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The attack, when it came, was rapid and fierce. It was probably triggered by the assailants seeing a couple of waiting staff leaving rather obviously through the rear door. The first we knew was when the glass on one of the few unshuttered windows suddenly shattered, followed by something small and heavy crashing to the floor. The object exploded, quite literally, showering the floor and furniture with flaming gobbets in every direction. The fire caught immediately, charring the heavily varnished wood furniture and filling the air with dark smoke. Across the room, I could see Gumshoe reeling back with his sleeve over his mouth, coughing and retching, desperately fumbling for the fire extinguisher behind the bar. Goblins have a particular horror of fire, at least anything larger than a flame to light a cigarette. It is such a danger underground, at least in the historical past, what with explosive gases like firedamp being all too common in mines and caverns, especially those close to the surface where carboniferous minerals are more likely to be found. We don't use naked flames for heating - our caverns are naturally warm enough for our tastes, although most humans would find them a little chilly - and traditional Goblin food is served either raw or very lightly cooked. In all probability, Rigg knew enough about Goblins - or he had been briefed by somebody who knew very well - to understand that a Goblin's nerve would be broken by a firebomb. Most humans would be terrified, too. What the assailant failed to realise that many Goblins - cautious, old-fashioned Goblins, Goblins who travel to the surface on a regular basis - carry a glamour to combat fire, to contain rather than extinguishing the flames. All this is no more remarkable that a human maintaining a fire extinguisher in their car or in their kitchen - a sensible precaution against an everyday risk. I was, I suppose, expecting something of this kind. As a matter of fact, I maintain a collection of useful charms and glamours in the capacious pockets of my coat: some cheap and everyday, others much more specialised, expensive, hard-to-come-by and, in a few cases, entirely illegal. I was already fumbling in my pocket for the suitable glamour, trying to identify the correct item from the numerous cheap cardboard packages in different shapes and colours, when there was a soft whump. The flames instantly collected themselves together in an orange-coloured ball that hung in the centre of the room, leaving charred but rapidly cooling patches where the flaming liquid had landed. I turned around slowly. Nether was walking around the end of the bar counter, dusting off his hands casually, followed by a wide-eyed Rosie. "Nether," I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep a derisive sneer out of my demeanour, "What are you doing here?" "I thought Rosie might be in danger," he replied softly, apparently genuine concern radiating from his face, "Looks like I got here just in time." Behind me, the suspended fireball spluttered and died, collapsing inwards and disappearing with a soft pop. The room was still smoky, although the fug was dispersing rapidly as smoke poured out of the ventilation ducts and the broken window. "Come out, Gask!" came a loud voice from outside, "We know you're in there." I turned to my brother Nether. "So which one of us is he referring to?"
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Part 61