Redcap, Whitecap, Goblin, Thief

By Vaughn R. Demont

"A'right buddy, pay attention, 'cause I'm only gonna tell you this story once."

In The City, just beyond the gaze of humanity, dwell dragons, lycanthropes, vampires, sorcerers, gods, and the Noble Fae holding court amongst them all. Dwarves work their wonders, Sluagh gather lore of the arcane , Brownies serve with unwavering loyalty, Trolls protect with exalted courage, Phouka tell their stories that make mortals into legend. Above them are the Sidhe, who rule over all as examples and bastions of grace, art, music, intelligence, and awe-inspiring beauty beyond the ken of mortal minds. All Fae serve as exemplars of what humanity can only dream to achieve.

And then there's the Goblins.

Seen only as thieves, saboteurs, cutpurses and cutthroats, Goblins are considered the worst and lowest of the Fae for centuries, and all too many are happy to play the part they're given. If the price is right.

And then there's Nick: college drop-out, son of a murderer, slum rat, two-bit thief, out of work, out of money, and usually starving. So when a job is offered to rob a manor in the richest part of the City with a complete layout of where to find the loot, the job practically does itself, right? Simple. If only a double murder didn't happen in the middle of it, which Nick is quickly blamed for.

With the whole City after his head, he'll have to find the real killer and stay two steps ahead of the Phouka cop on his tail that Nick in no way has a crush on. It ain't easy bein' green, but ya get used to it.

Advisory: This is a work of urban fantasy with some romantic elements featuring a homoromatic demisexual male lead. This story is written in character voice, and as a result contains numerous instances of profanity. Does not contain explicit sexual content between two male characters, 'cause this ain't that kinda story. Please adjust expectations accordingly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaughn R. Demont
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781792387142

Vaughn R. Demont

Vaughn R. Demont is a graduate of SUNY Oswego and Goddard College, where he studied creative writing and being poor. He is married to a wonderful man, and hopes that one day they will finally adopt a cat. Redcap, Whitecap, Goblin, Thief was written for NaNoWriMo 2021, and as way back into writing The City, the setting for his previous seven novels. He hopes to continue expanding The City, and never teach Freshman Composition ever again.

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Redcap, Whitecap, Goblin, Thief

By Vaughn R. Demont

Cover Art by Ivy Gladstone

Copyright 2022 Blackwarren Books

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

1

Okay, buddy, pay attention, ‘cause I’m only gonna tell ya this story once.

It’s half past six in the mornin’ when the phone rings, and I can tell who it is, mostly ‘cause I’ve set up a ringtone for the caller. (It’s the rock version of Cats in the Cradle, if yer curious.) I still lift the phone with a groan and see the word Pa on the screen. I know it’s a better idea to swipe down on the bouncin’ telephone symbol, but I swipe up anyway.

The voice on the line is just as cold as it’s been for the past six years.

"Will you accept a collect call from Kirkland County Men’s Prison?"

And again, like with every other call over the last six years, it takes me a few seconds to reply, teeth gritted, with, Yeah, I will.

Seriously, fuck you, Pa.

Ya go in yet? His voice is rough, like he’s been smokin’ since puberty, ‘cause, well, he’s been smokin’ since puberty. Fuck, he offered me a cigar on my twelfth. Ugh.

Not yet. I sit up, stretch, try not to yawn ‘cause I shoulda been up an hour ago.

Do it today! It’s loud enough that I move out of the bedroom, which is actually more of an area in my apartment than an actual room. What, ya think I’m made of money? For what I got I can barely afford a studio on a fourth-floor walkup on a bad side of the Benedict, and that’s fuckin’ sayin’ somethin’.

Pa, I ain’t ready for this. In a perfect world I’d be turnin’ on a coffee machine to get the mornin’ brew started, but given what I just told ya, do ya really think I can afford coffee, much less a coffeemaker? Instead I’m crackin’ a can of heavily caffeinated soda and takin’ a long pull on it. It tastes like shit but it’ll wake me up, at least.

The fuck? This is your fuckin’ heritage, Nick. I told ya where to find it, it’ll be there ‘til the end of today. Fuck your ‘I’m not ready’ bullshit. Now. Get. Goin’. He’s past the tone he’d use when he was rousin’ my lazy ass outta bed to go to school, more to get me outta the house than learn anythin’.

I’m tellin’ ya, Pa, I don’t like this. This guy could be real trouble. No response from him. Pa?

The rapid-fire beep of a call that’s long been hung up on is my only reply. I end the call and check the time.

Shit.

So, I should probably get around to introducin’ myself, but it’ll have to wait, ‘cause I gotta take a piss. Ya can get a look around my place while ya wait. It’s pretty simple, given my budget of thrift stores and the found ‘n functional shit boutique. Kitchen’s two foldin’ chairs boosted from a finished meeting for addicts or cancer sufferers or relatives or somethin’ where there’s already eighty of the damned chairs and only five or six are really needed. Table’s a card table with a torn canvas top, with a folded bedsheet atop it to double as a tablecloth. Two plates and a bowl, ‘cause they’re all I have, so they’re washed every meal, open cereal box of generically generic corn flakes.

Ya know the kind, right? Where even store brand would be an indulgence and yer certain this shit wasn’t really intended to be eaten by humans?

Good thing I ain’t human.

Oh yeah, I ain’t covered that, yet. Ya probably want to skip the tour until I clear that up for ya, right? I get it, so I’ll have a look in the mirror both so I can make sure my hair ain’t too fucked up, and ya get a look at my ugly mug.

Ya ever heard of Goblins? Either ya have, and you think we’re all outta some Tolkien wet-dream and are the cockroaches of a fantasy settin’, or you think we’re tall and slender with fabulous hair and wanna let ya know that ya remind us of the babe. Wish it was the latter, closer to the former.

So yeah, you’ll see green skin, try not to stare buddy, people will think yer crazy or really into short guys. I’m a hair over five feet, long arms and shorter than average legs, sapphire blue eyes with irises big enough to make me an anime protagonist, shock of deep blue hair that’s dark enough to see as black, light beard, hook nose. Can’t forget my ears, of course, like big flappy triangles on the side of my head with four steel piercings in each. Let’s see, what else… We ain’t at the point yet where we’re ready to talk about my dick.

Besides, yer probably still dealin’ with the whole I’m a Goblin thing.

Big picture? Let’s say you and me get on the UTA and ride from 90th and V to the beginnin’ of the line all the fuckin’ way over in Allora…

Fuck, ya ain’t from the City, are ya?

Okay, some more preamble. We’re in what’s properly known as the Unified City (or Argent City dependin’ who yer talkin’ to), made up of five little towns that united into one big city and blah, blah, blah. Right now we’re in the Benedict, the shitty part, and Allora’s the rich part. Still with me? Great.

So, let’s say we’re on a train to Allora, and I tell ya to take a look around the car and tell me what ya see.

My guess is that ‘round seven in the mornin’ you’d see a couple people with monitor tans who been up all night, a guy you’d expect to be sittin’ on a street corner buskin’ or sellin’ weed, a girl who looks like she’s on her way to a poetry readin’ or protest in Tolon Park, and a couple of frat-boy pricks. Typical light mornin’ crowd, right?

What I see?

Two vampires racin’ back home to get into cover before the dawn gets ‘em smokin’. A satyr, y’know, the guys with goat legs and horns and big dicks?

A dryad, pretty much a tree spirit who’s explorin’ the City with the wide-eyed attitude of a tourist. And… two frat-boy pricks.

What? Obviously, there’s gonna be a lot of normal humans.

Good thing this is only an example, otherwise those frat-boy fucks would be hittin’ me up ‘cause they think I’m holdin’ some coke. The others would just assume I’m gonna mug ‘em ‘cause that’s the sort of rep my people have.

I ain’t even covered the Fae yet, mostly ‘cause I want ya to let this shit percolate so I can finish my soda (cola with a k) and get dressed.

Yeah, I caught you starin’ at my tight green ass. This ain’t that kinda story, got it?

Considerin’ I got a smartphone, you probably get that this isn’t a sword and sorcery sorta thing. I’m goin’ with blue jeans intended for twelve-year-olds, a white tee, and a black zip-up hoodie. Shoes are modified Chucks, as I gotta cut out the front of ‘em ‘cause my toes got big honkin’ nails that I practically need a hacksaw to trim, and I got wide feet. All the shit I need is in my knapsack.

Gonna cut the runnin’ commentary for a bit, ‘kay? Got shit to do.

So, I already got an address, intel, and the tools I need.

Oh yeah, ya heard my Pa, but I don’t think I ever told ya my name, did I? Nicholas Arsenne Blackwarren, but call me Nick, we ain’t in fuckin’ church.

That’s outta the way now. Ready to go, buddy? A’right, then.

Let’s go steal some shit.

2

There are five parts of the City worth mentionin’: Allora, Destry Bay, Beckettsville, Grunstadt, and St. Benedict. Destry, Grunstadt, and the Benedict are on the shores of the bay leadin’ out to the Atlantic. Allora’s the place with the skyscrapers, Beckettsville is where the middle-class people are dealin’ with gentrification. There’s economics and dynamics, but that’s all shit for some guy with a bowtie and a book deal to worry about.

It’s a hike to get to 90th and V, transfer from the Blue Line and onto the Green down into Grunstadt. Ever been to a big city and there’s a Chinatown and Little Italy and all that shit? That’s Grunstadt, only it’s a Little Tokyo, Jamaicatown, Little Dublin… The Germans? They moved into Beckettsville or Destry or Allora or just to another city by now. There’s pockets of other immigrants here and there. What I will say is if ya can see the world as I do, ya know to be extra fuckin’ careful.

Step one?

Get off the stop in Little Tokyo, and go to the place with the big red torii gates with the statues of the foxes outside of Ten Oaths Distribution, the major supplier for rice in the city and a lot of the state. While there, I gotta go to the shrine, take a stick of incense, light it, stick it alongside the others, clasp hands, and then bow three times.

Why? ‘Cause I don’t want Kitsune giving me shit while I’m workin’. Little respect goes a long way with them.

Step two? Don’t cross 60th on foot headin’ toward the Benedict. That’s Phouka territory and they’re not cool with sewer rats like me workin’ their turf. Jamaicatown? No problems, but I’ve never liked spiders. I’m goin’ for that thin, three block slice between the Irish and the Jamaicans, the line of brownstones a couple blocks from the bay where ya don’t want to be at night if the gargoyles are perched on the corners, ‘cause they can move and rip you to shreds if they don’t like your smell.

And unfortunately, Goblins got a distinctive odor.

Listen, we don’t fuckin’ reek, okay? It’s just a distinctive smell, so don’t be a dick, yeah?

This neighborhood, on 58th and Bayswater (Ya can tell yer in a nicer area if the streets have names ‘stead of letters), is where I’m supposed to be this mornin’. Where I’m supposed to steal some shit for my Pa and fence enough to load his commissary account so he can keep bribin’ and payin’ for protection, ‘cause Goblins don’t do too well in a human prison. I could bore ya with the details why, but ya already seen what I look like, so you can guess why someone like my dad wouldn’t be popular in jail ‘cept as a hood ornament for someone’s dick.

Now it ain’t like I’m just strollin’ up to this place on a whim to bust in and start takin’ shit. I did do my homework, y’know, or as ya mighta heard it called in the movies, casin’ the joint. If I sucked at this, I’dve just taken a couple walks by the place during the day and at night, once on the weekends, once during the week, figure a good idea of the security and likeliness that someone’s home, pick a day and time, and head in.

I do not suck at this, so I did a little more. First? I checked the mail in their slot to get their name, the Greenmeadows, so I know it’s a Sidhe house. (They’re the nobles, and they’re fuckin’ dicks. That’s all ya need to know.) Then I look ‘em up on the ‘net, get the number, ‘cause Sidhe are nothin’ if not tech-ignorant, whiten up my voice a few notches, and offer ‘em a discount on a newly installed home security system. Coulda gone three ways.

One? They hang up, and I call them every six hours like every other telemarketer until they give me an answer I like. This, luckily, is not how it went down.

Two? They show interest, and I explain it’s only for a new install, not for an existin’ system. If they’re still interested? I set up a fake appointment for the followin’ week and now I know they only have whatever guards they have ‘stead of an alarm system.

Three? They tell me they got one already. I ask which company and offer a lower price if they act now, and now I know which company they use. I go to that company, say I’m a house attendant for the property, and my boss is lookin’ to upgrade, so I need to see which features are installed so we can move forward on spendin’ more money there. I set up an appointment for the followin’ week to send someone out, and now I know exactly what kind of security I’m lookin’ at.

Does this take a while? You betcha. But prep and social engineerin’ ain’t never ruined a sneak.

So, thank Shadow, they have a regular human-installed system. If I was dealin’ with somethin’ the Knockers came up with, I’d be fucked. Not gonna go into who they are, mostly ‘cause I hope I don’t run into a situation where I need to. Also, the rep at Argon Security was rather insistent in his suggestions that the windows should be alarmed above the first floor, includin’ the skylight.

That was Christmas fuckin’ mornin’ when I heard that.

Now brownstones in the City are just high-end row houses, and the nicest ones are over in Destry where the majority of the nobles live. The houses here are for minor nobles and titled knights, so they got house staff that’s always a butler and usually two Brownies to tend to the house. Only thing ya gotta know about Brownies is that they’re maids and servants, none of ‘em have ever amounted to anythin’ more. Neither have Goblins, but at least we have the sense to be pissed off about it.

So of course, there are small walkways between them, and that’s the way in. At nine fifteen in the mornin’ after Sir Greenmeadow has left for the day to probably attend his liege the Baron Seneschal of Snootyfuck or somethin’, I go to work. Brownies are punctual as a real Rolex, so I know around nine seventeen the first will come outside to tend the garden in front, so I got two minutes to get up to the roof.

I know I mentioned the windows ain’t alarmed, but ya really think I’m gonna sneak in to a third floor window on the front of the house? Climbin’ will be easy. I got long arms and strong legs and you can only watch so much of those ninja obstacle course shows when yer a kid before you want to learn to do that parkour shit yourself.

Should go without sayin’ that ya shouldn’t try this shit at home, okay?

It has to be fast, ‘cause I’m workin’ against gravity, here. Alternate between right hand and left foot, left hand and right foot, pushin’ down against the walls to hoist me up for a quarter-second, about as long as the wall will hold me, but enough time to get up to the next step and again and again until I grip the roof’s ledge and pull myself up, and do it all without makin’ any real noise.

I’m on my back, pantin’, ‘cause that’s an exhaustin’ way to get into a house, but better than that, it’s an unexpected way to get into a house. I don’t hear any alarms, anyone shoutin’ for help or that someone’s on the roof. A slow peek over the side down to the streetside garden shows a woman shorter than me workin’ in the garden. Step one is done. Now to get in without anyone noticin’ me. Or smellin’ me.

As for my aforementioned odor? Let’s visit the prep again, shall we? I mentioned the garden? They grow some pleasant smellin’ flowers, and among them, jasmine. Then, I just gotta go to a store that sells essential oils. If ya think that’d be difficult, buddy, I got a bridge to sell ya. Scratch that, I’d have an excitin’ business opportunity that’ll let ya work from home for a minimum investment and make thousands of dollars a month!

Fuck, I wish I was kiddin’ about that last part. I lost eight cousins and three aunts to that pyramid shit.

Anyway, I picked up a couple tincture bottles of jasmine oil. After that it’s just a matter of rubbin’ it on myself in the pits and crotch, and the only lingerin’ smell will be of the flowers they bring into the house every night.

The roof, by the way, is smooth stone, with a raised skylight in the center. I crouch, get on my belly, and examine the skylight from all sides not just for the latch that opens, but also any wiring for the alarm. Obviously, it’s near the latch. Luckily, I came prepared.

Now, I’m not gonna go into exactly how ya bypass an alarm system, ‘cause that would be somethin’ that could be abused. It’s a task that requires steady hands, reliable tools, and well… A little charm I picked up from my Pa.

"Shadow shroud me from the light

My steps a whisper in the night

This one the sentries do not see

What ways are closed open to me"

Okay, so yeah. I cheated. There’s a soft Fzzt! as the alarm shorts out, and the latch clicks unlocked. I was speaking Sigil, which sounds like English to human ears ‘cause Sigil is the language of magic and to humans magic don’t exist outside of Vegas or circles of women celebratin’ sisterhood in the woods. I can’t work magic, really, it’s a charm, which aren’t spells or some shit like that, more like entering a cheat code to the universe.

Granted, it don’t last too long, which is why I waited to do it. I open the skylight with my gloved hands, and while the alarm’s busted, it won’t be noticed as much as a door or window would. The room below me is empty, and the drapes are pulled closed, makin’ it dim enough that the charm will work well enough to hide me, or easy enough to ignore. Granted, it’s fifteen feet down.

When ya free-run and do gymnastics and parkour and everythin’ else, the first thing you learn to do is fall without breakin’ your legs, and to do it as smoothly and quietly as possible. Also ya look fuckin’ cool when ya do it right.

The room I drop into is a study, closed door and without people. Best room to drop into, which is why I picked it. Rolltop desk, leather chair, bookshelves with plenty of old volumes, a rug that’s likely worth enough to pay rent for four months but won’t fit in my knapsack. There’s plenty of searchin’ I can do, since the butler isn’t due to be in here for another twelve minutes. You learn to pick out what’s good to take.

Antique pocketwatch? Unique etching, distinctive, easy to trace. Leave it.

Gold letter opener? Pawn shop would melt it down, but pay for it. That’s a take.

Everythin’ else is too heavy, or too distinctive, or fake. They can’t all be treasure chests, you know. The gardenin’ brownie will be outside for another eight minutes. The other will likely be in the kitchen in another two minutes, so it’s just a matter of listening at the door for the sounds of feet goin’ downstairs. Goblin ears help for this, ‘cause brownies can be quiet, so I gotta pull off my hood to press my head to the door.

What