We found Knee-Biter standing beside his marvelous vardo. The goblin was staring into a nearby pasture that was just outside the city wall. He turned towards us as we approached him.
“Der sum dewins gowin ahn,” he said to Ori.
Knee-Biter was a gnarled old goblin. Deep wrinkles crinkled his face. An eye patch covered what should have been his left eye. Tufts of downy white hair sprouted from his ears. His nose was crooked, having been broken several times previously.
He waved towards the City Proper. “Eiy, sumtins gowin ahn.”
We looked towards the City Proper. Humans hustled about the pasture. Sometime in the early morning, they had begun to construct a stage. Even from a distance, it seemed an impressive effort for such a quick build. Two braziers were affixed to the stage, one on the far left side, the other on the far right. A plush purple curtain divided the stage into two halves. Erected over the front half of the stage was a banner that read, “MAKE NARROWS GREAT AGAIN.” Ronnie Bridge was preparing to welcome the traivellin fowk to Narrows in a special, possibly violent, way.
Knee-Biter nodded to Myth and me. To Ori, he said, “Hoo’s ’em den? Whey ya kertin a coup o’ flatties arown?”
“Knee-Biter welcomes you to the Fair,” said Ori. “He’s eager to hear what you have to say.”
“Dat’s nowt what Ay sae, ya ’airleas ’afwit,” said Knee-Biter.
Ori shrugged. “Eh, it was close enough. Flatties or not, you need to listen to them.”
“Aweri den,” said Knee-Biter. “Les ’ave it.”
“Go on,” Ori told Myth and me. “Tell him what you know.”
“Before we get into that,” I said, “I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Knee-Biter. When I was six years old, your Fair was offering a dolly as a prize for winning the ring toss game. She wore a lavender dress, I remember. And she had golden hair. Oh! I wanted her so badly. I begged my daddy to win her for me. He tried, but the ring never went around the peg. It bounced right off the peg three times in a row. It really seemed as if the peg was too wide for the ring to fit around it. I think that game was rigged.”
Knee-Biter grinned impishly and cackled.
Ori shook his head. “Oh! For the love of… Forget about that twaddle and—”
“Twaddle!” I shouted, offended that he was being so flippant about such an important issue. “I want my dolly!”
Myth began to laugh. “The world’s gone topsy-turvy, but Izzy is still Izzy.”
“Enough already,” said Ori, “just tell Knee-Biter what you know.”
Still fuming, I told Knee-Biter about everything we had seen and heard in the City Proper.
After I finished, the old goblin spat. “Lowsie flatties,” he mumbled. Glancing at the stage, Knee-Biter went on, “Notin’ faw tha traivellin fowk ’ere. Aweri den. Fawgit tha flatties, wey bunkin.”
“I’ll let everyone know,” said Ori. He sighed and added, “And here I thought we could rest for a few days.”
“What’s happening?” I asked him.
“We’re leaving,” replied Ori. “Forget Narrows. And forget their pitchforks. They want us gone, so we’re going. We’ll pass word on to the other convoys. No traivellin fowk will come here again. Let those idiots do things for themselves. They’ll regret it when their outhouses are overflowing.”
“No,” said Myth abruptly. “Don’t leave.”
Knee-Biter eyed her. “En whey shood wey stai?”
“He wants to know why we should stay,” said Ori.
“Because Ronnie Bridge wants you to leave,” said Myth. “Look, Izzy said earlier that children need your Fair. She was right. Children dream about your Fair year round. Then your vardoes arrive. The children are overjoyed. They jump about excitedly and they literally drag their parents to the fun. Everyone has a good time at the Fair. They leave happy, thinking, ‘Those traivellin fowk are a decent bunch.’
“But if you leave, then they’ll have no reason to question what Ronnie Bridge is saying. He’ll slander your people until that stops working. And it will stop working because you’ll be gone, but Narrows will still be a giant rubbish heap.
“Ronnie Bridge will need some other species to be the evil foreigners—the elves, probably. And after that, it’ll be the poorest humans who become his victims. It has to end. You and your convoy are the best chance to make people see reason because everyone loves the Fair.”
I beamed at Myth. After seeing her cower before Ronnie Bridge, such a display of determination was unexpected and pleasing. “Myth is right. And I have a plan for dealing with Mr. Ronnie Bridge.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Myth.
“Well,” I said, “I’m going to walk up to Ronnie Bridge…”
I paused for dramatic effect.
“Yeah?” said Myth.
“I’ll give him a piece of my mind…”
Another dramatic pause.
“And?” asked Myth.
“And then I’ll slap him so hard his teeth will fall out.”
Silence lingered for a moment as Myth and the others stared at me.
“Well,” I said, smiling brightly, “what do you think?”
“I’ll go and tell everyone to pack.” Ori said to Knee-Biter.
“Iz,” said Myth, “I’d love to see you slap Ronnie Bridge. It would be vicious, yet adorable at the same time. But it wouldn’t work.”
“I can slap really hard,” I declared.
“I’m sure you can,” replied Myth. “One hundred pounds of fury focused into a single slap would stagger anyone. But that would only strengthen Ronnie Bridge’s hold on Narrows. Think about it. A human—an admitted friend of an elf—attacks Ronnie Bridge, the man who wants to protect Narrows from foreigners. He’d claim that I brainwashed you. People would rally round poor Ronnie, the man them foreigners tried to silence. He’d become a martyr.”
“Eiy,” said Knee-Biter. “Tha tawl gel’s rit.”
I folded my arms and huffed, miffed that my plan was not as perfect as I had imagined it to be. “Do you have a better idea,” I asked Myth.
“Maybe,” she said. “I think so. We need to trick Ronnie Bridge, make him admit that he’s been bleeding Narrows dry for his personal gain. And his followers need to hear him say it.”
I threw my arms into the air. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“With that,” said Myth as she pointed at the stage. “And we’ll need help from the traivellin fowk.”
Knee-Biter shrugged, not yet willing to commit to Myth’s plan.
“And…,” said Myth. She took a deep breath before continuing, “And I have to be the person who tricks him.”
“Why you,” I asked.
“Well, you’d end up slapping him for starters,” said Myth. “A human couldn’t trick him anyway. He’d just preach to them about the evil foreigners. And I doubt he’d even talk with one of the traivellin fowk.”
Myth looked at the ground. “But everyone knows elves are docile. He won’t expect trouble from me. Ronnie’s arrogant. An uppity Coney who doesn’t know her place will irritate him. I can goad him into revealing his true nature to the people of Narrows.”
Knee-Biter scratched his chin, mulling over Myth’s idea. Reaching a decision, he nodded to Ori.
“The traivellin fowk will help you,” said Ori. “What do you need us to do?”
I rubbed Myth’s arm gently. “Are you sure you’re ready to stand up to him?”
Myth sighed. “I hope so.”