Heroes: A Raconteur House Anthology

by Honor Raconteur

  Ogford looked at Twiggs and craned his neck.

  Twiggs nodded.

  Apparently Ogford had noticed the wayport’s foreign destination as well.

  Two minutes later and they were past all signs of civilization. Twiggs wondered who had laid the track here. Certainly gnomes hadn’t. They didn’t fancy marshy places. Above the drone of the speeding wheels of the train came a medley of whoops, screeches, howls, croaks, squeals, trills, rumbles, roars and snorts.

  We may get home if we can, mused Twiggs. He further figured that of the creatures expressing opinions at the train’s unapologetically loud passing, most would be inclined to eat them, some would simply kill them, while the rest might just sniff them up, be satisfied with a nice game of tug-of-war or perhaps spit on their greasy gray factory uniforms.

  Twiggs already knew he never wanted to pass through the Mivvings with anything less than the gnomish army escorting him.

  A ponderous thud greeted them at one point followed by a blur of a giant tentacle whipping by the window. The roar that followed was easily the most jarring thing Twiggs had ever heard— not that the tentacle attempting to grab the train wasn’t equally frightening.

  The grollops grinned at one another. “Swamp squid. One of them always tries to nick us as we go by. One of these times Zizweck needs to put the brakes on and let me send a harpoon into that thing’s maw.”

  Gleedge cast a dubious glance at Vinkbort. “And if you miss, there’d be one less grollop in the Gray Expanses.”

  Vinkbort smacked his companion in the forehead. “How’s that for accuracy, old Gleedge. Still think I might miss the squiddy?”

  Gleedge frowned and held the side of his blotched head. “Swattin’ grollops in trains and killing swamp squids with harpoons.... You aren’t much for making sense sometimes, Vinkbort. The two have as much to do with one another as skinning a rabbit and smithing an ax.”

  Vinkbort was undaunted. “You know I can take you nine out of ten grapples, Gleedge. So it’s just words with you.”

  “Yeah,” replied Gleedge wearily. “Well, beware the tenth then, Vinkbort.”

  “Bah!” Vinkbort slapped his companion on the shoulder. “All this civilization has made you a weak sister, Gleedge.”

  “I’ve seen your sisters, Vinkbort. They’re all uglier than you and could take you ten out of ten grapples.”

  “Why you…” Vinkbort didn’t finish his statement as the train ground to a halt.

  “We there?” asked Gleedge pensively.

  “No,” replied Vinkbort. “There is a ways on. You keep an eye on these,” he pointed unnecessarily at the gnomes, “while I have a word with Zizweck.”

  The larger grollop passed through the silver door that connected the cars. The door shut with a solid ker-thunk.

  “Well, lads,” said Gleedge, “how do you like the Mivvings so far?”

  “I like them a lot better inside this train than out,” replied Ogford.

  “There’s a smart gnome,” Gleedge replied companionably.

  They sat in silence just long enough for Twiggs to pluck up his courage to ask a question. “Gleedge, Zizweck spoke of a book that Cuttlewunk entered into willingly. How does one enter a book?”

  Gleedge peered toward the door that connected the two cars. “If I tell you some things real quick about the book, you won’t say how you know, okay?”

  Twiggs nodded vigorously. “We’re just trying to understand what’s happened to Cuttlewunk. He’s a friend. And he’s a gnome.”

  “Friend, you say.” Gleedge pondered. “Grollops don’t call each other friend. That word is new to me. But okay, I tell you. Book is not having pages or cover or held together by tree sap or other stickies. Book is hard to tell about it. Been in it once. Without guide can wander forever. It has places beautiful and places awful. Many, many, many wander there lost. Some see you. Some don’t. Best if they don’t, usually. A few know their way to here and there. They can find things. Learn things. Old, old knowledge. All of it is big. Like the world. Best I can say, it is where all memories go when a creature dies. The memories seek other memories. Too many memories to ever count. When they are new, they are colorful. When they grow old, they turn gray and somehow become stuck together. Sometimes they chase you. Sometimes they run away from you. Sometimes they try to trap you. Sometimes they teach you. Sometimes they just want to talk to you. There are gardens and castles and strange, tall buildings and great birds that fly with motors in the air and on the ground and creatures that are taller than gnomes, but not so big and strong as grollops. And there are weapons so powerful they can destroy many, many cities. There are…”

  With the whirring of the train’s wheels stopped, the voices of creatures small and great were amplified. A blood-curdling howl pierced their ears. Gleedge cocked his head to the side, his face a mask of concern.

  “What do you suppose that was?” Dewey asked timidly.

  “A wulgroth,” Gleedge replied grimly. “Head and body of a wolf, wings of a giant bat and the legs and claws of a hawk.”

  The howl came again. Closer this time.

  Dewey moved closer to Ogford, who favored him with an annoyed look but said nothing.

  “Can wulgroths damage train cars?” asked Twiggs.

  “No, but they’re the worst of the flying carrion birds in this part of the Expanses.”

  “Great,” muttered Dewey.

  Twiggs left the concern about the wulgroths to his companions. “Gleedge, you’re a good fellow. I don’t know what you risk by telling us about the book, but we will keep mum about it. Won’t we lads?”

  Dewey nodded.

  Ogford said, “Of course.”

  “And, Gleedge,” he paused briefly and the grollop met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Gleedge didn’t tell too much. But still best not to talk about it. Someday maybe you learn some things there and help Gleedge?”

  Twiggs nodded. “If it’s in our power to help, we will. But for now can I ask you one other question about the book?”

  The grollop shrugged. “Sure. Can ask.”

  “Do you know why Cuttlewunk willingly went into the book?” asked Twiggs.

  Gleedge stared at the door, his lips drawn together in what looked like a pout, but Twiggs took for deep thought. The grollop’s expression then relaxed. “Zizweck says Cuttlewunk didn’t like the wayport being taken. He fought it, but grollops too strong. Zizweck demanded he teach us about wayports. But he said he couldn’t. Watcher took him then from Zizweck. Watcher asked Cuttlewunk if he would rather be a grollop slave or learn more. Cuttlewunk said, learn more. So off he went into the book.”

  “Gleedge, you’ve been very helpful. Can you tell me who the Watcher is?”

  Gleedge’s expression turned dark. “Too many questions. No more answers.”

  Twiggs began to thank him again when suddenly the car door flew open.

  “Zizweck says the track is gone. We go on foot from here,” ordered Vinkbort.

  Dewey groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding! We’re going out into that savage swamp?” With a wulgroth hereabouts?”

  “Who says there’s a wulgroth close? You been telling them stories, Gleedge?” He didn’t allow his companion to respond. “We’re grollops, little gnome,” declared Vinkbort. “We didn’t bring you this far for a swamp toad to gulp you down whole.”

  Dewey’s eyes grew larger. “There are toads out here big enough to eat one of us whole?”

  Vinkbort nodded.

  Gleedge shook his head.

  “It’ll be alright, Dewey,” replied Twiggs. “The grollops didn’t bring us out here just to see which swamp nasty would make a meal of us first.”

  Dewey dared to look Vinkbort in the eye. “You got one of those harpoons you were talking about earlier? Sounds like we might need one.”

  Vinkbort opened a wooden cabinet in the back corner of the train car. Metal clanged against metal as he sorted through its contents. “Come here, Gleedge.”

 
The smaller grollop complied.

  Vinkbort handed him three large crossbows with accompanying quivers filled with bolts, three belts filled with throwing knives, and three spears that were three times a gnome’s height in length.

  While the grollops were provisioning for the journey, Twiggs’s mind caught hold of an image. Something Gleedge said had sprung it loose. He envisioned the flash of light during the train’s arrival in Jigville. A world where there is a sun. And another full of old memories. One rumored at, the other never contemplated. And Cuttlewunk is definitely in up to his neck. Sounds like we would do well to stay clear of that book. But someone has to help him. And the king needs to know about all of this. Somehow…

  During his deliberation, Zizweck had entered the car. “That’s a good start, Vinkbort, but we’re going to need rope as well. Someone slides down into a sinky hole we’re going to need a way to get them out. Once outside, we’re going to tie a rope around each of our chests and then tie it to the next. If one goes down, the rest of us pull him up.”

  “Are you sure all of this is necessary?” asked Ogford. “Can’t you just use the wayport to get us wherever we’re going?”

  Zizweck showed his filed brown teeth. “Gnome, for being one of the three smartest of your kind, you ask dumb questions. Of course I’d use the wayport if I still had it. But it’s back at Jigville under grollop control. We didn’t come from the farthest reaches of the Gray Expanses without knowing something about surviving and killing.”

  “What’s the biggest thing you ever killed?” Dewey asked skeptically.

  “Gleedge, you’re the tailor of the three of us. Do you have needle and thread handy?”

  Gleedge’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you need thread and needle for? Nobody’s cut up yet. You want me to yank down the curtains and sow one of them to a spear for a surrender flag? Swamp creatures don’t think that way, Zizweck.”

  “Who said anything about sewing a flag, Gleedge?” Zizweck eyed Dewey contemptuously. “If this one speaks again, sew his mouth shut.”

  “But he had a good question, Ziz. What is the biggest creature you ever killed? Vinkbort’s mostly wind and stink. He might have killed a swamp cat or the like.”

  Vinkbort reached to slap Gleedge again, but the smaller grollop danced out of the way. “Oh, no you don’t, you big lug. I’ve got a spear in my hand now.”

  “Enough! Both of you!” growled Zizweck. “We’ve got a distance to cover and these little gnomes are going to be more trouble than they’re worth. But we’ve got our orders. Save your blather and your strength. You may need breath, back and teeth before we reach Sarking Wuld.”

  “Guts and gaskets!” exclaimed Ogford. “What is Sarking Wuld? Sounds worse than the Mivvings!”

  None of this sound good, thought Twiggs. We’re all in for it.

  “Sew his mouth shut, too, if he says anything else,” declared Zizweck. “Let’s be off.”

  Chapter 3

  Sarking Wuld

  The Cagglebrist had come to rest some twenty feet from the edge of a murky pond littered with large lilypads, moss clumps, a fallen tree, and a malaise of buzzing insects. Brown plume-tufted reeds dotted the water’s surface. And strewn about the circumference were ferns twice the size of a gnome. Bubbles rose to the surface sending tiny waves outward to be met by other tiny waves. Twiggs wasn’t sure that he wanted to know what was causing them: the bubbles or the waves. He imagined something with too many eyes to count and slimy large tentacles. He relived the swipe of the tentacled creature outside of Jigville and was surprised that the train looked undamaged. If the grollops had a plan for retrieving it, they didn’t let on.

  He tried to sense the train and failed. Whatever magisi it had once possessed was gone. That would have been alarming enough if they weren’t being kidnapped by creatures twice their size who were about to drag them through a hideous swap and throw fireballs at them if their ire was aroused.

  Leaving the train seemed like the worst possible idea, but since the grollops probably didn’t play Eights and Skates, a game of cards was right out. And what else was there to do on a train in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of stinky monsters that wanted to consume all of your knowledge and then destroy your race?

  If the sounds of the swamp were frightening, its smell was abominable. And Twiggs had never seen such large mosquitoes, if that, indeed, was what they were. Fortunately, they took special interest in the grollops, who swatted at them in annoyance. Perhaps the insects were mistaking the brown lumps on their arms and faces for small chocolate pies, mused Twiggs. He could have gone for a chocolate pie about then, but not if every flying insect in the swamp was going to try and share it.

  Vinkbort smacked one of the bugs on his arm. Twiggs was sure the insect had had twin propellers sticking out of its rectangular head—a delightful affectation even amongst insect kind. With the creature’s untimely demise, Twiggs discovered that there was a stink that exceeded all other stinks. Vinkbort disgustedly flicked the jellied remains of the bug into the stagnant water. After a satisfying splash, a huge brown toad broke the waterline. It wrapped its black tongue around the insect’s remains, glanced at them with lidded, bulbous eyes, and dove back into the water.

  Zizweck regarded his larger companion. “You know, you really shouldn’t feed the creatures hereabouts, Vinkbort. They might take a liking to you.”

  “Then you could say you had a friend, Vink!” teased Gleedge.

  The larger grollop jabbed his spear at his companion, but Gleedge danced out of the way. “Bah!” Vinkbort waved a meaty hand at Zizweck. “Let’s get through this swamp.”

  As they skirted the pond, Twiggs spotted the rest of the tree that had fallen. The base of it was uprooted near the shore. Its roots stuck out like a bad wiring job in a culgerator. He didn’t know one tree from another, but this one was at least six feet in diameter and had taken a mighty tumble.

  He wondered if the tree had fallen because of an insufficient root structure. No amount of roots would support such a behemoth in what had to be, at best, a doughy, sodden morass of shifting mud and sand. But there was the possibility that something with malignant intent had toppled it to destroy the train tracks. If there was such a creature in the swamp, Twiggs earnestly hoped it was elsewhere toppling trees.

  A measure of fortune was with them as Zizweck’s abnormally large nose seemed well-suited to sniffing out the firmest path, albeit a circuitous one. At times they were in water up to their knees; well, to the bottom of the ankles in the grollops’ case. Twiggs’s boots were sodden and his toes felt like miniature eels were sliding between them. And what was worse, he wasn’t entirely sure something hadn’t gotten into his boots. But there was nothing for it, but to keep plodding ahead. The grollops weren’t the gnomish army, but they did present three intimidating figures, which served them in good stead for the first mile.

  Then the howls started again.

  “We’re being tracked,” Gleedge said warily.

  “Not tracked, Gleedge,” replied Zizweck, “herded. There’s a stand of trees ahead that we have to pass through. Wulgroths prefer to take their quarry unaware. When we get there, we’ll send the gnomes in first as bait and then we’ll see who’s going to do the ambushing.”

  “But I thought you wanted to keep us alive, seeing as how we’re the three smartest gnomes,” protested Dewey.

  “Gleedge, if that one survives this, sew his mouth shut. If he doesn’t survive it, sew his mouth shut anyway. I can’t stand the dead prattling on.”

  “Come now,” intervened Twiggs. “We’re no good to you dead.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, little gnome.” There was a steely glint to Zizweck’s eye that sent a shiver through Twiggs. “I’m not convinced that the three of you are the smartest of your race. Perhaps we’ll go back to Coppertwist and find three more.”

  “Can we at least have weapons to defend ourselves then?” asked Twiggs.

  “I’m afraid we’re short on extra wea
pons, little gnome,” grinned Zizweck. “You’ll just have to trust us to protect you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” whispered Ogford into his ear.

  Twiggs and his companions took shorter strides as they approached the stand of trees, but a few pokes in the back with the butts of the grollops’ spears caused them to quicken the pace.

  Twiggs wasn’t accustomed to so much diffuse light. Dawn was breaking, and the light, although bright enough to make peering into the trees difficult, lacked the potency to burn away the fog. The murky air was perfect for concealing creatures.

  The grollops were some ten feet behind them, and death, Twiggs was sure, lay ahead.

  However, he resisted the urge to flee. “Lads,” he whispered, “they’re set on making us the bait. We’re in a pinch for sure. So here’s what we’ll do. When I give the signal, drop and roll. You to the right, Dewey. And you to the left, Ogford. Get as flat as you can and try to hide behind a tree.”

  They nodded at him as they slowly made their way into the woods.

  Twiggs’s heart beat in his chest like a hammer on an anvil. His companions let him take the lead. He was no hero, but some plan was better than none. “We’re right here, you dirty wulgroths!” he cried out suddenly.

  “Down!” he shouted as winged creatures left the trees in a blur.

  Twiggs and Ogford rolled left. Dewey rolled right. Crossbolts flew and three wulgroths landed dead with loud thumping noises.

  An enraged howl came from above.

  There were more!

  Twiggs turned his head toward the foliage overhead and spotted what he hoped was the last of them. “It’s right above Dewey,” he hissed.

  Dewey Needleworth whimpered. “Kill it before it kills me. I don’t care if you sew my mouth shut.”

  Vinkbort took his spear in hand and the creature made a strange guttural sound.

  “Well, go ahead, Vink. You’re the great swamp squid slayer. Show us how it’s done,” goaded Gleedge.