1
Shax: Have you read the book, How to Train your Goblins? Don’t. It’s a lie!
The little green bastard fired a first edition of Pet Sematary, signed by the King himself, at me. I winced as it hit a bookcase and flopped open to the ground, the pages bent.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I roared, appalled at the travesty.
The goblin stuck out his tongue and grabbed a worn but enjoyable romantic story about a demon and his witch. Based on a true story, and a favorite of the staff.
The bastard wound his arm back, ready to toss.
I shoved up my sleeves and prepared to catch. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Once more, goblins had snuck into Hell’s epic library. It used to be known as the Ashurbanipal, but that was when it was on the Earth plane. Back when I was still kind of human. Before the incident.
With the Ashurbanipal in peril, the librarians at the time, including me, had made a deal with the devil. I got a pair of horns and an extended lifespan. Lucifer got to boast about owning the most extensive library anywhere, and I got to deal with stupid shit like leather-parchment-eating worms and goblins. Neither of which had any respect for the literary word.
And where there was one…
Another book almost clocked me in the head. War and No Peace, the alternate ending that added a few hundred additional pages. It would have hurt if it’d landed.
I glared, about all I could do until the library acolytes arrived with the lassos. Good thing our last batch of recruits had been practicing.
People often made the mistake of assuming that librarians were meek scholars with the muscle tone of a human centenarian. Maybe on Earth, but here in the Pit, working the library meant staying fit. Because Hell’s library didn’t give up its knowledge easily. Bringing it to Hell imbued it with certain challenges. Now, it required quick wits and agile strength to find what you were looking for. The deaths of those who failed probably explained the lack of interest in reading.
The funniest were those who assumed they could cockily enter and do the job of a guardian of the stacks. They didn’t believe us when we told them that magic was forbidden inside the library, as were candles—any sort of flame, actually. Sharp-edged objects, even letter openers, had to remain outside the guarded doors. There were some priceless books in here. Irreplaceable ones that could never, ever have a copy. Some could not be read by anyone. Some knowledge should remain hidden, but never be destroyed. The library existed to protect wisdom and history.
Anything that might possibly damage a book found itself held outside the doors. At times it was a wonder anyone made it through the powerful magnet that yanked at your flesh as if it would strip out your teeth and bones.
Yet it somehow couldn’t stop goblins. Nor the dragon that decided to squat on the Dungeons and Dragons section. But we let her have that hoard mostly because we kept the Salvatore books elsewhere.
I ducked before a sudden volley of books—fired by more than one green goblin—could rain on me. It required some fast footwork to leap, grab, tuck a book before flipping to snare another and another. I was a veritable acrobat, catching all the paperbacks before they could land.
Except for one.
The original Wizard of Oz manuscript by L. Frank Baum, a first draft handwritten with all the dark, yummy bits before they got edited out to become the modern-day classic. It landed hard enough to snap the binder holding all the loose sheets. They spilled onto the floor.
The goblins, a chattering sort, fell silent. Did they hear the anger ticking inside of me?
Thump. Thump. Thump. One by one, I placed the books I’d managed to save on the table.
“Ergh blag?” The goblin closest to me appeared apprehensive.
With good reason. Because there were some lines even they knew to never cross.
Jerod, a student of mine, arrived with a lasso. Out of breath, and like an idiot, he ran right into the middle of the problem.
But the goblins ignored him to watch me. I held out my hand. The lasso hit my palm.
There was a squeal as the little bastards split, racing through the stacks. As if they could escape.
I twirled the lasso, whipping it out, the circle rotating, nice and tight. I would have to go hunting, and the aisles didn’t leave much room.
I tracked down the first one in the dead end for novels that never made it to market. For example, we had a whole shelf of stories by an author written while being kept prisoner by an avid fan. He died in captivity, and the reader hoarded the books written under extreme duress until Lucifer came to get her soul and she traded them for a spot in Heaven.
Rumor had it she’d kidnapped an angel. The one who’d helped the Christians write their Bible. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that book.
The goblin I tracked hovered mid-shelf, clinging with its gouging claws to the scratchable wood. The bookcase should have been made of something more durable, but the devil liked the look of it.
So did I, but I liked to bust his balls and proffer suggestions that we replace it with industrial metal shelving. I just hoped he never realized I mind-screwed him, or we could end up with a very warehouse look rather than a cozy library.
The creature dared to pull out a volume and wag it. I gave him my sternest look. “I can be nice about this.” I eyed the spinning lasso. “Or not.”
The thrown tome said not. No remorse filled me as the noose soared and landed around the goblin. He flailed and squawked. I tightened the rope, yanked him towards me, and spun it rapidly until he was bobble-eyed, staring at me from a rope cocoon.
I held out my hand without looking. Someone wisely gave me another rope. I hunted down the rest of the goblins, bundling them one by one. Some of my acolytes managed to snare a few.
There was only one left. He sat in the baby section, surrounded by books about raising them, corrupting them, the things to expect, the crazy mommy stories never published because infanticide was frowned upon.
The beast eyed me with black orbs that didn’t blink. He softened his expression, made his mouth tremble. He appeared innocent and childlike. I could feel my acolytes around me weakening.
They’d learn.
I said nothing as a student reached for the goblin saying, “You’re so cute.”
It took a blinking second before the student noticed the teeth locked around his wrist. Another before he screamed.
I chose to use this as a teaching moment. “Don’t put your hand near sharp objects. Understood?”
Fervent nods.
Since I didn’t have a clear headshot, I went hands-on. I jammed my thumbs into the hinges of the goblin’s jaws. When it unlocked, I wrapped an arm around its neck and held it while two of my students jumped in to secure its limbs.
Only then did I let go and eye the sobbing student. “Next time, pay attention to the rules. Find a medic.” I turned away. We didn’t coddle stupidity in Hell.
“Jerod.” I waved a hand, and the boy stacked the last goblin into a neat cord with the others. Thirteen. The usual number for a goblin gang.
“What should we do with them?” Jerod nudged a stubby-nosed goblin on the bottom.
“Don’t ask me. I need to go home and pack. I hear the kindergarten for Gifted Demonic Children is looking for some new toys.”
The bugged-out eyes on the goblins amused my acolytes as they scurried off with the donation. A short-lived amusement that quickly turned weary. It never changed. My life a never-ending saga of goblin catching, text restoration, and acolyte training. The only reprieve from monotony that I ever got was the raising of my nephew when his parents died.