SKWEE

  Skwee the goblin led the three ogres into the ancient mineshaft, relieved to be back in the dark, cold and damp. He cleared his throat and pointed. ‘And if I may bring attention to the wonderful detailing on the stalagmites.’

  ‘Stalac-tite,’ interrupted the largest ogre, Morg, who was presumably the father of the family. Skwee found it impossible to guess an ogre’s age, or gender.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Skwee, ‘the downy ones. Wonderful detailing.’

  Morg grunted agreement, ducking under the stalactites-and-or-mites.

  Ogres only knew about one thing, and that was the quality of stone. Skwee had been given careful training on how to sell to ogres. Most of it involved pointing at rocks.

  The Dark Army had taken it upon themselves to retrain Skwee again after he’d failed so miserably at being a foot soldier. He quite liked his new Geiston and Geiston uniform. There were no silly pink skulls and the velvet was delightfully soft. He enjoyed his new title too, “Estate Agent”. It sounded so grand and proper. It was beginning to dawn on Skwee that there wasn’t really an army in the Dark Army at all. It seemed more like a series of business ventures.

  Skwee brought them to the cave’s main chamber, which he knew had the “wow” factor all good properties needed.

  ‘Wow,’ said Morg behind him, staring up at the shaft of light that illuminated the central plinth. His wife and son (or possibly husband and daughter) let out a gasp.

  Skwee had personally overseen the clear up of the cave and was so proud of the results that seeing the ogres ogle the place brought a tear to his eye. There had been a surprising number of dead adventurers, and a lot of blood, but with a good team of goblins, anything was possible. Removing the mimic smell had been a bit of a challenge, and in the end they resorted to masking it with scattered sage and turnips. If they’d been leasing the place to humans they wouldn’t have needed to bother. Their noses were awful.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  It was time to make the sale. He looked up at the three creatures, fixing them with a stare. If you broke eye contact you lost the sale, the training had been very clear about that. ‘This cave is only fifteen hundred gold for a ten year lease, paid upfront,’ he said. ‘Or sixteen hundred in ten easy instalments.’

  Morg scratched his head. ‘Instal-mints?’

  ‘Yes, instalments,’ said Skwee. ‘I have the paperwork here. We just need your signature and ten percent deposit.’ Skwee’s eyes flicked to the gold-filled bags tied to the ogres belts.

  Of course the property was valued at almost triple what it should have been. That’s what you can do when you had a monopoly like Geiston and Geiston did.

  ‘We hear rumours,’ said Morg the ogre, scratching his bare chest. ‘Dragon live here. Where dragon?’

  Skwee had read the file. There had been a dragon a long time ago, but it had flown off after getting fed up with all the adventurers coming after him (courtesy of The Dark Master’s rumour spreading of course). For some reason, dragons absolutely fascinated adventurers. Just the idea of one was enough to get an adventurer salivating. Therefore The Dark Army’s dungeon keepers had made the executive decision to keep the dragon stories going, letting a mimic live in the cave to keep the adventurers amused instead. But the mimic had run off, so they needed quick replacement “dungeon fodder”.

  ‘I don’t see a dragon, do you?’ said Skwee, gesturing around the cavern. ‘He’s long gone, adventurer's probably got him.’

  The three ogres flinched at the word adventurers.

  ‘But…’ said Skwee quickly, ‘there aren't any more adventurers either. As you can see.’

  ‘What if come?’ said Morg. ‘They everywhere.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s the great thing with Geiston and Geiston,’ said Skwee with a smile. ‘We’ll resurrect you free of charge if you die to adventurers on any of our properties.’

  Skwee neglected to mention that after the first five free resurrections, the ogres would be charged. Then if they couldn’t pay up, they’d stay dead. And Geiston and Geiston could lease the cave out again and again and again.

  ‘Okay, deal,’ said Morg.

  Skwee breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Excellent, please sign here.’ He held up the documents and the father-slash-mother signed them with a quill. The ogre dropped a bag at Skwee’s feet, it clinked with the sound of coins.

  ‘Daddy, I’m hungry,’ said the little ogre, who was still twice as tall as Skwee.

  Morg licked his lips. ‘Me too.’

  Their eyes locked onto Skwee.

  ‘I suppose...’ Skwee stammered, ‘that I’d best be on my way,’ He bent down to pick up the bag of gold, but was snatched by the scruff of the neck. The ogres laughed to themselves as Skwee struggled.

  Morg brought Skwee to eye level as his jaw opened wide, revealing rows of rotten teeth.

  Skwee tensed and tried not to scream.

  At least he’d made the sale. All in all, not such a bad day.