The Seasonal celebrations were underway without further ado. Everything had been relocated to outside the city after near-unanimous agreement that the trees ought to be invited as well for their part in the revolution.
There was nothing prim nor proper about it, but that no longer worried Franz. All his thoughts were on the joys of potato bobbing, figurines, and cannon flying with Plod.
"Now that the easy part is over, it's time you started doing your job, Franz," Saloonka hissed and dragged him away from the spud barrel just as he got to the front of the queue for his third bob.
"Have I earned another promotion?" he beamed.
"Hardly. Gather the marbles in my lair so we can plan the real revolution. There's a list in your pocket."
Franz slipped a finger into his vest pocket, and sure enough there was a scrap of paper in there. He took a moment to read over the nonsensical names he was expected to find in the mess of underlings, but when he was ready to ask for some clarification, Saloonka was gone.
"Looks like ye could use some 'elp, yar," Feidai snorted beside him with some porridge in her mitts.
"Do you have any idea who P.I. Joe is supposed to be?" Franz asked and traded the list for her bowl. He sniffed at the lumpy gloop, and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet scent of it.
"Aye, that'll be Pidge. Eat up, I'll sort ye list out."
"You never seem to have much trouble understanding him, how is that?" he asked, a little jealous of the fact.
"It's a knack." Feidai shrugged. Her hat seemed to giggle among her curls. "Where abouts are we meeting?"
"In his lair, under the palace. It's a shame he couldn't wait until the celebrations are over."
Feidai gave him a hefty whack on the back. "They'll be at each others throats if we wait that long, yar. What do ye suppose will 'appen when this lot want to sleep, or yer buckets get a wee bit overused? Nobody wants to be the bucket washer."
"Actually, I really do nay mind the job," A goblin said as he wandered by with a stack of them. "Don't get tae do this sort of thing in Goblin tunnels, what with our self-washing buckets and all."
"Self-washing buckets? That sounds like something we could use," Franz murmured, admittedly giving Feidai a smug grin. Such a thing would relieve one of the greatest challenges to come.
"Ye'd put me out of a job if ye smooth folk used 'em. Only been doing this fer a few hours, and already ye want tae be rid o' me." The goblin sniffled pitifully.
"You sound quite knowledgeable in Goblin buckets though, so as Archduke I could promote you to the position of bucket builder," he replied, but could not tell if it helped at all given
The goblin's knobbly face twisted, his lip was wibbled, and his eyes positively swelled with emotion. "Thank ye, Archibald! I never thought I'd ever know what a promotion felt like. I'll build ye the fanciest buckets that'll never clog, no matter what ye 'ave fer lunch or what ye wipe with!" By his gushing, it seemed to have worked. Unfortunately, he left a horrible smear in his wake when he dropped the unwashed buckets and skittered away.
Another goblin waddled up to them, oddly well equipped with a shovel, scoop and sponge-on-a-stick to clean up the spilled mess. "Mind if I wash these for ye? Ma says I needs a job or me warts'll fall off and I'll start callin' meself a ladle."
"Someone has to do it," Franz said with his nose pinched. Those self-cleaning buckets would be a real wonder.
"Goblins, yar," Feidai scoffed, then disappeared into the horde with the list in hand.
ČTEŠ
Revolting Rose
Fantasy{Illustrated} Once upon a time Pagne planned parties in a palace of fungus, now he is planning a revolution. Success requires a cunning plan, hinging on the element of surprise, careful catering, and colourful costumes. However, an unfortunate ser...
