As they came up, one of the older men was saying to Gar, "You have my sympathy for your slavery, and my admiration for your escape, but how does that answer my question?"
"I encountered some giants," Gar told them, "and found that all the Midgarder scare-stories were complete lies. That made me wonder if the dwarves had been slandered just as thoroughly, so I set out to visit Nibelheim and discover the truth. On the way, I was lucky enough to meet this young woman, and we've been traveling together ever since. After we came into the North Country, we stayed overnight with some giants." He drew Garlon's letter out of his tunic. "One gave us a character reference."
The dwarf looked surprised, but he took the letter, opened it, and, to Alea's amazement, actually read it without even moving his lips! In fact, it only took him a few seconds, then he returned it to Gar with a brusque nod and said, "Well, if you're seeking Nibelheim, you've found it, though we're a colony village almost on the border of the North Country."
"We've come out of the North Country, then?" Alea asked in surprise, then bit her tongue.
But the dwarf didn't rebuke her for speaking out of place-he turned to her as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a woman to talk about serious matters, and nodded. "You crossed into Nibelheim some hours agonot too long after sunrise, I'd guess. We don't expect trouble so far north, but we patrol anyway. We've come across the odd robber band now and again. Mostly, we bring home pork or beef."
The crossbows lowered, as though by accident, and the dwarves began to discuss the event with one another with frequent glances at the two strangers.
"Shall we trust them?" the dwarf asked his fellows.
"The woman has a good heart," Retsa said. "Her name is Alea."
"Welcome among us then, Alea," the dwarf said, with a nod of the head that was almost a bow. "You too, Gar. Will you be our guests for the night?"
Gar glanced at Alea; with a shock, she realized he was asking her opinion. She recovered and gave him a one-inch nod. "Gladly," Gar told the dwarf, then turned to Alea. "May I present Master Bekko?"
"A pleasure to meet you, lass," Bekko said. "I take it you've already met Retsa and her daughter Saret." He was obviously saying that for Gar's benefit. "These are Obon, Mala, Robil. . . ."
He introduced the members of the band, each of whom nodded. Alea managed to recognize the nods as signs of greeting in time to return them; so did Gar. When the introductions were done, the big man said, "Since you saved us by killing so many pigs, you must let us help carry them to your village."
"NotAlea," Retsa said quickly. "She has a wound in her leg." Gar turned to her in alarm.
"Only a scratch," Alea said quickly, but Gar didn't look convinced.
Retsa assured him, "It's more than that, but not bad at all, and will heal in a week. Still, she shouldn't go carrying any more of a load than she has to, at least not today."
Gar seemed somewhat reassured. "Well, I'll carry a balanced load myself, then." Before anyone could object, he strode over to the pile of pigs, took four bound feet in each hand, and came back to Bekko, the two carcasses swinging. "I feel a bit better about accepting your hospitality now."
Bekko laughed, reached up to slap him on the arm, and turned to lead the way home.
The dwarf village stood on a hill above the forest. Their first sight of it was a sort of crown on top of the slopes, one with dark points. As they climbed up to it, they saw that it was an earthen wall with a palisade of sharpened logs slanting outwards.
"We'll bring some giants to build us a proper wall," Bekko said, almost in apology, "as soon as we've made enough radios to trade for their labor."
"How many is that?" Gar asked.
"Twenty is the going price," Bekko answered, "if we can offer a computer with it."
Gar stared down at the man. "You make computers?" Bekko nodded. "When our ancestors first escaped from Midgard, one band found a metal but in the forest."
"A big hut," Retsa added.
"Very big," Bekko agreed, "but it had to be, for it had a machine in it that was as big as a house itself."
"Bigger," Robil said. "I've seen it."
Obon snorted. "We've all seen it. Every child goes to see it when he's in school."
"School?" Gar asked mildly, but Alea glanced' at him quickly, and could have sworn she saw his ears prick up. "Yes, we have schools, stranger." Retsa smiled, amused. "Children have much to learn if they're to make radios and computers, after all."
"They certainly do," Gar agreed. "What was the big machine?"
"It had wings, so our ancestors were able to recognize that it had flown once. When they read about it later, they found it was a thing called a 'shuttle,' for carrying people and cargo into the sky, to the ship that had brought them from the stars."
"And even a shuttle had a computer." Gar nodded.
"It taught our ancestors to read-in Midgard, the ordinary people had forgottein how, when everything fell apart, and only the priests still knew. Then it showed them how to make radios and more computers."
"It had to teach them a good deal of mathematics and physics first, didn't it?"
All the dwarves glanced at him keenly, but Bekko only said, "That's part of learning how to make such things, yes. Where did you say you came from?"
"Very far away," Gar told him, "but I didn't realize the Midgarders would enslave a stranger. I take it that once you had radios, you started talking with the giants."
"Well, the Midgarders weren't about to talk to us," Retsa said with a wry smile.
"They started using a different kind of modulation, so that we couldn't overhear them." Bekko grinned. "We learned how to make receivers for it. We listen to them now, though they don't know it."
"I wonder if they still listen to you?" Gar said idly, gazing at the sky.
Bekko stared at him, startled at the thought, then exchanged glances with Retsa, then Obon. All had the same wide-eyed look. Alea guessed that they hadn't thought they might be the objects of eavesdropping as well as the listeners.
A sentry on top of the wall called down, "Who are your new friends, Bekko?" In spite of the light tone, his eyes were wary.
"Strangers seeking Nibelheim, Dorsan," Bekko called back. "They have a letter from the giants saying they're good folk, to be trusted."
"Then they're welcome." Dorsan turned to send a warbling call over the village and by the time they came through the gate, a crowd had gathered to meet them with more running up, eager and excited by something new.
Alea looked about her, dazed. She guessed there were a few hundred of them lining the way, and the hunting band had been a good sample of what they were like-most around three feet tall, but some as short as two feet, more as tall as four, a few even taller, with here and there a man or woman as tall as a Midgarder. They all seemed to want to touch hands and be introduced, and Alea's head whirled with the scores and scores of dwarf names.
Finally Bekko waved them away, grinning. "Peace, good friends, peace! These poor big folk can't possibly learn all by our clamor!"
"We do have the impression that we're welcome, though," Gar said, looking a bit frazzled. "In fact, I don't think I've ever had a more ringing reception."
The dwarves laughed and turned away to,their work, waving one last greeting. Alea and Gar raised their hands in imitation. .
Four dwarves came up with poles to take the pigs from Gar. Looking around, Alea saw that all the swine had disappeared into the crowd.
"There will be feasting tonight," Bekko told them, "partly because of so many pigs brought home."
"But more to celebrate guests," Retsa said. "It's a rare occasion, and we mean to make the most of it. I hope you know some stories we haven't heard."
Alea glanced at Gar, but the big man didn't show the slightest sign that the comment meant anything to him. "We learned some from the giants."
"Oh, those are bound to be old!" Retsa scoffed. "They've even told us a new one some stranger brought, about a southern god nam
ed Thummaz coming to visit Asgard!"
Bekko looked up at a sudden thought. "You wouldn't be that very stranger, would you?"
"I would," Gar sighed, "and there goes my best tale. We'll have to see what else I can remember-perhaps the story of Chang-tzu and the butterfly."
"It has a pleasant sound," Retsa said, grinning. "Come, strangers, let us show you our village."
"There will be dancing," Saret told Alea. "You'll have to show us your dances, and learn ours."
"They may not be very different." Alea looked about her. "So many flowers!"
Every little house had a garden around it. They were made of wattle and daub, with thatched roofs, walls painted in pastels.
"What a lovely village!" Alea exclaimed.
"And so many dogs." Gar looked about, grinning. "No wonder you didn't hesitate to invite us in."
"Well, I wouldn't say we didn't hesitate," Bekko demurred, "but if you're good enough for the giants, you're good enough for us. Yes, we like our dogs, and I think you've seen why."
"Yes, indeed! I can't believe the Midgarders ever had the audacity to attack you!"
"They do, and often," Bekko said grimly. "Even here, so far north, we've had to fight off their raiders now and then, and bandits at least once a year."
"Yes, I've met the Midgarder rejects," Gar said, "the ones who seem to feel they have to persuade themselves they're better than anyone else. It must be quite a shock for them, when you defeat them."
"No doubt they tell themselves it's our dogs who beat them, not ourselves," Retsa said, with irony.
A child was coming out of one of the houses. He was four feet tall, and his mother, a foot shorter than he, came hurrying out holding up a length of fabric. "Please take your cloak, Krieger! It will be chilly this evening!"
"Mother, please!" The boy glanced at the party of hunters, all of whom instantly snapped their eyes away.
"Well, I'm sorry if I embarrass you," his mother said, "but it serves you right for forgetting your coat. You don't have to wear it, after all-you can sling it over your shoulder until it gets cold."
There wasn't even a hint of laughter from the passing hunters, and the boy's embarrassed anger faded. "I'm sorry, Mama. I don't mean to be cross. It's just that. . ."
"Just that mothers worry too much. Yes, I know." The dwarf mother patted the cloak onto his shoulder. "Well, thank you for humoring me, my son. Go now to your friends."
Alea looked around her at granite faces, several of which were obviously fighting laughter. She said to Saret, "Your people are uncommonly understanding, not to tease!"
"Uncommonly?" Saret stared. "Not in Nibelheim, I assure you! Families are far too important to us!"
"Even when . . ." Alea broke off and looked away, embarrassed.
But Saret laughed gently, reading her face. "Even when the child is as tall as any Midgarder? That makes no difference."
"Indeed not." Retsa reached up to take her daughter's hand. "Children are children, after all, and must always be able to come to us for love and support, no matter how big or how old they grow. There's no other way to do it, this task of parenting."
Saret smiled down at her mother and gave her an affectionate squeeze of the hand. Alea had to look away, eyes blurring, for the gesture reminded her of the warmth and love of her own home, and her parents' unswerving devotion, no matter how tall she grew.
"So many wells!" Alea exclaimed. "Every house must have its own! But how can you draw the water out when the wellroof is so low?"
"Wells?" Retsa followed her guest's gaze to the brick cylinder, three feet high, with the slanting wooden roof that seemed to sit right on top of the mortar. There were horizontal slots in its roof, two feet long and an inch wide, each covered by the lip of the one above.
"Why have roofs if they're going to let the rain and cold in?" Gar asked, but Alea looked at his eyes and saw he suspected something.
"Oh, the louvers keep the rain out," Bekko told him, "but they let the light and the air in. Those aren't wells, lass=they're shafts for letting the folk underground breathe and see."
"You have people underground?" Alea asked, her eyes wide.
"Every dwarf village has tunnels for safety," Retsa told her. "If the Midgarders ever break through our walls, we can retreat into our mazes and cave in the entry on our enemies."
"We make our shops there," said Bekko, "so that our work will be safe from robbers and raiders. It's also a good deal easier to keep clean, and dust matters, when you're making such tiny things."
"Clean?" Alea stared. "Surrounded by dirt?"
"We're better housekeepers than that," Retsa said, smiling. "Would you like to see?"
Alea saw Gar's face light up with eagerness, and also saw the motion of his jaw as he bit his tongue. She smiled, amused, and told Retsa, "Why yes, we would."
"Are you sure?" Bekko asked Retsa, frowning.
"If we trust them in our village, why not in our shops?" Retsa countered. To Alea, she said, "You must be careful not to touch anything."
"We won't," Alea promised. "Will we, Gar?"
"Absolutely not!" he averred.
"Well, then, to the mines with you!" Bekko chuckled at his own joke just as well, since nobody else did. He led them around a little hill covered with grass-but as they came to the front, they found the slope had been chopped off and replaced with a great oaken door.
"Down you go," Retsa said, and led them into another world, far more like the Nibelheim of the tales.
14
Down they went into darkness, but there was light below. They descended a sloping ramp, but it was paved where the town's streets were not. Then it leveled off, and they found themselves in a mine, shored up by timber-but the wood was smoothed and polished, and the surface between the beams was cream-colored stone. Oil lamps lit the tunnel, attached to the posts. Atea exclaimed with delight, for the dancing flames brought out glints of brilliance from the stone walls. Looking closely, she saw that the blocks were cut into regular rectangles and mortared neatly in place. "Surely the giants didn't do this for you! Even I must stoop!"
"Even as you say-they didn't." Retsa chuckled. "Giants abhor close, tight places. We glory in them. But they did teach us this much of their craft."
"What is that ringing ahead?" Gar stared down the tunnel toward the sound of metal on metal.
"Come and see," Bekko invited.
Stooping to fit a five-foot ceiling, they followed him down a completely clean, almost antiseptic stone hall. Suddenly it opened out, and Gar stood up with a groan of relief, for they had come into a domed chamber with a twenty-foot ceiling. Lamps lit its walls, but most of the illumination came from a dozen forges placed around the room, with dwarves stripped to the waist hammering metal on anvils. Over each forge was a metal hood with a pipe leading to a central vent.
"This is for ironwork," Bekko called over the din.
The noise quieted amazingly as the smiths caught sight of the strangers. They stared openly, not even trying to hide their astonishment. Alea was interested to notice that some of the smiths were women, wearing only a sort of double halter above the waist; she guessed it was to hold their breasts in place as they swung and bounced their hammers.
"Guests," Retsa called to them. "We'll introduce you all at dinner. We feast tonight, for these strangers led many pigs to us."
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Saret said, grinning. "The next chamber is for finework," Bekko said, leading them on, and the hammering started up again. "Gold and silver."
"Why so high a ceiling?" Gar asked as they threaded their way between forges.
"This was a mine at first," Retsa explained, "and still is, below us. Our parents dug the iron out of this stope, then walled it with the very stone they'd had to dig out. Most dwarf villages are built on top of mines this way."
"And when you're done taking out the metal, you make the bracing sure and secure, and turn the stopes into underground shops." Gar nodded with a smile of wonder. "Very eff
icient."
It also struck Alea as amazingly industrious. She was overwhelmed to think of the amount of labor it had taken. So much for the notion of lazy, greedy dwarves who could be stirred to work only by the sight of gold.
"Since we mine iron here," Bekko explained, "we trade with other dwarf villages for other metals."
He led the way through another tunnel and into a second chamber with rings of workbenches, where dwarves sat rigidly erect, sculpting wondrous pieces of ware from gold and silver.
"Why do they make the benches so high?" Alea asked. "And why do they sit so straight?" Gar seconded.
"If they don't, years of toil will make slabs of muscle and a bend to the spine that will make them look like hunchbacks," Bekko explained.
Alea almost exclaimed out loud, but caught herself in time. To the children of Midgard, dwarves were indeed pictured as slit-eyed hunchbacks. Apparently earlier generations of small people had learned the lessons of posture the hard way.
The third chamber held workbenches with parts the size of a finger joint. The finished work was a rectangular gray block the size of her hand, and she had no idea what it was for-but Gar asked, "Radios?" and Retsa nodded.
The fourth chamber was divided into two separate workshops with a hallway between the dividers. They couldn't go into either one, but they could look through wide windows and see the dwarves at work. They wore white from head to toe, and were making boxes with windows in the front.
"Why can't we go in?" Alea asked.
"Because even specks of dust are too much here," Retsa answered.
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