Szeth finished patting the soil down over the broad bean seeds, sending a little jolt of magic down into the dirt to give the plant a little boost. He straightened up, patting his hands on his work overalls, and admired his handiwork. The veggie garden had been on its last legs when he had arrived the month prior, but with some hard work and a little Little People magic he had turned it around. It was throwing up more broccoli, brussel sprouts, leaks and, Old Gods forbid, coriander, than the old people knew what to do with.

“Looking good there, sonny boy,” a deep voice called out from behind him. He turned and waved cheerfully at old Eli, the man’s shock of thin, frizzy white hair shooting out from his scalp making him look like an African Einstein as his deeply wrinkled face contorted itself into a smile that bore more than a passing resemblance to a grinning Shar Pei. The old timer started hobbling down the steps from the house and Szeth hurried over to give him a hand. Eli waved the goblin off, even as he grunted with the effort of getting down unaided.

“I tell you, sonny boy, these victuals of yours are something else. I haven’t made it down those stairs since winter set in. Probably why it was in such a mess when you turned up. You’ve done a miracle bringing it back to life.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Szeth said, falling in behind Eli as the man started walking through the rows of plants.

“You’re being modest. Since you saved our garden I swear my arthritis is feeling better than it has in years. There’s magic in your gardening.”

Szeth stopped in his tracks, and Eli turned to him, a surprised eyebrow raised.

“Something I said?”

“Oh, no, nothing,” Szeth replied with a nervous smile. Of course, Eli hadn’t meant it literally.

“Well, either way convincing you to stay with us a while was the greatest thing Gladys has ever done, I reckon,” Eli said as he resumed his tour.

Once Eli was facing away, Szeth allowed himself a little smile. The truth was, it had been the best thing for the goblin too. At first it had been self-serving, Gladys had introduced the colourful cast of old folks; Sheryll and McReady; constantly bickering but horny as teenagers, Eli and his wife Carol; kind, calm and wise, sharing a subtle earthy smell that reminded Szeth of home, and Patrick; unfortunately suffering from worsening dementia but possessed of a piercing intellect and wry sense of humour when he had his wits about him. And then there was Gladys herself, the de facto den mother of the dysfunctional retirement home.

They had been managing by themselves for a long time. The lack of staff had confused Szeth at first, until Gladys admitted it wasn’t really a retirement home per se, just an old property the veterans had all bought as a collective to live out their days in peace and quiet. The sign out front had actually been one of Patrick’s jokes from years before.

Szeth had found himself settling into the Sunny Twilight like a bed of mushrooms that had been cultivated specifically for his backside. It was… nice, to use his magic for a pure purpose. It felt like he hadn’t used it this way, the way it was meant to be used, for an age. Eli wasn’t quite right about the magical cucumbers, but he wasn’t too far wrong either. Settling into the role of groundsman, gardener, chef and general old person custodian, Szeth had been leaking his magic into nearly everything. Eli’s soup was infused with a gentle warmth that eased the man’s aching joints. Sybll’s scones had a crystalline aura that left her head of hair shinier and more lustrous than it was in her thirties, and Gladys’ casseroles were permeated with a vibrancy that brought strength back to her quaking limbs, her step now sure and strong. She still affected the grandma shuffle, but only so her sudden outbursts had more shock value.

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As McReady had found out when she caught him raiding the windowsill for blueberry muffins before they had finished cooling. All this and a dozen other small gifts Szeth had bestowed on these kind people, fair payment for the hospitality and succour they had unquestioningly offered in his moment of need. Only poor Patrick’s condition had proved resistant to his help. He frowned at the ground, flexing his toes in the damp earth, feeling the power welling up from below, replenishing him so he could replenish his hosts. Little People magic wasn’t potent enough to reverse something as complex and final as advanced dementia, but there should have been at least a little improvement in the man’s condition. More periods of lucidity. But no, there had been nothing. There was something he was missing.

If only he could duck back home. The Peoples Library had an entire section on human illnesses, if there was a solution he could implement he would have been able to find it there. Admittedly, he would have had to plow through a few centuries worth of built of dust to find it, there hadn’t been cause for his people to go looking for cures for human conditions for a long time. But it was there somewhere. If only he could go back.

The damn fanatics hadn’t found him, obviously, but their fervour meant they were also immune to such trivial things like boredom, and giving up. They still combed the forest looking for him, though why they were still searching after so many weeks was beyond him. Either way, he wasn’t going to make it back to the hideout and the small fleet of borers within while they crawled through the bracken between him and there. At this rate, he may never make it home.

The thought sent a wave of panic surging through him. His mother and father would be worried sick, they probably feared the worst. And his wife, Florinetta, bearing their child. A goblin pregnancy was a rare thing, a wonder to be celebrated. His family had been the reason he had come to the surface in the first place. He needed the gold that came with the job, and the favour it curried with the court, to secure his families livelihood. And now he was stuck up here. No help to his wife or their unborn child.

She had told him not to take the gig. Told him a goblin had no business getting mixed up with demons and soul contracts. They had fought the day he left. And now? She probably thought he was dead, along with all the rest.

“Sonny boy, you still with me?” Eli asked, waving his hand under Szeth’s nose to get his attention. The goblin looked up, startled.

“Sorry?”

Eli’s expression was unreadable as he interrogated Szeth with his gaze.

“Where were you, son?”

“Uh… here?”

Eli shook his head. “Not what I mean. But alright, you’re back now. Come on, I’ll help you harvest something for dinner.”

The old man turned back around a hobbled over to the shed they kept the cane baskets in, Szeth following, his gaze roving over his pretty, pleasant prison. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, petrichor seeping in through his nostrils and infusing his soul. As long as the earth was beneath his bare feet, he was connected to the Under. Florrinetta would know. Know he was still alive. Know he was coming back. They both just needed to be patient.

And in the meantime, Patrick still needed help. As Eli came back out of the rickety wooden structure with a pair of baskets, handing one to the goblin, Szeth steadied his resolve. He couldn’t do anything about the Paladins outside, and he couldn’t visit the library, but he had been the go-to goblin in his village whenever anyone needed a healer for a reason. Well, that or an illusion, but mostly healing. He would figure out how to help Patrick on his own. Maybe when he had eased the old man’s condition, his debt would be paid and the Fates would see fit to sweep the Christian God’s adherents aside.

He spun on his heel and set off for the raised garden bed in which he had been growing every herb he could get his hands on. He’d need some extra punch in tonight’s dinner, but by the Old Gods, he would figure it out.