They saw him. Blotches took an egg from the crate and offered it to him. Rownie reached for it, because he was hungry, even though he knew that Blotches never gave anybody anything.

Blotches snatched the egg back and tossed it into the River.

Rownie cried out.

Stubble smacked Blotches on the top of his head. “Don’t waste food,” he said. “Not ever.” He looked over at Rownie. Rownie hoped that he’d offer another egg, but he didn’t. “Did you wind up her ankle?” Stubble asked. Rownie started to answer, but Blotches talked right over him. Blotches had large ears, round and ruddy, but he never used them for much.

“You missed the goblins,” Blotches said.

“What goblins?” Rownie asked.

“They came by in a tinker’s-wagon,” said Stubble.

“One of them had long, metal teeth, sticking out all over,” said Blotches.

“Did not,” said Stubble.

“Did so. I threw an egg at that one.”

“She caught the egg and threw it back at you. And those weren’t metal teeth. Those were nails. She used one to hang up a sign.”

“Did not.”

“She did. She was just holding the nails in her mouth to keep both hands free.”

“Maybe they use metal teeth for nails,” said Blotches. “Maybe they grow them back as fast as they can pluck them out.”

“You’re a kack,” said Stubble.

“What did the sign say?” Rownie asked, but they ignored him. They probably didn’t know.

“Vass should be done with the door by now,” Stubble said, changing the subject, but Rownie didn’t want to change the subject.

“I didn’t know goblins could come out in daylight,” Rownie said.

“They have to keep moving if they do,” said Blotches. “Goblins never have a home, any of them. That’s why they live in wagons. The sun finds them out and burns up any building they stay in for longer than a day and a night. That’s why they’re never goldsmiths, too, because it’s sun-metal. They’re only tinsmiths. And iron burns them.”

“Liar,” said Stubble. “They don’t work with iron because it’s too hard and heavy. Tin’s easier.”

“And they’re thieves,” said Blotches, as though the other one had just agreed with him.

“Obviously,” said Stubble.

“What do they steal?” Rownie asked.

“Everything,” said Blotches.

“The smallest child in every family,” added Stubble. “That’s why Graba only sends the oldest of us with tin pots for mending. No one ever sends a small child to the wagons unless they don’t mean for them to come back.” He snickered, three quick snorts of laughter forced out of his nose instead of his mouth.

“Liar,” Rownie said.

“It’s true,” said Blotches. “And they eat the children they steal.”