by Kevin Hearne
And yet.
Offi felt this strange new feeling. An Urge.
The kind of Urge they’d warned him about in school.
But when Offi looked at his palms, they weren’t hairy at all, so maybe this was a different Urge.
He wanted to see the world.
But not in a book, and not out the window of a refugee center.
He wanted to see Pell on his own terms, to taste new foods instead of downing the fine puddings of home from a spoon shaped to fit his hand.
Slowly, not quite sure what he was doing or why, Offi took off his glasses. He stared at them, considering. He could see fine up close and not too terribly when looking far away, provided he squinted a bit, and not like his brother did when he wanted to look more heroic. In fact, if Offi was honest with himself, the glasses were in large part an affectation, and he had chosen the clunkiest, heaviest black ones he could find, as they made his kohl-lined eyes pop.
Bending at the waist, he put the glasses on the ground and lifted his foot. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to smash them; such was not the gnomeric way, and for all his Urge and his recent Descent into Personal Psychic Darkness, he was still a gnome. He didn’t even have a broom and dustpan. Instead, he tucked the glasses into his pocket and hurried down the hall to a human-sized restroom he’d passed earlier, in which some thoughtful gnomes had built a smaller, more gnome-sized facility under a cabinet, together with a smaller door built into the large one. Slipping within, he firmly locked the door and spent a moment in the darkness, contemplating the enormity of what he was about to do. Somewhere down the hall, he heard a Proper Hubbub, the clink of metal and shouting and bumping about, but he could only assume it was the humans fighting among themselves or doing something protective, as the refugee center was, all agreed, a Very Safe Place.
Turning on the lights and gazing into a gnomeric mirror that was almost ludicrously clean compared to the human one above the cupboard, Offi turned his face this way and that, trying to look more Onni-ish. He scrubbed off the eyeliner with the provided beard oil and towel and coaxed a curl onto his forehead and forced his mouth into an easygoing smile. His cardigan, at least, was already horrifically cheerful, if a bit old. Without his glasses and his black cardigans, he and Onni were truly identical. The only difference was that now Onni would be staying here at the refugee center to keep his people safe and jolly while Offi would be going on an adventure.
Because Offi was going to pretend to be Onni.
Was it cruel to leave without explanation? Would his family worry? Perhaps a little. No, he had to be honest: They would worry, and they would Sulk, and they would Sigh Dramatically and sniffle a bit. But if he tried to explain it to them, they would never understand. Gnomes did not yearn for adventure. Gnomes chose a hole, tricked it out, and died in it, surrounded by nicely folded cardigans.
Offi dried out the bathroom sink, turned off the light, and walked back toward his friends—but were they actually his friends? Gnomes rarely spoke to the taller folk, and even then it was usually business; taller folk used shocking curse words and sometimes went days without washing their bums. It was uncivilized—they were uncivilized. But, outside of Kirsi, from here until their quest was complete he would be in the company of people who were distinctly ungnomeric, from their variously shaped uncovered heads to their hooved, or hairy and beringed, feet. Was it even possible for such different beings to become friends? He supposed it must be, since they were certainly not enemies. They had the beginnings of a fellowship, at least, and was that not a foundation for friendship?
As he resumed walking toward them, he puffed out his chest like he thought Onni would and pasted on a confident smile. And it was truly strange how with each step he felt a little more firm, a little more sure, a little more swaggery, of all things. A little more Onni-ish.
So this is what it’s like, he thought, to be a Gnome of Great Certainty.
In fact, he was thinking so hard about how pleasant it felt, pretending to be Onni, that he wasn’t quite prepared for the part where he actually had to be Onni—right down to fooling Kirsi, who’d known both brothers since the cradle.
The first thing that happened was that Kirsi barreled into him with a squeal, squishing up against him and lightly brushing her nose against his before pulling away and tugging her cardigan back into place.
“Oh, Onni! I’m so glad you’re here.” Kirsi looked down and blushed. “I mean, the more the merrier, happy as a terrier, right? Did Offi tell you the plan? Did the humans rough you up?”
Offi noted that she didn’t actually ask where Offi was, but he chose to forget it because of the way she was looking at him. Or Onni. Or him.
Because from here on out, for all intents and purposes, he was going to be Onni.
He smiled as his brother would. “Offi told me what was happening. But he chose to stay behind and help our father. Never was much for bravery, was he?”
Kirsi giggled. “No, I suppose not. Remember that time you and I climbed that tree near the school hatch when we were wee, but he stayed on the ground and pulled out a measuring tape to determine the trunk’s diameter?”
Offi had to laugh along like this was great fun, but he did indeed remember that day, and he had been most pleased to record several notable measurements of the tree in question in his journal that night.
“Silly Offi,” he said instead, forcing his mouth into a smile. “But enough about my brother. Are we ready to leave? And why…is the room full of unconscious people?”
“Oh, they attacked us, but we won. No big deal.” Kirsi took a step back and a tiny frown of worry formed on her face as she scanned him. “But did you not bring a pack? And wasn’t Offi wearing the same color cardigan?”
Every muscle in Offi’s face wanted to react with a terrified grimace, but he fought the urge and shrugged. “We’re twins, and we were only able to pack ten cardigans each for the trip. When I put on this one this morning, Offi chose the same color. You know. To be like me. And I chose to leave my pack behind in case an orphan needed it.”
Kirsi held her clasped hands to her cheek and sighed in a dreamy sort of way.
“Oh, Onni. That’s just the sort of thing you’d do, helping orphans.”
Offi almost felt bad for lying to her, but he realized that when he didn’t return, having left no note for his family, he would be presumed dead and the cardigans in his pack would eventually be given to orphans anyway. He felt a stab of guilt, but the choice was made. The trip was happening, cardigans or not. He would return a hero, and his parents and brother would be proud and happy—unless they chose to never forgive him. He supposed that was an option too, and the risk he was taking.
If you leave your family and home, you’re not such a gnomeric gnome, Onni would’ve quoted just then.
The others gathered around, and Kirsi introduced them, and Offi pretended he’d never met any of them before and remembered to feign slight terror as Gerd looked him over, since gnomes were smöl people and generally concerned about large, hungry monsters. He noted that Båggi in particular seemed troubled, but he didn’t see any signs of physical damage despite the fight that had torn the room apart. It wouldn’t do to ask about it; Onni had never met the dwarf—any dwarf—before and would therefore not know that anything was wrong.
“Well,” Kirsi said, hands on her hips in that familiar way. She had always been the one organizing playground games at school, and Offi was not surprised that she would be organizing their expedition. He was, however, surprised to find her looking at him with bright eyes.
“What now, Onni?”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat and smoothed down his cardigan, as Onni often did when thinking. “We ask Piini to take us to the Great Library, I guess.”
Agape’s dark eyes narrowed as she cocked her head at him. “Wait. You just showed up. How’d you know thaaat?”
“Of course.” Agape nodded along like this made any kind of sense. “Yeah, I’ve heard about thaaat before. I met these twins down in Taynt who did thaaat.”
“Taynt?”
“It’s near Limpf.”
“Where’s that?”
Her eyes shifted in a cagey sort of way. “I don’t know, exactly. We didn’t use maaaps or follow established roads and paaaths very often, because we feared people would search for us on them and maybe pick up our trail. We just moved every couple of days. So I know all the place names and I caaan tell you that Taynt is kind of dirty with an unpleasant odor to it, but I’m not sure precisely which earldom it’s in. One of the southernmost ones.” She transferred the sleeping halfling to a cradle hold in one arm and patted her bulging pack with the other hand, in a way that seemed compulsive and unconscious, before turning to face Piini. The golden man always seemed a step away from her, completely still but ticking softly in a way that Offi found deeply comforting. “Piini Automaatti,” she said, “will you take us to the Great Library?”
“Yes,” he replied, but remained still.
Agape rolled her eyes. “Okay, so thaaat was probably the wrong way to phrase it.
“Piini Automaatti, lead us to the Great Library now.” As an afterthought, she added, “Please?”
Piini turned to walk down the hall, but something occurred to Offi. After watching Agape ask the wrong question, and considering how much they didn’t know about their quest, it seemed foolish to just bust out the door following an old machine. What if Piini wasn’t programmed to follow roads and walked them off a cliff or into a dragon’s nest?
“Piini, wait,” he called, but the machine didn’t even pause. “Agape, please ask him to wait.”
“Piini Automaatti, wait.”
The machine stopped, and Offi hurried around to face him. The flat face angled down, and Offi’s fingers twitched for a dainty brush-and-pick set that would allow him to tidy up every grimy crevice.
“Piini Automaatti, is there anything special required to enter the Great Library?”
“You will need the Vartija.”
Offi’s eyes flicked to Agape, who blinked in surprise. “Piini, why do we need the Vartija to get into the Great Library?”
“The entrance to the City of Underthings is hidden well. Only the aura of the Vartija will reveal the entrance, and only her willing, unforced request will deactivate the automaatti defenses there.”
The ovitaur’s eyes rounded in shock.
“Oh, galloping grapes, Agape, you’re the key!” Båggi exclaimed. “And you asked the right question, my good gnome!” He looked as if he wanted to hug Offi but also recognized that it would present many physiological challenges and probably prove deeply uncomfortable for all involved. Beard entanglement was a real possibility.
The ovitaur seemed very uncomfortable to be the center of attention, and she muttered, “Great. I’m the key. Piini, let’s get out of here.”
The metal man walked toward the main door, and the group followed him. Agape went first, carrying Faucon, and Gerd followed just a little too close behind, as if she suspected the ovitaur of foul play, and not of the eggish kind. Båggi went next, humming a jolly little song to himself. Offi had always heard that dwarves were violent, untrustworthy creatures, so he was deeply confused to find Båggi dancing along and looking pleased as plum pudding to be included. He and Kirsi came last, and he found himself almost jogging to keep up with the much longer strides of the others.
At the door, a human guard leaned back on a poorly constructed chair tipped against the wall, drooling down his bare chin. Piini stopped before the man as if waiting for the door to open. Agape reached for the lock, but the second the rusty metal began to slide, the human’s chair crashed down and his bulging eyes took in their crew with suspicion.
“Whassall this?” he asked, slurring. Offi smelled his stomach-churning yeasty breath and connected this smell to the stains down the man’s shirt and a large mug on the ground by his scandalously unpolished boots.
Båggi chortled and threw his hands wide in excitement, beaming a winsome smile. “We’re a group of friends going on an exciting quest!”
The human raised a bushy eyebrow, then looked from one to the other of the group, as if trying to find the right person to talk to and failing completely due to a lack of humans.
“Buncha weirdos, going on a quest?” he muttered. “Is this one of them Incredible Journey things? Or is it that bloody grail again? Are you playing Fellowships of the String? Do your parents know? Look, just go back to your room, kids. Ping-Pong contest tomorrow after lunch.”
“We will not play Ping-Pong,” Kirsi said, stepping up, her hands in fists. “We are free citizens of Pell, and we can come and go as we please, and we’re going.”
The guard’s eyebrows drew down, and he put a hand on his crossbow. “And who are you? The queen of the Itty Bitty Snitty Committee? You don’t go unless I say you can go, tadpole.”
Let me pluck his head from his neck like a ripe peach, Gerd said. That will teach him to suggest Ping-Pong to a mighty gryphone!
The guard pointed the crossbow at Gerd. “I hate cats,” he said. “And birds. And freaks of nature. Get that thing out of here. Take it to the hostler. The gnomes have to stay here, but the rest of you can go.”
“Why do the gnomes haaave to stay?” Agape asked.
“For their own safety. Lots of halfling violence right now. Lord Ergot is trying to restore order.”
Hearing a slight murmur, Offi looked over to find Kirsi focusing on the man’s crossbow as she whispered under her breath, balled up a hair, and ate it.
“The gnomes will go with us,” Agape said, and her hoof scraped the stone like she was preparing to charge.
“Nope, they’ll stay here,” the guard insisted. “So are you going on your quest or not?”
“Oh, we’re going,” Agape said.
Kirsi gave Offi a look that clearly said, Things are about to get heckin’ Rebellious. “I guess we’ll stay, then,” she said, turning away from the door. Offi turned with her, and she reached out and squeezed his hand, which was about the same as squeezing his heart.
“Right,” the human said, sniffing in satisfaction. “The rest of you have fun getting killed on the streets.”
As soon as the door was open, Kirsi shouted, “Everybody, run!”
Agape commanded Piini to run and broke into a very sheepish sort of zigzaggy, bulgy-eyed, baa-filled trot. Faucon bounced bonelessly, draped over her arm like a sack of discount cornmeal. Instead of using his cudgel on the guard while he had the chance, Båggi was jogging after Agape, shouting, “Whee!” Gerd stepped out and took to the air as soon as she could. Kirsi grabbed Offi’s sleeve and yanked, and then they were running together.
“But the crossbow!” he shouted, as the human grunted and squeezed the trigger. He must have had the safety on, since nothing happened.
“Don’t worry about that. Follow Piini.”
Offi kept running and heard the human cursing behind them, but no bolt pierced his cardigan. He looked back and saw the guard manically squeezing the trigger, trying to shoot one of them down, but to no avail, thanks to Kirsi’s bristlewitchery.
The golden man led them down a dirty alley, around some rain barrels filled with bathing fairies, and down several more streets. It took everything Offi had just to keep Agape and Båggi in his sights. He was out of breath, and his leg warmers slipped down around his ankles, and his cardigan went askew.
“Oof!”
He looked back to see Kirsi sprawled on the filthy cobbles, struggling to stand without stepping on her ankle-length skirts. A shadow from overhead settled over Kirsi, and every gnomeric instinct told Offi to freeze in place, as a raptor was about to claim an unlucky gnome for dinne
r.
Can’t be helped, can’t be stopped, put less pudding in the pot. The old rhyme gnomelets sang when playing double Dutch jangled through his head, making him ill.
“No,” he muttered. He ran for Kirsi, grasped her hand, and pulled her to standing, where she clung to him.
“Oh no! There’s mud on my cardigan!” Kirsi shouted.
But Offi didn’t have time to say anything before he felt the sudden smack of claws around his waist, tightening painfully, and then the swoop of his feet leaving the ground along with the disconcerting feeling he might have left his stomach behind. Kirsi still clutched at him, filthy cardigan or not, and he felt it was more than appropriate to clutch at her, and the world went strange as they soared out of the alley and into the sky.
I will be as careful as if you were sweet, tender egges, poached and ready to be placed on toast, Gerd promised, and Offi looked up to see the underside of her beak, her tongue sticking out just a little to flap in the breeze. Delicious poached egges…
“We are not eggs!” Kirsi shouted into the wind.
Gerd squawked a laugh. You are funny, smöl one. Of course you are not an egge! You have intestines, and egges do not; that is an easy way to tell the difference. If you do not wriggle too much, I will keep your intestines safe.
Offi couldn’t relax, but he did his best not to wriggle. He even found the courage to open his eyes briefly, but the view of Bruding was far from idyllic. Thatched roofs filled with holes and tortoises, gloomy little tufts of smoke, alleys hosting all manner of trolls and humans doing unsavory things. From overhead, Offi saw few, if any, halflings in the city, so there seemed to be no reason for Lord Ergot to order the gnomes to remain in the Ping-Pong Palace. He glanced at Kirsi to find her focusing up ahead, her arms spread wide as if she, too, were flying. She wasn’t looking down, though—she was watching the horizon, where the grand swells of the Honeymelon Hills framed a ribbon of green.