Stepping inside the bakery, it was immediately clear that Keggr had been busy beyond repairing the outside. The interior on the first floor was now free of debris and broken furniture, and the giant stone oven had been completely repaired. Keggr was sitting on top of it, swinging his feet and smoking one of his lumpy cigars.

  ‘Keggr, how did you get the material for all this? It looks great!’

  He just shrugged, using his beard to put out the match he had lit his cigar with. “I bought it off some smugglers down the ways, told 'em you’d pay double when you got back. You know, what with you bein’ a friend of the court an’ all.” Not ideal, but assuming I could get my hands on some real gold, then it was an acceptable investment.

  Soon Keggr and Mug retreated upstairs to the living areas for the night. Aranya crept out after a few hours, promising me she wouldn’t eat anything that could speak. Somewhere out there, some poor guy was waking up to one fewer cow than before, but for now it couldn’t be helped. I would have to figure out Aranya’s situation sooner rather than later for the sake of the pets of Advalence.

  I spent my night experimenting more with Polymorph 2. In addition to my new knightly legs, I could also manifest armored arms to match. The only downside was that the hand pieces from Pauvert’s armor were mitten style rather than fingered gloves, but still, it beat crudely prodding and poking with random poles. Having arms and legs again almost made me feel human. It was funny how quickly I had gotten used to being a trashcan. It made me think that my former life really had been empty and pointless. I doubt a CEO or pro athlete would feel as comfortable as I did in a half-repaired bakery with an orc and dwarf snoring upstairs and a killer spider-woman liable to enter at any moment covered in blood.

  My existential crisis would have to wait; all too quickly, the twin moons disappeared under the horizon and gave way to the day. After Mug had a quick breakfast of Keggr’s mystery bread and cheese, we loaded into the carriage and headed for the castle. Aranya wanted to tag along, but something told me that her presence would be seen as an act of war for the royal family. At the very least, an act of lust—at least from the waist up, anyway.

  Mug and I approached the same two guards at the gate we had seen when leaving. I was using my new knight legs, feeling a little proud of my outward upgrade. They nodded me in, but nodded at Mug following behind me.

  “What happened to the other goblin? He die or something?” one asked callously. I looked at Mug. What did he mean? Sure, he was taller and broader. He had tiny tusks now, and his ears were more pointed and stiffer, and his brow looked a little heavier. Okay, and his hands were looking oversized, and his feet were straining at his boots… okay, yeah, I understood. I shot a note out and he read it aloud.

  “‘Bit of a growth spurt. Goblins, eh? Never can tell!’ I guess that’s true. Go on in, I guess.” Mug graciously bowed, exposing his thick neck before scampering behind me. I really needed to talk to Mug about his ‘goblinness’.

  We entered the throne room to Odval, Marbella, Bolshe, Vivi, and Athella. No Stelheim or Little Ed, which was probably for the best. In front of them was a tiny mustachioed man in strange clothes, excitedly talking about the future of the two nations and the opportunities that were sure to follow. Odval waved him away impatiently when he spotted us, putting on his fake ‘so glad to see you here’ face.

  “Ah! The Spirit of the House of Freise returns! Tell me, how was your time with Lord Pauvert? Quite a pickle he found himself in, yes? But I’m sure you sorted that out, haha! Right? Right?” Oof. I had not been looking forward to this meeting. I had brainstormed how to break the news that I had indeed not solved Pauvert’s issue, but in some ways I might have made it worse. I shot out my note and my least favorite guard caught it.

  “Good to see you again, Lugenhelm! It says, ‘Oh great king’—kind of a pretentious start, but let’s see where this goes—‘Oh great king, I return to you with both good and bad tidings! First the good! I have cleansed the lands of the curse that was driving the creatures of the woods mad! You’re welcome! Now for the bad tidings, which to be honest aren’t even really that bad! The curse came from Lord Pauvert’s own actions, and according to an expert, it will take the lands a few seasons before anything worth harvesting will be ready!’” The temperature dropped as Odval processed my note. “Explain.” Well, this was off to an awful start.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “His note says, ‘Your Highness, Lord Pauvert was deeply indebted and broke, probably for several years if I were to guess. He bought some items from questionable sources to increase the silk harvest, but it bit him in the base, haha! Just a little trashcan humor!’ Huh. Not sure I get it, personally.” Judging from the cold atmosphere in the room, neither did the king. I sent my next note.

  “It says, ‘Tough crowd! But what I am trying to say, my king, is that the fall in silk harvest is one hundred percent Pauvert’s fault, no exception! I merely established a long-term solution to a long-term problem! While the short term might be, er, lacking, the long term will surely be back to normal levels! I’m assuming!’” The king coldly tapped his fingers on the throne. Jeez, talk about ungrateful. I solve a magical ecological nightmare and get blamed for it not being profitable enough?

  I thought hard about how to phrase my next note. Time slowed as I frantically went through the events of the last few days. One thing caught my attention that I had mostly overlooked: a letter in Pauvert’s trash bearing an insignia that was ingrained on my subconscious; a knight bearing a hammer and standing atop a dragon's head. The royal insignia, which was so common in Advalence that it had become basically invisible. What had been on that letter? I wracked my brains as I recalled the contents of the letters one by one until it became clear. I spat out my next note.

  “It says, ‘Correct me if I am wrong, my king, but was Pauvert not in debt with the crown? Could this not be an opportunity for change? After all, if he has proven unable to manage the considerable resources of the Silken Woods, perhaps it is time for new management?’ Oh, ruthless there, Lugenhelm!” It was, but I didn’t feel bad. After all, it was all true. Pauvert had mismanaged the land. Someone else would probably run it better, especially considering magical repo men were likely to be visiting Pauvert in the next month.

  To my surprise, Marbella sat up in her throne, her lips twisted in a cruel smirk.

  “Perhaps, my King, this… Lugenhelm… is right? Sure, the Pauverts have been allies with us for years, but that was before Alard took over. His father was much more... dependable. Perhaps this could be a chance to have someone wiser to oversee this resource? Our son Bolshe has been bored for some time. This will give him something to do. It’s always better when family is involved, don’t you think?” Her logic was immediately readable; we’ll do a little nepotism, install our son as Warden, and instead of taking a tax of the profits, just take the profits.

  Bolshe smirked, his expression the exact match to his mother's.

  “Yes, father, what mother says is true! Of course, I will have to keep Alard on as a consultant, of course. I wouldn’t want to be caught by my inexperience in such matters.” Like mother, like son: they were not only going to take his land, but they were also going to make him middle manager of it at the same time. All the work and headaches, none of the profits. Okay, I felt a little bad about it.

  The king steepled his fingers before leaning back in his throne, satisfied.

  “Very well. This is… acceptable. Very good, Lugenhelm. You may go.” I may go?! Excuse me? I put me and Mug’s life on the line for this, and all I get is a ‘very well, you may go’? I know he was the king, but some things are a bridge too far! Plus, he hadn’t even complimented my new legs! I composed an angry note, destroyed it with Devour, then sent out a much more tactfully worded message.

  “It says, ‘Your highness, my chosen home and my squire both require funds for upkeep. Originally, Pauvert had promised me a percentage of his profits for my assistance. That seems impossible now, so might I humbly request a monthly stipend? I wouldn’t ask, but you know. Goblins gotta eat.’” The king sighed heavily.

  “I guess that can be accommodated. Does five silver a month sound right? I mean, it’s a goblin. It is a goblin—it’s rather large for one, if I say so myself. Is that the same one? Did the old one die trying to perform some stupid mischief and you replaced it with this… fellow?” I guess Mug’s transformation was more drastic than I realized. Vivi spoke up before I could compose a response.

  “Father! Don’t be stingy! That trashcan saved my life! You can do better than that!” It was the first time I’d heard her speak since the banana peel incident. I had assumed it had been forgotten, but I guess you save a girl’s life then she might remember that down the line. Well, I was happy for the assistance. Vivi was the only member of his family that was even somewhat friendly towards him, so he tended to listen to what she said.

  “Well… I guess… in the interest of gratitude… three gold?” He looked at her for approval, which she gave begrudgingly.

  “Er, five gold coins a month! But next time, I want better results! I am a top five king, I expect top five results! I have spoken! One of the guards will get you your coin on the way out.” I bowed alongside Mug then heel turned away as fast as I could. We had survived another audience with the king.