“Cob,” he repeated. “That is an easy syllable for a gearworked raven to remember and croak at him. What brings you out in the rain, Cob’s daughter?”

“I’m just sorry he tossed you out,” the girl said. “You should have some payment for the show, so I brought you some bread.” She lifted the basket she held. “It’s fresh. It doesn’t have maggots in it, not unless your curses work very fast.” She gave him the basket.

“I withdraw my curses on your household,” the old goblin said. He hummed a tune, making his words into a song and a charm, stronger than just a saying. “I may yet carve a grotesque mask in your father’s likeness, but I withdraw each curse. May the flood pass your doorstep and leave dry your boots.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. “The dancers were all perfect. Please tell them.”

“I will,” he said. “But to whom should I attribute this critique? I have not yet caught your name, young lady.”

“I’m Kaile,” she said.

Thomas took off his hat and bowed. “Thank you, Kaile, for the tribute of your compliments and the bounty of your family’s bakery.” Then he rummaged around in his hat and produced a small, gray flute. “This token is yours, I think.”

Kaile took the flute. Then someone bellowed at her from the alehouse door, and the girl hurried back inside. The door slammed behind her.

Thomas seemed to diminish where he stood. He returned to the wagon with his head down, and almost bumped hat-first into Rownie.

Rownie meant to say something like, Excuse me, sir, but one of the other players dropped this. I saved it from getting very muddy and probably stepped on. Instead he just said, “Here,” and handed over the bird mask.

The goblin took it from him and dropped it in the basket with the bread. “Much obliged,” he said gruffly. He did not sound obliged, not even a little. He sounded disgruntled and tired. Then he looked more closely at Rownie. “I know you,” he said. “You played a giant for us, and not badly—but you vanished afterward.”

“Sorry,” Rownie said. “My grandmother was angry.”

“I see,” said Thomas. “Well, would you consider . . .” The goblin paused. Then he shoved Rownie underneath the wagon.

Rownie slipped in the mud and slid to a stop. He was not happy about being shoved. He almost shouted something about that unhappiness. Then he heard Guard-boots marching, and saw the boots stand between the wagon and the road. Rownie decided it would be better to be quiet.

One pair of boots stepped forward.

“I have heard noise complaints,” the Captain announced. Rownie knew his voice. He remembered his voice from the alehouse, from the proclamation he gave while standing on a table. “Have you heard anything about a raving goblin throwing curses?”