The Witch of Webs: Book 12 (The Wandering Inn), page 19
“I can. I was reborn, my body remade by the Free Queen. I have a voice that I might lead my fellow Soldiers.”
“…Huh.”
Yellow Splatters waited for a question like the ones Erin had showered him with, or Pawn or Belgrade. But all Numbtongue did after that was grunt.
“Good.”
“What?”
The Painted Soldier looked over. Numbtongue shrugged a Goblin’s shrug.
“Good. Right? Feels good.”
“Yes. It…feels good.”
Yellow Splatters breathed in and out. He spoke the word again.
“Yes.”
Numbtongue smiled.
“Good. Better.”
That was all he said. The wind blew across the Floodplains, drying the mud on the Hobgoblin’s body, ruffling his hair. Yellow Splatters watched the Goblin pick some mud out of his ears. He spoke abruptly.
“You were there. With the five—with the Goblins.”
The [Bard] paused. His expression clouded for a moment. Then he looked up at Yellow Splatters, and it cleared. Not becoming happier. But easing, opening. He nodded to Yellow Splatters.
“We were there.”
The Painted Soldier paused. Then it was his turn to nod. He opened his mandibles, and a hundred things to say flashed across his mind.
“It was—”
He broke off. He glanced at Numbtongue.
“We—”
Another pause.
“When Pawn—”
Silence. Yellow Splatters, for the first time in his life, found himself at a loss for the words he had been given. Because they were all inadequate. But the [Bard], quietly and with simple words, said what Yellow Splatters struggled to find.
“Being the last one is hard.”
The [Sergeant] paused. He opened his mandibles, and his four hands clenched and unclenched. His antennae waved, searching. Then he looked at Numbtongue. And his explanations, his lies, his need to tell fell apart. Because there was nothing to say. The Goblin had been there. He understood.
“Yes. It is. Very hard.”
The two stood together. Just looking at each other. A dead Antinium and a lonely Goblin. And they remembered. Numbtongue remembered a Soldier who spoke with no words. Yellow Splatters remembered a Goblin much like the one he saw. But one of five. The two saw what had changed and what had not. And they remembered something else.
Numbtongue looked across the valley. At the Painted Soldiers, fighting, struggling against Shield Spiders, watching the valleys filled with mud carefully, excavating them in key spots to let the drainage begin. And he looked at Yellow Splatters. Suddenly, he felt thirsty. And dirty. And tired. So he pointed back across the Floodplains at a small building he called home.
“Want…want to get a drink? The inn has drinks. And food.”
Numbtongue had never said those words before, but they felt natural. Perfect for the moment. Yellow Splatters froze for a heartbeat. He looked at Numbtongue, and he read the Goblin. He understood him without having to speak. More than just words—he read Numbtongue’s face, his body language, almost tense, expectant.
Numbtongue looked at Yellow Splatters and saw the Soldier’s antennae flicker for a moment, his mandibles open, and his posture stiffen—and then relax. And the looseness of the way he lifted his mandibles, the opening and shutting of his hands—all of it was different, but familiar. The Soldier nodded at last.
“I would be grateful to do so. But I am tasked with a duty. I must clear the Shield Spiders another hour yet. I cannot abandon my post. Or my Soldiers.”
He looked at Numbtongue. And Yellow Splatters felt regret. The Hobgoblin nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He eyed the Painted Soldiers, the destroyed Shield Spider nests, and then he turned to Yellow Splatters.
“Want help?”
And the Soldier hesitated, then smiled. He saw the green clawed hand extend. This time, the Antinium took the Goblin’s hand. The monster looked at the monster. For once, neither found they needed to explain. They were dissimilar, from the color of their bodies to their classes and their species and their purposes. One stood alone. The other had been made to be different.
And yet, the two had something. A connection. They had been there. They had seen the same battlefield. They had lost. They understood each other. They…understood each other.
It made the world feel like a different place.
Interlude – Numbtongue (Pt.2)
Later, at lunch time, The Wandering Inn was faced with an unusual sight. And that was by the standards of the inn, which meant it was very unusual. Even unexpected. The crowd of Pallassians and Liscorian citizens couldn’t help but stare. One of the many tables in Erin’s common room, enlarged by the [Grand Theatre] Skill, was occupied. That wasn’t the unusual bit. The unusual bit was who sat there still smelling of mud and Shield Spider fluids.
An Antinium Soldier and a Hobgoblin. They sat casually at the table next to each other, rather than across from each other. It was odd, perhaps, but the distance would have been stranger. And the two could watch more of each other’s body language like this. They spoke in bursts, in a private world in the public inn. The Soldier, Yellow Splatters, nodded as he glanced around the inn at the staring faces. Those he locked eyes with snapped away quickly, but the rest just stared.
“They do look. I knew it before, but now I see them more often.”
“Stare and stare some more. But if we stare, they run off.”
Numbtongue bared his teeth. Yellow Splatters looked about and met eyes with a Drake. Said Drake flinched. The Painted Soldier calmly held the gaze until the Drake looked away.
“Yes. This is true.”
Numbtongue nodded and shrugged. He looked down at the bowl in front of him and smiled. He’d just been served, as had Yellow Splatters. He showed the Soldier what was in his bowl and offered him his spoon.
“Have this. This is my best—no, favorite—food.”
The Painted Soldier stared into the bowl curiously. It was very…orange. He detected small, squiggly noodles in what seemed like some kind of sauce. The Soldier took the spoon, which Numbtongue had been licking, and dipped it into the bowl. He sampled a spoonful.
“What is it?”
“Mac and cheese. Which is…noodles and cheese. Erin says it’s from her home. It’s good for the stomach. Lots of energy.”
Numbtongue patted his. Then he frowned.
“Wait. Can you eat noodles?”
Yellow Splatters paused.
“Yes.”
The Goblin frowned.
“Erin said…”
He broke off, clearly trying to recall that pertinent bit of information. Yellow Splatters shrugged.
“My Soldiers and I can eat wheat. It is just…uncomfortable. Later. This is good. The cheese is good. Try mine.”
He slid his bowl to Numbtongue. The Goblin frowned at the black dots with wings.
“Acid Flies.”
He shrugged and took his spoon back from Yellow Splatters. The Antinium had been using his fingers. Numbtongue loaded his spoon and took a bite. He crunched for a second with a sound that made the nearby diners gag. Excepting the other Painted Soldiers, of course. Forty-nine of them were enjoying their own bowls of Acid Flies at nearby tables. Numbtongue chewed and swallowed.
“Hm. Crunchy.”
“You do not like it.”
Yellow Splatters turned to Numbtongue. The Hob shook his head.
“Okay. Good for travel. Not enough taste.”
“I see.”
The two stared at each other. Then, silently, Numbtongue offered his bowl to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier tipped Numbtongue’s bowl up and spooned the cheesy sauce out over the Acid Flies. He handed the first bowl back, and Numbtongue ladled some of the cheesy Acid Flies into his bowl of noodles, thus creating largely the same dish for both. The two began to eat. Numbtongue grunted after a second.
“Hm.”
“Good. Crunchy.”
“Yes. Flavorful.”
The two smiled. Mrsha, peeking over the edge of the table, gagged. Numbtongue grinned at her.
“This is Mrsha. You know her?”
He gestured, and the Painted Soldier peered at Mrsha, who shyly sat there, drumming her paws on the table. He stared at her white paws and remembered. The [Sergeant] nodded abruptly.
“We have met. Hello. I am Yellow Splatters. Do you remember me?”
The Gnoll cub sniffed at Yellow Splatters and frowned. But studied the pattern on his carapace and then nodded. Yellow Splatters hesitated, and Numbtongue nudged him. The slight nod the Hobgoblin gave was enough. The [Sergeant] held out his hand. Mrsha sniffed it, then carefully held out her own paw.
She cautiously shook the offered hand. She nodded at Yellow Splatters, took another sniff at his bowl, and hopped off the table. The [Sergeant] opened and closed his hand as Mrsha scampered away.
“Soft.”
Numbtongue nodded after a moment and went back to shovelling down more of his combination food. After a moment, Yellow Splatters returned to his meal. The Goblin considered the Antinium sitting next to him.
He didn’t understand the Soldiers’ reverence for everything. But he did connect with their love of good food. And more—he spotted a Gnoll passing by holding a bowl.
“Ishkr.”
The Gnoll [Waiter] stopped. Numbtongue reached for the bowl Ishkr was carrying. The Gnoll sighed, but let him have it. The Hobgoblin placed the large bowl in front of Yellow Splatters.
“Try this.”
The Painted Soldier did. His mandibles clicked softly with the first bite.
“Soft. Cold. Wet. And sweet. What is it?”
“Ice cream.”
“It is cold!”
“Yes. Good, right?”
Numbtongue grinned at Yellow Splatters. And he was rewarded by an Antinium smile: mandibles raised and opening. The Hob was pleased—until he heard a voice snap at him.
“Numbtongue! Did you take the entire bowl? Ceria just helped us make that!”
Lyonette had noticed the purloining. The Hob hunched, but she strode over, hands on her hips. He pointed at the bowl as the [Princess] glared down at him.
“Sorry. Can I have some?”
“You already did. You mean for Yellow Splatters? Fine.”
The young woman sighed. Numbtongue brightened.
“Okay. Yellow Splatters. Now try this.”
He scooped the ice cream into the [Sergeant]’s bowl, covered it with Acid Flies, and held it out to Yellow Splatters. Lyonette seemed queasy, but Yellow Splatters took the spoon and began to eat. His mandibles raised.
“Good! Cold and good.”
“Right?”
The Hobgoblin was so pleased Lyonette didn’t have the heart to voice her own opinion on the matter. She turned and saw another young woman making her way across the room. Erin did a double-take at the sight of Goblin and Antinium, then at the ice cream.
“Ooh! That’s like chocolate chip ice cream! Hey, Lyonette, how’d you make—oh. Ew. Those ain’t raisins.”
She paused at the table. Erin and blinked at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters.
“Hi, Yellow Splatters. And…Numbtongue? You alright?”
“Yup.”
The Hobgoblin barely remembered why Erin would ask. She eyed his muddy, sweaty brow, the scratches on his right arm, and Yellow Splatters. She opened her mouth and then frowned.
“Is that our ice cream?”
The Hobgoblin nodded.
“All of it, yes.”
“And you just turned it into fly cream. Or—no, wait, that’s even worse. Iced flies? Ice fly cream. Ice cream with flies.”
Erin’s tone was, mockingly severe. He hunched his shoulders.
“…Yes? But it’s good.”
To prove it, he took a spoonful of the ice cream and dipped it in the flies. Erin closed her eyes rather than watch the rest. When she opened them, she looked at Numbtongue.
“Well. If you like it, fine. But don’t expect us to eat the crazy stuff you and Yellow Splatters eat. You two are so crazy—”
“We need the rest.”
Lyonette interjected. Numbtongue frowned. Yellow Splatters turned to his Painted Soldiers, who had noticed the strange dessert. Erin blinked at him, then saw Numbtongue silently meeting her eyes. There was a pleading gaze Erin hadn’t ever seen before. She met his eyes, nodded, and then turned to Lyonette.
“Give it to the Painted Soldiers, Lyonette. Let the Pallass group eat cake. Rufelt and Lasica know how to make ice cream anyways.”
“What? Erin!”
Lyonette protested. She met Erin’s eyes, saw the jerk of the head, and the [Princess] blew out her cheeks.
“I—oh, fine! We’ll make more.”
“Sorry.”
Numbtongue hesitated, because Lyonette did seem peeved. The [Princess] shook her head.
“Sorry, Numbtongue. It’s fine, really. And hello, um, Yellow Splatters.”
She waved at the [Sergeant] awkwardly. Erin smiled at the two and followed Lyonette. The Hobgoblin and Soldier clearly heard Erin whispering to Lyonette as they moved backwards.
“It’s just ice cream.”
“Worth six gold! We only have a narrow window to make money—they’re already copying the recipe in Pallass!”
“So? The Antinium can have it. Numbtongue just invented their favorite dessert! Don’t be mean. He’s made a friend!”
Erin glanced back at Numbtongue, and Lyonette relented. Numbtongue, sitting at his table, blinked. A friend? He looked to his side at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium carefully spooned more ice cream covered in flies into his mandibles.
“My visual and auditory senses were improved by my Queen for my new role. However, it usually does not matter. Others seem to forget the Antinium are capable of hearing.”
“Or Goblins.”
Numbtongue nodded. He stared at Yellow Splatters. Again. He’d been sneaking glances all throughout their conversation. No, before that, even. While they’d cleared the Shield Spider nests. Marching to the inn…he’d just been watching Yellow Splatters. And Numbtongue was sure the [Sergeant] was doing the same.
It was hard to tell; the Antinium had eyes like bugs, so all he had to do was turn his head. But they were watching each other, this Goblin and Antinium.
They had exchanged few words since their conversation on the hill. Verbally. But, talk? They’d talked, like about which nest to destroy next. And this chatter about favorite food had come up just before they’d come to the inn. That was the thing that threw Numbtongue every few seconds.
They were chatting. Just chatting about nonsensical things. Favorite food? Numbtongue hadn’t had a favorite food before a month or two ago. His favorite food had been the one he could eat without throwing up later. Any food when he was starving. But now…
He was chatting. Again, the Goblin felt an odd sense of imbalance, as if he’d turned around repeatedly and the world was spinning. Because this was not something that Goblins did. Not something he did.
Look at Mrsha. The Gnoll was experimentally sniffing one of the bowls covered in Acid Fly ice cream. Numbtongue offered her his spoon, and she licked at the ice cream, avoiding the bug bits. He didn’t talk to her. Numbtongue liked Mrsha. And he was, oh, so very grateful that she was willing to talk to him. Goblins had killed her tribe. But he couldn’t talk to her.
“Mrsha, don’t lick that! Numbtongue, don’t encourage her. She gets one dessert, and if she spoils herself, she doesn’t get anything else.”
Lyonette scolded both Goblin and Gnoll as she passed by, serving the precious ice cream to the Painted Soldiers. Both Hob and Gnoll child winced at their table, and Mrsha, making low, insulting growling sounds, made a sign with her paws that made Numbtongue laugh. Lyonette looked back sharply, and Mrsha disappeared as Numbtongue schooled his face to sobriety.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He didn’t chat with Lyonette either. He talked with her, although the [Princess] was very busy. But he did talk with her—Numbtongue had the impression Lyonette was still a bit wary of him. Well, he was wary of her. But they respected each other. And she was one of two people he ever conversed with. The other was—
“No ice cream! Sorry, we’re making more! Give us, uh, five, ten minutes!”
“What?”
Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue looked to the side. Erin was informing Pallass’ crowd of the delay. They were outraged, as were some of the Liscorites. Liscorians? They were giving the Antinium and Numbtongue the stink-eye. Numbtongue didn’t care. His eyes were on Erin. She was shaking her finger at an angry Garuda visible through the magic door.
The portal hurt Numbtongue’s eyes; if you walked to the side, it became two-dimensional until it nearly disappeared. From the back, the door was just…a door. Standing up with a crowd gathered around it. Weird. The portal only activated from the front.
Numbtongue shook his head. Erin. She was moving around the inn, talking to the odd Gnoll that smelled like a dozen potions, Grimalkin, Jelaqua, and the huge armored…Dullahan named Maughin. She was the person that Numbtongue spoke with most often.
No matter what, if she was busy or he was out of the inn all day, Erin always tried to find at least ten minutes, an hour, to talk with Numbtongue. Even if it was only having dinner in the same room like she’d offered tonight. She was kind. But Numbtongue couldn’t chat with Erin.
He talked with her. She was that kind of person. She’d listen to Numbtongue’s adventures seriously, his worries, and what he wanted. When he told her, Numbtongue was sure that Erin was listening. If he had told her about his struggles, about being unhappy in her inn, he was sure Erin would have made resolving his problems a priority of hers. His world became hers. But Numbtongue didn’t want that. He was afraid of Erin’s kindness as much as the hatred of others. He loved to talk with her. But it was talk.
And yet—Numbtongue’s eyes went back to Yellow Splatters. He jumped and realized the Soldier was staring at him. Had been for a while. The Painted Soldier put down his bowl and pushed it forwards. It was cleaned of all flies and melted ice cream completely. Which was impressive; Yellow Splatters couldn’t lick his bowl clean like Numbtongue. The [Sergeant] nodded again.
