Free The Fortune of Goblins: Mesa-Tulsa by Joshua Cox-Steib Page B

about its business.
                  Gurgle was back at his shop, preparing his robot assistant – his shopbot - to handle the customers while he went upstairs to grab some sleep. The dog was watching him from outside. It wasn’t alone. On the sidewalk, just in front of the bush-concealed canine, stood a large-framed man of seven or eight feet – a clear sign of orc heritage. The man was watching Gurgle’s shop, and he was scowling. He started forward with the sudden jerkiness of one harshly divided. A low growl rumbled out from the bush, and the man pulled up short, his expression darkening even further.
                  The large, displeased man stood in the middle of the street staring through a lone window at the oblivious Gurgle. Not yet. With a shudder the man turned, walked back onto the sidewalk, and continued on around the corner. The scowl, previously decorating his large face, had transformed into a look of fright. Leaves rustled quietly as the dog’s head turned, watching the man leave. Its eyes lit upon a bracelet worn by the retreating orc.
                  Gurgle finished setting the shop to run itself, threw open the front door, and stuck his green head out. His deep baritone voice ripped through the night air.
    “Kisses. Here.”
                  Tail wagging, the dog leapt out of the bush, dodged around a solitary cart driving on the street, and bolted through the open door; giving its goblin a quick lick on the way in. The door closed silently on well-oiled hinges.
                  Gurgle slept. When he awoke it was to the knowledge that not a single customer had visited the shop while he was asleep. He didn’t let it bother him. Every new business endeavor was a process: the rewards often slow to come, and subtle in their delivery.
                  He didn’t bother deactivating the robot. Today was an off day, and he planned on spending it well. A little bit of shopping, an hour or two over at the warehouse to feed his pets and work on his latest project, and then, perhaps he could arrange a “chance” encounter with one of his neighbors. Make friends. Maybe even get a dinner invitation out of it.
    Gurgle was eager to break into the social scene of the city, having overheard much about it from the lady specter that lived behind his shop. She was always out hanging laundry, gossiping away on the phone. Always. Apparently she had died some years back while hanging laundry, and had simply never stopped. She’d slowly gone from zombie to ghost as her body decomposed, and the city let her be. The property had been kept in the family, but was currently being rented to a cute little family of Drow. Well, one was Drow and the other a Duergar; Gurgle had heard all about them. And what he’d heard of their life had him very interested.
    Gurgle was feeling good as he walked past his cart. Shopping didn’t involve driving anywhere, since he lived in Merchant’s Lane. The district was full to bursting with shops and hawkers selling anything and everything. So far, Gurgle had only been to the ones right along the street front, those next to his own. Today he would travel a bit deeper into the local commercial hub; there were a few hard-to-find items on his list.
    The city, being perpetually at dusk, had some level of activity at all hours. The passing shoppers, and many of the shop-owners gave the goblin hard looks as he passed. Gurgle waved back, happy that everybody was acknowledging him. Seeing an item from his list he stopped to talk with one such shop-owner.
    “How much for gangrenous chimera toe?”
    The shopkeeper - an elderly gnome – tightened his eyes at the sound of the goblin’s voice.
    “Do you have an Alchemist license? I’ll need to see it before I can sell to you.”
    Gurgle was surprised, but not upset.
    “No. No I don’t. Where can I get one?”
    The gnome aborted an expression of contempt.
    “North, in the Arcane