Chapter 3: Lon, The Goblin King

Andrew ran his hand against the tall granite walls of the Goblin castle. Granite of this type could only come from the mountains of Ergu, to the north. The shipping costs alone would’ve accounted for a third of the 500 pound gold loan he had made to Lon, King of the Goblins.

“Hey you!” someone yelled from atop the wall. Andrew brought his hand above his eyes to block the sun, craning his head to see who addressed him. It was a young Goblin, no more than eight or nine, but already thick and strong like a bull. “What you doing down there?” the Goblin asked.

“I’m from 12^th Century Bank!” Andrew yelled back. “I need to speak to Lon!”

The Goblin gave him a cockeyed look. “You want to speak to Lon? Lon the Terrible? He who ravages and pillages with disregard for human life!? He that eats whole children at Sunday Brunch? He who’s bowel movements cause the earth to quake?”

“Yes, exactly! I need to talk to him about his HELOC,” Andrew said, waving a thick green credit file up in the air. 

The Goblin bit off a piece of leather and chewed it in his mouth. He swallowed and disappeared from Andrew’s view.

“A curious Goblin indeed,” Andrew thought to himself. Andrew also wondered if that Goblin’s salary had been listed on the payroll sheet he had spread a month a earlier. Another minute passed. Were they going to let him in? He stared at the giant oak doors. He heard the thumping of feet, then grunting. The doors opened. And then Andrew saw him. The eater of children. The horrible of horrible. The creditor who knew no fear. It was Lon, King of the Goblins.  

“Mr. Cranston!” Lon exclaimed, his baritone voice filling the dry morning air. Lon was a few inches shorter than Andrew, but his hands were twice as large. Andrew noticed a small piece of brown meat between his crooked teeth. It was almost enough to distract from Lon's body odor and slug infested scalp. “Come in. Come in. We have much to discuss.”

“We do indeed!” Andrew said. Lon gestured for Andrew to follow him. As Andrew walked into the castle, past the battle axes and cross bows, the spears and broad swords, the cauldrons of oil set atop stacks of wood, ready for boiling, a foreboding chill crept up his spine. Perhaps there were other non-accrual loans he could’ve called on first. Harold the armless owed him 50 pounds of gold, and Gretta the mute 25 pounds. Yes, perhaps he could go visit them!

But before he could act on this thought, the doors locked behind him. Andrew wasn’t going anywhere.

Will Andrew get his money back? Is there any value in this castle? Is Lon going to war!? You’ll have to wait until the next installment of…. ANDREW CRANSTON: MEDIEVAL LENDER!