Part 7.
Sarah trudged through the gates of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, exhausted, anxious to get to her room and into the shower. She had spent the day mixing cement with the goblins, and in spite of her cobbled-together safety gear (her closet had contained scruffy steel-toed boots in an approximation of her size, and the Junkyard had supplied gloves without too many holes in important places and a hard hat two years out of date), she was pretty sure there was cement drying in her hair, not to mention the globs dotting her old jeans (torn at the knee) and her Junkyard t-shirt (long-sleeved, bright green, and three sizes too big).
It had been more than three weeks since she had seen a hint of the Goblin King. The schedule held by the the goblin by the throne had not been updated: he had dutifully crossed out one "Gone" per day, and then continued crossing out blank spaces as more days passed. It had gotten to the point that Sarah had stopped checking, and was resigned to wait an indefinite amount of time for His Annoyingly Absent Majesty to return, and so of course today was the day when she rounded the corner at the top of the second flight of stairs and walked straight into his chest.
She staggered and caught herself on the railing, narrowly saving herself from a tumble. By the time she looked up again he had backed off a few steps, and was brushing at the dust now covering the front of his crushed-velvet jacket.
"Really, Ms. Williams." He frowned down at her as she pulled herself slowly to her feet. "Are you ever presentable?"
"Really, Goblin King," she drawled back in the same tone, "do you generally take off for weeks without informing your guests of your plans?" She shook her head. "I apologize for running into you, but I won't apologize for the state of my clothes after spending the day teaching your goblins to cast concrete for your bridge. What's your excuse?"
"Kingdom business."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that bureaucratic crap. Was it really so urgent that you couldn't even let me know you'd be leaving?"
"My responsibilities are no concern of yours." He brushed his hands once more across his ensemble, and the whole thing changed, into a poofy white shirt and black… well, they were too tight to be called anything but leggings, except that they shone like leather. And why had he bothered brushing away the dust when he could just do that?
Sarah scowled. "That doesn't change the fact that it's just plain rude." She crossed her arms and leaned against the edge of the stairwell, watching the Goblin King inspect himself. "Besides, I finished the plans for your bridge six days ago."
He paused in the act of adjusting one of his gloves, his attention on her again. "You have completed the plans?"
"I didn't want to start building without your okay, but we've been practicing in the Junkyard."
"Practicing?"
"Concrete construction requires at least a little attention to detail." She opened her hands, gesturing at her own dust-covered disarray. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that your people require some instruction."
He leaned back against the wall and considered her again, and this time, she weathered his inspection proudly. Yes, she was a mess, but it wasn't as though this was her general state of being. It was the result of a good day's work, and the goblins were learning.
"What were you doing?" he asked, when his perusal was complete.
"I told you, pouring cement."
"And… what does that entail?"
Sarah sighed and looked down, shifting to ease the foot whose boot had started to pinch. "Building wooden moulds. Filling them with aggregate—we're going for concrete, here. Mixing ash and burned lime and a little water, and pouring it into the moulds. Getting the goblins to run back and forth over the top and jump up and down to compact it. Getting the goblins to stop running back and forth and jumping up and down, and to leave it alone while it dries." The first several attempts had some extremely interesting drawings in their tops, and she'd had to find a pH-neutral soap to get wet cement off of goblin extremities. All in all, it was rather like pouring cement with a pack of hyperactive, fearless, extra-strong six-year-olds. She shifted, easing the other foot, and looked up again.
"I see," he began, but Sarah held up a hand, and he stopped.
"Furthermore," she continued, "this is an ancient method, since you don't have modern equipment, and I didn't remember the exact ratios of ash and lime, so we've had to do some experimenting. Hopefully in a few days, when this last bit is set, we'll have our final formula."
The Goblin King frowned. "This is rather more complicated than I believed it would be."
Sarah shook her head and met his eyes, incredulous. "I've been telling you that from the beginning."
The Goblin King straightened from his posture against the wall. "Well, standing here accomplishes nothing. Show me the plans."
Sarah blinked at him, incredulous. "This moment?"
"Of course; my time here may be limited."
"Do you know now that you need to leave again tonight?"
"No."
"Then you are completely ridiculous, do you know that?"
"Pardon?" The Goblin King raised his eyebrows.
"Given our past, and the fact that you are imposing on me for a favor, do you really expect me to jump when you say frog?"
He blinked. "You wished to return to your world; this will expedite that result. I expect, therefore, that you will do as I command because it is in your own interest."
"Right now, my interest is mostly in getting a shower. You know, so that I might actually be presentable."
The Goblin King grimaced and looked her up and down again. "Perhaps you should remove some concrete."
Sarah pushed past him, taking that as agreement. "Thirty minutes. And it's cement."
"There's a difference?"
Sarah turned, walking backwards down the hall to call back to him. "The fact that I know the difference is yet another reason why you need me."
