“A map?” the bullish creature incredulously inquires, one brow raised considerably high above the other. “In the boxes?”

  “Yas!” I cheerfully confirm out loud, happy that he’s successfully comprehending my writing.

  “A map of what?”

  “Yas?” I abruptly rasp, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t thought things through far enough to those specifics.

  It never occurred to me that this would be difficult to communicate. After all, the big ones on Kyklos had so many conveniently created maps to help me explore. Why wouldn’t they exist for this place too?

  “Ho– hol? Hol hol? Hm. Har hol. Der hol. Dat hol,” I haphazardly ramble, trying to point to everything before kicking myself and determinedly grabbing ahold of my little message panel again.

  It’s refreshing to finally possess a way to speak this freely, but manually writing these out by hand is still annoying. Maybe some kind of self appraisal can be used to read my intent instead? Like I’ve done with the other goblins. Not now, of course. However, it’s something to keep in mind for later.

  “Where we are? You mean the boxes?”

  “The boxes? The boxes. No one ever comes to see the boxes. Who would need a map? No one ever comes to visit me. Why would they?”

  He’s getting completely off track. What’s his problem? Does he need a little friendly guidance similar to what I do for Ha’koff?

  “You are, aren’t you? You really are a strange anomaly. Nothing like the others.”

  “Gok? You’ve taken another name? Interesting. I suppose a few of the others have also indulged in such flights of fancy. The mouth in particular. He’s always had such a flair for the dramatic. Not that I’ve ever met him, but you know,” he uncontrollably babbles, shrugging at the obviousness of the last point.

  I write, hoping to carefully steer him back on track again.

  “Me? I’m the memory of the Will. Yes, that’s my obvious responsibility. It’s what the Will calls for me to do, so here I am. Always recording.”

  Oh! Is this another jackpot? This place is even bigger than Garret’s library! What manner of forgotten, occult secrets may hide within a region hidden away this deeply? The history, the intention, the design. Why are we all here? How did we get here? The goblins’ shackles!

  “What? Why? I mean, I’m sure that I’ve recorded the answer to that somewhere. Maybe even more than once? However, that doesn’t mean that I’d remember such a boring triviality. After all, it’s my job to record, not recollect.”

  Drat. That would’ve been too easy.

  “A map of what? Oh, I already asked that, didn’t I? Then again, so did you. It’s so easy to lose track with all the constant noise, but that’s the responsibility I’ve been given. The only life there is to live. The only option, yes.”

  How awful, he’s gone completely mad. The goblins sometimes go mad when too many mud cycles eventually end up muddling their minds. Scarring, they called it. Although, I’m not sure if that really has anything to do with it. After all, the goblins hand wave away all manner of difficult concepts. Regardless, no amount of scarring will prevent the immortal mud cycle from continuing, so all good goblins get lots of practice dealing with each other’s madness. A careful balance must be established.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Any maps? Why didn’t you say so!”

  Arbitrarily rummaging around the piles of junk covering his desk, ultimately he gives up with an exaggerated, indifferent gesture.

  “Alas, it appears that I don’t have any maps.”

  “The boxes?” he quizzically replies, visibly confused.

  “Yas!” I loudly confirm, gritting my teeth and barely holding it together.

  “I don’t go into the boxes. You should never go into the boxes.”

  It’s fast becoming clear why no one ever bothers to visit this enormous oaf. What’s the point? Why is this useless deadweight even tolerated on this side? I thought that all associated with the Will had a clear, unifying purpose that binds us together?

  “You want to know what’s in the boxes?” he incredulously gasps, lightly placing one hand on his chest. “Why, I don’t even know. I’ve long forgotten what’s in many of them. Almost all of them, in fact. Maybe that one? No, that was last week’s, so I’ve definitely forgotten. Which was the one that I used last?”

  Mumbling to himself, the bullish creature rises up from his chair, eagerly searching the nearby boxes for some memory triggering sign or other significance. However, sadly shaking his head, he gives up and returns to his chair.

  “Nope, I can’t remember. I suppose I’ll have to start a new one.”

  With a wave of his hand, the space nearby eerily warps and snaps open. A new box drops out onto the ground directly next to his seat. Shocked, I’m taken aback. Was that a pocket? How did he do that? I didn’t see any of the telltale signs of twists or obscuring folds.

  “Now if only I can recall which of these were left unfinished,” he cheerlessly states, glancing up at me. “Before I was so rudely interrupted.”

  I can’t risk upsetting him. He’s the only real lifeline of information that I’ve found out here so far. Aside from the serpent’s domain, and I definitely won’t be going back there. Also, as harmless as he seems now, he may be hiding his true strength. He is of the Will, after all. I shouldn’t risk testing him.

  “Of course you won’t. How would you even do that?”

  “Someone else? Do you mean the other aspects? There’s so many! I swear, new ones are appearing nearly every day. But who are we to question the Will?”

  “Well, I’m sure at least one would. They’re all very skilled at what they do.”

  Repeatedly squeezing my fists closed and opening them again, I slowly work out the agitation. Find peace. Be at peace. Don’t upset the potentially horrifying and definitely insane monster that might be sitting nearby. Make a good decision.

  “Which one? Which one, which one,” he mindlessly repeats, tapping on one of his curved horns. “Maybe the heart? Or the eyes? Certainly not the ears. That one’s so lost now without his inspiration. Oh, the nose!“

  Finally, we’re getting somewhere. If I can get him to properly describe them, then making travel requests to the foot may be possible. The more information and expressive options the better, given my limited ability to vocalize with my true voice.

  “Let’s see, the heart. Does he even have a domain? He’s always going wherever he pleases, inspiring the dirty, lazy masses to properly perform their duties. The eyes too. He’s so gigantic that he’s very literally everywhere all at once. He simply chooses to be or not to be in any particular place. Even if he’s not supposed to be or should be. How else would he perform his duties?”

  How terrible. Is he still watching us here right now? How would I know? Come to think of it, does that imply that he may listen to requests like the foot? After all, they’re both always watching and listening. Yes, and the chattering teeth freely conversed with the both of them. So, maybe he’s not as bad as his size implies?

  “The ears of the Will used to faithfully follow the heart, but then he quit. He’s holed up in his old domain now. A quiet little garden that he maintains by his lonesome far away from everything else.”

  That may be enough for another portal! Not to mention that his domain sounds like a surprisingly peaceful and safe destination. Ok, one more. If only he’s as helpful with this last one. Multiple options would be so much better, just in case.

  “And… the nose was it?”