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My route took me to an even darker alley between two warehouses, their brick walls entirely featureless except for the omnipresent graffiti. Hidden amongst the colourful whorls and blocky angles were the Goblin runes I was looking for, the ones that directed me to one of the many hidden entrances to the Lower Realms. I invoked the necessary magic automatically as I approached; the wall opened up and I stepped inside. The journey to the caverns of the Goblins took but a moment and I was swiftly deposited at the immigration and customs point. A wave of my Private Detective badge at the nearest officer was all that was required for me to be waved through and a moment later I was stepped out onto the bustling streets and boulevards of the Lower Realms. We Goblins do not life in damp and squalid caves as certain humans would have you believe. But we do live underground, and most of us prefer it that way. Indeed, many of my countrymen would never willingly visit the surface and would feel quite uneasy at the prospect of not having a solid roof over their heads. We prefer our vast airy caverns, miles across, with ceilings of solid rock held up by a combination of ancient engineering and some really big supporting columns. Of course, as is the nature of people everywhere, some parts of the Lower Realms are indeed rather squalid, but others are filled with elegant, even palatial, residences for the rich. My own place in this world is a small apartment, somewhat towards the bottom end of the spectrum of quality, but at least I can usually pay the rent on time. I was heading in that general direction but my stomach insisted that I should detour to a little restaurant on the corner of the block. David's Diner was a regular haunt for me. David the patron was at his accustomed place at the doorway when I arrived. He recognised me immediately, greeted me like an old friend - or at least like a valued customer - and showed me to my usual table, a quiet little one at the back. He handed me a menu - which I didn't need, having memorised the standard offerings quite some time ago - which enclosed the daily specials card. This I studied carefully. David left me to my own devices for a minute or two, then returned clutching a small notebook. "What can I get you this evening?" he asked politely. It had been some days since I had eaten solid Goblin fare; somehow, human foodstuffs always seem to have a pappy tasteless property to them. I needed a proper meal. I tapped the specials card with a forefinger. "Rat and mushroom kebab, toadstool bread, hold the onions," I decided. "Right away," David said, scribbling furiously, "And a beer?" I grinned in response. A large glass of strong dark Goblin beer appeared at my table within seconds, followed swiftly by the rat-on-a-stick. Delicious. Sated, I lingered over a second beer and that morning's newspaper - nothing of significant interest, I thought - then threw a few bills on the table to cover the tab and a reasonable tip. I tugged up my collar and wandered out into the quietness of the late evening to walk the block to my apartment building. There was nobody about; the street - never very busy even at the best of times - seemed to be completely deserted. I shrugged and set off along the pavement. After a dozen steps, I noticed faint red sparkles on the ground in a circle around me, keeping pace as I walked. Bowing to the inevitable, I stopped dead. Instantly, the red circle solidified and intensified, then the whole dropped away into the ground carrying me away. Once again, I descended into the fires of Hell.
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Part 3