No Country for Old Gnomes

by Kevin Hearne

  Those halflings turned north, leaving rivers of alpaca plops and forgotten scarves behind. Gerd rejoined her party on the ground as they neared the town; they saw several other families of gnomes lying dead near the road, victims of the halflings, and they buried them all. The aged gnome and the young gnome had crafted mechanical shovels from the broken conveyance, but many blisters were made that day, nonetheless.

  When they reached Okesvaa, they were confronted by shining automaatti that looked quite different from Piini. These sylver men had crossbows and swords and other things that looked like weapons. Gerd suspected they would be able to kill her easily and she would be unable to defeat them; she remembered well how she had been unable to move Piini at all. The sylver men were fine with letting the gnomes and the dwarf enter the city, but they were not going to let Faucon or Gerd pass until Agape told them she was a Vartija and the halfling and gryphon were her guests. There was some spirited communication after that; the sylver machines glowed and beeped and booped and told them to wait. A gnome in a severe khäki cardigan soon appeared with a birdlike construct perched on his shoulder. His skin was warm browne, and his beard had many beads and medals in it. He said his name was Captain Pekka Fassinen.

  “Right, who’s supposed to be the Vartija, then?”

  Agape raised her hand. “Me, sir.”

  “Going to have to check on that. Just stand still while this lookit has a look at you.”

  The lookit, Gerd discovered, was the construct on Captain Fassinen’s shoulder. It had the body of a bird, and its wings fluttered so fast that they blurred, but it had no beak. It had only a golden globe for a head, and once it hovered in front of Agape, this irised open, revealing a shiny whyte bulb of light. This whyte light played over Agape’s face and head and then, after several seconds of this, turned greene. Captain Fassinen had evidently expected some other color, for his hooded eyes flew wide open and he gasped.

  “You really are the Vartija!” he said.

  “Well, yeah,” Agape said, tucking into herself as everyone stared. “One of them, aaanyway.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. You’re the only one left.”

  Everyone blinked a couple of times and then said, “What?” in unison.

  “The halflings have wiped them all out. Even the one guarding the recipe archive.”

  Gerd hootled in mourning. All those varmint casseroles. The squirrel dipping sauces. Gone forever!

  “Everyone should know!” the captain said, his excitement plain. “Would you mind if the lookit perched on your shoulder with its green light glowing?”

  “I think I’d raaather not,” Agape said. “We need to get to the City of Underthings.”

  “Of course, of course! I can’t help you find the Vartija entrance—nobody knows where it is, you see. We haven’t had a Vartija come back in my lifetime. I don’t suppose you know where it is?”

  “No. How could I? I’ve never been here. My paaarents told me it’s the one city I was never supposed to visit, due to a sheep-eating cult.”

  “Then why have you come?” Gerd noticed that he did not deny the existence of such a cult.

  “Because I need aaanswers, and because Piini Automaatti needs repair.”

  The captain’s beard made clacking and tinkling noises as he leaned to one side to take in Piini over Agape’s shoulder. “Golden gears and goose oil, that’s an old model! They seriously do not make them like that anymore.”

  “Yes, well. Aaall the more reason to hurry.” Gerd watched Agape cross her arms and figured it must mean she was growing impatient. The captain came to the same conclusion.

  “Oh! Yes, you’ll be wanting to be about your day. But I must ask you a couple of questions first. Did you meet any resistance on your way here?”

  “Yes. Halflings and a troll were killing gnomes coming and going from Okesvaa to Pavaasik.”

  “They were?”

  Kirsi bustled forward to stand in front of Agape. “The dwarf and gryphon traveling with us avenged all their victims, and we buried all those we found, with their cardigans freshly brushed. But the halflings said they aren’t letting anyone in or out of the city. So you may expect more such parties to be lurking outside the city to the north and east; I suspect you have been placed under a secret siege. I would advise your people not to leave without significant protection—maybe escort them with some of these automaatti you have.”

  “Hmm. That would explain why no one has arrived in recent days. I will let the kaupunginjohtaja know.”

  “Yeah…” Agape said, and her eyes shifted to Kirsi with a clear plea for help. “Let thaaat thing know…stuff.”

  “He means the mayor,” Kirsi whispered, but Gerd heard. The longer word was comforting to her, quite similar to the gryphon word for “the feeling of choking on half a mouse because tails are tricky, so just double down and don’t give up.”

  “And who is this halfling?” Captain Fassinen asked, pointing at Faucon. “A prisoner?”

  “No! His name is Faucon Pooternoob.”

  “Of the Toodleoo Pooternoobs,” Faucon added helpfully, as if it would shed light on Pooternoobery.

  “He’s not with the Dastardly Rogues. He’s been quite helpful since he stopped hunting me.”

  The captain did a double take. “I beg your pardon?”

  Agape shook her head, her ears flopping in front of her face. “It’s in the paaast. We worked things out.”

  “All right. Do you trust him to accompany you to the City of Underthings?”

  Agape’s gaze swung to Faucon and then to Gerd. Gerd nodded at Agape. I vouch for him and will answer for his behavior, she said.

  The shaetyr nodded and said, “I’ve aaaccepted that without question up to this point, but now that it’s clear there’s war going on and we’re talking about the safety of an entire population, I think I need to know why, Gerd. Faucon, please excuse me. There’s just too much aaat stake.”

  The halfling bowed and stepped back. “You are excused. Were we about to enter a halfling city, similar questions would be raised about the gnomes. By all means, please discuss it. I shall withdraw some distance so that you may do so in private.”

  “Thank you.”

  They waited until Faucon had walked a good distance away and begun to braid his toe hair with great focus; then Gerd lay down so that her belly was in the dirt and she addressed them, including Captain Fassinen with the shiny beard.

  A couple of months ago, I was hunting far from the Coxcomb, Gerd began, and was in the territory of the Skyr, just to the east of the Figgish Fen. I wanted an antelope, and the ones east of the fen are quite tastee. But while flying over the plains I saw a group of halflings and then one odd shape some distance away, on the ground and in obvious pain. I assumed it was some sort of prey and flew down to see if it might be edible, and it was Faucon. He had a large barbed thorn in his foot. He could not pull it out; he could not walk upon it. I could also do neither of these things for him. But I took him to his camp in my talons, and his companions pulled the thorn out of his foot and bandaged it. In return, he made me my very first omlet.

  Gerd trilled at the memory, and her feathers fluffed up around the crest of her skull. It was so tastee. He made me seven fluffee omlets so I wasn’t hungry anymore. And then I flew back to the Coxcomb.

  Her feathers flattened. I was told almost immediately that I smelled of egges. Why do you smell like that, Gerd? What have you done, Gerd? Have you eaten egges? they asked me. And I said no, I’d eaten omlets. Those are made of egges, they said. And then I was cast out of nest and keep—thrown out the gryphone door!—for violating one of our oldest laws. I did not even know of this law before I broke it! We never had egges or chickens at the Coxcomb, so the subject had never come up. My family was shamed for raising an egge eater. No one wanted to speak to me.

  Gerd hootled sadly. I d
id not know where to go, so I flew back to Faucon. He told me that there was a difference between laws and justice, and sometimes laws created injustices when they were meant to correct them. But mostly laws are intended to create a just society, so we must follow laws or else there will be corruption and anarchee. It is interpreting and applying the law that is often difficult. We have spoken for many hours on the topic, and he is not like those halflings who wear medallions. He is for law and justice—for everyone. Now that he knows the Dastardly Rogues lied to him, that these actions against the gnomes are unlawful, he is dedicated to bringing them to justice, both for himself and his lost love and for the greater goode.

  The gryphon reared her head back and made some noises that might have been laughter. Besides, I can see his aura like I can see yours. He is speaking the trüthe about wanting to destroy the Dastardly Rogues. He is on our side. You need not worry about him.

  Agape nodded. “That is consistent with what I’ve seen and heard from him so far. I aaam satisfied. To answer your question, Captain Fassinen, I trust the haaalfling and the gryphon as well.”

  The decorated gnome muttered an order to the automaatti, made a flourish with his hand, and stepped aside. “Then I welcome you all to Okesvaa.”

  There were no fires in the gnomeric capital, no skülking halflings throwing bombs. Just happy smöl people in cardigans and hats of blü, yellö, redde, and greene, selling fishes and früts and vegetables in the marketplace and more egges than Gerd could ever eat. There was a section of the market purveying automaatti designed to perform all sorts of tasks, from shiny goldenne men who wouldn’t shut up, to rolling ballish bots who chirruped pleasantly, to a thing much like a garbage pail on wheels that seemed smarter than it had any right to be. As Gerd listened to the gnomeric salesmen haggle, she learned that one automaatti was capable of making almost any kind of cold sandwich and could be programmed to avoid allergens. Hot-sandwich models were a significant upgrade. One automaatti was a remarkable device that would scoop up cat waste, fumigate the area, and then ruthlessly, mercilessly, launch said waste into a suborbital flight ending somewhere in the Dämköld Sea. It came as a matched set with another automaatti, which cleaned up cat bärffe and hairballs.

  Half of the city was underground, and what was visible above were often simply entrances to subterranean businesses or homes. Luckily, the wagon entrances were big enough to host Gerd’s bulk, and she was soon enjoying the sights of a colorful underground bazaar while Agape searched for some hidden döör. She was sitting for a sketch beside Okesvaa’s mayor, who wore a blü cardigan with finely stitched gryphons for the honor, when Båggi came running up, all out of breath.

  “We found it!” he enthused in that enthusiastic way he had. “It’s like Agape knew exactly what to do!” His eyes went faraway for a moment. “How happy that must be, to know. Ha ha!”

  I will follow you, Gerd told him. His Telling Cudgel was still in a semi-warlike state, with chubby nubs along its length, but his excitement was real, merely overlaid with a sort of melancholee. His beard had been expertly braided and bedecked with jolly redde berries.

  “Agape reasoned that it must be in a somewhat largeish area,” Båggi said, “since some Vartijas were humans. You’ll never guess where she found it! But guess anyway.”

  They were deep in the subterranean bazaar, and the walls and ceiling had been tiled in glorious blüs and indigös with sparkling stars of lemon yellö.

  Next to a cheesemonger? Gerd ventured.

  “No, but a particularly excellent guess! The entrance is in fact next door to a meadery in the Happi Hatte Hutt!”

  Are the hattes happi or is it the hutt that is happi?

  “Both, I think. Here it is.”

  Gerd ducked through the entrance and followed the dwarf back to the stock room, which was quite a squeeze for her. All the smöl people were flushed with excitement and smiling wide smiles. Many hatboxes had been moved and piled on one side, for in one corner the shining outline of a large door waited.

  “I found it, Gerd!” Agape said. “This door became visible aaafter I walked in the room!”

  I can see. But how does it operate? I do not see a convenient knob or handle.

  “Well, there’s always knocking.” With great authoritee, the ovitaur rapped on the metal.

  A smöl window slid open, and two whyte lights shone out.

  “Who dares approach the grand frilliness of the City of Underthings?” a bass voice boomed.

  “I am Agape Fallopia, the laaast of the Vartijas.”

  Focused beams washed up and down Agape before the two whyte lights turned greene.

  “That”—the voice boomed—“checks out.”

  The door slid open with a Grand Squeake, revealing that the two lights were actually eyes that belonged to a very strange creature that Gerd would’ve enjoyed challenging to a wrestling match, had it not been crafted of metal and thus even heavier than Piini Automaatii.

  “Is that a…a wildebeest?” the smöl elderly man named Eino asked, squinting.

  The venerable head inclined in a bow. “I am Wilbore the Wildeboast, my good sir, and obviously the finest example of my kind. I was created by the Gearhands of Old and assigned my task by the Elders: to greet and guide Vartijas, of which you are apparently one.”

  The thing was much like a Noble Goat or Droopy Stagge, to Gerd’s eyes, with a distinguished ungulate face dominated by a long nose, four hooves, and curving horns of shining sylver. Its body was finely chased to appear hairy, the metal a dignified graye.

  “Do come in, and please show proper wonder for the finest city ever erected.”

  The wildeboast stepped back to allow them passage, and the door closed behind them, leaving the employees of the Happi Hatte Hutt behind. Gerd wondered if the hutt was less happi now that they had to rehang their hattes on hundreds of hooks.

  They were in total darkness for a brief time, but then lights flickered on to reveal a featureless hallway.

  “You will note the featureless nature of the hallway,” Wilbore said. “It was designed to heighten your excitement upon seeing the true splendor of what lies beyond. Why, no plainer, more boring, more anticlimactic hallway has ever been seen!”

  The wildeboast led them forward until they reached a large platform elevator filled with gears and levers and buttons.

  “If I might call your attention to the splendid way I correctly and confidently work this machinery,” the automattii said quietly. “You will notice that even though it was not crafted for my anatomy, I remain utterly in control.”

  Wilbore grasped a lever in his metal teeth and pulled it while waggling his expressive eyebrows for emphasis, and the floor vibrated for a second as they began to descend.

  “Why have you come to pay your respects to the City of Underthings?” the wildeboast asked.

  “We seek a Certified Gnomeric Gearhaaand in the Great Library,” Agape responded. “My automattii requires repair and cleaning.”

  Wilbore’s visual sensors traveled up and down Piini’s form. “Yes,” he said, with a shiver of distaste. Piini’s head drooped. “This bot is indeed a hotte mess. The hottest mess I have ever beheld. Now, please prepare yourselves for your first breathtaking view of the most wondrous place in the entire universe, the City of Underthings!”

  “The Skyr is home to two sub-subterranean cities. From the city underneath Okesvaa we get wondrous inventions. From the city underneath Bigly-Wicke we get nothing but corruption, orders for takeout food, and backed-up sewers.”

  —HELMI PIIPPOLA, in Navigating the Perils of Public Plumbing

  When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, the smöl people all gasped and said, “Ooooh” and “Wow,” and the wildeboast said, “I told you so,” and Gerd trilled in pleasure. Faucon carefully schooled his expression, but even he was impressed. The City of Underthings was a legend halfl
ings either disdained or ridiculed, but its reality was even more wondrous than the wildeboast had promised.

  The ceiling was much higher than he’d expected, higher even than the one in Eino’s workshop, and he was glad Gerd would not have to duck her head to walk around. She might even be able to fly, but only at risk of colliding with other flying things and crane hooks and whatnot. It was a very busy place, but a series of color-coordinated lights, well-placed signage, and traffic-conducting automatons promised an orderly sort of rule.

  The wildeboast led them along, pointing out this or that architectural wonder and appearing to gain great pleasure from their expostulations. Faucon did his best to remain unintrusive, keeping his body between Gerd’s bulk and the grouping of the ovitaur and her automaton. Eventually a party of gnomes greeted them with great pomp, and Wilbore turned to face Agape.

  “I will leave you now, fair Vartija and friends, but please know that you are without a doubt the finest Vartija I have ever met, being the first one, and that I shall record you in my memory banks with the same fondness with which you shall forever recall me, Wilbore, the most amazing—”

  An older gnome with fantastic posture stepped forward, smiling. “That will be all, Wilbore. Thank you for your most exemplary service. Please return to your post.” The wildeboast bowed and returned the way they’d come, softly boasting to himself about what a phenomenal job he’d done at walking away.

  These gnomes did not wear cardigans, it seemed, instead favoring red overalls garnished with tool belts; they also sported helmets and goggles. They appeared clean, outside of oil smudges that suggested an appropriate level of crafting, which Faucon appreciated.

  “I am Hellä Traktiv, kaupunginjohtaja of the City of Underthings for the second quarter. It is such an honor to have you visit us, Agape Fallopia. But wait.” Hellä craned her head this way and that to see around Gerd, and Faucon put his shoulders back and stepped forward, prepared for the moment he’d grown to hate. “Why have you brought a halfling into our orderly city?” she shouted. Faucon refused to flinch, even as gnomeric weapons and bung wrenches appeared in every hand, all pointed directly at him.