"That's nine," Lurch commented.

I peered at the cloud of smoke rising over the castle walls. "A sapper only gets to make one mistake. And that's when he chooses his profession."

Only then I noticed the goblins' foreman. He was running past us, his stick shredded, one eye twitching.

"Harlequin? Where do you think you're going?"

"Eh? What?" he looked about him. Finally noticing us, he ran right toward me. "Master! Forgive me, Master, but we need more hands!"

"Really? What have you done with the old ones, then?" I upped the sarcasm in my voice.

He hung his head. "It's that damn nest. Once I told those idiots we were looking for eggs, they keep tasting everything they find. Also, sometimes the shells break when they drag them. Then we had this big boom..."

"Casualties?" I grew serious. It was all right laughing at it, but every blown-up goblin was costing me.

Harlequin made a helpless gesture. "I can't be everywhere at once, Master. These are their clans' castoffs, they have no brains, only instincts. If I could have some warriors or craftsmen, or even free artisans... Those guys over there are junk. All they're capable of thinking of is food, sex and the fear of punishment."

Oh well. Hint taken. Penny wise and pound foolish. But how was I supposed to know you needed brains to collect junk and sieve through stone debris? True, I'd accepted the cheapest offer available... and a cheapskate always pays twice. "What are our losses, exactly?"

"One mighty big egg, three medium ones and lots of small ones. They just swallow them whole, the bastards..."

Illustrating his words, a new Boom! assaulted our ears, much more powerful than the previous one. The earth tried to shake us off. A gray cloud of dust rose to the sky over the outer wall.

"That's four medium ones," the foreman corrected himself.

"Actually, I meant workers. And how about this egg, does it count as 'mighty big'?" I looked at the bomb which by now was gradually integrating into the garden's design. The flowers' tendrils climbed its rough sides, generous touches of colored moss streaking the sad metal. Quick job. Better not to drop anything of value here: before you could bend down to pick it up, the lost gold piece would be forever buried inside the trunk of an ancient oak tree. No joke: it looked like the gardeners had overdone it on the growth promoter.

"That one? That's a medium one," the goblin snickered at the bomb. "The real mighty big one, that was a different story. I was a hundred paces away and my eye is still twitching. So I'm afraid we don't have many workers left, Master! A dozen-plus at most. You've got to hire a few new ones."

Holy cow. I dreaded to think what it was that they'd detonated over there. No, I couldn't leave it like that. These little goblin rats were certain to blow us all to hell and back. Besides, it was a shame wasting our supplies so pointlessly. Every explosion made my inner greedy pig sob as he mourned, crossing it off his list, every bit of the loot we could have taken off the great dragon Nagafen had we used all that ammo to blow him to smithereens.

"Lurch? Do we have somewhere where we can store hazardous artifacts? Someplace well protected, preferably underground?"

"We do indeed," he answered. "The lowest level of the basement, Alchemy Laboratory #2. Before, it was occupied by some spider-like monster and now it's Hell Hounds living there. Master," he hurried to complain, "the hounds disturb the walls' integrity! They're digging two tunnels, one of which is coming out behind the exterior wall!"

I glanced at the hound next to me. I had little doubt that her mental magic skills were more than enough to listen into our conversations, so openly she sneered and wiped her feet on the grass as if removing the non-existing cobwebs. Actually, I wouldn't want to be the spy who used the tunnel to walk right into the Hell Hounds' lair. Besides, I had indeed promised I'd let them choose any room they wanted so it wasn't quite kosher to backpedal now, not to mention the harm it could do to my reputation. Head tilted to one side, the hound followed my thinking process with some interest. Jeez. I really didn't need another cloak-and-dagger specialist to haunt me.

"No, Lurch, I don't think we need this kind of time bomb right under our backsides," I told him. "If something goes wrong, God forbid, the First Temple will be blown to kingdom come. At least my friends and I can go back to our respawn points, but the NPCs have no such luck. You'll be reduced to nothing. Hound?" I halted, not knowing how to address her. It really was time I got her a name. "Excuse me, Hound, if you find it too personal, but actually—are you male or female?"

The pooch glared at me, tensing up. Her mental message hit me like a slap in the face—literally, judging by the Divine Immunity prompt that popped up. I ignored the attack. Sorry pup, I didn't mean it.

"Female," she mumbled, indignant. "Males are incapable of mental speak. They can't lead the pack," she snorted, bathing me in another mental wave of indignation that sent the squeaking goblins scampering away. She was one powerful bitch.

"Sorry, babe. It's just that I don't know how to address you. I'm fed up with calling you hound. What if I call you... eh..."

I rummaged through my memory, trying to think of something nice as I hurriedly discarded various Ladies and Lassies. Inferno creatures were fast and deadly. Lightning sounded about perfect, but for me it was more associated with the cute Disney car than a dog, and in this world of wishes coming true you had to be careful about any subconscious slips. I didn't think the Hound would grow two pairs of wheels but nor would she appreciate a postbox-red lick of paint. Oh well, if not Lightning, what then? Spark? More modest but also fast, it too could hurt or even lead to a fire or an explosion.

"Spark! How d'you like that?"

The Hound started. Her nostrils flared, her claws crumbling the path's precious mosaic as she retracted them. She tilted her head to one side, apparently listening to herself, appraising her new status. Her eyes glistened with intellect, acquiring a new unusual depth.

Finally, her heavy armored head lowered in a bow. "Thank you, Priest, for your priceless gift..."

Aha. There seemed to be a pattern here. Apparently, for all monsters a name was something much more important than just a sequence of sound waves. "It's my pleasure, Spark. I'd really appreciate it if you told me what makes this gift so valuable."

At the sound of her name, the Hound rolled her eyes and, forgetting herself, grunted with pleasure. "By distinguishing me from amongst thousands of others and rewarding me with this unique mark, you use your power of creation to enter me into this world, giving me a soul and a chance to be reborn. The name is what shields us from oblivion and its ocean of shapeless biomass that forms thousands of creatures every second only to be destroyed in a matter of hours by the death-hungry Undead Ones."

Oh well. These monsters seemed to have pretty grim afterlife ideas. Now I could understand their unwillingness to die. Wonder if the developers had introduced this behavioral algorithm on purpose in order to improve their combat qualities, or was it some secret knowledge that had surfaced on its own?

I turned to the foreman faltering nearby, "Harlequin? What do you think?"

He silently pointed at the gaping holes in his clothes, reached into his pocket and produced a handful of purple fragments. He lowered his head.