Algol stepped onto something that groaned, and they all jumped. He leapt back, revealing a square wooden trapdoor set in the floor.
“Root cellar, probably,” said Nessilka. Her father had been a mountain goblin, and she had no fear of tunnels or holes, but she found she really, really didn’t want to go down there.
Algol and Murray looked ready to bolt. She reminded herself that it was just as alarming for them, and they were from hill and marsh and didn’t even have the advantage of having tunnels in their blood.
“You two stay up here until I call.”
The corporals visibly relaxed.
She grabbed the handle on the trapdoor, counted to three, and yanked it up.
Dust rattled down from the opening, but that was all. A ladder led down into the earth.
Nessilka pulled her stub of candle from her kit and lit it. “Here goes nothing…”
She didn’t know what she was expecting. No, that was a lie. She was expecting to find a couple of dead bodies, and possibly something gnawing on them. Please gods, let me be wrong. Please let it be empty…
The gods were kind. The root cellar was barely large enough to turn around in, full of shelves that groaned under the weight of canned preserves. The floor was dirt, the walls were dirt, and somebody had tossed an old burlap sack on the ground to soak up spills. And that was all.
There were no bodies, unless somebody had canned them.
I really wish I hadn’t thought that.
“Well, at least we won’t starve. Murray!”
Murray’s head appeared in the hole. “Yes, Sarge?”
“Have Algol stand guard, and help me lug these up. See if there’s a blanket we can carry this stuff in.”
There was a set of rough blankets on the bed, which were a welcome find all on their own. Murray rigged two slings with harness leather scavenged from the stable, and they filled them with jars of indeterminate preserves. Most of them seemed to be peaches, with some dark red things that might have been meat, tomatoes, plums, or oddly colored peaches thrown in for good measure.
Thus loaded, Murray and Nessilka did a quick sweep of the farmhouse. A frying pan and an iron pot were too good to pass up—Nessilka did not want to be making tea in Blanchett’s helmet on a regular basis—along with a small sack of salt and a bigger sack of flour.
They emerged from the house, heavily laden and clanking as they walked. Despite the mysterious emptiness of the farm, discovering the food couldn’t help but raise their spirits. This lasted for a good five seconds, before Nessilka said, “Where’s Algol?”
The two goblins looked around. “He was right out here…” Murray said.
“Algol!” hissed Nessilka. She didn’t want to yell. She couldn’t shake the feeling that yelling would bring something down on them. “Algol, where are you?”
The cicadas were the only answer.
“He can’t have gone far,” muttered Nessilka.
“Unless whatever got the farmers got him, too,” said Murray glumly.
“Put a lid on it, Corporal.”
Murray gave her the look that said you know I’m right, but it’s okay, I understand you have to say that. She hated that look. She just couldn’t do anything about it, because he usually was right, hang it all.
“We can’t just leave without him,” she said slowly, scanning the fields. “But I don’t want to stay out here in plain sight, either…” Far across the fields, she could just make out the town. It wasn’t close enough to see any people, and they probably couldn’t have seen the goblins either, but still, better safe than sorry.
Murray dug out his looky-tube-thing. Nessilka opened her mouth to say that she’d check behind the farmhouse, and then stopped. Splitting up did not seem like a good idea.
She fiddled with a strap on her sling.
“Sarge…”
“Did you find him?”
“No. But—Sarge—there’s no smoke over at the town.”
“It’s pretty warm out. Why would there be smoke?”
“A town that size is going to have a blacksmith. Plus there’s a windmill over there, which means there’s a miller, and where there’s millers, there’s usually a baker, except there isn’t. And even when it’s warm, people have to cook. But none of the chimneys are going at all. There’s no smoke in the sky anywhere. And I don’t see any horses or cows in the fields.”
He raised the tube again, and stopped. Nessilka pushed the tube gently back down. “Corporal,” she said quietly, “let’s not borrow trouble. Let’s just find Algol and get out of here.”
He wasn’t behind the farmhouse. He wasn’t in the chicken coop. Nessilka’s nerves were fraying badly and there was a cold stone in her gut. Murray kept yanking on his ponytail as if hoping to find Algol hiding somewhere inside it.