The Great Goblin, the Cook,
and the Fish
A Folktale gathered by
Oxymore Took
(Daniel Smith)
For, in those tall mountains where the Great Cave dove deeply into the rock, there was a special pool of water. To that pool, every seven years, came a particular family of fish. The fish relished the deep, mysterious waters of the pool.
The cook never paid much attention to the pool before his day of awakening. He should have, for what body of water would naturally glow with a white glimmer unless it had been fouled by elvish kind? And what kind of tree, dark of leaf but bright of blood red berry, would grow so far under the ground – dropping its fruit only once in the seven years into the white water to feed the family of odd fish that swam so far from the sky?
Cook did not wonder about such things. His instructions were as clear as the water of the pool was milky. Each time in its season, take but one of the fish in a net to be cooked for the Great Goblin. On the time of the dark of the moon, cook that odd fish in a pan of copper. Serve the fish, head, tail, and all the guts, up for the King without so much as touching the delicious creature.
Oh, the temptation to have just a taste of the fish was tremendous!
Oh, just to lick one fin!
Oh, to pop out one eye – just the one on the flat of the plate so the King would not notice!
But Cook knew better. The King waited in anticipation through the long seven years each time for the feast that would be served to him by the cook. Should there be anything off from what the Great Goblin desired, well, Cook knew he would be taken from the Great Cave and thrown off the side of the mountain to tumble, end over end, to the sharp stones below. Those stones, as could be testified to by all the dead goblins that had been tossed before when incurring the King’s wrath, were sharp as any goblin fangs. So Cook kept to his instructions which meant no tasting, not even from the grease of the copper pan.
Well, one year many hundreds of years into the rule of the Great Goblin, the King got a toothache. Unfortunately the black tooth chose the time of the Fish Feast to send out its searing claws of pain into the jaw of the crowned one.
“Cook! Come to me now, and show me your skill by removing this tooth of mine that I might dine on my Feast! Without my Fish I will surely be lost!”
The cook shrugged his thin shoulders and bowed to the King’s wishes. He took a long pinching tool and came to the mighty skull covered throne of the Great Goblin. He braced one foot on an arm of the throne and the other, spider like, on the backrest. He squinted as he peered into the dark of the King’s maul – so deep and foul, like the Great Cave itself. And there in the back was a tooth black with rot. The tooth, however, was not alone. Its fellow teeth were all in a state of decay.
“Oh my King,” said Cook with a whisper, “things do not look well in the royal trough.”
From the kitchen the King could smell the scintillating scent of the cooked fish…
“Pull you on that tooth, Cook, that I might have my feast!”
“As you wish!”
Tug went the pincher and out came the tooth.
“Cook! Come to me now, for there is still pain!”
“Oh my King,” said the Cook, “Many of thy teeth are as blackened as the first.”
Copyright 2018 American Tolkien Society. All rights reserved.
TOLKIEN is a trade mark of The J.R.R. Tolkien Estate Limited and is used with kind permission.
The photo of J.R.R. Tolkien is used by kind permission of his U.S. publisher, Houghton Mifflin.
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