Robert threw back another large gulp of Vesper Ale. He knew he wouldn't find answers at the bottom of a tankard in the Marsh Hall, but he wasn't finding answers with his research either. At least, no answers to the goblin sleeping sickness. He had made some disturbing discoveries about both the Pitmuck and Trinsic meat supplies, but he had nothing solid to link the meat to the plague.
He had learned that Trinsic was exporting gargoyle and goblin meat for consumption, though. The very thought sickened him. He had toiled away alongside Gargish healers during the Great Gargish Blight, and considered many of their number friends. And goblins were, for the most part, gentle and innocent creatures--a race still developing, to be certain, but for the most part a goodhearted people.
The fact that a Goblish Vesper guard with the dubious name of Squishy had delivered him a cryptic message earlier that very day before wandering off to chase butterflies was not helping. The goblins wanted to tell him something, or maybe ask him something, but he didn't understand. In the meantime, he worried terribly for the safety of Squishy and others like him.
And for the safety of anyone eating meats from Trinsic. He pushed away his untouched bowl of stew.
He shuddered and gestured at the bartender for another ale. The bartender slammed it down on the table, but before Robert could move to pick it up, a familiar woman flopped down on the stool next to his, grabbed the ale, and guzzled it down desperately. He blinked.
"Governor Ivy?" he said.
"Not governor anymore," Ivy said. She reached over the bar, grabbed a sterner liquor, and proceeded to drink it straight from the bottle. "That position now belongs to one Captain Holly Bloodhand."
"Captain... no! The pirate that attacked Minoc?"
"The very same. I'm sure she's behind the recent harassment of our merchant vessels as well. I think she stole the election, too! I've had several people tell me they went to vote on Friday evening but found only Bloodhand's name on the stone. How could that be?"
Robert hadn't been following the election. He'd been so wrapped up in his investigation that he'd forgotten all about it. He hadn't even known that someone had run against Ivy, let alone made it to the stone to vote.
"Er... well...," he stammered. He shifted the note that Squishy had given him on the bar, and it fell open in front of Ivy.
"Oh, a message from the goblins?" Ivy said, peering at the note with slightly unfocused eyes. "They must think highly of you to ask you to help them like this."
Robert stared at her. "You understand this?"
"Sure. The stick figure with the bandage and mortar is you, and they want you to look at something... maybe footprints and a feather? Or a leaf? Oh, I don't know, maybe they want you to chicken walk. They'd probably enjoy that."
"Bandage? Mortar? You mean that injured fish and yellow duck?"
Ivy laughed bitterly. "You know, Robert, it's been a long and depressing day. I think you should just go to Pitmuck and see for yourself what they want."
He'd come to the same conclusion himself already. He didn't know what he might have missed in Pitmuck, but the goblins could surely recognize something out of place on their own island more easily than he.
He sighed. He certainly wasn't making much progress here.
"To Pitmuck it is then," he said.
"To Pitmuck!" Ivy shouted, holding up her liquor bottle as if in toast.
