I call dibs!



A one shot


You know the drill…

Not mine,

Belongs to

Henson and company.

Theory of Relativity belongs

To Einstein.

Goblins and other mystical creatures

Belong to

The High King

I'm just the Goblin King's scribe

I don't get paid

I don't get…oops

End of silly disclaimer

If you want the legal jargon

You must visit the Goblin Legal Department…

*I wouldn't do that if I were you.*

I mean it, don't go there!


It was all in a day's work,that's what the scribe told herself. She never really believed it. Not when her daily work consisted of battening down hatches against goblins thinking her workspace was a playroom. It had taken very little for her to get use to the goblins themselves. Goblins, Bopkins, Gnomes, Gargoyles and Gremlins didn't faze the middle aged woman in the least. That fact was a constant source of amusement for their King; just as her very being there was amusing to him. Her ability to pass into the mists was unusual; the fact that she did so without being detected was extraordinary. Because her travel was at her own command, and she'd not been wished into the Goblin Kingdom meant that she was not under the time constraint that most mortals were.

Her first encounter with the King had not be something either of them was fond of remembering. Jareth was not fond of mortals who 'dabbled' in magic, and he called her a charlatan. Paisley had not been in a receptive or a forgiving mood and the slur triggered retaliation on her part, one that gave pause to the Goblin King. Paisley didn't dabble, magic was not a game to her, it was life and breath to her. The energy that shot out of her hand slammed into the chest of the Goblin King and sent him flying. Once the initial shock wore off both Jareth and Paisley regarded the incident as a closed matter. There was no way that Jareth could bar her from traveling the mists, he didn't have that kind of authority.

Nevertheless he wanted to keep a watchful eye on the not so mortal woman who was trespassing. After a few challenging interviews, and a great deal of animosity on both sides, Jareth offered an olive branch. He offered her the position of Scribe, with the authority to come and go as she pleased. Paisley had taken the offer for two reasons; first she found that the offer irked the Goblin King who in her estimation was not Goblin at all. Secondly it gave her a sense of accomplishment. Shortly after agreeing she found she'd been hoist on her own petard.

Accommodations, such as they were, left much to be desired. Whoever had held the position of scribe before her must have been mad. Nothing made much sense, nor was anything in any kind of order. The great goblin library was a shambles. What she did find she couldn't read, not being fluent in Goblin runes. Each time she went back to her home she left the Goblin Kingdom with a pounding head ache. Just as she was on the verge of giving up and admitting defeat she came across a strange little book with a red leather cover and gold lettering. Paisley didn't know where it had come from, and would have sworn it was not there before. But the fact that the lettering was in English caught her attention. She picked it up out of the pile of scrolls and loose leafs of parchment. It felt right in her hands, and she opened it to read the first words.

'Once upon a time,' Paisley smiled to herself then found a seat in the clutter and read. When she finished the book, she turned back to the title page to find the name of the author; Robin Zaker.

"I wish I knew everything you did, Robin." She said. A moment later her mind was crowded with all the knowledge that Robin Zaker had once possessed.

Paisley had found that most goblins in the castle were as curious of her as she was of them. Some were bold enough to introduce themselves. Blot was one who came to the rooms that the castle Library occupied often. He didn't come to read, he came to observe the strange little mortal woman who was making herself at home. Most days he came alone, but every now and again he was accompanied by Inky and Squee. Paisley came to know them by sight at first then worked her way into conversation with them and learned their names. Eventually the three goblins chose to become her 'staff'.

In her first encounters Paisley had noted that goblins seemed to come in as many verities as humans. It didn't really surprise her; however she was curious as to how the races were broken down. Blot was the one who tried to verbalize the answers; he was always the most vocal of the three. Inky seemed content to just listen and be. Squee, always seemed like he was waiting for something to happen. Blot was also the one who was the most familiar with the rooms she was working in. He had told her that he'd assisted the Honorable Robin, as he called him. When Paisley had asked how long Robin had been gone she'd gotten a long pained stare in answer.

"I call dibs," a voice called out in the halls of the castle.

Above there was an outraged shriek, and a torrent of threats.

Paisley heard the scrambling of feet, and cracked the door that she'd learned to keep shut and locked when she was working. A shape dressed in dark garments with a shock of red hair shot past the door waving a bathing clothe like a flag of triumph followed by an outraged owl form winging past the door.

Blot who was peering out just below Paisley shook his head, "That girl don't got the sense of a lemon."

"What girl?"

Inky pointed to the figure that had headed down one of the many stair cases in the castle, "Hawthorn-cat." He said.

"Hawthorn-cat?" Paisley repeated in question.

Squee nodded with a grin.

"So who is she?" Paisley asked.

"Thorn in king's side," Blot sighed. He moved from the door to the wide windows that over looked the view of the castles' grounds. "There she goes!"

Paisley followed and was looking out the window as well, "Where's she going?"

"Headed into the enchanted forest," Inky stated.


"Because she thinks she knows a short cut to the bog."

Paisley's hands gripped the rim of the window. "The Bog?"

Blot cocked his head to one side, "Bog is a good place to hide!"


Squee laughed, "You take King's bath towel or wash cloth and see if you don't need to hide."

She knew her cheeks had gone red, the image of the Goblin King filled her mind. "Oh my God."

"And then some," Inky agreed.

A moment later the dark clad red headed goblin dashed out of the forest across the little meadow being chased by five red creatures. "Fiery gang." Blot said. He knew Paisley was about to ask.

The Fiery gang were waving their arms and screaming dibs. Hawthorne-cat led them a merry chase all the while above her the angry own was closing in. The agile goblin out smarted the Fiery gang, but the owl was another matter. She could only hope to make her game last as long as possible before the King would eventually land on her and knock her to the ground. Paisley watched from the relative safety of the castle window. It didn't last long; Paisley had a feeling these sorts of goblin hi-jinks didn't. It ended with a very angry owl making a rough landing using the little red haired goblin female as a landing strip. Once down Hawthorne-cat surrendered the strip of cloth to the beak of the owl and lay very still until it had taken wing again.

Paisley had expected the little goblin female to be contrite, to be remorseful and to be repentant. Hawthorne-cat was anything but, she sat up crossed her legs yoga styled and cackled in joy. Paisley looked at Blot, "She's not sorry."


"But the king is furious with her." Paisley couldn't understand.

"You don't understand," Squee said. "That's the furthest she's ever gotten.

"She's done this before?" Paisley's voice went up an octave.

"Oh dozens of times," Inky said nodding his head rather comically.

"And she's still allowed to be free and loose?" Paisley was still watching the goblin in the meadow cackling.

"King thinks of it as exercise," Blot assured the scribe.

"This place gets stranger all the time," Paisley whispered to herself.

Hawthorne-cat stood up just as the Fiery gang approached, Paisley worried that the female goblin was out numbered. Her fears were unfounded, no sooner had the red haired goblin rose to her feet the Fiery gang turned and ran for their lives. The sight of the five hairy creatures beating a path back to the woods drew another triumphant cackle from Hawthorne-cat. She danced a bit of a jig and waved her hands above her head in victory. After a few minutes of that she ran a hand into her hair, ruffled it up and headed back toward the castle.

"She's not going to try again is she?" Paisley asked.

"Nah," Squee answered. "She's gonna look for other prey."

"Other prey," Paisley headed to the door, pulled down the wooden lock bar and made sure it would hold. "Well it ain't gonna be me!" She turned to find that the three goblin helpers had fallen on the floor laughing helplessly.