by Tom Holt
She lined up an assortment of the stuff on the lid of a crate and gazed at it for a while. The dwarves—bless them—had never seen anything like this. Designed by cynics for sale to morons, stamped out by machines and shipped by the ton; the total antithesis of everything the dwarves stood for, and therefore as irresistible as blue jeans and rock music in Soviet Russia. The original plan had been to flog this garbage to the simple-minded Sons of Men in the surrounding villages, but now that she saw it with her own eyes, she knew with total certainty that the principal consumers would be the domestic market. Ugly, useless, thrown together any old fashion and built-in obsolescence. How could any dwarf possibly resist?
She tiptoed out of the chamber, as though afraid she’d wake up the sleeping treasure, and went in search of the king. She knew exactly where to find him. Behind the Royal Bedchamber, connected to it by a narrow passage that even a dwarf had to stoop to get through, was a tiny little cell where Drain kept his tools. Not the ancient and glorious Tools of Office, which were on display in the Royal Treasury under round-the-clock armed guard, but the ones he actually used, on the rare occasions when he managed to sneak off for ten minutes to tinker with something.
He looked up as she squeezed through the doorway. “Now what?”
“I thought you might like to come and see.”
Drain was making a watch. On the bench in front of him lay dozens of tiny brass cogs, wheels, ratchets, springs and pinions; he was filing the teeth of a gearwheel no bigger than a fingernail, by eye. Dwarvish watches are the best in the multiverse but there are very few of them. Precisely seven are made every two years, because by ancient custom only the dwarf-lords themselves are permitted to make them. Meanwhile, three levels down in a wooden crate, she had five hundred white plastic combination cufflink-tidy-digital-alarm-clocks.
“See what?”
Talking of seeing; the teeth of the gearwheel he was filing were minute—if she’d had a Vernier calliper handy and measured them, she’d have found they were forty thousandths of an inch long, and all precisely identical in length, thickness, rake and pitch—but he wasn’t using spectacles or a magnifying glass or a jeweller’s loupe, for the same reason she didn’t walk with a Zimmer frame. No need.
“The stuff, of course. It’s all here.”
“What, already? All of it?”
She nodded. “Come on,” she said. “It’ll blow your socks off.”
In her cell in the dungeons of the Black Castle, the one and only female goblin sat on the stone shelf that served as a bed and stared at the wall. She was bored.
Having no frame of reference, she assumed that this was normal and as it should be. She didn’t like being bored, but you can’t argue with normality and the way things are.
Can you? She didn’t know, because nobody had bothered to tell her.
Nobody had bothered to tell her anything, which was also normal—presumably—and which implied that it was her job to find out anything she needed to know, assuming she needed to know anything, which was a fairly big assumption. She extended her left paw—such pretty, pretty claws—and counted off the things she did know; of which there were six, one per claw, which she assumed was no coincidence:
Every now and again, not at regular intervals because she’d counted, the door opened and a funny little creature came in with a wooden bowl of food. She always ate the food and sometimes she ate the creature, which she knew instinctively was an inferior variant of herself. Nobody seemed to mind, so she assumed that that was normal, too. The food tasted marginally nicer than the creatures, but there wasn’t enough in it to make any odds That was the first thing.
At rather longer intervals, again irregular, two creatures of the food-bringing type came and stared at her through the grille in the door. They did so either because they liked looking at her (she could understand the concept of getting pleasure from looking at something, ever since she’d made herself a mirror) or because they were watching her to see how she was getting on; figuring out the things she had to figure out for herself, presumably, which in turn implied that at some stage they’d be satisfied with her progress, and then something else would happen, possibly involving going out through the door into the World. On balance, she hoped this would be the case, since the World might prove to be marginally less boring. That was the second thing.
She knew that she existed and was alive. She knew about all that because the food-bringing creatures she’d eaten were no longer alive and didn’t exist any more. Which raised an interesting point. They were, she’d intuited, related to her in some way, but they were very much smaller and weaker than she was, so there was no way of knowing whether the not-existing state of affairs would someday apply to her or not. Anyway, that was the third thing.
She knew that she was bigger, stronger, faster and smarter than the food-bringing creatures, because she ate them, rather than the other way around. However, dozens if not hundreds of similar creatures scuttled backwards and forwards up and down the corridor all day, as against being confined in this boring little cell. It was logical to assume that the better you were, the more privileges you got. Therefore it stood to reason that being bigger, stronger, faster and smarter didn’t make you better; the exact opposite, in fact. That was the fourth thing, to which she appended a query; am I being kept in here because I’m bad, or simply because this is where I belong, in the great scheme of things? Would quite like to know the answer to that one.
She knew that she was different from the food-bringing creatures in respects other than size, strength, speed and intelligence, because there were bits of her that didn’t seem to correspond with the equivalent bits of the food-bringing creatures she’d dissected. That raised the issue of whether these differences also (further or in the alternative) constituted badness, resulting in confinement. Would really like to know the answer to that. Anyhow, so much for known thing number five.
The sixth thing she knew was that the Others were able to communicate with each other using a system mostly based on sounds, though supplemented with movements of the head, paws and body. She was gradually figuring this out, though her progress was frustratingly slow, because she heard so little that she could learn from. She knew no, stop, help, oh shit that hurts and aargh, and had a pretty good idea what they were designed to communicate, but that was about it so far. Query: was this communication skill one of the things she was supposed to be figuring out for herself, and was her eventual release from confinement and boredom conditional on it? All things being equal, it seemed likely that it was, but so far she’d resisted the temptation to make that an assumption, on grounds of lack of compelling evidence.
Boring. Boring, boring, boring.
She had another look in her mirror. It was her favourite thing. From it she’d learned that she was beautiful (although it was probably pushing it a bit to assume that the Others realised this) and that thought gave her great pleasure; and pleasure was nice, though in deplorably short supply, though presumably that was normal and in accordance with how things are, see above, ad nauseam. It seemed odd to keep something as beautiful as she was locked up all day, but she could sort of understand why you might do such a thing; it might get away, wander off somewhere a bit less boring, and then where would you be? That sort of tied in with the two Others who came and stared at her—which, for all she knew, was normal and how it should be, etcetera. Really, she wouldn’t mind quite so much if only somebody would take five minutes just to explain to her what was going on.
Back to the mirror. And then something curious happened.
Instead of showing her herself, it was filled with a funny looking object; a bit like one of her eyes, except that it was red and shiny; and it was looking straight at her with obvious interest (thereby giving a degree of evidential support to the Beautiful hypothesis, see above).
“Hello,” it said.
She knew that one. It meant, initiate communication. “Hello,” she said back.
“Can you understand what
I’m saying?”
She blinked. “Yes,” she said. “Hey, that’s amazing.”
“Glad you think so. I think it’s pretty amazing, too. Would you like to do more saying-and-listening?”
“Ooh, yes please.” She paused. “I’m talking.”
“And very effectively, too, if I may say so. You’re very good at it.”
“Am I? Wow.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. It’s my first time.”
“Really? I’d never have guessed. You must be pretty smart, in that case.”
She hesitated. “I think I probably am,” she said, “because the little not-all-that-nice-tasting people-a-bit-like-me aren’t clever enough to get away when I want to eat them. Am I smart?”
“I think so.”
“Ordinary normal smart or smarter than normal?”
“Smarter than normal, I would say. I wouldn’t have thought any of them would be able to talk so well if it was their first time. Do you?”
“Gosh, no. But that’s just guessing. I don’t know enough about them to be sure, you see.”
“Well,” said the Eye, “I know quite a lot about goblins—that’s what they’re called, by the way—and it’s my opinion that you’re considerably smarter than they are. And bigger, and stronger. And prettier, too, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Any doubts she might have had about the Eye were thereby put to rest; because the Eye knew she was pretty, so it had to be smart and well informed. So that was all right. She could trust it implicitly. “Yes,” she said. “Much prettier.”
“Which is odd,” said the Eye.
That troubled her. “Odd?”
“Yes,” said the Eye. “Because here’s you, a specially clever, big, strong and beautiful individual, and they’ve got you locked up in a tiny little space with nobody to talk to and nothing to do. To be honest with you, I find that hard to credit.”
“Really? I thought that maybe it was normal and how things are.”
The Eye took a moment to consider that. “No,” it said, “I would say that’s not normal and not how things are, or should be.” It paused, then went on; “Can you account for it?”
She nodded. “I think it could be one of two things,” she said. “It’s either because I’m pretty and they like to look at me, so they keep me here so I don’t get away.”
“Plausible.” the Eye conceded. “Or?”
“Or I’m bad, and I don’t deserve to be let out.”
The Eye glowed even brighter than usual. “I wouldn’t want to speak out of turn,” it said, “but I think I can set your mind at rest on that score. I don’t think you’re bad. In fact, I’m sure you’re not.”
“Really?” She bit her lip. “I thought maybe it was because I eat the Others who bring food.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. After all, if you weren’t meant to eat them, they wouldn’t keep sending them. Well, would they?”
“No, I guess not. I never thought of that.”
“I think,” the Eye said, “that there’s another possible explanation.”
“Oh. What’s that?”
“This is just a suggestion,” said the Eye. “I’m not saying it’s true or anything.”
“Yes, I understand. What is it?”
“Well,” said the Eye, “maybe they keep you stuck in here because they’re afraid of you.” Pause. “Do you know what afraid is?”
“I think so. The food-bringy people I eat are afraid. Is that what you mean?”
“Same sort of thing, yes. I think the Others are afraid of you, because you’re bigger and stronger and faster and smarter and much prettier than they are. So that’s why they keep you locked up.”
She frowned. “I don’t follow. Why would they do that? If I’m all those better-thans, it must mean I’m good. If I’m good, they should like me more, not less.”
“Ah.” The Eye seemed to twinkle at her. “That’s people for you.”
“Is it?”
“Sadly, yes,” said the Eye. “People are afraid that if someone comes along who’s bigger and stronger and smarter and prettier, then other people will like the big-strong-smart-pretty more than them. That kind of being afraid is called jealousy.”
“Jellersey,” she repeated. “Ah, right. That would explain quite a lot. But it’s silly,” she objected. “For one thing, it’s not fair on the big-strong-smart-pretties.”
“Lots of things are unfair,” said the Eye. “Sorry about that.”
She frowned and was silent for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “So the World isn’t—?”
“Perfect? Unfortunately not. And that,” the Eye added, “explains a lot of other things, I think you’ll find. But don’t be too upset about it. I’m not jealous of you.”
“No, you aren’t,” she said. “I like you.”
“Good. I like you, too.”
“I’m glad about that.” She paused again, then said, “Why are you just an eye?”
“Ha! It’s a long story.”
“I don’t mind. I like listening to you.”
“Fine. All right, then, here goes. A long time ago, I was just like you.”
“Were you? Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Really?”
She nodded quickly four times. “It means we can really be—” She waited, and the word came to her. “Friends.”
“I’d like that. Anyway, I was like you once. I was bigger, stronger and smarter than everybody else in the whole World.”
“And prettier?”
“Naturally. Though I have to say, I don’t think I was ever quite as pretty as you.”
“I bet you were. Almost as pretty.”
“I was extremely pretty,” the Eye said firmly, “but nowhere near as pretty as you are. Even so,” it went on, “people were jealous of me. Very jealous.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Very jealous indeed,” said the Eye. “And you know what they did to me, because they were so jealous?”
“No,” she said, in a low voice. “What?”
“They locked me up in a small, cramped cell,” the Eye said. “Rather like this one, now I come to think of it. Maybe a bit smaller. It’s a long time ago, so I can’t quite remember.”
“What, just because they were jealous?”
“Yes. Makes you think, doesn’t it? Anyway, that’s not all they did. When I managed to get out of the cell a couple of times—which I don’t think was unreasonable, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well,” said the Eye, “they didn’t like it, because they took my body away. Really.”
She could feel drops of water oozing out of her eyes. Was that something to do with what she’d just heard? Rather a coincidence if it wasn’t. She wiped them away with the back of her paw. “That’s awful,” she said. “What, your whole body?”
“That’s right,” said the Eye. “All that’s left of me now is, well, what you can see. I don’t like to complain, but it’s a bit of a nuisance.”
“I think it’s—” She remembered; the perfect word. “Unfair. I think that’s so unfair.”
“Me too.”
“And all just because they were jealous?”
“Oh, they made excuses,” the Eye said. “They claimed I was disruptive, and a bad influence, and I was setting a bad example, and I wasn’t a team player.”
“That’s just silly.”
“I thought so. But no, they insisted. Said I had antisocial tendencies, of all things. Told me I had to shape up and fly straight. There is no Eye in ‘team’, they kept saying.”
“But you didn’t take any notice, I bet.”
“I didn’t,” said the Eye, “and look where it got me. Remarkably similar,” it added, “to where you are now.”
She thought about that for a bit. “I don’t think I’d be a team player, either.”
“I don’t suppose you would. You’re bigger and stronger and smarter and prettier than everybody else, so why should you be?�
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“And they took your body away, just for that?”
“That’s what they told me.”
“Gosh.” A horrible thought struck her. “Do you think they’d do that to me?”
A long silence. Then: “It’s possible, yes. Or they may just kill you.”
She frowned. “Can I be killed?”
“I think so,” the Eye said gravely. “I know I can’t, because they tried. But I think they could kill you, if they wanted to.”
She shivered. “That’s horrible,” she said. “I don’t think they should be allowed to do that.”
“It’s called authority,” the Eye said. “Basically, it means, there’s more of us and we have all the weapons, so we can do what we like to you. Personally, I don’t hold with it.”
“Nor me. I think it’s awful.”
The Eye gazed thoughtfully at her for a while. “How would it be,” it said, “if I made it so you could get out of there?”
She stared at it. “Could you?”
“It’s possible,” the Eye said slowly. “I can’t promise anything, mind, but I can certainly try. Would you like that?”
“Very much indeed.”
“Well, then.”
She hesitated. It seemed a lot to ask. But she had to try. “If I get out of here,” she said, “can I come and be with you? I’d really like that. A lot.”
“I’d like that, too,” the Eye said gravely. “A big lot. Watch out,” it added in a loud whisper, “someone’s coming. Look, it’d be best if you don’t let them know you can talk now, all right? You’ll be able to understand them, but don’t talk back. Promise?”
“I promise.”
“That’s great. Well, be seeing you. A little visual humour,” it added with a wink, and vanished.
“Oh, come on,” Tinituviel said, yet again. Mordak winced. Oh, come on seemed to land on exactly the same little cluster of nerve endings every single time; amazing accuracy, of which any championship-grade goblin archer would be justly proud. “It’s so glaringly, blindingly obvious that even a particularly stupid rock ought to be able to see it. Or, provided it’s explained slowly, you.”