The manor was the first house apart from the cottage that wasn’t derelict. Ratface stepped on the soft rug on the floor and looked at the paintings and other valuables around the place. Abigail had told her this place had been completely looted and she couldn’t imagine adventurers respecting a place just because a lord had lived there.

  She got her answer a few moments later when she found several suits of armour lying on the floor. The local lord must have had their guards locked in the manor with them. Ratface wondered why they hadn’t gone out to join the rest, some lingering thought following orders from the past maybe.

  Vin interrupted her musing by walking past to open the door into a more relaxed setting. It was a tearoom like Claudette had. The difference was this one was covered in spiderwebs and a thick layer of dust. Ratface wanted to cough just looking at it.

  Vin took one look at the room and leaned on the doorframe instead.

  “So, your goblin,” she began, “to be candid, I didn’t find her. It was Wolfhand that did. I just happened to meet him there.”

  “So why isn’t he here?” Ratface asked. She felt a shadow at her back and realised the old goblin had joined them without a word.

  “We found her after a raid. We’d attacked a larger town, and the local militia and adventurers were coming down hard enough we just had to run. In desperation we went into the Butterfly Plains.”

  Ratface snorted at the name and the goblin gave her a look.

  “Treat it with more respect little rat, that’s where your little goblin is.” He looked troubled. “She didn’t want to come with us, said she was happier alone. She didn’t seem to trust any of us.”

  That made sense. If the unnamed goblin didn’t have a glamour in the way like she had, then seeing goblins would’ve been traumatic. It was sobering to think one of her own no longer felt safe around other goblins.

  “She asked after you. If we’d run into a goblin called Ratface. When we told her we hadn’t she ran further into the plains. Fast little thing.”

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  Ah. Well at least that gave Ratface an idea of who it was. The second youngest of the group would be her guess. She’d always been running, and the tribe had been flipping between calling her a rabbit or a deer of some kind. Her heart broke as she realised that her tribe wouldn’t get to name a goblin again. She closed her eyes and let the hurt flow through her. She wouldn’t dishonour their memories by trying to shove this feeling down. When the moment passed, she looked back at the old goblin.

  “Why only tell me now?” she asked.

  “That was the deal,” he said. Ratface shook her head.

  “That was my deal with the elf. You knew where she was already. Why not tell me?” She stressed the word elf when she talked to him. Vin grimaced and left them to the conversation.

  The old wolf watched Ratface for a while. She stood glaring at him.

  “You don’t like Vin,” he said.

  “Vin used me to anger a god, and you let her,” said Ratface. Wolfhand grimaced at that but didn’t argue her point.

  “Let me ask you something, little rat. Why do you think I agreed to take on Halvin’s rest?”

  “You obviously like the elf, she probably just asked.”

  “I don’t do things for free. Vin did ask me to help but you’re only looking at half the picture. This is a Lurian controlled area. The only person who can give them licenses to kill us is Vin. I agreed to help her on the condition that she never give those out.”

  Ratface stopped glaring and Wolfhand took that as a sign to keep going.

  “I’m old Ratface. I don’t know how many more years before I make a mistake or just get unlucky. I want my goblins to be safe when that day comes. This was the best way to make that happen.”

  “Halvin’s rest is still close to other settlements. They’ll just keep adventurers on the outskirts. You’ve just made a trap for your goblins.”

  “Everywhere is a trap for goblins, I’m just trying to make one I control for once,” said Wolfhand. It made him look old to say so. He was old as well, and successful. She wondered if all old goblins looked this way eventually. Ratface turned away.

  “I’ll forgive you then, seems you’re doing your best.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He put a hand on Ratface’s shoulder, and she turned to face him again.

  “One last gift for you Ratface, and some advice.” He pulled out a crossbow from his back and handed it to her. She ran her hands over it. It was in good condition and had little wolves carved into the grip.

  “I can’t take your crossbow,” she said. She wanted to shut her stupid mouth up; this thing was amazing.

  “Consider it my payment for helping me make my sanctuary. Now for my advice. I heard you saved that young adventurer.” He looked her in the eyes and there was judgment there. A ruthlessness that was never really hidden.

  “Mercy is a kindness, but it won’t always work out like it did today. Adventurers are no friends to us.” He tapped the crossbow. “I heard you were a pretty good shot so you should already know this; you need to focus on your target if you want to hit it. You should ask yourself what you want from this world, and if saving an adventurer is worth it.”

  With that he left her. Ratface stared at the crossbow, and wondered about the future.