Goblin Slayer, Vol. 15

That he was maturing, yes? Growing? He wasn’t sure—but perhaps. If nothing else, the girl was certainly learning and growing. Enough so that he had hesitated to take her into the back here. The place behind the flashy, splashy gambling venue. The innermost room at the end of the twisting maze of hallways.

It was worth knowing that places like this existed, and how to use them if you needed them—but not more than that.

The place was like a private room at the back of a restaurant, quiet and calm—but there wasn’t a single window. There were tables that looked as if they were just waiting for food and drinks that might come out at any moment—but there were no glasses on them.

Goblin Slayer sat on one side of the table, the man in a suit on the other. The man extended his hand politely, and Goblin Slayer responded mechanically.

“Now, good sir, why not take it easy? Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, I will. Since you’ve offered me a chair and a cup, I shall introduce myself. Please relax.”

“I appreciate your introducing yourself. As you can see, I am a man of but little etiquette, and I must beg your indulgence.”

“And I am dressed for business, as you can see, so I must beg
your
indulgence.”

“No, no, I must insist you relax.”

“No,
you
relax.”

“Well, if you insist, then I will, gratefully. I hope you don’t mind my relaxing first.”

“You must excuse my uncivilized appearance. I come from a pioneer town on the western frontier; my master was he who rides on barrels and my profession is the slaying of goblins.”

“I believe this is the first time we’ve met. With apologies, I will speak on behalf of the madam. I am the owner of The Mermaid.”

“Thank you for accepting my introduction. Please raise your head.”

“Of course, dear sir, but raise
your
head first.”

“That would be problematic.”

“At the same time, then.”

“That is acceptable.”

“The request is humbly made, then.”

It was a careful, ritualized exchange. Quick, but always polite, greetings exchanged with every concern for courtesy. After a moment, they both lifted their hands and looked each other in the face.

“I’m surprised you felt this required the owner’s personal attention,” Goblin Slayer said.

“One would never wish to risk appearing rude to a Silver-ranked adventurer,” the man replied, scrutinizing Goblin Slayer’s helmet just enough that it wouldn’t be impolite. “Let alone the pupil of Burglar, He Who Rides Barrels.”

“My teacher…,” Goblin Slayer began and then corrected himself. “My master is my master. I don’t seek to borrow his influence.”

“Does one not use everything that one can?”

“I appreciate that, but if I wore his name down to where it could no longer be used, I would be yelled at for it.”

“Very well, then.” The man’s courteous smile never faltered. “You are the one who has the affections of our Lady Sword Maiden, the one who killed the goblins in the city sewers, my dear patron.”

Goblin Slayer groaned quietly, less than amused to be addressed this way. No matter how he sliced it, it was too grand a name for him. He was no famous master of the sword.

“Can our runners be of use to you?” the man asked.

“No, I’m here for information,” Goblin Slayer replied.

“We do sell that, of course.”

“I’m looking for a lost centaur. It involves a…” Goblin Slayer gazed into empty space as if hoping to find the word there. At least it was easier to remember than the name of a monster. “…a coachman.”

“Ah. Silver Blaze.” The employee of the casino—no, of the Rogues Guild—nodded knowingly. “Yes, we were worried about her, too. The gamblers did have such a soft spot for her.”

He clapped his hands, summoning someone. A moment later, a young woman in an outfit that didn’t look rogue-like at all appeared in the doorway bearing food. Signature dishes from the water town: fish and shrimp that had been steamed or fried or something in oil. There was grape wine, too. The fact that both cups were poured from the same jug was no doubt a gesture of goodwill on the part of the Rogues Guild. Goblin Slayer, however, quietly declined the drink.

“I’m in the middle of a job,” he explained. Besides: “I have heard that after this is over, my party will eat together.”

“Pardon us. Yes, of course. If you’ll excuse me, then…” The employee took a small sip of his own wine, just enough to wet his lips. “As it happens, racing centaurs disappear with a certain regularity. It’s not as uncommon as you might think.”

This was his explanation:

Sometimes a racer who was rewriting the record books would be abducted and disappeared as a way of striking against their master’s business. Or a centaur might be in transit when their lanista was killed, and they found themselves sold to someone in the area. Or a
ludus
might go bankrupt and its centaurs run away in the night, or they might be put up as security on the mortgage and all of them be taken away somewhere at a stroke.

There was nothing unusual about centaurs being caught up in human disputes in this way. And of course there were slave traders who might become illegally involved in the middle of it all. Yes, they existed, but…

“But all that’s hardly something that happens only to centaurs. Even if their plight does seem to attract a particular type of bleeding heart.”

“I understand.”

What were they supposed to do—stop the centaurs from running? It wasn’t possible. These were people who were born to run. If you had seen them, vivacious and beautiful as they raced around the arena, you knew that. Though many of them might never reach the very top, the coliseum was still a place of honor and of dreams.

To tell the centaurs never to run again—wouldn’t that be even crueler than kidnapping them? It would be like telling an adventurer not to go on adventures because they were dangerous. Yes, there were probably those among the racers who had been sold into it as slaves. But then, there were adventurers who had taken up the trade for lack of any other choice. No one had the right to cast aspersions on someone else’s path in life. Even Goblin Slayer could understand that much.

“However, I’m not here to ask about the coachman or who kidnapped Silver Blaze,” he said.

“Hoh,” responded the man in the suit.

“If it was a question that could be answered by asking, Silver Blaze would already be in the arena racing.”

“I agree entirely.”

“That’s why I’m here on this…” There, Goblin Slayer stopped. He still hesitated to speak the word
adventure
. Instead he said, “What I want to know about…is goblins.”

“Senior! Senior! You
have
to trade with me!”

“Who, me…?”

The red-haired elf sounded particularly flummoxed as the other girls came rushing into the cabaret. The elf wore a very revealing leather outfit, rabbit ears that bobbed over her head, and even a puffy white tail on her behind. She’d just been checking herself out in the mirror—most inconvenient timing.

Even I have to admit…

Her body really wasn’t much to look at. But she was on a run, so there was no choice. If there was one silver lining, it was that it seemed to please the boy who’d been running with her for so long.

In any case, the reason for the blush on the face of the adventurer who served the Supreme God wasn’t the costumes.

“I’m not sure I can stand to be seen this way…!”

“Can’t say I think lookin’ like this is any cause for concern,” said another girl who had been all but dragged into the room. White ears floated above her head, too, but she wasn’t wearing any gloves—the fur on her bare legs and arms proved that she was a real harefolk.

She’d hopped through the casino with such enthusiasm, the elf had worried she might bump into a customer.

She sure proved she could dodge people with the best of them, though.

The red-haired elf couldn’t help being impressed—although she
didn’t think she’d been in business so long as to warrant being called “Senior.” She covered for herself with a discreet cough.