Friendship: Chapter 2 — Tea With The Goblins

After the visit from the goblins to her grandmother’s funeral, it is Gwendolyn’s turn to step out of her comfort zone.

“And you’re sure that you were to be included?” Gwendolyn’s Uncle Robert asked.

Gwendolyn flicked a fold in her skirt to send a scrap of ash from the bottom of her hem off the black wool and into the gutter. Looking up at her uncle she gave an insouciant shrug that would have had her governess wrapping her knuckles for disrespect, “Why, of course, Uncle Robert? Why would they have given the invitation to me if not? There were plenty of staff around for them to give it to, but to hand it over to me was rather pointed, don’t you think?”

“Hmmm, perhaps,” He said.

She smiled her most dimpled and childlike grin, “And I couldn’t lose out on a chance to see the forge, it’s one of the most exclusive addresses in the capital. The girls at Lady Jane’s salon will be terribly diverted by my description, I am sure.”

“Yes, Lady Jane’s salons, you are still going to those? Despite the . . . rumours?” His struggle to describe what had been said about Lady Jane made a chill go down Gwendolyn’s back.

What had he heard? What was getting to the kind of ears that would pass things on to Uncle Robert? He only cared about potato yields and crop rotations, and all his friends were much the same. Her smile turned brittle, “What rumours?”

His eyebrows gathered over his nose like a flock of concerned chickens. “We shall speak about this when we get home, Gwendolyn, but for now I think we need to enter the Forge.” He nodded his head.

Twisting her head to follow his gaze, she spotted the younger goblin that had passed the invitation to her, they were standing just outside the door to the Forge and looking attentively in their direction.

“Of course, Uncle Robert, whatever you say,” She murmured.

He held out his arm stiffly; she gently laid her hand upon it and followed him towards the goblin.

“Good day,” he said, then switched to the Old Language, “Well met.”

The Goblin stuck to the Old Language without bothering to entertain a word of the new on their tongue, “Well met, if you would both follow me I will guide you to the hall that has been set aside for the meeting today.”

Robert nodded.

Oh good, they are not going to fuss about my presence, Gwendolyn thought. It would be rather embarrassing if Uncle Robert realised I was lying about that, he clearly already thinks I am up to something with Lady Jane’s salons. Which is terribly unfair, I’ve never been able to get away with anything underneath Lady Jane’s nose.

As the goblin led them through the atrium, Gwendolyn feasted her eyes on the surroundings. She hadn’t been lying earlier, the girls at Lady Jane’s would be desperate for any scrap of information she could give them about the mysterious space that humans were oh so rarely invited into.

If in some houses you cannot get away from the owner’s colour preferences, here it was the age of the building that pressed down on you and followed you from room to room. And yet the space refused to be dark, there were tapestries covering walls but they refused to be darkened by age, instead the scenes immortalised in thread were bright and vibrant. The entire building was like this, bright with colour and refusing to be dingy like the few similarly aged buildings she had seen before.

They held none of the dirt of ages, the marks of centuries of burned candles and fireplaces, of skin oils and dust. Centuries had not taken their toll on these treasures, she realised, because they were still being made and remade and mended.

It made Gwendolyn feel all the more like an interloper.

After several hallways of fine tapestries and carved wood panelling they were shown through a metal covered door (copper she noticed, burnished to a glorious shine, there was little iron this far into the Goblin’s realm) and they were delivered into the company of the Eldest.

The Goblin was not in pinstriped wool and silver today, instead they wore a flowing medieval robe-like garment, with many ripples of fine velvet falling about their feet. It was a totally impractical garment and not at all what Gwendolyn had assumed they would be wearing, hardwearing leathers and metal chainmail had been her assumption. But no, they wore silk velvet in such meterage that you could likely outfit a full fleet of settees. They had, however, bowed somewhat to social norms as the velvet was black and there was something of the informal tea gowns that more artistically minded ladies wore in the sleeves and gathered waist.

“Good, you’re here,” they said brusquely. Waving a hand at the table beside them they said, “Tea, wine, or mead?”

“Tea,” Said Uncle Robert.

Gwendolyn perked up, she had never had mead and what better time to try it than -

“Gwendolyn will be having tea as well,” Robert said, dashing her hopes.

Too well trained to be impolite in front of a stranger, Gwendolyn nodded and smiled and did her best to pretend that that would have been her choice as well, “That sounds lovely.”

The Goblin did not appear fooled by this, but also did not seem to care.

“Very well,” they said after the younger goblin had rushed around giving out delicate china cups filled with a fragrant and spiced tea blend, “Let us get down to business. The sword. The previous deal was all well and good for 40 years ago, but it will need some modernising.”

The humans nodded, this was understandable. It was why the treaty was intended to be rewritten every time the head of the family died, to keep it a fluid thing that adapted to the world.

“What do you wish to change?” Robert asked, his eyebrows bristling up in concentration. He brought a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase, one of which was an ornate and heavily illuminated copy of the last agreement.

“We wish to take a more proactive stance in polite society, a member of our community will need to be introduced to those arenas that we do not have entry to, would you or some member of your household be agreeable to this?” The eldest goblin asked.

Gwendolyn knew then that this was why she had been allowed entry to this moment. In true goblin fashion they had assessed her as the most likely to be the Charon to guide them across the crevasse separating them from polite society. A flutter of warmth started under her breast bone and fluttered up to her cheeks, how flattering to be thought of, to be known!

Her uncle did not seem quite so impressed. He mused on the idea for a moment, “Perhaps.”

The eldest goblin’s smile crept open, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “Excellent.”

Check out Chapter 1 if you haven’t already Friendship: Chapter 1. When the eldest of the goblins broke… | by Kirsty Mackay | May, 2023 | Medium