the ghoul, finishing his cigarette. Stu seemed to consider the idea.
Then a large bus drove up with a rumbling engine, coughing fumes of gray-blue exhaust, even though it looked like a sleek modern coach. A bright logo on the sign said U. Q. TOURS, SEE THE BEST OF THE WORST IN THE UNNATURAL QUARTER.
Humans filled the seats, a bunch of rube tourists wearing golf hats or bright scarves and sunglasses, even though it was nearly dark. Their faces pressed against the windows, gaping at the unexpected scene.
“Oh, no!” Stu wailed. “It’s our first tour bus—not now!”
A few bus routes carried sightseers around in luxury air-conditioned coaches so they could watch the monsters in their unnatural element. The big player was the Gray Skin Line, but U. Q. Tours had just begun a special twilight tour, on which all patrons would stop at the Goblin Tavern and have a complimentary drink (price included in the cost of the package).
Stu had been ecstatic about all the new business. Personally, I thought it was another death knell for the real character of the Goblin Tavern, and I intended to get a copy of the bus schedule just to make sure I was scarce whenever a busload of tourists was due to come in. According to the advertised route, the buses would also stop at strategically placed Kreepsakes gift shops, where the guests would have the opportunity to buy special mementos of their tour.
Now, however, as the passengers saw the ferocious-looking protesters boycotting the establishment, the driver chose the better part of valor. He slowed enough to let the tourists take photos through the windows, then the bus roared off.
Stu ran after it, waving his hands. “Wait, wait! This is just part of the show—a slice of real life in the Unnatural Quarter!” He kept running. “Please!”
Then the guest of honor herself showed up, astonished to see her regulars there in a show of support. Francine put a hand up to her mouth as she read the signs. “All this, for me?”
“Just making our feelings known, Francine,” I said. “The Goblin Tavern can’t replace you.”
Tears began pouring down her face. “I’m touched. I kinda hoped you might have a little going-away party for me, but . . . I never expected this.” She sniffed, lowered her voice. “Do you think it’ll do any good?”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure Francine wanted her old job back, considering the corporate ownership, but she had worked for miserable bosses before. Ilgar the goblin had never been a model employer either.
Robin put an arm around the older woman’s bony shoulders. “We’re fighting for what’s right, Francine. There are laws against workplace discrimination.”
“Thank you, thank you all.” She sounded choked up. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Stu came back, his shoulders slumped in despair at having failed to bring the promised customers in. Robin decided to make him even more dejected. “Francine, now that you’re here to see this . . .” She marched up to the new manager of the Goblin Tavern. “Your bartender was fired without cause. Your no-humans-need-apply solicitation for replacement employees is blatantly discriminatory. On her behalf, I’m filing a wrongful termination suit against you, sir, as well as an antidiscrimination suit.”
When she handed him a folded legal document, he looked as if she had just placed a rattlesnake in his hands. “But . . . I’m not the owner—I can’t be sued!”
“You’re the manager, you’re named in the suit, so you’re served. Just to be fair, we’re also serving Missy Goodfellow and the entire Smile Syndicate board as co-defendants.”
Stu looked as if someone had told him his birthday was canceled. He shuffled back into the Tavern and closed the door. I didn’t doubt that he was going to pour himself a very large drink.
“I guess we’ll need to find a new place to have a beer, McGoo,” I said.
“Too bad. I really needed one tonight.” McGoo seemed unduly troubled. During the commotion, I had not noticed his reticent expression, but now it was plain as day. He hadn’t even tried to tell me a joke. Something was definitely wrong.
“Worse day than usual?”
“I might have to choose a new place for everything, Shamble. What would you think if I got transferred out of the Quarter? Promoted and sent to a new precinct, out among normal people?”
I blinked at him. “I’d say you were out of your mind. Who would ever promote you?” I meant it as a teasing comment, but it was also a