Goblin Secrets by William Alexander Read Free Book Online Page B

coming.”
    The floods are coming. The floods were always coming, but Rownie couldn’t remember a time when they actually came. It was just something people said—though there was a difference to the way Vass said it, as though the floods were coming soon.
    Rownie wanted to ask what she meant, but Vass was no longer paying attention to him. Her eyes lost their focus and looked somewhere else.
    “My charm is now ended,” she chanted softly. “The knots are untied.” Rownie felt the air change around them. He felt the world change shape to her words.
    The lights went out. Rownie heard Vass leave the railcar in the dark.
    Various Grubs shouted their protests outside. They spoke like Grubs now, and not like Graba.
    “You’re a kack at the witchwork,” said Blotches. “Shouldn’t get to keep your name.”
    “I’m still learning,” Vass answered him, sullen. “And I can’t keep anything lit for long without oil to burn. Maybe we should stick a wick in Greasy and use him for a lantern.”
    “Shut it,” said Greasy.
    “The runt probably doubled back and left already,” Vass said, “or else he went down the tunnel, and the diggers got him.”
    “There aren’t really any diggers in the tunnel,” said Greasy. “Are there?”
    “Oh yes,” said Vass. “Of course there are. Want to see? Should we toss you down there?”
    “Shut it!” said Greasy.
    The noise of their voices faded as they found their way out of the Southside Rail Station.
    Rownie was left alone.

Act I, Scene VIII

    ROWNIE TRIED TO SUMMON up the feeling that he was haunting the Southside Rail Station, and that other sorts of haunting things should be afraid of him —but he couldn’t quite convince himself that this was true. He felt sure and certain that there were diggers in the tunnel. He felt unsure and uncertain about what Vass had told him.
    Graba can’t wear you—you’ve got a little talent for wearing masks.
    Rowan had been very good with masks. He had been wearing one the last time Rownie had seen him, the last time anyone had seen him. That had been months ago, in a Southside alehouse.
     
    “This is just a little alehouse show,” Rowan said. “We’ll stand on tables in the back. Maybe the crowd will listen to us while they eat their supper. Maybe they won’t.”
    “Bet the Guard’ll come,” said Greasy. “They’ve beentaking actors away. They make ’em into diggers.”
    Rowan smiled, and shook his head. “We’re in Southside,” he said. “Since when does Southside pay much attention to the sillier edicts of our good Lord Mayor? Don’t worry about it.”
    “Just don’t wear a mask of Graba,” said Vass. “She hates the thought that anyone might ever take her place.”
    “You imitate Graba’s voice all the time,” Rowan reminded her. He switched into a Graba-voice of his own. “Run some errands for me, child. Go fetch me the sun and the moon and the stars by suppertime. Do that for me, now.”
    Rownie laughed, and Rowan laughed. It felt like the same laugh.
    Vass didn’t laugh. Her forehead creased. “Masks are different,” she said.
    “Do you get to wear any big, scowly pirate masks?” Rownie asked his older brother.
    “Looks like you’re wearing one already,” Rowan told him. He reached down and poked Rownie’s real nose with the tip of one finger. “Nice mask, there.”
    “Yours is even scowlier,” Rownie said, and then the two of them tried to top each other for the best scowly face until it was time for the show to start.
    “Here,” said Rowan. “Hold my coat until the play is done.” He gave Rownie his dust-colored overcoat, and thenducked behind a curtain made of two sheets and a broomstick.
    The characters in the play didn’t have proper names. The hero was called Youth, and he went on adventures and kept trying to do heroic things. Rowan, behind a bearded, grinning mask, played Youth’s best friend, Vice. He carried a broken sword, pulled pennies out of other actors’ ears with a