Tinker's Justice Read Free

instructions had included nothing that said they were to be gentle with the goblin craftwork, and the workers weren’t. She took satisfaction in hearing the crack of broken boards as the bed hit the ground—its days of teasing her with promises of more comfort than it could deliver were at an end. The same went for the chair with its contoured seat that tried to force her backside into a narrower shape than her body preferred. In their places came good, solid Telluraki craftsmanship, salvaged from the ruins of Tinker’s Island and brought via the lunar headquarters for Madlin’s use. Finally, maybe this place will start to feel like home, and not a low-rent inn.
    In minutes, the world-hole closed, leaving Madlin alone in a valley of goblins, surrounded by familiar furnishings. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scents of Takalish wood polish and the bleach from laundered sheets. Settling into a chair from her own workshop, Madlin could imagine away the rough-cut timber walls and pretend she was on Tinker’s Island.
    The door opened. If goblins had any customs about knocking or announcing themselves before entering a home, they did not apply them to humans. “What happened here?” K’k’rt demanded. “All your things are outside and broken, and …” The tinker stared into the room, realization dawning when he saw the change in décor.
    “Your dragon suggested I bring some things back to make myself more comfortable,” said Madlin. “This is what human comfort looks like.”
    K’k’rt wandered the little house, poking his head around to inspect Madlin’s new things. He even looked into the bedroom. “I understood that you would be sleeping off-world from now on. Why the bed?”
    “Why not the bed?” Madlin asked. “I might not go home every night. With a praise-to-Eziel bed here, I can get a proper night’s sleep without retreating to my own world.”
    K’k’rt nodded slowly, still looking into the bedroom. “Good … good thinking.”
    “What brought you here?” Madlin asked. “You the one they nominated to find out why I threw my furniture by the roadside?”
    K’k’rt turned toward Madlin and blinked. Then he smiled at her and gave his familiar chuckle. “Not quite. I came by to see if you had come back at all. Fr’n’ta’gur wasn’t sure whether you would.”
    Madlin snorted. “You’re not going to buy me off with a few crates of my own guns. You’re stuck with me until I’ve got what’s mine.”
    “You know … you and Fr’n’ta’gur have a lot in common in that respect.”
    “Comparing me to your god?” Madlin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that sacrilege?”
    K’k’rt chuckled. “Even the dragons know they aren’t gods. They just get most of us to pretend, and spend their days surrounded by the most gullible of goblins.”
    “The priests?”
    K’k’rt nodded. “It keeps the hopeless ones out of the workshops and military, so it works out for everyone. So … back to work?”
    Madlin nodded and stood, gathering her tool belt and goggles. “Back to work.”

    That evening, Madlin found herself back in Fr’n’ta’gur’s lair. This time, the dragon loomed over a stack of fourteen crates, an improvement over the previous day’s delivery. Madlin’s hopes rose. He’s going to follow through. This is going to work out. Yesterday’s cries of deceit and treachery seemed like so much fear mongering. Her father had been hammering his own delusions into everyone else’s heads for so long that they were beginning to see conspiracies behind every door. The Human Rebellion’s bargain with Fr’n’ta’gur made too much sense for both sides for either to risk the arrangement by betrayal. One day that might change, and Rynn would be ready to extract Madlin at a moment’s notice—Rynn was at the controls of the Jennai’s primary world-ripper at that very second—but for now, things would continue as they had been.
    “Your gift for today,”