“Goblins,” Ronald’s smooth voice made the word hang in the air.
“Goblins?” His partner, Squint, rubbed the patch covering his missing eye. “I ask you how’re we going to increase our profits ‘n’ you say, goblins. You do realize we’re outlaws not a guild?”
“What’s the one score no one can get?”
“Airships,” Squint spoke the word to the ceiling. “We’ve been over this, one gunshot, one spark, ‘n’our ship ‘n’ the loot.” He mimed an explosion complete with sound effects.
“So we use goblins,” Ronald swirled the last of the supposed hard alcohol in his glass with a finger. “They’re almost as good as an elf with a bow, there’s a lot of ’em, and they don’t mind getting paid in salvage.”
His partner mulled over the idea.
“Don’t like it,” his teeth ground together on the last word. “They’re a strange lot, no names, ‘n’ that.”
“There’re so many of ’em that gettin’ a name is something special,” Roland smiled at his partner. “Thing of honor, they gotta earn it. That’s why they work so cheap and there’s so many of ’em.”
“Goblins,” Squint tasted the word. “What’s this salvage?”
“We let ’em crash take a ship to tinker with,” he shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard, they ain’t run on full crews like boats.”
Squint didn’t speak, he simply stared with his one eye at a knot in plank above his head. It was on a bright idea like this he lost his eye and the ‘S’ at the end of his name. Damn and blast, it seemed like a good plan.
“Where do we get a ship?”
Roland smiled broadly, “I know a guy.”