|
|
"It's not always me. You must know, oh, dozens of people on the Surface," I snapped back, "I'm not the only one who spends a lot of time up here. Besides, I do have a job of work to do." Tarsapple's eyes narrowed suspiciously - always an effective expression for a Goblin. Glenshee stood motionless next to him, a bulky shape bundled up in oversize clothing, stolid and unimaginative, waiting for somebody to tell him what to do. "So what's this job you're on, then?" Tarsapple went on. "That's none of your business," I replied, doing my best impression of a poker face. Naturally, Mayfield chose just that moment to emerge from the undergrowth. Unlike Tarsapple and his companion, and me, she had made no attempt to disguise herself in human form. Compared with the bulky clothing and concealing headwear, she looked free and natural, fresh and undeniably beautiful. Though I doubted any passing human would have thought of it that way: in the darkness, they would see a scary-looking creature with fangs and claws menacing three worried-looking people. "What's happening?" she asked, her head swinging from me to the two coppers and back again. Tarsapple's expression broadened to his habitual cynical grin. "But I think it has just become my business," he said smugly. He turned to Mayfield, straightening as he did so from his normal slouch into some resembling a military stance. "Miss Westwood," he said formally, "I am required to instruct you to return Below with me." Mayfield's frown conveyed petulance and confusion in equal measure. "But I don't want to go," she answered, "I like it here. I haven't done anything wrong. And I didn't certainly steal Grandmother's necklace. I was just explaining all this to Mister Gask here." There was a moment's stunned silence. Tarsapple was evidently revelling in his power. I considered it best to bide my time and attempt to retain the shreds of my poker face. "I am not able to discus this matter here and now. And I do have the power to force you to some with me," Tarsapple replied, in a tone of voice that might just have been mistaken for apologetic. I had too much experience - most of it unpleasant - with the guy to fall for this ruse. Mayfield might not have noticed it. I only did because I was watching for it. There was a tinge of magical powers entwined in Tarsapple's words, or at least released by him uttering them. It was a Compel glamour - a subtle one, fine old-fashioned Goblin magic - being deployed here. A magic which would force all but the most recalcitrant to obey the instruction they had just been given. And so subtle that, in fact, Mayfield might not have noticed its use. Glen the human had wisely decided to remain hidden in the hollow. Or perhaps Mayfield had directed him to stay. Either way, a good decision. Cowboys like Tarsapple are always likely to react badly, or maybe just instinctively, when presented with an unexpected human. He would have been lucky to have escaped with merely suffering the stultifying after-effects of a mind-wipe glamour. Mayfield looked confused, at least partially caused by the subtle magic which had been set on her. But she was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. "I'd like Mister Gask to accompany me," she said primly, adding more firmly, "As my legal advisor." Tarsapple's insouciant slouch and suspicious glare re-established themselves. He spun around to face me angrily. "What the ..." he began. I held up my hand. "Miss Westwood's request," I replied innocently, a faint smile playing about my lips, "And who am I to disagree with a lady?"
|
Part 17