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whose swords shall defend Clovenstone!”
    Skarper did not feel so sure. Coriander did not look to him like a place for goblins. He had never seen a great city of men before, and he felt as out of place there as Henwyn had felt when first he came to Clovenstone. As they neared the city walls the road grew busier and busier, and Skarper could feel the eyes of passers-by upon him, and hear their whispered comments.
    â€œLook! ’Tis a goblin!”
    â€œNay, ’tis too small. It must be a gnome, or some rare type of dog. . .”
    â€œOr a monkey from the Night-Forests of Musk!”
    â€œI say ’tis a goblin for sure. Who’d have thought we’d see the day when goblins walked about in our fair city, bold as brass?”
    A few did more than look; they also sniffed as the two travellers walked by, for the day was warm, and a strange smell was starting to emerge from Henwyn’s pack. There had been a long debate back at Clovenstone about what sort of gift they should bring for King Padstow (for everyone knows that kings won’t so much as give you the time of day unless you bring a gift with you when you come to see them). Henwyn had suggested a sword from the old armouries, Princess Ned had wondered about a statue for the royal gardens, and Fentongoose had thought of sending a rare and valuable old book from the bumwipe heaps. But they all agreed the High King must have more swords than he knew what to do with, and a statue would be far too heavy to carry all that way, while even Fentongoose had to admit that his books were mildewy, and rather worm-eaten. So, in the end, they had decided to take cheese: a wheel of Clovenstone Blue, which was not only delicious, but would prove that the goblins had given up fighting and raiding and had turned their paws to more peaceful occupations, e.g. cheese-making.
    It was a decision that Henwyn had come to regret. Not only was the wheel of cheese heavier than he had expected, it was smellier too, and the smell had haunted him all through the journey south, getting into his head while he slept and giving him the oddest dreams. Still, the sight of Coriander in the sunshine was enough to make him feel proud of his role as cheesebearer again, and he straightened his pack and strode proudly towards the city gate, with Skarper scuttling beside him and a cheesy aroma wafting behind.
    The guards at the gate sniffed at the strange smell too, and they looked long and hard at Skarper. But cheese was popular in Coriander, and as for goblins, well, there had been many strange arrivals since the old magic began working again, and they did not try to stop Skarper entering. Soon he and Henwyn were walking along the cobbled streets, gawping up at the tall buildings which loomed over them on either side. More than half of the houses were also shops, with carved and painted signs hung above their doors announcing what they sold: signs in the shapes of lamps, boots, swords, saddles. . .
    â€œWe must find our way to the Street of Antiquaries,” called Henwyn over the low but constant thunder of cartwheels on the cobbles. “That is where Carnglaze has his house.”
    Carnglaze was their only friend in the city, but he was a good friend. He was one of the would-be sorcerers who had come to Clovenstone with Fentongoose. After the fall of the Keep he had returned home, for unlike Fentongoose he had a wife waiting for him in Coriander. Now he made his living as a merchant, selling genuine Clovenstone artefacts from a shop on the ground floor of his house on the Street of Antiquaries. Every few months he would take a train of packhorses to Clovenstone, and bring them back to Coriander laden with the treasures and curios which the goblins kept unearthing among the ruins. Henwyn and Skarper planned to stay with him, and hoped that he would be able to arrange an audience for them with the High King. But first they had to find him.
    Skarper wanted to ask the way, but Henwyn