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Goblins generally prefer cooler conditions, and many are more comfortable surrounded by buildings and pavements rather than trees and mud. So it is not a coincidence that most entrances to the Lower Realms are hidden in quiet backstreets and alleyways of cities in the northern part of the Northern hemisphere. These entrances are clearly marked, if you know what to look for, although the Goblin runes are usually disguised as the kind of graffiti which litters almost every unobserved vertical surface in so many parts of the surface world. This particular entrance was in a quiet backwater of Vannes. I emerged from the portal into the alley flanked by the featureless walls of brick and steel cladding of modern warehouses. It was overcast and drizzling, and any noise I might have made was masked by the screams of seagulls from the dock nearby. I lit a cigarette, turned up the collar of my raincoat and tugged down the brim of my hat to throw my nose into even more shadow. Then I set off down the alley in the direction of the bus station. The address that Tibbermore had given me seemed to be a farmhouse in a remote part of Brittany. I always keep a fat wad of human banknotes of various currencies and denominations in my wallet - Goblin dollars are very hard and a little goes a long way up here - and so I purchased bus tickets in what I hoped was passable French. I'm sure I was considered to be a tourist but I doubt anybody realised exactly where I had travelled from. The rural bus ride was slow and tedious, but there were few other passengers. I was able to wedge myself in a corner near the back and pretend to doze while keeping an eye on things from under the brim of my hat. Eventually I reached my stop and debarked without incident. Time zones in this part of the human world said that it would be getting dark fairly soon even though my stomach clearly told me it was barely even lunchtime. I still had quite a walk ahead of me - a couple of hours, I estimated - and I would prefer to complete my journey after the sun was well below the horizon. The sky had cleared while I was on the bus and the brilliant redness of the sunset caused me a certain amount of discomfort, despite my dark glasses. I took shelter in a dark alley for a while - somehow it always seems I end up skulking in alleyways whenever I visit the surface - emerging only when the stars began to appear in the sky. They provided more than enough light to see by. I set off along the damp pavement, keeping my distance from the other pedestrians and made my way out of town. Once clear of the built-up area I increased my pace; Goblins naturally walk much faster than humans and I had a long way to go tonight. The old farmhouse looked completely unoccupied: the windows shuttered and barred, doors closed tight and no sign of light or sound of movement coming from within. It was just what I had expected. Goblins do tend to like their privacy, especially if they are weird enough to live on the surface, and the appearance of this place would discourage most humans unless they were intent on burglary. I felt sure there would be other ways of discouraging those visitors with dishonest intent. I strode up to the front door confidently and knocked, then called out a friendly greeting in the Goblin tongue. It is a language understood by few humans and most would not even recognise it as a spoken form at all. I'm told by some of my human acquaintances that, to the untrained ear, the words sound like grunts and groans interspersed with whines and hisses. For all that, it is rich and sophisticated language and one that no human I have ever heard of could speak without a noticeable accent. But any Goblin within would know that another was outside and, I hoped, would be reassured by that knowledge. I could just hear faint sounds of movement, so I knocked again, adding another friendly salutation for good measure. I could catch the noises created by a competent individual opening a sensible collection of locks and bolts, and then the heavy wooden door creaked open. The person standing in the doorway was a vision of beauty the likes of which I had never seen before.
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Part 9