearly identifiable, even if you didn't really want to know what they were. "You'll get used to it," I suggested, laughing.
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Part 13