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It seemed that Lady Strowan's granddaughter had struck up some kind of a relationship with the human male. That was their business, of course, but it was extremely unusual. I myself have many acquaintances, and even a few close friends, not to mention professional colleagues, who are human. They have my trust and respect, and I flatter myself to think that the respect is reciprocated. And, naturally enough, I have known one or two Goblins who have become emotionally attached to humans. My own brother Nether, for example, had struck up a caring relationship with a whole family: grandfather, father and daughter. Over a period of nearly a hundred years, the o'Chill clan had run an Irish bar in New York City and my brother had installed himself as the resident Leprechaun. Despite his other less trust-inspiring qualities, Nether Gask had clearly enjoyed their friendship and relied on their discretion to conceal him from the authorities, even if it was, in the end, just a cover for his espionage. "I'm Glen, Glen Morrison," the young man introduced himself, the sounds of the human name jarring with the rolling syllables of the Goblin tongue. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," I replied, switched to English guessing - correctly, as it turned out - that this was the human's mother tongue. Mayfield waved me in a direction of a chair which was set to one side of the fire. I sat, cradling my hat in my hands. Then she went over and took the young man's hand in what was undoubtedly a possessive fashion. Together they sat on the davenport on the opposite side of the fireplace, not quite touching but only a fraction of an inch apart. "Glen and I are, well, friends," she said, looking at me earnestly over the coffee table, a touch of defiance in her voice. I nodded, careful to let no sign of moral disapproval or judgement show on my face. I didn't need to antagonise them just at the moment. "You've been living together here for some time now?" It was a statement, not really a question. And it was obvious, too. The individuals were clearly entirely relaxed with each other, and the old building looked as if it has extensively refurbished to be comfortable for a Goblin. But not recently: there were a few signs of wear and tear on the woodwork and traces of old stains on the furniture. "Almost ten years," came the reply. That was a decent length of time for a human, although almost nothing for a Goblin. "Do many people know about your, er, relationship?" Mayfield glanced away for a moment although, to his credit, Glen's eyes never left my face. "We've kept it very quiet," she said softly. "My parents would never approve," Glen chirped up, "Or even understand. I don't see very much of them nowadays." "And both my parents are long gone," Mayfield added with only a trace of sadness, "We're more or less alone in the world." "And your grandmother?" I asked quietly. Unexpectedly, Mayfield laughed. It was a beautiful, silken tinkle, and neither Glen nor myself could help ourselves smiling at the joyous sound. "Who knows what my grandmother would think of anything? She was quite a wild thing in her day, you know. Hell, she might even approve!" It might have been a bluff, or just wild bravado, but it was a really good line.
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Part 11