It was dark in Malamphoro’s house, except for a small pool of light around a single candle on his worktable. He was using a pestle to grind the dried leaves of a plant that he knew as goldbeaded saltwort but that an old sailor had sworn was called dragon weed on the island where he grew up. The sailor might be right, but Malamphoro had no expectation this plan would work differently than any of the others. Still he went on, because he did not know what else to do. It did not pain him much to give up his feeble attempts at magic. He had achieved nothing, really, and it had been years since he had even put out a candle. But he did not want to fade from the world, becoming steadily less visible until none could see or hear him. What a fate, he thought, to wander through the world like an invisible ghost, having no contact with his fellow humans. So he must keep trying, must keep working on this potion until either it came or his allotted span of days ran out.

  Hearing a noise, he looked up. There was a shape in the darkness toward the stairs. He said, “Who is there?”

  A creaky voice answered him, saying, “One you have not spoken to in many, many years. I will stay in the dark, for you would not recognize me.”

  It was a goblin. Malamphoro stared but could make out nothing of the creature’s face. He said, “Indeed I have seen nothing of your people since before the Fall. I feared you had all been killed.”

  “Most of us died in the Great Drowning. For we live beneath you, and the Wave found our tunnels. Whatever you big people lost, we lost more, and what we have left we struggle to defend against maremorbos and drowned rats. So it was in all the cities of the seacoast. In many we are no more, but in a few we have cleared halls to live in.”

  “You said I had not spoken to you in years. Does that mean we have spoken before?”

  “Yes. For I am Kardag. It was for saving my life that you were dubbed goblin friend and made welcome in our halls.”

  “I remember you, though I was but a boy then. Have you grown old, as I have? I never learned how your people age.”

  “I am not so old, as we count, but so many were lost that in our halls I am eldest. The young ones think me wise, for I remember the old times, before the drowning, when we were thousands and made treaties with your kind.”

  “Why have you come to me tonight?”

  “You swore friendship with us, and with my mother and father.”

  “I did. I was young and perhaps foolish, but I have never had any reason to regret it.”

  “We need your help again.”

  “If I can give it, I will.”

  “A curse has come to us. A disease that leaves us blind. I travelled above ground all the way to Duklok that you call Arandia to seek the most famous healer of our people, but she could not help us. She said we have caught a human disease that turns your eyes red.”

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  “I believe I know what she means. But it spreads by touch. How did it reach your people?”

  “I do not know. Can you treat this disease?”

  “I can. I will need a day to prepare the ointment. Can you return tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, goblin friend. And just as we did a service before, when you saved me, we will do another service for you in return.”

  Malamphoro thought. Then something came to him, and he said, “Your great healer, who lives in Arandia. Can you tell me how to contact her?”

  “Why should you wish this?”

  “I have a sickness of my own that I have not been able to treat. I wish to know what plant she knows as dragon weed. Aruku-lom in the ancient speech of the Servants, which I believe some of your people use.”

  There was a rustling noise, as if Kardag were scratching at the floor with a stick. Then he said, “This is a fair exchange of gifts. We will send a message to Nandalki and put this question to her. I say to you, though, that I have not heard the name Aruko-lom since before the Drowning. I may remember my mother using it, for she was also a wise woman. But after so much time and so many losses I do not trust my memory. The Wave never came to Arandia so my people are much stronger there, and their memories are better. We will see what they know. And if they cannot answer your question, this will not count as my gift, and I will remain in your debt.”

  “I understand.”

  “Goblin friend, there is one other thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have seen men beyond the rubble wall. Not far from your house. We think they cross near here.”

  “What sort of men?”

  “They cover themselves in robes. But we think they are not warriors. They are too clumsy. Sometimes it seems that they are searching for something but I do not think they have found it.”

  “The other times?”

  “They bring food for maremorbos.”

  Malamphoro suddenly felt young again. These days humanity so rarely surprised him. He had seen every kind of perfidy, been asked to aid in every kind of crime. After the Wave he had seen the depths of human despair, saw that it could kill by itself. He had also seen every kind of heroism as the Calyxians rebuilt their city, and every kind of tenderness. But he had never seen men feed maremorbos.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  The goblin disappeared, slipping noiselessly away into the dark.

  Malamphoro pondered what he had been told. It seemed unlikely that the goblins would need human help for pinkeye. They had their own healers, some of whom became so famous that humans crawled into their tunnels to consult them. That was why Malamphoro had asked for their healer’s help with his potion. Goblin lore was different, and he suspected it preserved some knowledge from the ancient days that humans had lost. It was also puzzling that they had caught pinkeye in the first place. Goblins were not in the habit of exchanging phlegm with human children, and he did not know of any other way to catch it. It did not surprise him, though, that it was more severe for them. Though goblins might have been made from men by ancient philosophers, as he had been taught, their bodies were quite different and no doubt reacted differently to many things.

  Then he thought, had they really caught pinkeye at all?

  Why did the goblins care that humans were moving beyond the wall? Perhaps they often went there themselves, or even lived there. Perhaps that was the real message here. It would be like a goblin to hide his real purpose and speak of it only indirectly.

  He sighed. He knew he would end up investigating this rumor, because he could never let a mystery rest. The goblins must have learned that about him. But what to do? He could not simply climb over the wall and look around. It was forbidden, for one thing, since it tended to excite the maremorbos, and also dangerous for a man well past his physical prime.

  At least he could look forward to receiving replies to two messages, from the College and the goblins of Arandia, and could entertain a little hope that he might one day heal himself.