The Map by William Ritter Read Free Book Online Page A

Jackaby asked.
    The goblin thought a bit. “Me dad brung th ’ first tribe oe ’ r in th ’ year o ’ th ’ manky basilisk. Whassat in human? ”
    “The manky basilisk . . . let ’ s see—yes, that’s about the mid-seventeenth century, I think. The time line fits. Rook, show him the map.”
    I laid out the map, and Nudd pulled it across the table.
    “Treasure, then?” He grinned as he perused the parchment but froze as his eyes locked on the final destination. The last point on the map was a small island not far from the coast. “Wai’ a tick.” He hopped from his stool, whisking the paper over to a nearby workbench, where he pulled down a wide magnifying lens and scrutinized the map.
    I was about to take a sip from my goblet, but Jackaby put a hand over the lip before I could put it to my mouth. He shook his head silently, and poured the beverage into Nudd ’ s goblet instead. The goblin chief turned back to us a moment later, his expression dark and brooding. “Nae,” he said, when he reached the table and sat down again.
    “No?” I asked. “No, what? We haven ’ t asked for anything.”
    He pushed the paper toward me, a finger locked on the small point just off the coast, the end of the Bold Deceiver ’ s path. “Tha ’ island shouldn ’ ae be on any human map. It kinna be reached wi ’ out goblin magic, ’cause t ’ isn ’ t an island o ’ yer world, now, is it?”
    “Isn ’ t it?” I asked.
    “ Huck up, lass. Tha ’ island is moored tae a part o ’ th ’ Annw yn. Another thin ’ an outsider shouldn ’ ae be askin ’ about.” Nudd ’ s eyes drifted from drilling suspicion into my skull to noticing the liquid in his goblet. He tossed it back with a gulp.
    “How fascinating,” Jackaby said. “You see, Rook? Had we not made this stop before dashing off to the end of the hunt, then we ’ d never have known what we were looking for.” He turned back to the chief. “Strange that a mortal highwayman from Ireland managed to know about your distant little piece of the Otherworld all the way over here, isn ’ t it?”
    “ Nae a chance, ” Nudd growled.
    “He knew we ’ d need to come through you to reach it, as well. See? You ’ re on the map, too, just there.”
    Nudd looked where Jackaby was indicating and squinted his eyes. He lifted his top hat to scratch his head. “Hm. ’Old on.” He trotted off again, disappearing into one of the smaller, connecting caves. When he was gone, Jackaby emptied his own goblet into Nudd ’ s as well.
    “Do you think they ’ re poisoned?” I whispered.
    “What? No, of course not. This is top-shelf stuff. What I think is that you are not a goblin and that certain flavors can never be untasted.”
    Nudd returned quickly, holding a scroll with scarlet endcaps. He sat down at the table and pointed to the picture of the three little goblins on our shoddy treasure map. “Dae ye know wha ’ tha ’ is?”
    “It ’ s a little picture of . . . well, of you and your tribe, isn ’ t it?” I offered.
    “Yea and nae. Tha’s never me, but it is me dad.”
    “ Your dad? ” Jackaby asked. “Isn ’ t it a little rudimentary to be sure?”
    Nudd unrolled the scroll. At the top was the same picture: three goblin heads, forming a sort of triangle, each with pointy ears and sharp teeth. It looked almost identical to the map.
    “Aye. Tha ’ was nae jus ’ a drawin ’ . T ’ was me dad ’ s sign. ” He scanned the roll of paper, which was written with some form of pictographs I didn ’ t recognize. When he reached what he was looking for he frowned, then laughed. “Look like we ’ ll be helpin ’ ea ch other, aft e r all,” he said.
    “Planning to explain?” Jackaby asked.
    “Tha’s more ’ n a map. What ye ’ ve go ’ is a contract. Me dad signed fir th ’ tribe. Musta bin near t ’ start o’ th’ settlment, or he ’ d nae ’ er ’ ave agreed. It appears I ’ ll be helpin ’ ye reach th ’ island after all. And ye ’