Chapter 16
Creeper, after fleeing his master's rage, had wandered the castle searching for a room with a fire, and had found one rather quickly. He was curled in a chair with a blanket in front of said fire now.
The heat was warm, but the comfort had gone out of it. Creeper had felt hungry earlier but his now appetite was gone, replaced with a hard little knot in the pit of his stomach.
Creeper was profoundly discouraged.
He had tried so hard to please his Master tonight, beyond his normal 'Less punishment' range, and his Master had still not been pleased in the slightest. If anything he had been angrier than normal, and the goblin had certainly felt it. Creeper had been recently wondering if his Master might be going senile or simply unpleasable at all. He had only seen his master show happiness of any sort in his expression when the Cauldron had been found.
Come to think of it, Creeper was wondering if he himself might be going mad. Just what had he been thinking when he had tried to scare the human off? And furthermore, why did those In. . .Insable. . .gah, forget it. . .the things-that-couldn't-be-seen, have to send HIM, of all of them, to fetch his Master, knowing full well he would be punished for it?
He bared his teeth in anger. Master couldn't even hurt them at all, why hadn't one of them gone instead? Creeper always got blamed for everything, even if it wasn't his fault. Actually, it was more of not his fault than it was most of the time. Creeper tried to be good.
At least, Creeper didn't think his Master could hurt them. He had never seen him do it. He had threatened them multiple times and they had fallen into hysterics. At these times it was very easy to imagine them leaning on each other for support as they laughed themselves silly. And then Creeper, being the only one his Master *could* harm, had gotten the brunt of it. He always did.
The storm was still raging wildly outside, warning the goblin that if he didn't want to wake up screaming he had better not fall asleep tonight. Which he had no intention of doing.
He had not dared to ask his Master what had become of the human, but from the way his Master had forbidden him to let the human see him, he had given the girl leave to stay tonight. And apparently in a room by the sound of it.
The goblin felt a slight twinge. Why hadn't his Master killed the human? There was nothing to stop him, and he knew his master craved bloodshed to break the monotonous days. So why hadn't he done it? Instead of killing it, he had given it a place to stay! But he knew better than to assume anything from his master.
The goblin frowned deeper. None of it made any sense. Nothing had made sense since the day he'd been brought back. And now his Master had a unharmed, live human sleeping in the castle tonight, and he apparently had no plans to kill it yet. This was most unusual.
He rubbed his throat tenderly and took the cup of tea that one of the. . .things. . .under his master's employment had set there on the table beside him. He hadn't asked for it, one of them had simply entered the room and left it, with a saucer of small cakes. The smell of the hot confections were mouthwatering, but he knew if he tried to eat it now he would certainly kill himself by choking on the crumbs. So many years under his master's abuse had taught him to be careful with what he could and could not eat after getting punished. But he was so hungry!
He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye. It was sitting there mocking him with its delightful smell, the glaze slowly melting in the heat of the fire. The goblin wanted nothing more than to throw it across the room and hear it shatter against the wall, but he restrained himself with a massive amount of self-control. He didn't want to get punished *again* tonight. He bared his teeth in fury and turned his back on it, cuddling into the blanket to try and get comfortable, taking his cup of tea with him so he would not have to turn around again.
'Everyone else gets away with everything,' the goblin thought bitterly.
'Creeper gets away with nothing. The things-you-can't-see can get away with anything they want, including making fun of the Master, and then I get punished for it. It doesn't matter what I try to do, I always get in trouble even if its not my fault. Even the *human* gets away with trespassing, a place to sleep and everything else. Master didn't even hurt it. Why is it always me?'
Creeper angrily took another drink of his tea, but in his frustration he moved too quickly and the liquid went down his throat wrong, causing him to go into an extremely painful coughing fit.
Gripping his throat, he leaned over the chair, each hack and cough earning sharp pains from his throat and vocal chords, increasing the suffocating feeling.
After what felt like centuries he finally brought it under control. Not daring to drink anything else, he turned his back to the fire and tried to make himself comfortable. The pain was still there, though not as bad, but his throat felt like it was full of pins.
'The Fates must hate me too,' Creeper thought bitterly as he tried to keep the air off his throat. 'I always get the short end. Even the human, that Master would have killed under *Any other* circumstances, gets to stay the night in safety. And what do I get? Nothing but punishment. Again. He never rewards me. Ever. Why? Why does he hate me so much? What did I ever do to him? WHAT?!'
A trickling sensation across his cheek caught his attention, and running his hand over his face, he realized he was crying. Again. For the second time in nearly four weeks.
'When will this end? I'm sick of this! I wish it would end! I wish I could kill him!'
He hated being weak like this! He hated it! He hated not being free! He hated his Master! He hated those stupid what-ever-they-were, he hated humanity and he hated that human!
'I hate them all!'
The only thing audible in the room for a long time afterward was the crackling fire and the choking sobs of a little broken goblin.
In another part of the castle, there was a room under management. There was a thick gray-ish brown powdering of dust thick enough to pass for a light shawl all over the furniture, which was several centuries old, mostly rotted out and thoroughly beyond repair. Cobwebs were lavishly draped all over like unspun thread. A thick carpet of dirt and filth covered the floor, adding to the mess. A presence was moving about, trying to knock all the cobwebs off the ceilings and other high areas with a long broom, succeeding for the most part.
"Confound those spiders!" A disembodied voice grumbled, quite audibly.
"For something in a losing battle they're putting up quite a fruitless fight. But they can't fight the power of MY broom! Not his, not hers, nobody's. . .but MINE!"
The presence attacked the flitting cobwebs even more furiously with a soft cackle.
"Ah, yes, so sweet the feeling of glorified triumph. . ."
The door blew open very suddenly, and a mild disaster immediately ensued. The top layer of dirt carpet, dust shawl and loose cobwebs lying on the floor (That had been knocked down a mere minute ago) instantly rose as if on wings and blew wildly around the room in a perfect example of a little dust storm, making it thoroughly impossible to see, breathe or talk. Coughing and barks of rage immediately followed as all the beings bailed out the door and slammed it behind them, quite a bit of the debris blowing out with them and making a grand mess in what had once been an immaculately clean hall.
When the coughing was more or less under control, a voice snapped rather irritably, "You idiots! I had just, (cough) cleaned that ceiling! And just look at this hallway! I am NOT cleaning this up!"
A bout of laughter followed. "What's the matter? Worried about the spiders evening the score?" One voice teased.
"Or are you worried that they've finally allied themselves with the dust bunnies and have accepted your declaration of war?" Another voice chided.
"You'd better be careful or you'll end up in a sticky sit-shoo-A-shun," the first cackled.
"Especially if you keep getting so *caught up* in your work," the second snickered. "Like a fly in a web!"
"Ahaha, the Might of My," the first being took a short breath, "Mighty Broom, Is Mightier Than All The Mightiest Might Of The Most Mightiest of Mighty CobWebs! Flee, You Eight-Legged Manifestations Of An Intoxicated god! Or maybe three intoxicated gods, who knows?!"
The second, through hiccups of laughter, added, "It Frankly does not Frilly matter how many InFroxiFated Frods Manifested dem! Dey'll all die!"
The pair dissolved into sobs of laughter.
The other groaned in exasperation, as another presence came around the corner to take in the sight. There was laughter in its voice as it spoke.
"Do I. . .?"
"No," the cleaner sighed as it put down the broom. "No, you really, really don't."
A disdainful silence from the speaker made the sobbing cackles of the other two seem all the louder, who had yet to pull themselves together and back into the real world. After a moment the cleaner spoke again.
"So, how is she?"
"I coaxed her to take a bath and eat something before she went to bed," the newcomer answered. "She fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillow, poor thing. I put some wraps on her feet to help with the bruising and swelling."
"Bruising?" The first enquired.
"It looked like she'd been stomped on by her horse," the second said softly. "Her head had taken a rather nasty hit too, but I don't think she even noticed that it hadn't stopped bleeding all night. No, don't worry, I got it stopped and bandaged, she'll be fine."
The other two, having finally pulled themselves together, came over. "Will she be ok?" The first asked in concern.
"Yes, she'll be fine," the newcomer replied. "For now."
"Her name's Avalina, right?" The other of the two questioned curiously.
"Yes."
At this, the two that had destroyed the cleaner's hard work shouted at the same time.
"That's So Appropriate!"
Sounds of palms connecting in high fives rang through the hall.
The cleaner stared in annoyance.
"What do you mean?"
The cheering stopped.
". . . . . . . .You don't know?!"
". . . . . . . . You don't know?!"
". . .Should I?"
"And you think you just know EEEVERYthing, don't you?"
"Get on with it!"
". . . . . . . . . .No." The pair broke up in cackles again. "If YOU don't know, we're going to hold this over your head as long as absolutely possible."
The fourth presence chuckled as what sounded like a facepalm popped softly. "I think they've got you," it laughed kindly, before turning to the duo. "Did you tell the Horned King the girl had been cared for?"
A spew of snickers erupted. "Oh yeah, we told him."
The cleaner sighed. "What did you do this time?"
"Absolutely nothing."
A stray snicker-turned-hiccup hukked itself out, making for a very tense silence.
The cleaner sounded suddenly very tired. "Please tell me you didn't set his stole on fire, Again."
"OF COURSE NOT!" Their loud objections shouted in a preposterous manner.
". . . .And besides, it wasn't his stole."
"Yeah, it was the cobwebs he had all over the stole. . .we only burned those."
"And can you believe he got *mad* about it?"
"I know! He's impossible to please!"
"Like you always say, a servant should tend to their master's every need." That tone sounded incredibly professional.
"And he needed to get those cobwebs off! They were disgusting and totally unfitting for a king to wear! Which was a shame because he wore them soooo well. . .Hey, do you think we ruined his fashion sense? Maybe that was why he was mad! It probably took him ages to get them just right!"
A short pause.
"What have we done?!" The voice sounded horror-stricken.
"We ruined his kingly fashion," the other sounded like it was going to cry.
"And by extension. . . we've ruined his very life!"
". . . . . . .WHAT KIND OF MONSTERS ARE WE!?"
". . . . . . .WHAT KIND OF MONSTERS ARE WE!?"
The panicked and distraught tones of their voices were clearly audible.
A stray sound came from the other side of the room, sounding like the fourth presence was having a terrible time keeping a straight face.
The cleaner's voice was like ice.
"I swear, if I go up there and find out_!"
It was interrupted by the fourth servant finally breaking down and keeling out bouts of helpless laughter that showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.
The two horror-stricken servants, who were on the verge of a true sobbing breakdown, were silent for a long moment.
". . .Why are they laughing?"
". . .I don't know. Should we ask?"
"Let's ask later. I want to laugh now."
"Ok!"
A puff of exasperation escaped the cleaner as the other three laughed for all they were worth.
"Why do I even bother. . ."
Deciding they would be be completely useless for at least another hour, it eased the door open to the room it had been cleaning, and stared at the aftermath from earlier.
The ceiling, (That had almost been completely spotless, a sign of many hours of cleaning) now possessed more filth than anything else in the room put together. All the dirt, dust, cobwebs and various other mess seemed to have gotten the unified idea to migrate heavenward and roost on all the rafters.
As the cleaner stared around the room in swiftly mounting fury, the old chair in the corner gave a groan and collapsed in roughly 40 pieces on the floor, sending up a cloud of dust.
The dust spread out halfheartedly, drifting aimlessly over the floor and slowly dissipating. Like the chair, it had given up on life. A cobweb drifted slowly down, down onto the floor, and prostrated itself in front of the cleaner, the surest sign of submission the room had given yet.
The other three Invisibles, leaning on each other and the doorframe by the sound of it, witnessed it all. The cobweb, the dust, and the chair.
That gallant old chair.
"That poor chair," the newcomer said sadly.
"It gave up," the second sniffled.
"You could say," the still grinning third said, well aware of the rage it was about to unleash from the cleaner, "That it just didn't give a stole."
No more cleaning was done for the rest of the night.