No one seems particularly interested in speaking to the hobgoblin, and it's not clear to Bartleby that anyone but him can even speak the language. (Bunch of squeaks and 33 words for carrion, but not a single word for beer, he thinks rolling his eyes to himself. Call that a language?)
Last time Bartleby attempted to negotiate with a hobgoblin, it stabbed him in the side.We gotta move, he thinks.
"Let's take a look at the doorway, everyone. Tock, can you give me a hand shifting it? Maybe someone else too?"