the vegetable garden behind the house and set it near some bushes.
The night was crisp and still. Jeriah started to shiver, even as the quiet soothed him. He thought about returning to the house for his cloak but decided against it—the goblins might come while he was gone. Besides, the chill would keep him awake.
The gardener’s shed he’d chosen for his hideout held a pile of empty sacks. Jeriah dumped several on the floor and wrapped another around his shoulders. Then he propped the door open so he could see the bowl. He sat down on the sacks to wait.
As the night grew colder, Jeriah was forced to use more ofthe sacks to cover himself so the goblins wouldn’t be warned away by his chattering teeth. Clouds drifted over the moon, leaving the bowl in shadow. A rabbit hopped into the lettuce bed, nibbled for a time, and departed.
Jeriah’s mood passed from anticipation to boredom to weary resignation. He had napped that afternoon, so he was surprised when a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He yawned and leaned his head against the wall, just for a moment.
He woke with a start and lay blinking. A rooster crowed—that was what had roused him. Why was he lying on a pile of sacks? Memory returned, and he sat up and looked out. Dawn light spilled through the garden. Even at this distance, he could see that the bowl was empty.
“Dung!”
They’d bespelled him! Those cursed goblins had bespelled him again, and this whole night had been wasted. But at least they’d found the milk, so he supposed he had made contact, after a fashion. Tomorrow night he’d speak to them. Jeriah rubbed his face, and the blanket slid from his shoulders. Blanket?
It was a horse blanket from the stables—wool, which was why he wasn’t freezing. But Jeriah hadn’t brought it. And he certainly hadn’t brought the cushion from his mother’s solarium.
Jeriah had heard the old stories, that if you did favors forthe goblins they’d repay you, but he’d written them off as nursery tales.
“Repay you with spells and deceit!” He said it aloud, in case some goblin was listening. Never mind. Tomorrow he’d be ready for them.
He got the blanket back to the stable without waking the grooms, but the cook’s helper almost caught him replacing the hastily rinsed bowl. At least putting the pillow back wasn’t a problem—his mother wouldn’t be up for hours.
Jeriah stripped out of his tunic and crawled into his own bed, grateful for the softness of his mattress after a night on the rough sacks. He was just dozing off when his father knocked on the door.
INTERLUDE
Makenna
“… ARE THE ONLY WILLOWS growing anywhere near us…”
“…potato roots not only taste good, they’re good for…”
“…if you go disturbing their ground, willows won’t…”
“…those potato roots grow fast, too! They’re…”
Makenna drew in a breath to shout down the whole mob, but before she could speak…
“Be quiet, all of you. Mistress Makenna can’t hear if you’re talking at the same time.”
Makenna stared. She hadn’t known the lordling could produce that commanding voice. He hadn’t even raised it, but the squabbling goblins fell silent as he came forward and knelt between the Greeners, who wanted to plant potato roots in the stream’s marshy bend, and the Makers, who wanted to use the willows growing there for baskets.
She felt a tug on her britches, and looked down into the lumpy gray face of Harcu, the chief Stoner. “Rock funny,”his deep voice rumbled. “Not right.”
Makenna sighed. “I’m sure it’s not. Nothing else seems to be. But you’re going to have to wait your turn.”
“One at a time,” Tobin added firmly.
Cogswhallop would have threatened to crack a few heads to emphasize the order, but Cogswhallop wasn’t there—and his absence was like a cut still seeping blood.
No one knew what had kept her small lieutenant from following her through the gate, though the absence of his family was a pretty
The night was crisp and still. Jeriah started to shiver, even as the quiet soothed him. He thought about returning to the house for his cloak but decided against it—the goblins might come while he was gone. Besides, the chill would keep him awake.
The gardener’s shed he’d chosen for his hideout held a pile of empty sacks. Jeriah dumped several on the floor and wrapped another around his shoulders. Then he propped the door open so he could see the bowl. He sat down on the sacks to wait.
As the night grew colder, Jeriah was forced to use more ofthe sacks to cover himself so the goblins wouldn’t be warned away by his chattering teeth. Clouds drifted over the moon, leaving the bowl in shadow. A rabbit hopped into the lettuce bed, nibbled for a time, and departed.
Jeriah’s mood passed from anticipation to boredom to weary resignation. He had napped that afternoon, so he was surprised when a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He yawned and leaned his head against the wall, just for a moment.
He woke with a start and lay blinking. A rooster crowed—that was what had roused him. Why was he lying on a pile of sacks? Memory returned, and he sat up and looked out. Dawn light spilled through the garden. Even at this distance, he could see that the bowl was empty.
“Dung!”
They’d bespelled him! Those cursed goblins had bespelled him again, and this whole night had been wasted. But at least they’d found the milk, so he supposed he had made contact, after a fashion. Tomorrow night he’d speak to them. Jeriah rubbed his face, and the blanket slid from his shoulders. Blanket?
It was a horse blanket from the stables—wool, which was why he wasn’t freezing. But Jeriah hadn’t brought it. And he certainly hadn’t brought the cushion from his mother’s solarium.
Jeriah had heard the old stories, that if you did favors forthe goblins they’d repay you, but he’d written them off as nursery tales.
“Repay you with spells and deceit!” He said it aloud, in case some goblin was listening. Never mind. Tomorrow he’d be ready for them.
He got the blanket back to the stable without waking the grooms, but the cook’s helper almost caught him replacing the hastily rinsed bowl. At least putting the pillow back wasn’t a problem—his mother wouldn’t be up for hours.
Jeriah stripped out of his tunic and crawled into his own bed, grateful for the softness of his mattress after a night on the rough sacks. He was just dozing off when his father knocked on the door.
INTERLUDE
Makenna
“… ARE THE ONLY WILLOWS growing anywhere near us…”
“…potato roots not only taste good, they’re good for…”
“…if you go disturbing their ground, willows won’t…”
“…those potato roots grow fast, too! They’re…”
Makenna drew in a breath to shout down the whole mob, but before she could speak…
“Be quiet, all of you. Mistress Makenna can’t hear if you’re talking at the same time.”
Makenna stared. She hadn’t known the lordling could produce that commanding voice. He hadn’t even raised it, but the squabbling goblins fell silent as he came forward and knelt between the Greeners, who wanted to plant potato roots in the stream’s marshy bend, and the Makers, who wanted to use the willows growing there for baskets.
She felt a tug on her britches, and looked down into the lumpy gray face of Harcu, the chief Stoner. “Rock funny,”his deep voice rumbled. “Not right.”
Makenna sighed. “I’m sure it’s not. Nothing else seems to be. But you’re going to have to wait your turn.”
“One at a time,” Tobin added firmly.
Cogswhallop would have threatened to crack a few heads to emphasize the order, but Cogswhallop wasn’t there—and his absence was like a cut still seeping blood.
No one knew what had kept her small lieutenant from following her through the gate, though the absence of his family was a pretty
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