by Ellis Knox
“I think it must have been you, Beso,” I said.
“Or you,” he shot back. I did not argue.
He grumbled. “I will check on the professor,” he said.
“Where do you suppose the girl went?” I said, then answered myself. “Why, home, of course. She’s tending a flock. She wouldn’t be far from her village, and such tasks are normally given to youths. She’s run home to tell her mother.”
“What’s going on out there?” came Nik’s voice from the shadows.
We explained what we had seen. Nik was more concerned with his uncle than with a goose girl, however extraordinary her appearance. And with good reason, for Henrik’s fever had worsened.
“I can’t rouse him,” Nik said. “He mutters, but none of it makes any sense.” He paused, then added in a choked voice, “His mind wanders.”
“I have tried all I know,” Cosmas said. The big man stared down at the professor, his crooked face constricted with helpless worry.
“Maybe the girl will bring help,” I said, with a hopefulness I did not feel.
“And maybe she’ll bring a war party,” Nik said. He must have heard the despair in his own voice himself, for he quickly added, “Sorry. We must hope for the best, despite all.”
We talked a little aimlessly after that. Cosmas made bold enough to give out a large portion of way bread. When I asked him if that was all we had left, he merely nodded. Nik tried to get Henrik to eat, without success, though he did better with some water.
He was still trying when the gnomes arrived.
They came over the rise in ranks—a line of men in front, carrying implements that my mind cast into familiar forms of rakes, flails, hoes, shovels, though each differed from its Surface counterpart in one way or another. The gnomes themselves were very much gnome-like in appearance, though many had russet or dark red markings around the face.
Behind them came a line of adult women, similarly armed. These not only looked feminine in the usual gnome form, but their coloration was lighter, with face markings more scarlet than crimson. And behind them, at the crest of the rise, children clutched at one another, talking and pointing.
The adults advanced cautiously. I wondered if the men meant to attack or only to defend. To my surprise, Cosmas stepped forward, hands raised above his head, palms outward. The gnome ranks halted. Cosmas lowered his hands to his waist and turned his palms upward. He then brought his hands to his chest, then down again. He repeated this thrice—the ancient sign of pleading.
He surprised me again by speaking. It was only a single word, but he repeated it with each gesture. I could only guess the word was gnomic, and could only wonder how it happened Cosmas had learned the language of gnomes. I was even more surprised to see they understood.
Five gnomes stepped forward, joined by two of the women. Behind them, four other men followed. Those in front lay down their weapons, but the four behind kept theirs, a message that anyone could read.
After a quick consultation among themselves, one of the members of the embassy took another step forward, to be their spokesman. He turned his palms down and made a patting motion with them.
Cosmas looked over his shoulder to us and said quietly, “I shall speak to them.”
“Tell them my uncle is very sick,” Nik said. The urgency in his voice pulled at my heart.
“I shall.”
What followed was a conversation only partially in words. Mostly it was conducted in a kind of pantomime, a conversation in signs. It went haltingly for a time, with both sides having to repeat a gesture or word often.
Then Bessarion came out.
The emissaries fell back with a cry, and the armed youths, for youths they seemed to me, stood forward, shovels and picks at the ready. To his credit, Beso made the same signs of pleading and placation.
“They need to know I am here,” he said softly.
“Agreed,” Cosmas said, “but do nothing further.”
With some earnest explanations from Cosmas, the armed guard stepped back again, and the negotiations resumed. The talk, if it can be called that, went on for a long time. My legs grew weary and I longed to sit, but I feared to make any movement that might disrupt the talk. At one point, Cosmas fished out the bit of plant Henrik had collected. This produced an immediate sensation among the gnomes, who took the sprig gingerly, as if it might be a snake. A quick exchange followed, then Cosmas gave us his report.
“I told them our situation,” he said. “We come from far away—I did not say the Surface—and were cast up by the storm. We are injured, hungry, and lost. I told them Herr Doktor Professor Henrik Queller is very sick.”
Henrik groaned at the sound of his name.
“They will take us to their village.” He glanced toward the professor. “They say we need to hurry.”
“I didn’t know you could speak gnome,” I said.
“I can’t,” Cosmas said. “It is trade talk. Some of the words are gnomic.”
I knew about trade talk from time spent in Lübeck and Hamburg. In the great port towns, people from all over the world meet and conduct business. They cannot all learn one another’s language. Even Latin changes its clothes as it travels.
Trade talk is exactly as I saw it, a combination of sign language, words from a score of languages, and a patois peculiar to the docks. That Cosmas knew it only made me wonder again about his past. He didn’t seem much of a merchant or a sailor.
“How could these people know a Surface tongue?”
“They do not. But trade talk is meant for people who cannot speak together otherwise. It serves the basics: food, shelter, help. One does not compose poetry with it.”
“Huh, huh, huh,” I said.
Cosmas smiled his fanged smile.
Cosmas and Nik got Henrik to his feet. They bore his weight so his feet barely touched the ground. They spoke encouraging words in soothing tones. A pair of nightingales could not have been tenderer. Cosmas carried most of the weight, for Nik could not bear the professor on his own.
The gnome emissaries went ahead, while the youngsters and others walked on either flank. Beso came behind. No gnome would come within a stone’s throw of him, so I dropped back to keep him company. I wanted to comfort him, but I could think of nothing that did not sound contrived or outright nonsensical. I patted him on the back, which only made me feel condescending. Why were the gnomes so afraid of him?
We’d not gone far before Cosmas and Nik were relieved of their burden, for a modest cart was produced. It was pulled by a creature with the build of a mastiff, but the size of a hornless ox. Professor Queller was laid upon a bed of mossy plant, and we were able to make better progress from there on. At least Nik was able to favor his injured foot.
We reached the village in about half an hour. I was so weary, hungry, and worried, I hardly took note of my surroundings. There was a road, houses, and more gnomes. They took each of us in hand. I was led to a hut—I suppose one ought to call it a house, but gnome-sized—and there fed. The food was spongy and a deep red, the color of raw meat, but I ate gladly and without fuss. Someone told me Henrik was being tended to, but I was already slipping away into sleep and could never recall who it was.
I did not so much fall asleep as surrender to it.
To this day I could not say for how long I slept, an hour or a lifetime. When I stirred at last, all my muscles protested as one, but I told them to hush and sat up.
I glanced around the room to see what we had. It was nothing much. The entire house was a single room, with cubicles for storage and two bed cupboards, all on a scale that might have been appropriate for a child’s playhouse. Except this was where someone lived. I stretched mightily, then went outside.
As I emerged, I squinted in expectation of sunlight. Silly of me, but habit born of a lifetime. Rather than yellow sun and hard shadows, I stepped out into the dusky light of Urland. I blinked several times.
The village had none of the shabby tents of our Surface gnomes, but resembled
more the tidy hamlets of the Middle Age seen in pictures, arranged corner to corner to form an X, complete with a common area at the center. Ten homes on each arm of the X, as if prescribed by a medieval lord, each home of modest and nearly identical size, but then the classic image began to fray. In front of each home were flowers, but none such as were ever seen by a Surface painter. The glow in the distance was a color never made by our sun.
The glow was so bright, I turned toward it, but the gnome houses concealed the source. I started out through the village, looking for my friends.
I met with several gnomes along the way. I smiled to each, waved, even tried saying hello, but not a one of them would respond or even meet my eye. I couldn’t tell if they were fearful or only being polite—as on the Surface, it was difficult to read those fur-covered faces. Unlike Surface gnomes, they wore kilts—colorful wraps, mostly yellow and blue; no plaid, but an abundance of stripes and checkered patterns, all quite cheerful.
The houses of the gnomes were small, of course, with flat roofs that came no higher than eye level on Cosmas. None of them had the steeply pitched roofs of Surface gnomes. The walls were ocher in color, of a material something like stucco, textured and without seams or joints. Every house had openings, but the windows had shutters and no glass, and even the doors were no more than somewhat taller shutters, hinged and secured by a simple latch. Each house had an attached shed with a little chimney—I surmised this was larder and cook room.
The most striking feature of the houses lay on those flat roofs. These must have been a turf of some sort, for each roof was covered in a riot of flowers; or, rather, of a pile of flowering vines that twisted from one edge to the other. Reminiscent of ivy, if ivy vines were indigo in color, these plants produced not leaves but a profusion of flowers shaped like the palm of a hand, in running streaks of red and pink and yellow. The effect was to crown every house with a colorful, if unruly, hat.
In all, this village cannot have held more than thirty houses, plus a handful of outbuildings. Back home we would call it a hamlet. Beyond stretched cultivated fields. I can state with precision that the gnomes grew but five crops, for each was a strikingly different color though all were similar in shape and size. The crops stood in tidy rows, well tended, with paths between. With the brilliant colors, the whole struck me as fields of exceptionally large tulips—a pleasant and even reassuring sight.
And, for a touch of the picaresque, an ogre.
Cosmas sat next to one of the houses, his head leaning back against the roof, his legs stretched out. He stood as I approached, and a sort of rustle of murmurs ran through the gnomes who were going about their various business. He made the entire village look like a child’s set of playthings.
“How is the professor?” I said.
“Sleeping.”
“Is he worse, better? A little more information, if you please, Cosmas.”
“Better. He was awake in the night. The gnomes come by to check on him. They said that plant was poison, but they have medicine for it.”
“So he’s going to be all right?”
“Yes,” Cosmas said.
“Thank the gods,” I said.
“Thank the gnomes,” the ogre said. He touched an open hand to his chest then gestured outward. “Like this.”
I imitated it.
“Where’s Beso?” I asked.
Cosmas made a rumbling noise that could pass for a chuckle. “Inside there,” he said, pointing to another house. “When he comes out, the gnomes run away.”
“Why do you suppose they’re afraid of him?”
“I do not suppose.”
“And Nik, how is he?”
“He is strong, is Niklot Thesiger,” Cosmas said. “He will mend quickly.”
I nearly said I supposed so but held that back.
“What about food?” I said, trying for a topic with which I might get somewhere.
“They have food,” Cosmas said.
“Any we can eat? I’m very hungry.”
“It tastes strange,” he said, “but it is not poison. Beso has eaten. I have eaten. You ask like this.” He touched two fingers to his lips, then to his stomach.
I thanked him and set off. I felt more than a little silly, walking up to gnomes and performing this little pantomime, alternating between the food sign and the thanks sign. Not a gnome replied or even looked up at me. They did bow repeatedly. After a few tries, I gave it up and decided to have a look around. I’d have Cosmas ask for some on my behalf. And for Nik. Meanwhile, my feet carried me in mere minutes to the edge of the village.
Even the road beneath my feet was familiar, yet different. It was a dusty brown, like a road in summer, but on it lay not a rut or track. As I walked, the road gave slightly at each step, as if made of firm sponge. It was springy enough, it made me want to skip along it like a little girl. If our Surface roads could be made of this, every mule, horse, and ox would learn to speak just so they could thank us.
As I made my way along, carefully ignored by all, I tried to take stock of where we were in the wider world. The glow was much closer now; I was more and more inclined to agree with the professor that it came from a city of some sort.
Maybe it was the familiarity of the gnome village—not that it matched anything I’d actually experienced, but that it resembled old paintings made it even more nostalgic. Maybe it was because I was alone for the first time in weeks. Whatever the cause, homesickness flooded into me like a rising tide. I wanted to get out of this world, to see the sun again, to hear familiar voices.
I wanted to go home.
As unlikely as success seemed, I started to plan a return. We would load up on supplies here. We would make our way back to the dead town. It was impossible to know in which direction to go, but we would follow the coastline. The Second World had to be far smaller than the Surface; we would find the town eventually. Once back in the caverns, we would follow the Long Dig, even as the ancient dwarves had done. We would overcome all obstacles somehow; after all, look how many we’d overcome already! I was determined to be optimistic. We had not found Monsieur Fournier, but I had little doubt all from his ill-fated expedition had perished. It was time to go back. I had an article to write.
I smiled at myself. When did this happen? I wondered. I wasn’t any braver than I’d ever been, but I was adopting some of Nik’s attitude. So long as I was still breathing, there was hope. Going on was better than sitting still. When all you can do is the only thing you can do, then go do it. And other such homilies.
Thinking of Nik made me turn around. Unaccountably, I was in a better mood. Cheerful would be too strong a word, but as I strode along the well-tended paths back to the village, I waved at the goose girl, who waved back, and that made me smile. A gnome should bow, not wave, to a stranger. She was too young yet to have learned proper manners. Or, as seemed more likely, it was because these gnomes simply didn’t get strangers.
Back at the house, Cosmas was waiting. He was standing next to a veritable pyramid of food. I could see his wolf grin from a distance.
“How many did you ask?” he said as I approached.
“For food? I don’t know. Several.”
“You needed to ask only one,” he said.
I nodded. Each request I’d made had been fulfilled.
“Is he awake?” I asked, nodding toward the doorway.
“Yes.”
The interior was dim, for the gnomes had no lights. In the day they were outside working; at end of day they slept. For the most part, they appeared to eat outside. After my eyes adjusted I saw Nik sitting, his back against a wall. The professor lay nearby, on a mat. The floor was of some sort of turf, which gave a measure of cushion—certainly better than cold stone. I tiptoed forward.
“It’s all right,” Nik said in a quiet voice. “He’s deep asleep.”
“The fever?”
“Broken, some time ago. A couple of men came with herbs and a sweet tea that worked wonders. Once they got done with their m
edicines, he gave a sigh and went to sleep. He’ll be good as sunshine when he wakes up, but I understand from Cosmas that it was a near run. There are some nasty poisons out there in the Second World.”
“And nasty animals,” I said. “How’s your ankle?”
“Sprained in the shipwreck. No magic tea for that; I’m to stay off of it.”
“And you will?”
He shrugged. In the half light I couldn’t decide if his look was sincere or evasive. “As much as I can,” he said. “Sit with me, won’t you? There’s a choice of chairs.” He indicated the floor. “Beso’s dreary company, and Cosmas can’t fit inside.”
I sat next to Nik. We were quiet for a moment. It felt strange, our first real rest after days spent in labor or danger or both, and we both silently agreed to enjoy it for a bit.
Sounds came into the hut from the village around. A voice broke into a droning chant of a song, soon joined by others. Children laughed, as children do everywhere. The animal noises were more alien: something that was assuredly not a dog barked; a falling warble threaded the air with a cry somewhere between a cat and a bird. Frequent and numerous hoots passed by that recalled to me the goose girl and her flock. It all sounded perfectly pastoral, yet utterly foreign.
At length we heard a small crowd not too far away. They called out, gave something very like a cheer, and then came the unmistakable “huh, huh, huh” of an ogre’s laugh.
“Cosmas has proved a real hit with the locals,” Nik said. “They call him a giant, which greatly amuses him.”
“I wonder what they would call a real giant.”
“Hm.”
Cheers came again, and a babble of raised voices. Then a long “ooooh” followed by more cheers.
“What the devil are they up to, I wonder?” Nik said. “I’ll go have a look.”
I told him to stay where he was, off the ankle, and went outside myself. Keeping Nik immobile was going to prove an impossible challenge, I was sure.
The noise came from nearby, in the wide area of the village that I called the village green, although the surface was a shocking shade of teal. I watched the proceedings for a few minutes, then returned to Nik to report.