The final huntress leans up against the kitchen cabin door, leather armour still on and I am certain time is running out, second to my patience.

“Your Matriarch has commanded you, hasn’t she? Your mate agreed did he not?”

A real slow nod of her head the reply. This is the umpteenth confirmation, while I perch naked upon a long bench waiting. I hold out a hand to her. “Now or never. Either you approach or you leave, which will it be?”

Shoving off from the door, fists clench either side of her waist she takes cautious sliding steps towards me.

The kitchen cabin door bursts open, the huntress far enough away to avoid being struck, as Milga Stone Blood rushes over the threshold passing her by.

“I have told the Matriarch to leave with who she has, the Smith Hob is making good time and keeps plenty of company, you will need to get dressed Lord.” Milga grabs for her knees, sucking in deep breaths.

“I must leave also …” the huntress protests.

Milga straightens, facing her with a devilish smile.

“No, you stay now. When you took so long, your Matriarch assumed great reluctance and moved to where the Laughing Tusks are hiding. The time it took for me to find that out and go there to hurry her on, now lost to you and Lord Hob. In fact, get to dressing him now as there is a commotion at the Farm entrance, which I will attend to.”

The huntress looks lost, hesitating, then hurrying to follow Milga until a clunk sound, the outside crossbeam slamming down, locking the kitchen cabin door in place.

Probably a question I should have asked at the start, but hey the others didn’t seem to think it essential. “What is your name?”

Her hands lay flat against the door, gentle hopeless slaps. My question turns her around to face me once again.

“Your name?”

Almost too quiet to discern she whispers, “Zebia.”

“My Law Speaker has the male form of your name, so I know it well. I promise you are safe. You need to start dressing me though, the Smith Hob must catch you attending to me. Do you understand?”

She nods and edges closer finding my loincloth, dangling it away from herself at arm’s length, although almost in position to wrap.

There is a clunk, I surmise the crossbeam. Zebia is concentrating so hard or is so horrified by the task before her, the noise doesn’t register, and she continues attempting to tie off the loincloth using a fingertip grip on the edges of the cloth. Almost done and the kitchen cabin door is flung open with a bang and the huntress freezes in place. The Smith Hob thunders into the eating area and Zebia breaks screaming in a panic seeking refuge behind the serving table fixture flinging my loincloth over her shoulder in the process.

“A shy one! I didn’t think such a goblin still existed in all of civilisation,” he bellows.

I shrug. I am still naked and yet it seems to make no difference to my fellow Hob so why should my nudity bother me.

“Zana and Gato inside now. There is work to be done,” he shouts through the kitchen cabin doorway.

He places his thumbs in his worn leather belt while rocking back on his heels and examining my face. There is a surprise coming …

Their large noses dominate their faces, their heads, their entire bodies. Yet their bellies save me from displaying total abject disgust, perfect round bumps indicating both are with child. I glance at the Smith Hob.

“The deal was two and here they are. I thought you may get two or three pregnant, not the entire seven. The Head Hob sends his congratulations and compliments you on the potency of your farming!”

The penny drops, with only two or three pregnant he could keep them and send any two who weren’t, with all seven pregnant there is no need for the ruse, which explains his jovial attitude and why he insisted on visiting, he expects no harsh words between us.

Hands begin crawling over my naked flesh while making a half-hearted attempt to dress me.

The Smith Hob bellows out once again. “They crave your tool even when full of arms and legs, is it a magic wand?” He snickers this time at his own joke.

I slap them both on the back of their heads. “Dress me,” I growl.

“That’s the way, one of yours tried to waylay my arrival and I soon put him in his place.”

I drop my head, pretending to inspect the two attending to me as I didn’t think I could school my face well enough to conceal my concern.

“Wait a moment, care to indulge me?” he asks, a sly undertone to his voice, yet to deny him probably a gamble.

“You are my guest …”

“Zana, Gato round up the shy one, if she struggles let me know. A couple of slaps will soon sort her.”

The wait isn’t long, Zebia recognises a callous threat when she hears one.

“Get her naked I want to see Farmer Hob in action …”

Enough of this! Why am I acceding to this lump? I step up to the Smith Hob, he is wider, but I am slightly taller. “No.” My voice firm, not loud or demanding. “I don’t tell you how to smith and you don’t tell me how to farm. Look at her … terrified. Not worth wasting seed on as she won’t fall pregnant. Ask Zana and Gato for proof, they were relaxed, welcomed me inside them and like the other five, pregnant.”

“Suppose so …” he whimpers.

Is the big lug truly crestfallen and chastised? Each Hob is the master of their area and within those meets and bounds can’t be opposed and therefore the Smith Hob must defer to the Farm Hob when farming women is concerned. Is that truly the way of this world? His acquiescence further proof of this unbreakable rule …

“Zebia stay and observe how Zana and Gato dress me.”

She has enough sense to stare at my body and nowhere else, silent until I am fully clothed.

“The Head Hob’s messenger said you would bring additional spears? How many?”

He rubs his hands together, “Many. More than he asked for because I propose a trade.”

“Can we discuss now, or do you need me to inspect the goods – not necessary I know, like I said I don’t tell you how to smith …”

His beaming smile, the answer. “Astute, Lord Klug. I have many small noses with me and if you would accept two instead of three and two spears for one big nose, I will explain why shortly. You see, not only can I supply you with the fifteen spears the Head Hob asked me to, but a further twenty spears. The reason only two is because not all big noses are good sniffers, whereas my original seven were proven champions. Fair?”

“The twenty will most likely be pregnant, so if any give birth you must send the babes back to me?”

He extricates a thumb out of his belt and scratches his head with the now free hand.

“Yes, I see, given your ploughing success more true than less true. How about ten females and I keep the babes, you also throw in five teenagers, preferably from the same family otherwise they will howl, and big noses tend to stick, mother to daughter.”

Stamping my boots to push home my feet I return to considering his proposal. “Maybe yes, inspect what I have on the Farm first, I recently needed to end many to keep the others in line … so I may not have enough.”

“Right, lead the way,” he prompts.

I call over my shoulder, “Zana and Gato introduce Zebia as to what is expected when being seeded, maybe the mystery scares her.”

I lead Smith Hob outside the kitchen cabin; Zeb is waiting, and I need to ignore the backhand, shaped bruise across his cheek. “Fetch all the big nose females and girl teenagers, have them assemble in front of the Silo.”

“Yes, Lord Hob, immediately.” He runs off and Smith Hob leads me towards the Farm entrance and the forty small nose females he brought with him. They all squat down in the dirt, their clothes rags. At least Zana and Gato’s clothes are functional and in good condition. Spotting Rexa I wave her over.

“Provide water to these …” I wave my hand over the forty.

“Yes, Lord Hob.” Rexa jogs off to obey.

Beside each, well almost each, is a spear. He made them carry one each but no food or water?

“Are you sure they will all survive, some look done for?” I whisper.

He sidles up beside me and I am certain he is feigning interest.

“Need some food maybe, Farm has plenty of food, doesn’t it?”

I point to the closest field. “It depends upon how well that field grows or not, still many sunrises away yet.”

Before I notice he leaves my side in a hurry, making a beeline for the sow pen.

“You have boar!” He licks his lips. “Surely you will slaughter one to feed your guest?”

“None of these, they are sows, breeding stock. But let me say I may have made some arrangements.”

The Smith Hob launches his lumbering form into a parody of dancing, nearby goblins run away. I take the opportunity to head over to the Silo. Once I arrive Zeb updates me on the female goblins he has assembled, and I provide him with another instruction.

“Warn everyone there will be a boar on the spit tonight for our guest and unless any are absolutely required, they are ordered to stay away.”

He nods and hurries off yet again to organise the attendance of essential goblins only. Smith Hob stops mid-dance looking about. I wave him over to the Silo. Zeb has found enough who I believe fit the criteria, now it is up to my guest to accept or decline as I wait for him to arrive.

Apart from the goblins working the fields and those in front of the Silo everyone else has found something to do elsewhere. It seems either Zeb or Milga have spread the word.

“Do any of these meet your requirements?”

There is one line, the available teenage girls stand in front of their mothers, all wrapping their daughters in their arms. I know sending them to Copper Village will expose them to a less than ideal life but there is nothing to be done for now. For the fifteen that leave, the forty arrivals now have a chance and that is the only silver lining on offer. The rest is up to genetics, if they prove themselves to be champion sniffers their lot should improve if Zana and Gato are examples of Smith Hob’s cast-offs.

He progresses down the line, with a hand on their chins he studies the facial profiles of each trying to identify what I think he believes are his best prospects. He doesn’t perform a happy dance while conducting his examination, instead, the tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth while he concentrates, this is serious business.

As he taps out his choices there is fatal acceptance on their faces. He needs to work the line again to reach the agreed number, which means these second choices are probably making up the numbers. I hope to see them returned.

“I will take these and leave now,” he states.

I am taken aback. “You don’t wish to stay for the boar feast?”

“No. Thank-you for the offer though, it is just I am keen to try these sniffers as the copper sorely tests me it does … so I must be going. Sorry and all. Best of luck with the forty.”

He waves his arm at his selection and off they march before him.

“If any don’t match your expectation, I will want them returned,” I call out.

Calling over his shoulder he shouts back, “Certainly, a mine doesn’t have spare food!” With that last reply, he and his chosen are through the Farm entrance. I note they all shoulder waterskins and hug small bundles of food.

“How is your cheek?”

“How did you know …”

“You always stand in the exact same place, slightly behind and beside me, you are like a second shadow. No one else stands there.”

A half chuckle terminates. “My cheek has learnt a lesson Lord Hob and that is only you are non-Hob like.”

“The food and water they carried away with them, is that my non-Hob generosity?”

“As you sense my presence and call me your second shadow, I at times sense your will and we should both wish for some of those to survive and be rejected as a couple of the teenagers I recognise from attending archery training with my daughters.”

Movement returns to the Farm as more goblins go about their business now the Smith Hob has taken his leave.

“Let the Farm know all are invited tonight, a shame for the boar to be wasted. Also ask the unlucky goblins still waiting in front of the Silo to show the new females around, dropping off the spears they carry to my cabin. Feed them next and then the allocation of rooms, explain they will need to share. Also, find out if any males have lost their mates and possibly children, they have forty new faces to choose from.”

“Yes, Lord Hob.” And with that reply, Zeb hurries off.

“Glad to see you return to my side, partner.”

“I never left. You warned me about other Hobs, so I chose to organise from hiding, not needing to learn the lesson like Zeb. I did warn him, but he said you would need the time his obstinance could provide.”

Zeb deliberately placed himself in harm’s way, his choice of bulky Hob probably not the ideal opponent.

“Make sure the kitchen cabin door is barred from the outside, that will keep three of our latest guests together and out of the way for now. Wait for the forty to deliver the thirty-five spears to my cabin and find help to transport them to the Laughing Tusks in hiding.”

“All of them? You promised ten, fifteen would be more than generous …”

Maybe there is guilt in me from taking Meb’s mate … regardless Milga is right, fifteen is more than enough.

“You are right, there is generous and then there is stupid. Deliver fifteen. I will ensure the remaining twenty are stacked inside my cabin. Have I given you any free time to spot and train some archers?”

“Me no, fortunately for you I delegated to three of your wives. Every time you put a boar on a spit, they harvest the sinews before any cooking starts and now that I know the Laughing Tusks are good with wood, I will request some bows and arrows in exchange for the extra spears – with your approval of course.”

“You have my approval, but do we have any future archers?”

“Ask your wives, Lord Klug.”

Milga heads for the kitchen cabin and I decide to return to my cabin, there are four faces I haven’t seen all day.

---

Flinging the cabin door open, four voices belonging to my latest wives assault my ears with complaints, requests and demands. Ignoring their screeching, I fake smile and approach my bed. As I draw nearer their tactics change, the four seductively writhe between the furs, their vivacious smiles and pouting lips working to entice me to attend them first. Using eye to eye contact I select two wives with my come-hither hand movements drawing them to me, they take a moment to shoot looks of triumphant at the other two and then favour me with a full-body visage promising much. When my prey is within arm’s reach I strike. Each hand wraps around a throat, squeezing until their screaming mouths are silent and all the while neither wife able to erase the frozen look of surprise on their face. The other two wives still on my bed scream until I growl a warning. Firmly in hand, I deposit the first two wives outside of my cabin. The last two wives due to wisdom or shock meekly submit to their throttling and join the first two.

Failing to maintain their modesty with their hands and subject to leering comments and invitational calls from Farm goblins passing by, they squat on the landing and face the cabin wall. I observe their discomfort through the open cabin door while taking a moment to savour the quiet. Once satisfied I begin preparing an area in the cabin to store twenty spears. As I lift and dump, shove and pull I determine the real source of my irritation – my four new wives. They need to demonstrate their worth, to me, more especially to the Farm. If I demand all work and contribute, so must they. They must come to realise without a shred of doubt their former lifestyle is no more, I and only I dictate their future.

“Lord Hob,” the meekest of voices calls to me.

“Yes?” I reply without looking.

“My name is Bekto of tribe Sharp Fangs, Lord Hob and I am skilled in leatherworking, I could adjust your pants if you permit me to enter the cabin.”

“Enter, clothe yourself and ask for my pants when ready.”

The soft patter of her footfalls is almost ghost-like, I expect them and that is the only reason I hear them.

Chattering and chirping to the level of gossip draws me to the cabin doorway. The forty Copper Village females in the company of the survivors of the Silo selection are visiting. I show the first twenty with spears into the cabin and indicate where they can lodge their burden. While the clothed Bekto is saved any scrutiny the other three naked sister wives are the butt of much enquiry and ridicule, their green complexions deepening due to shame and/or embarrassment.

“Ligia, Zuxa and Lazsia stand and face away from the wall.”

They waver, eventually stand, baulk to turn around. After watching long enough I position myself behind them.

“What makes you believe you can ignore my commands?”

Silence.

I unleash my hand on the first naked buttock in line. The slap echoes against the cabin’s wall. My three wives immediately turnabout facing away from the wall. Hand in the air, my pointer finger does a circling motion in front of the second and third in line. Their tears join Ligia’s while hesitating to face the wall. I wait patiently. The large audience sucks in an audible breath as I shift behind Zuxa. I slap one buttocks cheek and just as she relaxes, slap her other buttock cheek, crying renews from the pain this time.

“Zuxa, when I issue a command when do you need to comply?”

Hitching her chest, she whimpers, “Immediately Lord Hob.”

“Zuxa, face away from the wall, hands by your sides.”

Like lightning she swivels around, eyes avoiding me, hands down by her sides, fingers digging into trembling thigh flesh. The background crying of Lazsia draws my attention to her, catching this wife sneaking a glance over her shoulder. I again circle motion with my pointer finger. Lazsia decides to turn completely around, facing away from the cabin wall like Ligia and Zuxa.

I smile at her and she returns my smile until my hand wraps around her throat. Unable to make a squeak and with everyone present as a witness including her two sister wives, she is across my knees, slap, slap, slap, slap, and slap. Before she can gather herself, I stand her up against the cabin wall, her feet dangling, struggling to breathe. When she decides to hang limp, realising her protests mean nothing, I release her. So, she is smart … at least enough to think about self-survival during a crisis.

“Lazsia, when I issue a command when do you need to comply?”

Hands wiping away tears, she whispers, “Immediately Lord Hob.”

“Lazsia, do I appreciate any avoidance of punishment?”

“No Lord Hob.”

Without turning around, I say, “Those with the fifteen spears please hand them off to my wives until they hold five each.”

A stampede of movement results, which I need to regulate with some light direction. The audience moves on, while my three wives stand facing away from the cabin wall each nursing five spears, manoeuvring them to cover their nudity.

“Lord Hob, I am ready for your pants now,” says Bekto.

I leave the three blubbering messes and re-enter my cabin. “Wife, take off my pants and adjust them.”

Bekto’s delicate hands grab at the leather throng around my waist, loosen and then peel down my pants. She takes in a deep breath, not for the reason I think though. She drops to the floor to remove my boots; I lift one foot then the other to assist and then step out of my pants.

“Lord Hob?” I don’t recognise the voice; the sobbing distorts any far-fetched attempt.

“Yes, wife?”

“If I am provided with a flint knife I can whittle and shape spear shafts like these I hold, arrows and bows from suitable wood.”

“Can you identify the wood required in a forest?”

“Yes.” Sniff. “Lord Hob.”

“Pass your five spears to Lazsia and enter the cabin.”

An immediate clatter and then my wife Ligia hurries to me, dropping to both knees, legs tucked underneath her glowing buttocks.

“Dress. Find Zeb and ask him to introduce you to Redagar the Head Goblin of the Builders. You will show him the tree you require, and they will be harvested. Ask him to stack them beside my cabin. Now go.”

“Yes, Lord Hob.”

She dives into a chest or lidded box and draws out her clothes and boots, quickly dressing and dashing out of my sight.

“I like your guards although can they use all the spears they hold at once,” says Milga before bursting into laughter.

“Given they have stood there long enough and not thought how they can be useful, perhaps they can tote and carry for you?”

Milga leans against the doorway, tapping the heel of her boot. She stops and then asks, “Where are your pants?”

“My wife Bekto is adjusting them …”

“Mmm … Can I discipline the two outside, if they are being dumb or evasive in following my directions?”

“Within boundaries, although if upon return you explain a particularly grievous breach, I will ensure they are punished.”

“One in, both in. Ideal,” replies Milga.

“Zuxa pass your five spears to Lazsia and enter the cabin.” There isn't a need to shout, goblin hearing and all.

Some rattling, a yelp and then Zuxa is at my feet, legs tucking beneath her glowing buttocks.

“Dress then go hold the spears and inform Lazsia she can dress and between you both carry the spears for Milga. Explain to Lazsia if one of you fail to follow Milga’s instructions, both of you will be punished. Now go.”

Watching her leave, I sigh, “I will need to visit the kitchen cabin, soon, won’t I?”

My partner cackles and nods enthusiastically. “Lunch time approaches … not forgetting preparations for the feast.”

Zuxa hurries past me and after a reasonable amount of time, Lazsia, head down shuffles past me. Dressing quickly Lazsia seeks to leave when I grab her arm. She trembles and doesn’t take another step.

“What did Zuxa tell you about your next duty?”

“Lord Hob …” She glances at Milga. “Carry spears for Milga and if one of us fails we are both to be punished.”

“Good. Grab eight of the spears from Zuxa and wait outside for Milga.”

“Yes, Lord Hob.”

She darts away and we hear the spears rattle again.

“You have your assistants, your spear carriers …”

Milga curtsies and flutters her eyelids. “Thank you, Lord Klug.”

I shake my head as she leaves.