A Tasty Pastry

Lithos Foundingstone slipped along the edges of the crowd, nibbling idly at a meat pie from Mistress Gaella's cart. Silverkeep was best known for its egg dishes, but Mistress Gaella hailed from Kingdom of Duranghal, and her Tidehaven Pie was a pleasant break from local fare, and almost as popular as her Boulderwal Bread.

Though very nearly an adult, Lithos had been born a goblin and compared against the height of his dwarven siblings he was still the size of a child. This was a frequent source of irritation, as people far less learned than himself attempted to talk down to him, but today it was an advantage. He had the bared head and plain clothes of a menial worker, and nobody on the docks looked twice at him. Barefoot, he might have been a sailor, or one of the poorer dockworkers who couldn't afford boots.

He stopped halfway down the dock, and hopped up onto one of the thick stone pillars that anchored it in place against any unexpected currents in Lake Opreto. He sat there for probably twenty minutes, slowly finishing off the meat pie and looking out across the lake. 

"Hey," said a soft voice beside him. He didn't turn, but he tilted his head. 

"You looking for work?" asked a voice, speaking Goblin.

"I could work," he admitted. In context, it suggested that he could definitely use any money that might be available. 

"Come on," said the voice. "We're short one. Ghost ship, the dwarves won't touch it. But we can."

Lithos slid off the pillar and found himself face to face with another goblin, solid and strong under her rags. She had a strong chin and high cheekbones, and a delicious spread of ears. She looked like she could break him in half, and he was momentarily taken by the concept. 

"Guzzlegore," she said, and tapped her chest. 

"Grimshank," he replied, and tapped his own. "You sure? I don't pull so hard."

"No need," she told him. "You fill the bench and do your best, balance it." 

"I can do that." 

"So you come, you row, you get money."

Found them, he mouthed in Halflingo, pointing to his brother as he followed his disconcertingly attractive companion. Then, in Goblin, he asked: "No press gang?"

She grunted. "Not for this. Easier to pay work."

Pythia was deep in conversation with a merchant as they passed, discussing the likelihood of more shimmersilk coming up from Esperhold. She looked out of place down here, wearing plate armor with a massive greataxe strapped across her back, but she was so completely preoccupied with hearing about this season's silkslug output that Guzzlegore didn't even seem to notice her. Armored dwarves were never all that unusual. 

He should have been terrified. He was a terrible actor, and a worse adventurer; he preferred to get his knowledge from books, where it was safe. But there were charges of smuggling, supposedly aboard a ghost ship that only the dockside goblins could reach, and Lithos and his siblings had been charged to investigate. Alone, he would have quailed -- or walked away to do something far more sensible, like make tea -- but knowing that his siblings were all around him, he felt safe enough to press on.