Jack Be Nimble by Fraser Sherman

* * * *

“Stupid, worthless, miserable boy!” The belt lashed Jack’s back, emphasizing every word. “How could you trade our precious magic beans for a useless cow?”

“It’s a good deal, Ma!” Crouched on the carpet at the center of Ma’s trailer, Jack winced at each weak blow; if she realized she wasn’t hurting him, she’d try harder and probably pull a muscle. “Briar’s a good cow, she’ll give enough milk for us to drink and plenty left over to sell.”

“Sell milk? My son, a tradesman?” The faux Gucci belt fell from Ma’s shaking hands; exhausted, she sank back into her recliner. “You gave away your destiny for a cow! When you climbed the beanstalk you could have—”

“Been eaten like Pa? It’s not like I’m a third son.”

“You’re a widow’s son, that’s almost as good.”

“The giants aren’t a threat to anyone down here, not since the Erlking started factory-farming prisoners to feed them. Jack Dairy’s pretty sure he has a destiny, and he wants a princess real bad, so I traded him for Briar Rose.”

“And what about your princess? Why do you always waste every opportunity I’ve given you, all your training—”

“I don’t want to get rich just because I know how to lie and play riddle games. I want to accomplish something—own a small business, work it up to—”

“And none of my dreams matter!” A hacking cough cut her next words off.

“You shouldn’t exert yourself like that.” Biting his lip, he tugged at the chair’s stubborn switch until the footrest came up, then tucked the comforter around her. “It’s not good for your asthma.”

“You could find a magic inhaler in the giant’s castle. One to make me healthy.”

“Or I could sell the milk, pay for a prescription—wouldn’t that be just as good? Jack Files in the SBA says he’d be glad to arrange a small business loan—someday.” Specifically when Files was sure Ma wouldn’t trade away the assets for something hopelessly impractical.

Like trading Jack’s old car for the magic beans. It had taken him six months doing odd jobs to earn the down payment, but he’d had a pizza delivery job lined up, above minimum wage, good tips ... by now he’d have had the cable reconnected, and she could be watching General Hospital.

But once she saw he could support them without a destiny, make his own way in the world, she’d be proud of him, wouldn’t she? “Ma, wouldn’t you like to eat out once in a while? Have an air-conditioner that works?”

She rolled over on her side with an audible sniff. He sat there, stroking her arm until she fell into wheezy sleep.

In the distance, he could hear loud r&b playing—of course, Miller’s third son had come home yesterday morning, with a duke’s daughter and a spaniel that shed gold when it sneezed. They’d brought in Jack Tune’s garage band to play at the engagement party.

And Ma had probably heard how the whole Miller family would be relocating into the duke’s new gated community, with a house right on the waterfront. All because Miller’s son had robbed a griffin or dragon or ogre or whatever it had been and now he had a hot new wife, money to burn ... Jack drove his fist into the floor, then gasped out in pain.

“If you didn’t want to hurt, why’d you hit it?” Puss, the talking marmalade cat, jumped in through the open window. “Metal beats flesh, even flimsy metal like this.”

“What do you want?”

“You have a cow. I like milk.”

“I don’t know how to milk Briar, not yet. Dairy promised he’d show me before he climbs the beanstalk.” He nursed his hand, wishing he could spare the Ibuprofin, but Mom ached so much these days...

“Why aren’t you climbing? Even princes go on quests, and they have everything they need already.” The cat followed Jack into the kitchen, licking herself as the boy made a Velveeta sandwich.

“Even first and second sons keep trying,” Jack said, “and they have to know the odds. Or Jack Tailor’s wicked stepdaughter, she really thought the North Wind would choose her side over Ella’s.”

“You’re a widow’s son, though, and you’re not wicked. Why not plant the beans and try? Don’t you want a princess?”

“I’d be happy with an ordinary girl ... and it’s not like I’d have to save someone from enchanted sleep to get them to like me.” Puss kept licking herself. “Is it?”

“You all look ugly and hairless to me, you know that. But you are kind—well, when you feed me.”

Jack tossed the cat a small scrap of Velveeta. “It’s not just about Pa, no matter what Jack Shrink says. It is scary, thinking of what happened to him, but—”

“How’d he die?”

“He was a second son. But I was in the hospital, we didn’t have insurance; he decided since he was the youngest son that would have to be good enough. He tried using a second-hand invisible cloak to do some industrial spying on the Erlking.”

“He thought he could beat the goblin CEO?”

“Snuck into Goblin, Inc.’s head office ... and never came out.” Don’t cry. It’s been a long time, you’re over it. “By the time my hospital bills were paid off, his savings were wiped out.”

“Why not ask Sam for some of his gold? Magic gold doesn’t run out.”

“It will if he gives it away—that’s to stop it causing an inflationary spiral. No, I just wish...” He fell silent.

“Finish your sentence!” Puss hissed. “I hate it when humans do that!”

“I was just wishing Ma believed in me. Believed I don’t need a destiny to take care of her. And wishing her not to sell the cow for seven-league boots or something useless.” He’d thought the last pair would at least work out for courier service, but when Ma found out his plans, she’d traded them for a magic sword. “But I’m only seventeen, I’m living at home, she can do it legally if she wants.”

“That’s not good. You don’t get some money for medicine, she’s going to be dead soon—mrow!” Puss leapt away from the flurry of Harlequin romances Jack hurled at him. “Why do people get so upset when I tell them the truth?”

“Because there’s always another truth, cat, for those with vision enough to see it.” It wasn’t Puss’s voice; Jack turned to the trailer door, suddenly open, and saw a tall man in a dark traveling cape, hood pulled up over his head. “Greetings, Jack.”

“If you’re a mysterious stranger, try next door,” Jack pointedly turned his back to check on Ma. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have enough trouble as it is.”

“I’m not a mysterious stranger. I’m more of a mysterious venture capitalist.” Jack snapped back around. “I was passing by, heard you talking and thought, there’s a young man in desperate need of financing.”

“I—I can’t—my Ma would—” God, why was he telling the man no?

“I have a first-rate legal team, I guarantee your mother won’t be able to trade away whatever we set up. Interested?”

“Yes, but—you are mysterious.”

“I’m not here to lure you off on a quest, Jack. Unless setting up your own dairy farm counts. Or if you have another business concept, I’m willing to listen.” Jack took an involuntary step closer. “You’re exactly what I’m looking for—a smart, sensible boy who won’t run off and leave his business in chaos just because an enchanted princess needed help.”

“Never!”

“However—” Jack froze on tenterhooks. “—have you had any experience at all in business?”

“I used to subscribe to Small Business Operator.” The man pursed his lips dubiously. “I can do it, all I need is a chance.”

“How about a test? Of your ability to function under pressure.” The man stepped closer, pulled a vial out of his pocket. “Uncork this and set it by your mother. Chamomile and echinacea mixed with the footfall of cat, excellent aromatherapy for asthma. To prove I’m in earnest.” Jack managed not to snatch the potion, but set it down on the side table next to Ma’s half-empty coffee cup and uncorked it. Was it just imagination or did she start to breathe easier at once? “Well?”

“Whatever the test is, I’ll pass it.” Good, that sounded like a take-charge, run-a-business kind of guy. “What is it?”

“I want to see how you handle yourself in a business transaction. I have a business meeting this evening in the woods.”

“The woods? Why would you—” Jack stepped back. “Goblins. You’re trading with goblins.”

“Surely you’re not planning to discriminate?”

“Goblin Meadows is a company town. If the Erlking finds out—”

“Which is why I need someone discreet and trustworthy. If you’re neither, or if you don’t have the will to take risks—well, I’d have to reconsider investing in you.” Jack opened his mouth; nothing came out. “I know about your father—”

“How?”

“I’m mysterious, remember? Let me assure you, I’m not dealing directly with Goblins, Inc. There are a ton of illegal home businesses out there offering cut-rate potions, generic magic swords, the like.”

“What about Goblin Security?” Long snaky arms, red-glowing, fell eyes, chittering, whispering ... his father’s killers.

“My truck’s cold iron and chrome; as long as we stay on the highway, GobSec won’t be able to touch us. They’ll try to talk us into the woods, but neither of us is that stupid—right? We’ll be back before nightfall—I wouldn’t risk it otherwise—and tomorrow morning, I’ll have the papers drawn up for your initial loan.

“Well, boy? What do you say?”

* * * *

“The sun’s going down.” Jack stared up at the dimming light, the long hands of the trees clawing blue from the sky. Hidden somewhere behind them sat the goblin subdivisions, surrounded by walls of thorns and GobSec patrols. “You said we’d be back home—”

“No, I said we’d be leaving Goblin Meadows by nightfall, that’s a good thirty minutes. We’re almost there, lad; quit worrying and drink your Coke.”

“My bladder’s too small. I’d have to pee in the woods.” He wanted to turn on the radio, but here in the woods they wouldn’t pick up anything but goblin metal. The truck braked to a stop; Jack glanced around, trying to stay calm and professional. “Are they out there?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Then...” He could do this. He could look goblins in the eye. “So what now? You’re sure it’s not dangerous.”

“Certainly not for me.” Something brushed Jack’s arm, then pain seared through him. He slumped against the door, unable to move, heard the truck stop, heard the stranger’s door open and close, then the passenger door opened and Jack fell into the stranger’s arms. Without a word, the stranger dragged him out and over to the nearest tree.

Movement started to return as Jack felt cold metal encircle his wrists, then heard a click. He pulled his arms forward; handcuffs thunked against the tree. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t drink the Coke. It had enough Roofies in it I wouldn’t have needed the taser.”

“I mean, why are you—why me?”

“Last boy I sold to the goblins had a destiny. Escaped, so the Erlking’s attorneys all wanted a piece of me. Eventually I got the pieces regrown, but ... I need someone who won’t escape. A nice, normal, non-heroic boy. I’ve been through the trailer park a couple of times, listened to the gossip, picked my mark. Quite well, it turns out.

“And here come my associates now.” Jack followed the direction of the stranger’s gaze. Cunning red eyes glinted in shadows.

* * * *

“Owww!” Jack couldn’t keep back a scream as the burning red welts sprang up on his arm.

“Fffailed...” Sitting in front of him like an oversized, scaled frog, the goblin crew chief, marked it on his clipboard. “Raissesss a rash...”

“Will you wash it off, please?” Jack asked the tiny kobold trailing behind its superior. “Please! If my skin all sloughs off—”

“Alwaysss complaining...” The goblin hopped off the table, but nodded to the kobold, who sprayed Jack’s arm from the plastic bottle and wiped him down with a grungy cloth. “Try preparation 233 nexxxt.”

Jack could almost laugh: He’d made it into business.

Somehow, he hadn’t thought of doing it shackled to a wall as a product-testing slave.

One shock of hair was now permanently blue from the defective hair restorative, and he hadn’t bathed in a week, unless you counted the sprayings. But they did spray him, they did feed him and he did get bathroom breaks; it wasn’t that easy to capture replacement testers and stay nominally legit. The mysterious stranger probably got a great deal.

But what would happen to Ma while he was here? There was almost no food left in the house, no money. “I’ve got to get out of here!”

“Yeah, don’t we all.” The stringy woman sitting on the stool down from him made a face. Well, she made half a face, the other half being stiff as a board. “T’ain’t no way, though.”

“Oh, a couple of years and you’ll be out.” a grizzled man across the way added. “After a point, your body loads up on potions and starts giving them false reactions—I’ve only about five months to go.”

“And it’s not as bad as it used to be,” the woman said. “When I started, testers still had to sit in their own shit, until OSHA insisted on bathroom breaks. And you did sign a consent form—”

“The goblins moved my hand for me!”

The woman shrugged. “Good enough for the feds. Not even they really want to take on the Erlking over people like us.”

“Though they say inside the private suite next to his office, there’s a lake of virgin water—” the old man said.

“And in the lake there’s a duck, and the duck holds the egg that will destroy the Erlking if it breaks,” Jack said. “I know all that stuff, but there’s never been a third son could get past ten floors of GobSec—” He broke off. The foreman was coming back up the line, one of the kobolds behind him holding a sponge and a bottle of glowing pink fluid.

He didn’t have to stay here for this. He’d palmed a needle from the scratch allergic reaction test earlier, and Pa had taught him how to pick locks. He could be out next sleep period.

Only ... he swallowed, staring at the endless line of shackled testers. He wasn’t a hero, he didn’t have a destiny, but... “I only hope widow’s sons are just as good.” The old man and woman stared at him blankly as he rose from his stool and waved to the foreman. “Hey, goblin!”

“That’s Mr. Scroungegizzard, human!”

“Scroungegizzard, I have an amazing riddle for you—or is it true you goblins forgot how to answer those when you let the suits take over?”

“Riddle?” The foreman hissed like a boiling kettle. “A goblin can anssswer any human riddle.”

“Then—you shouldn’t have any trouble making a little bet, should you?”

He hoped and prayed his parents really had trained him well.

* * * *

“The answer is, a spider eating a fly.” Jack smiled.

“Ssstupid!” The Goblin Inc. VP raked his claws over the chief negotiator’s skull. “Obvioussss ansswer! Should have guessssed!”

“You didn’t!” The negotiator hissed back.

“That means we push up the date for the union election by three more weeks.” There was a torrent of applause from the table behind Jack, where the strike committee sat, stuffing their faces. A few riddle-games back, he’d gotten them free from their chains, and burgers and fries delivered for the entire testing facility.

“Now it issss my turn to riddle you,” the VP hissed. “If I sssuccceeed ... open shop, right-to-work, agreed!”

“Agreed!” No problem there, product testers didn’t have much competition from scab labor.

“Two legs sat upon three legs—”

“What exactly is going on here?” A cold silence fell over the room as the Erlking stepped out of his elevator. He had on a black Armani jacket, black chinos, tasseled black Italian loafers, an expensive black silk shirt; speech therapists had almost eliminated his hiss. “I take a simple three-day weekend and come back to find my product testers—unionizing?”

“It—it wasss a riddle game,” the VP protested. “It ssseeemed harmlesss—we could—”

“Mr. Biteweb, did you read my last memo? The one strictly banning riddle games?” He pointed a scaly finger at the VP. “Remember our mission statement: Goblins never enter contracts—”

“Unlessss they have loopholes!”

“Therefore, we no longer play riddle games because—?”

“No ffine print!”

“Exactly.” Every eye fixed on the CEO as he strode closer. “I have worked long and hard to put us in a position where conniving humans with swords or magic charms cannot walk off with goblin assets no matter how cleverly they riddle.

Now tell me, does it fit our corporate goals to let unionization of any part of Goblins, Inc. hinge on whether or not you know what’s black and white and red all over?”

“Ahh ... no?”

“Finally, a right answer—but tragically, a little too late.” With a twist of his wrist, the Erlking wrenched Biteweb’s head off, then turned to face Jack and the other testers. “Now, might I ask if your unionization movement has such a thing as a spokesman?” No one moved. No one spoke. “Pinchfinger, will you bring out the strikebreaking trolls—”

“Leader.” Jack swallowed. “That would be me.”

The Erlking smiled. “Come upstairs.”

* * * *

“Vice president?” Jack stared across the Erlking’s desk

“You must have noticed there’s a new opening.” The Erlking smiled at Jack over the rim of his demitasse; Jack’s cup sat on the desk, untasted. “Admittedly outwitting a lackwit like Biteweb is no great triumph, but how few of my testers would dare? I can use men of daring.”

“But I’m not a goblin.”

“At the last shareholders’ meeting, I promised them a corporate suite that looked like America, or some such nonsense. You look more like America than I do.”

“What about the other pris—” The Erlking raised one black, snaky eyebrow. “I mean the long-term contract labor?”

“Sheep. Without you, they’ll quiet back down.” He fixed Jack with a beady, black-eyed gaze. “Don’t let them cloud your judgment, Jack. A team player is important—but a team player who knows when the right play is carrying the ball alone, all the way down the field, that’s a man who shapes his own destiny.”

“Uh—right.”

“It comes with the usual perks: Corporate credit card, company car, company apartment, rental options on many companions of either sex—”

“You think I’ll have to rent companions?”

“Of course not, but that way you get what you want, when you want it, exactly the way you want it.” The Erlking leaned forward, smiling. “That’s what it’s all about, right?”

“Absolutely.” Jack forced an answering smile onto his face, hoping he wasn’t about to make a terrible mistake. “But may I have a second to think about it—while I uh, pee?”

“‘Pee’?” The Erlking rolled his eyes, but gestured at the gold-handled executive washroom door. “We also provide all executives with training in etiquette—”

“I’d love to hear about that, in just a second.” Jack ran to the oaken door, ignoring the Erlking’s sigh, stepped into a bathroom twice the size of Ma’s trailer and locked the door behind him.

He raced across the marble tile floor, swung the door on the far side open, and darted into the Erlking’s private suite. Half a mile away, a white duck—the white duck—paddled in the middle of a dark pond of water so pure no goblin could stand its touch.

And none of the gryphons, three-headed dogs, gargoyles or other guardians populating the floors below in sight. Jack ran for the water.

“I do so admire initiative.” The Erlking stood in the doorway, framed against the bathroom light; Jack took one glance back and ran faster. “But I’m afraid I need you to be more of a team-player, so if I were you—”

“You’re not.”

“Which I’m quite happy about, actually.” Jack risked another glance back, saw the Erlking sprinting after him—and gaining. “‘No need for security at the actual site.’ ‘Cost effectiveness must be considered in allocating GobSec resources.’ Accountants!” The slap of Italian leather on the tiled floor drew closer. “A shame your reach exceeded your grasp, you had real potential.”

“You ate my father!”

“Is that all this is about? I assure you—”

“No. Not all.” The footsteps sounded horribly close as Jack neared the pool. “I don’t like—” Closer. “—the way—” Just a few more steps, he had to make it! “—you do business!”

Jack felt talons close on his ankle, flung himself forward, hit the water and started swimming.

“Jack, be reasonable.” The Erlking’s hiss was a little more pronounced. “I can arrange stock options—health benefits—” Jack’s hands closed on the duck; despite her quacking and wriggling, he reached under her and the egg fell into his hand. “Did I mention the rentable companions? Either sex?”

Jack hurled the egg against the onyx and gold tile on the edge of the pool.

Suddenly, an army of gray-suited, bespectacled men filled the room.

“There are irregularities in your expense account—”

“We need forms filed on each of the 4,200 people you ate last year.”

“About your latest attempt at union-busting—”

“You’ve deviated from standard accounting practices in your annual report—”

“I want my attorneys!” The Erlking backed against the wall as the crowd of gray men swelled. “My corporate spokesperson! My—”

His clothes sodden, Jack pulled himself out of the pool and lay on the tiles, smiling.

* * * *

“Treasure?” His mother, snuggled deep in the new electric blanket, sipped medicine from the spoon Jack held in front of her. “Goblin treasure? A magic carpet, a—”

“Just gold, Ma.” American money was backed with gold, or at least as good as gold, so it wasn’t a lie. Exactly. “I defeated the Erlking himself—outwitted him, really—to win the treasure.” In the form of sizable whistle-blower awards from the SEC, EEOC, OSHA and a couple of other alphabetics.

“Oh, my son. I knew my Jack had the stuff of heroes.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Wait till I tell them down at the bingo parlor!” She was proud of him. Really proud. Even if it had been just a stupid riddle-game, it felt—good. “What about your princess?”

“I’m working on it.” Technically, it had only been a really good looking SEC intern who said his blue hair looked edgy, but she had said yes to a date, and Ma didn’t need to know the details just now, did she? “And I’m going to put the goblin gold to sensible use, okay? I’ve had my adventure, now I’m going to move us into a better trailer, buy a reliable used car, invest in an organic dairy—”

“All right, all right.” She sighed. “You should be ruling a kingdom, you really should.”

“I guess.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “I love you Ma, you know? Now I got cable hooked up, would you like to watch wrestling?”

* * * *

Fraser Sherman works as a reporter for the Destin Log newspaper. His freelance work includes short stories in Realms of Fantasy and Eldritch Tales, articles in The Writer, Boys’ Life and Newsweek and the movie reference book Cyborgs, Santa Claus and Satan, on made-for-TV SF, horror and fantasy films. Fraser lives in northwest Florida.