Twiggs made a placating gesture with his hands. “Easy now. I’m a wayport engineer from Copperworks. I’m here on urgent business. I need to see the king.”
By this time, the fatter guard was stirring. “What’s all this then? An engineer? Do you know what time of day—or night—it is, sir?”
“Not precisely,” replied Twiggs. “But regardless, I need to meet with the king. He sent me… Well, it’d be hard to explain. Oh, for crying out loud, just get the king, will you? The life of every gnome is at stake and I don’t have time to educate you two oafs on what’s what.”
Both guards stood, the sleep mostly gone from their eyes.
“How’d you get in here?” the fat one asked.
“Gruel and guts, do we have to go through this?” shouted Twiggs. “This is the most pressing matter in the whole of Gnome-dom. I’m short on time, and for that matter, so are both of you.”
The guards looked at each other uncomprehendingly.
“Look, the king is going to be angry if you hold me up any longer. If I had an image of his bedchamber, I’d be there already.”
“You’re an assassin then!” the smaller of the two guards declared triumphantly.
“Do I look like an assassin to you?” Twiggs wanted to wring both of their necks. “Just get the king, confound you both!”
“Erby, you go in and tell Broghurst that we’ve got an assassin out here that wants to see the king. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
If the grollops had wanted the two dumbest gnomes, these nimrods would be ringers for the job, Twiggs groused silently.
The fat one looked back and forth between Twiggs and the other guard. “You sure you’ll be okay here with him, Vopps?”
“For an assassin, he doesn’t look like too much. Just hurry up!”
Erby cast a backward glance at them as he took a key from his pocket. The brass door opened with a loud click.
What seemed like an eternity later, Erby returned with Broghurst and a very fat gnome in a red and gold silk robe with a purple nightcap on his head.
“Twice in one day!” he blustered, his eyes bleary and his silver beard flecked with spittle. “First the factory and now… You’re one of those engineers I sent with the grollops. But how did you get in here?”
“I’m a wayport engineer, sire. I can explain everything. Is there a place where we may speak privately? I have urgent news for you.”
“Broghurst, get my cup-bearer and have him pour a couple of draughts of Imperial Gold. I expect this fellow is thirsty.”
King Kigzul motioned for Twiggs to follow him through the brass doors. “My council room is this way. “
The main audience chamber led to a dais on which sat a brass throne that looked much too hard for a gnome to sit on comfortably for any duration. Leading up to it on either side were rows of wooden pews. A gold-colored carpet with the sigil of a large burgundy war-hammer emblazoned upon it adorned the floor and flowed up three steps that led to the royal seat.
The king took him past all of it, through a thick wooden door and down a hallway lit by small tapers in golden wall sconces. At the end of the hallway was another door, and through it was a long hickory table with leather chairs situated around it. A single taper illuminated the room.
A young gnome wearing a nightcap entered through a door at the other end of the room carrying two goblets. He set them by two chairs at the head of the table and then went around the room to light more of the wall sconces.
“May I get you and your visitor anything else, sire?”
“That will be all, Sprog.”
The cup-bearer bowed and left the room.
The king pointed toward the nearest chair and tossed his nightcap aside. “Sit. Drink. Tell me your name, again. Why have you returned? Yech, what is that terrible smell?”
“Twiggs Barkvalve. That, sire, is the stench of grollops. I think they may be part skunk.”
The king was unamused. “Yes, well, it’s going to take the housekeepers days to get the smell out. Are you sure you can’t go take a bath and we have our talk at a more civilized hour?”
Twiggs was in no mood to mince words. “Yes, I’m sure. Not unless you want grollops in your bedchamber instead of a stinky gnome in your council room.”
“Very well then,” the king replied nasally, as he tried pinching his nose shut. “So why have you returned?”
“Sire,” he replied conspiratorially, I have several important bits of news. And I have made a discovery that perhaps changes everything.”
The king leaned over, the better to hear Twiggs’s hushed tone. But then realizing the smell was worse, recoiled and coughed into a handkerchief. “A great discovery, you say, Mr. Barkvalve?”
“Great indeed, sire. But before I get to the great discovery, I have two very sobering things to share with you if I may?”
The king nodded. “You are a fountain of information, Mr. Barkvalve. Please, I’m on pins and needles.”
“Sire, you recall the grollop mentioning a book into which Cuttlewunk had voluntarily stepped?”
“I do,” the king replied.
“I was able to strike up a conversation with one of the grollops who was quite forthcoming about it. Still not sure why he shared so much with me, so everything I share is subject to objective verification. But the grollop said it was a realm somehow pieced together by the memories of the dead. Have you heard of such a place?”
The king pondered. “Yes. My spymaster told me of such a place years ago, but was never able to find it or prove it existed. We set it aside as a fable. So this book is purportedly this realm? Curious. Do you think the grollop was just telling you a story or is there reason to believe it?”
“I believe the creature,” replied Twiggs. “And here is why. Their leader told us that they valued the lives of the creatures of the Gray Expanses more than they did ours.”
“Why that’s preposterous, Mr. Barkvalve. We serve a much greater purpose than some beast in the Far Reaches.”
“And that, sire, is precisely why they value our lives less than the lives of wild beasts.”
“Mr. Barkvalve, this makes no sense. What are you getting at?” asked the king, his brows knit tightly.
“Sire, if the realm or book is comprised of the memories of the dead, what better way to get at the information of the gnomish people than to kill them and find their memories in this book?”
The king brought his hand to his mouth. “By the Wayfarer, Mr. Barkvalve, your hypothesis has merit! Frightening merit! So why haven’t they just wiped us out? They seem perfectly capable of doing so.”
“Perhaps they are afraid they won’t be able to find the memories? I don’t know, sire. That is the best answer I have right now.”
“Well, Mr. Barkvalve, you’ve done the right thing in coming here and alerting me to all of this. I will call my council in the morning to discuss it. But you have news of a discovery also. Please tell me this is good news.”
“I think it’s very good news, sire. As the train entered Jigville there was a flash of light. But it wasn’t the kind of light we have in our world. It was bright! Blindingly bright!”
“Blindingly bright, you say, Mr. Barkvalve?” The king had momentarily forgotten the smell and inched closer to Twiggs again.
“Yes, sire, the sort of bright that comes from a world that has a visible sun.”
The king brought his hamhock hands to his mouth. “Do you think it was…?”
“I do, sire!
The world of men!” They exclaimed together.
“Mr. Barkvalve, you’re right! This perhaps does change everything! Can you find it again?” The king’s face was a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“I don’t have to find it, sire. I have it right here in my hand.” He held up the beveled piece of glass.
The king was rapt with interest. “Is that how you traveled here tonight?”
“It is,” Twiggs responded simply.
The king tugged at his beard, thin
king. “But it looks nothing like a wayport. What is it?”
“I haven’t named it yet, sire. Would you care to?”
“What to call it? Hmm. I wouldn’t know what to call it. But you say you invented it?”
“I actually didn’t say,” replied Twiggs. “But, yes, I did invent it. I’ve been working on it for years. I use it to go from room to room in my house. I don’t use the doors as much as I used to. Saves on carpet wear.”
“Yes, big benefit there, I’m sure,” said the king. “But how can this little… Why don’t you call it a barkvalve?”
“Barkvalve it is then,” Twiggs beamed from ear to ear.
The king shook his head in disbelief. “How can this piece of glass allow access to the world of men?”
“I saw images of a place as we came into Jigville, which means that place is roughly in the same spot as Jigville in the world of men.”
“So you believe the theory that the Gray Expanses are a Shadow of the world of men?” asked the king.
“I do, sire. We’re a shadow of it; it’s a parallel to us. However you care to define it. But it’s quite real and if we give credence to the theory that it parallels our world…”
“Mr. Barkvalve, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” The king pushed back his chair from the table and stood. “Sprog, more Imperial. No, on second thought, belie that last. Go back to sleep, even.
“Mr. Barkvalve, do you realize what this means?” In his excitement he began to answer his own question. “If we can establish a presence there...”
“Then the broken railways and wayports could be re-built there, but accessed from here,” finished Twiggs.
“And perhaps there is an answer in the world of men to the grollop threat,” suggested the king.
“Perhaps, sire. Unless someone goes into the book and finds something there that we can use to combat these creatures,” replied Twiggs.
“And let’s not forget they gave us their brass device to research,” reminded the king. “I’ve given it to Torque Glinderclast to see if he and his team can figure it out.”
Twiggs didn’t know if the king wanted his opinion, but he would have recommended Ogen Shogthrottle. “Yes, sire, no stone left unturned in all of this.”
“Well said,” the king replied. “But back to your barkvalve. Who to send? Who to send? It can’t be me. I’m too old, too fat and too gnomish.”
“Well, sire, I’m not old or fat, but I’m a gnome through and through,” Twiggs declared proudly.
“And I haven’t met a better gnome, Mr. Barkvalve.” The king again covered his nose with a handkerchief. “At least not that smells as bad as you.”
“Why, thank you, sire,” Twiggs replied primly. “So, you can’t go. I shouldn’t go. If I don’t get back to Sarking Wuld, the grollops are liable to grind up Ogford and Dewey and make a stew of them.”
“Oh, goodness, are things in such a state, then?” Worry lines creased the king’s face.
“The lads are going to need me. And if I’m not there when that Zizweck fellow returns, they may turn Coppertwist upside down and take every last engineer with them.”
“This is all most alarming,” responded the king. “Okay, so we need to get you back there before…well as soon as we can.”
“Yes, precisely, sire,” he replied. “So who will it be? Hopefully none of the guards outside.”
The king took a slug of Imperial Gold from his goblet and then wiped his mouth on a golden sleeve. If he understood that Twiggs didn’t think highly of his guards, he didn’t show it. “I’m afraid it will have to be someone young, but not too young. Someone who isn’t easily spotted as a gnome.”
“You have someone in mind then?” Twiggs asked, growing impatient.
He sighed in resignation. “Sadly, yes I do. His mother—the queen—is going to have me ground up for stew. The only person I can entrust with this is my son, Prince Jebben.”
If the king had looked worried earlier, now he was a breath away from frantic. “I can’t do this. He’s only six years old.”
“He’s a perfect age, sire.” Twiggs hoped his expression was reassuring.
“Perhaps, but he is my son and only heir. What if the world of men is an awful place? Perhaps men are worse than grollops!”
“Maybe the worst of them are worse than grollops, sire. But maybe there are also many that are good. He will still have the magisi with him.”
“Yes, you’re right about that. And he’s a gnome through and through, but could still pass for human.” The king shook his head. “The queen is going to use me for fertilizer in one of her gardens.”
“She’ll understand, sire. And your son will find the right people to raise him. He’ll do well. But be advised. Time goes by much faster there. Oh, one important question: Does he have a love of trains?” asked Twiggs.
“It’s all he ever talks about,” confided the king. “Says he wants to be a wayport engineer.”
“Perfect!” replied Twiggs. “I have another barkvalve with me. As he studies it, he’ll learn the things he needs to learn. And in time, actually a very short time for us, which works out well given our current predicament, he’ll be able to create wayports that will function between realms. With track laid between them…”
The king didn’t wait for him to finish. “Mr. Barkvalve, will he be able to return here?”
“Yes, in time I think he should be able to work that out, sire. But the world of men may overwhelm him for quite some time. There is so much light there after all. But he should eventually remember that he’s a gnome.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” muttered the king. He set his goblet on the table. “Try that, Mr. Barkvalve, it’s delicious. I’m going to go and awaken my son.”
“Don’t mind if I do, sire,” replied Twiggs.
He figured it would be the last wholesome and homey beverage he’d have in a good while. So he decided to savor it.
Chapter 5
Gnomes Through and Through
Twiggs decided to savor the second goblet as he threw the first down as quickly as he could swallow it. Sprog, fortunately was close by and heard him ask for more. The cinnamon-tinged ale sent a pleasant tingle throughout his limbs and made the end of his nose briefly warm. He wished he could take some back to Dewey and Ogford, but explaining where the bottle had come from would prove difficult.
As he found the bottom of the goblet again, the king returned with a young boy, tousle-haired but bright-eyed with excitement.
“Jebben, this is Mr. Barkvalve, the wayport engineer I told you about.”
The rosy-cheeked young gnome wasted no time in approaching to shake hands. “Papa says you stink, but I told him it was okay to stink sometimes. I have a pet pig that I pick up and hold. He gets in the mud and rolls around in it, but I still pick him up. Then I smell like the pig.” He grinned.
Twiggs took his hand and gave it a proper shake. “You’re as fine a lad as I’ve seen, my prince. And smart by more than a mole hair or two I reckon.”
The boy beamed. “Papa told me he had an important job for me to do. But guess what?”
“Please, tell on,” replied Twiggs, earnestly hoping it wasn’t some long-winded bunch of twaddle about his pig.
“Right before Papa woke me up, I had a dream. I saw a flash of light and lots and lots of tall people. And there were trains and things that moved fast on rubber wheels and really tall buildings and lights. So many lights. But I also saw a small piece of glass that I was holding and looking through. I could see…I could see here, there, everywhere.”
Twiggs glanced slowly at the king. “Sire, I believe this is all the proof you need for the queen.”
The king nodded sagely. “To be sure, Mr. Barkvalve. To be sure. But, I still don’t…Jebben are you sure you feel safe going?”
“I do, Papa. I’m supposed to be there and you’re supposed to be here. I think I already know what I need to do when I get there. It was all in the flash of light. I’ll fi
nd it when I need to know it.”
The boy’s certainty was compelling.
“You’ve seen more than you can remember then?” the king prodded.
“Much more,” assured the boy. “I saw Mr. Barkvalve in the dream. He was holding a small piece of glass like the one I had. Are you going to give me the piece of glass, Mr. Barkvalve?”
“In fact I am, my prince. And as serendipity would have it, your father just named it before he woke you. It’s called a barkvalve. I can’t overstate how important it is that you safeguard it.” Twiggs took the second barkvalve from his pocket and placed it in the boy’s hands. “Don’t let anyone know you have it. Only use it when no one else is around. As you study it, you will learn from it. I’ve put most of my memories and my knowledge into both of these. Hold it to the light and the images will tumble out of it like water pouring from a spigot.”
Jebben took the barkvalve. “It’s just like I saw it.” He pointed at the ends of the device. “When you find the image of the place you want to go, you push these little buttons in, right?”
The king was awestruck. “Jebben, how did you know?”
“I saw it in my dream, Papa.”
“Then you are well on your way to understanding it. And we haven’t a moment to lose. Are you ready to be off then?” asked Twiggs.
“So soon?” The king crouched, his eyes welling with tears.
“Papa, it’ll be alright.” Jebben threw his arms around his father.
The king held the embrace longer than the lad was accustomed to. The boy met Twiggs’s gaze as if to say, “Parents are such softies.”
Twiggs winked at him. He has a good heart, he thought.
The king stood. “I still don’t know about this, Mr. Barkvalve. Are you sure this thing is safe?”
“I’ve used it successfully, sire. And if there’s anything to dreams, the prince all but saw this moment. I think there are powers at work here, sire, greater than the three of us.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the king conceded. “I just hope they aren’t the same powers that the grollops answer to.”
“The prince’s dream was framed in light. I don’t think you need worry about the source of his dream.”
Heroes: A Raconteur House Anthology Page 12