Spindle shrugged off the insult. “Guards, take them.”
Twelve gnomes with crossbows or daggers in hand emerged from behind an enormous rusty bin filled with steel parts awaiting melt-down. They walked toward the grollops, but their strides drew shorter with each step.
“A very bad idea, this would be.” There was no fear in Zizweck’s eyes. “Worse than you do to us would be done to Cuttlewunk. But there is nothing you can do to us. The Watcher watches. He sees this.” A sweep of his hand took in the factory and its employees. “Perhaps he sees more too.”
The guards took a pace backward and looked to Spindle for direction.
“What have you done with Cuttlewunk?” demanded Spindle.
“He is in a book, carefully preserved. But there is danger in the book, so we mustn’t let him stray too far.” The creature’s smile revealed brown teeth filed to razor points.
“And this Watcher will let him stray, if we try to bind or harm you?” asked Spindle.
“The gnome is wiser than the grease under his finger nails,” replied Zizweck.
“Would you have us bring our king here?” Spindle asked indignantly.
Everyone knew the king didn’t come to the factories. He was highly fastidious by gnomish standards; by any standards for that matter. He hated dirt, grease and stink. And there were plenty of those things and more to be found at Copperworks.
Zizweck puffed out his lower lip. “Oh, does the big boss not like his factories? Or perhaps he is too fat to travel?”
“Careful,” threatened Spindle. “Cuttlewunk or not, you will not insult our king.”
There was a commotion to the rear of the gathered workers. “Make way! Make way!”
The workers parted, stepping on one another, muttering about stinky breath, greasy hair and big feet.
Six guards approached in clanking red and gold armor, crossbows and quivers strapped to their backs. Each carried an unsheathed dagger and a gold shield shaped like a large metal gear. Their helms were made to accommodate eyeballs, moustaches and beards. Apparently gnomish noses were either deemed too ugly to show or too precious to expose. Twiggs couldn’t say for sure, but still they looked quite official, even threatening, though he doubted the grollops were impressed. And their eyebrows were hidden. What self-respecting gnome hid his eyebrows?!
In the midst of the guards walked a gnome with silver spectacles hanging from a gold chain, wavy silver hair and beard, and a substantial paunch that was not well-hidden beneath his rather sumptuous red and gold robes. Kigzul Scarhammer carried the symbolic representation of his surname, a small gilt-hafted steel war-hammer in his right hand. He looked mad enough to use it.
Twiggs most certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be the target of the business end of it.
“What is the meaning of this?” bellowed the king.
“Here comes the dodderer. Waddling like a toddler. Waving his little hammer like a silly fly-swatter.”
The king’s face grew red with rage. “Filthy toadstools in my factory insulting me! Why, I’ve never seen the like!”
Smoke started to rise from the king’s beard. “Now you’ve never seen the like,” tittered Zizweck.
The king patted frantically at his beard. “What? My beard is on fire!”
“Only briefly, squatty king.” Another fireball, much larger than the first, spun in Zizweck’s palm. “If we wanted to burn your factory down and you in it, we could. But enough of little talk. Time for big talk!”
Zizweck extinguished the fireball with a wave of his hand.
The king was too proud to be humiliated, but the confident set of his shoulders had given way to a slouch and concern shone in his eyes.
“On with it then,” replied the king, but there was no demand in his tone.
Twiggs thought it odd that the king was cowed so easily. Rumor had it that he wasn’t the sharpest axe in the armory, but he didn’t lack for courage. Perhaps he had heard of these creatures and had reason to fear them. Spindle at least knew enough to identify them.
“Some of your kind are smart, squatty king. Very smart! They know things that are mysteries to us. But we are stronger than you. Stronger in the Old Ways and stronger of back and tooth than you. We have been searching for your people for a long time. You are only hinted at in the Far Reaches. We have come from where one storm starts and the next ends, where the dreams of men end abruptly because of fear, where memories go to die.
“You buy from those who sell darkness. We harvest the darkness and sell to them that sell. Without us, your trains have no fuel. We like harvesting the darkness. It is what we do, but we will stop unless you grant us a great boon.”
“Darkness Incorporated told us they were buying darkness from grollops instead of the dwarves of Grimhollon. And now here you are. What would you have of us?” the king asked gravely.
“We harvest darkness and we also harvest wayports. But we lack the knowledge to create them. Our master requires that you send us your three best engineers. The one named Cuttlewunk is not smart. He says he maintains, but does not create. We want creators, but not just creators. Ones that can teach us to create. In return, we will not destroy you and will leave some of your wayports in your hands, though we will use them when we see fit.”
The king cocked the war-hammer in his hands as if to throw it. “You think because you set my beard on fire that we are going to concede to all of your demands? We are gnomes! We do not bow to any of the faerie races or any manner of ill-spawned creature.”
Zizweck sighed. “Squatty, foolish king. Our master will not tolerate failure. Shall I burn your robes as your people watch? Have all of your guards fire their weapons at us. Then we will get on with the big talk.”
The king’s guards and the factory guards awaited his order to fire.
Twiggs was far more impressed with Zizweck’s ability to command fire than the grollops’ threat to stop harvesting darkness. He hoped the king felt the same way.
The king shook his head. “No, I don’t know that you won’t cause the bolts to rebound and kill those that fired them.”
“Wouldn’t that be the fair thing to do, squatty king? If you try to kill us, we favor you with the same treatment? But if you will negotiate with us, then we are just having big talk. Nobody hurts and nobody dies. Agreed?”
The king shook his head in resignation. “Negotiation? You are making demands and it appears we must comply. My people are not wizards. Our talents are in more functional areas. I don’t know who our three smartest engineers are. Spindle, where are you?”
Spindle Buckethead pushed out of the knot of gnomish workers and past the massive culgerator that powered the Jigville nocket. “Here, my king.”
The king’s guards allowed the chief foreman past them. He stood close to the king, both speaking in hushed tones. Every ear in Copperworks strained to catch the words.
Twiggs wondered if the grollops could hear them. Their tiny ears seemed ill-suited for eavesdropping across long distances.
Whatever was said, it was over quickly.
“Foreman Spindle tells me that there are three very competent engineers working tonight. Each is accomplished in creating wayports and can teach you their construction. But I am loath to send three of my people with you. What assurance can you give me of their safe return and the safety of my people?”
Zizweck flicked an object at the king.
One of the guards snatched it out of the air and held it up for the king to view. It was the size of a brass door knob and looked utterly unremarkable.
“What is this thing?” asked the king.
“Give it to your fourth smartest engineer. Let that one tell you what it is. But it is not given lightly and it costs us. Discern its powers and you unlock what we know. Discern not its powers and we will leech away every last bit of your power.”
“Miggs,” the king commanded. “Give the object back to the grollop. We will not be bound by such a thing.”
Zizweck’s face twisted i
nto a smirk as Miggs approached. The guard ascended the stairwell up the side of the trestle to hand the object to him, but it would not leave his hand. Miggs turned to the king. “Sire, what would you have me do?”
The king walked past his guards. “Give the thing to me, Miggs. It has an enchantment on it, I expect. Am I right, Grollop? It will only go to a gnome and not to your kind?”
Zizweck grinned. “Perhaps you are the fourth smartest engineer, squatty king. Yes, it belongs to the gnomes now. It will either strengthen you or weaken you. But our word is bound to it.”
“Why would you give us such a thing?” the king asked in bewilderment.
“Because the caradact is the grollop’s word. We ask for knowledge. We give knowledge in return. In this way the Darkness and the Light are appeased.”
“And what is appeased when you steal our wayports or kidnap our waymen?”
“Who’s to say, squatty king, whose needs are greater? Ours or yours?”
“But you are stealing from us,” protested the king.
“Are we, squatty king? What were the wayports before they were made?”
The king shrugged, “Energy, I suppose. Why does it matter? They are ours now.”
“They were yours, squatty king. Now they are ours. But the matter here in the Gray Expanses belongs to all. So are the wayports really yours or have you stolen them from all of the creatures of this realm?”
Chapter 2
Our Three Smartest Engineers
“The matter of the Gray Expanses is for the use of those who live here. We have shaped it for our needs and you have stolen what we created. Further, you have kidnapped our wayman. There is no justification for this.”
“Your wayman isn’t kidnapped. He went willingly into the book.”
“What is this book you speak of?” asked the king.
“We will show it to your smart engineers,” promised Zizweck. “Perhaps they would like to join him.”
“I forbid it!” declared the king.
“Squatty king, but now ignorant king. The book is not unlike the caradact. You would prevent them from knowledge?”
“We’ve lived for thousands of years without your knowledge, Grollop. Why would we want it now?”
“Perhaps the squatty king is not only ignorant, but senile. Were you not paying attention? We will take all that you have and are over time unless you can decode the caradact or walk the book.”
“Why give us the chance to save ourselves if you want to take all that is ours?” asked the king.
“The squatty king has sifted the moments and found the important question. Why indeed? Perhaps your smart ones will learn things from the caradact that we haven’t learned. Then we will take those from you as well.” The grollop smiled grotesquely.
“Why not leave us our smartest engineers if you want them to learn from this bauble you have foisted upon us?”
“Your smartest engineers will teach us about the things you do know. Your lesser engineers may find knowledge in the caradact that is useful to all, but in this there is no sureness. Now, where are these engineers? This place you call a factory is disgusting.” The grollop scratched under his armpit as if he had suddenly located an infestation of bed bugs.
The king sighed. “Very well. Our three smartest engineers are Dewey Needleworth, Ogford Bristlewick and Twiggs Barkvalve. Gnomes, step forward.”
Twiggs looked at Dewey.
And Dewey looked at Twiggs.
Ogford climbed down off of a scaffolding to join them, bewildered at being selected.
They all realized they had no choice in the matter. Twiggs thought he knew why he had been selected. Yes, he was one of the brightest engineers at Copperworks, but Spindle had it in for him.
Copperworks’ policy dictated that no one take factory equipment outside of the factory. Twiggs was a toe-the-line sort of gnome, but he had needed the glass blower and the implant borer. When Spindle had caught him bringing the equipment back to the factory, he’d demanded to know why he had taken it. Twiggs declined to share his reasons, so Spindle threatened to fire him if he wasn’t forthright. On Spindle’s orders, the guards searched him and found the device he had created. Twiggs had told Spindle it was merely a trinket for checking the weather, which it could do, but Spindle didn’t believe him. Spindle was not a sap. He had a gnome’s good sense about such things and was bound and determined to ferret out what the device’s real purpose was. Twiggs hadn’t completely considered the ramifications of divulging what it could do. Thereafter, Spindle cornered and grilled him whenever he could, but Twiggs stuck to his story, leaving the foreman more and more aggravated and suspicious of him.
There was no doubt that recent events had earned him this dubious honor.
Zizweck stepped down from the train and examined each of them. He eyed Twiggs up and down as if checking for mold or rust. The creature’s breath stank, not that Twiggs expected it to smell of lemon cakes. He wondered if the creature fancied putrescent tree sap and battery acid. That’s what it reminded him of, at least, and the notion almost caused him to laugh aloud.
Zizweck spotted the change in his demeanor but said nothing.
The grollop finished up with Dewey, who was staring straight ahead and clearly petrified. “Well, if they’re as smart as they are scared, they’ll do nicely.”
Twiggs wanted to point out that he was more concerned than scared. Perhaps he should have been terrified. He had no rational answer, in fact, for why he wasn’t. But at least he had his wits about him. He suddenly wished he’d been more forthcoming with Spindle, but the time for that had passed.
He didn’t know why Spindle had chosen Ogford and Dewey. Both were competent wayport engineers, although neither had done anything distinguishing as far as he knew. Perhaps they’d had run-ins with Spindle as well.
The king stood beside the grollop and stared into the eyes of Twiggs and his two unfortunate fellow engineers. “Well, lads. We’re depending on you to give the grollops what they ask for and then get yourselves straight home.” He turned to Zizweck. “You do intend to send them home once they’ve taught you want you want to know? Yes?” the king asked expectantly.
Zizweck laughed. “Once their usefulness is at an end we will release them. They may get home, if they can.”
The king’s face reddened, but he managed to rein in his reply. “Good. We want our engineers back. Whole and unscathed.”
“The squatty king is learning how to have the big talk with the grollops.”
The message was unmistakable: don’t make threats you can’t make good on.
The king began to walk toward his guards before turning back. His gaze rested solely on Twiggs. “I know nothing of this book, so use good common gnome sense in any dealings you may have with it.”
The three of them nodded.
Zizweck’s wily eyes had captured the moment. He studied Twiggs briefly before saying, “Vinkbort, Gleedge, show our guests to their quarters in the second car.”
Dewey and Ogford moved woodenly as if resigned to their deaths. Twiggs brought up the rear. A few of their fellow workers clapped them on the back or said, “Good luck, lads,” or some version of “Don’t be gone long.”
They climbed the rickety wooden stairs up the side of the trestle. Once on the wooden platform, they were ushered into the second car. It stank of grollops, a pungent blend of rotten eggs and moldering tree leaves. Whatever it was, it reeked. However, the car looked new. The white curtains looked freshly pressed and laundered. The red leather seats fairly sparkled. The silver paint was shiny. The windows were spotless. The ripcord was intact, although Twiggs didn’t expect pulling it would result in anything good.
Vinkbort addressed them. “Fix the straps on yourselves. You’re no good to us if you get smacked senseless against the side of the railcar during wayport travel.”
“Where are we going?” asked Twiggs. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he amended quickly.
“Well,” laughed Vinkbort. “Being
as this wayport sends us to Jigville, we’re for Jigville. Beyond that it’s some side tracks out into the Mivvings, and then, well, we’ll see what old Zizweck says. He’s got a couple places in mind.”
“Yeah, a couple,” chortled Gleedge.
Clearly Dewey had never traveled via wayport as he was slow to figure out the straps.
Vinkbort eyed him critically. “I thought you three were the smartest.”
Dewey fumbled with the catch on the strap before securing it over his shoulder. “It’s not a wayport. It’s a strap,” he replied defensively.
Vinkbort secured his own strap. “There’s one of us for each of you. I’ve got my eye on you, gnome. So watch yourself.”
Dewey didn’t reply, but the intermittent twitch in his right cheek was enough for Twiggs to see he was plenty scared. His red moustache looked like a puppeteer was yanking it with a marionette string. Under other circumstances, Twiggs would have found it hilarious.
“Everyone strapped in tight?” Zizweck’s voice came across the string.
Vinkbort tugged the ripcord in response.
A second later they were hurtling through space at a ridiculously fast rate. Even Twiggs’s trained eye couldn’t grasp the surrounding countryside. Dewey looked like he was going to be sick, but somehow managed to keep from vomiting. Ogford merely stared resolutely forward. The grollops’ eyes were rolled back in their heads.
Perhaps they’re dead, Twiggs thought cheerfully.
When they reached Jigville, they stopped moving, which was exactly what the wayport was supposed to do. But along with the normal kaleidoscopic rush of too many things flying by and stopping all at once, there had been an uncharacteristic flash of light. Had his companions seen it? Had the grollops seen it? An image flashed by his eyes, but he couldn’t lock on to it. However, he knew there was something in it. He’d worry about it later.
They were buffered with unnatural speed onto a trunk line. Twiggs recognized the rows and rows of yellow houses: the outskirts of Jigville. And these grollops need help figuring out how to create a wayport? Pig knuckles! It was no mean feat to transfer the wayport destination to an ancillary track. The creatures were clearly smarter than he had originally suspected.
Heroes: A Raconteur House Anthology Page 9