by Kevin Hearne
Agape rubbed a place on her forehead. “His name is Faucon. He’s a good guy. He’s not a drub. He’s helping us. How faaar do I have to get on this quest before people stop letting their prejudice gum up the works? You’re wasting valuable time.”
Yes, Gerd quickly agreed, and Faucon’s heart thumped with gladness for her friendship. His aura is as clear as that of the Vartija. Perhaps someone could give us a Certificate of Authenticitee so that we might skip this step the next tyme we meet someone?
Faucon held out his hairy wrists. “Manacle me if it makes you feel better. I wish to see Agape complete her quest and am willing to sacrifice my freedom temporarily if it will soothe your mind.”
Hellä considered them all, hands on her hips. “There is no precedent for a halfling in the City of Underthings. I’ll allow you to remain with your party, Faucon, but know that you will be closely watched. And that a Charm of No Telling will be placed on you before you leave this place.”
Faucon nodded once and stuck his hands in his pockets. They were chock full of throwing stars, but the gnomes didn’t know that.
Hellä reschooled her face into something more welcoming and warm. “Now. Vartija. We are so glad you found us. You seek a Certified Gnomeric Gearhand?”
“Thank you. I do. This is Piini Automaatti.”
Hellä gestured to a gnome on her right, a pale-skinned woman with a graying beard. “This is Inka Nurmi. She will happily repair and clean Piini Automaatti for you, after which you may decide what to do with him, though we hope you’ll leave him with us.”
Agape blinked. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t understaaand.”
“If you’ll just instruct Piini to let us service him, Inka will get to work, and we can get you back topside and on your way.”
“That’s not the only reason we’re here. The gnomes aboveground are in trouble. The halflings are taking over, doing horrible things. Did you know?”
Hellä raised an eyebrow. “We have heard rumors.”
Agape shook her head. “It is almost certainly far worse than you haaave heard. We need to get copies of some documents in the Great Library and bring them to the King of Pell.”
“We’ll get to the library, then, if that’s what you need. But, first, Inka needs permission to service your automaatti. He is long overdue, you see.”
“Okay, sure. Piini Automaatti, go with Inka and let her restore you to good working order.”
The automaton clomped after Inka, who led him to the left. Hellä Traktiv gestured to their right. “This way to the Great Library, then.”
Everyone followed Hellä in a bit of a daze, disoriented at the sudden and unceremonious departure of Piini. Faucon noticed that a particularly beefy gnome paced beside him as they walked, something between an honor guard and a…prison guard.
You know, Faucon, Gerd said in only his head, a skill they’d honed in their time together. It is interesting, this sense that something always there but unnoticed is suddenly gone, leaving a hole in its place. A Distynct Lacking, perhaps. Our original goal was to destroy the yellö man, but now his leaving makes me blü.
She was right, of course. Much had changed.
As they passed through the City of Underthings, Faucon was amazed at what the gnomes had accomplished. For all that he’d grown to think of gnomes as shoddy busybodies, the city stood testament to law, order, and excellent building codes. Automatons stood like soldiers at the ready, while whistling birds flew to and fro overhead and lizards scurried up and down the columns. Each statue included a plaque naming its creators and the filing number of its official paperwork. As they oiled their machines and ate their food and trundled around in their vehicles, the populace seemed happy, healthy, and, most important, clean.
Faucon, Gerd said in his head, I notice that these smöl people seem to serve the machines they’ve created to perform their work. It is moste strange. What if the machines should gain sentience and rise up against their creators?
“That would be their business, Gerd,” he said quietly. “They would not welcome a halfling’s intervention.”
If the machines do rise, she said, more to herself than to him, I’ll be back.
Finally, Hellä bid them pause at a food establishment just outside a grand edifice that had to be the Great Library. Agape seemed jittery and anxious to enter, but the mayor had that sort of quiet iron strength that suggested no one would move farther until they’d endured gnomeric hospitality. As he’d missed third breakfast, Faucon did not protest. As soon as everyone was seated at a wide table made of hard polished planks from the Morningwood, automattii crafted to look like otters brought them hot chocolate with marshmallows, on silver trays. They brought Gerd a nice blended meat smoothie, at which she gurgled outwardly while her inner monologue purred along.
Mostly squirrel and chipmunk, but with a little groundhog thrown in for spice!
At the gryphon’s squawk of surprise, the mayor mentioned that the undergnomes fished upward, using hunting chimneys and telescoping squirrel-fishing poles.
Hellä Traktiv toasted their health and stared at them firmly as they drank their cocoa and ate tiny sandwiches. When even Kirsi had given a polite burp, Hellä led them to the high, grand doors of the library, which opened inward to show a magnificent gold chandelier and the most orderly, beautiful, squeaky-clean floor-to-ceiling bookshelves Faucon had ever beheld.
As one, the party intoned, “The Great Library!”
“Hey, that was the best tone of awe I’ve ever heard!” a nearby metal lizard enthused before scurrying off.
Hellä allowed them adequate time to gape, then directed them to sit at a round polished table. There was a general air of readiness that Faucon found invigorating.
Hellä turned to Agape. “Now that we are in the Great Library, I must ask you a question: Did you ever ask Piini to recite the Elder Annals for you?”
“No. We listened to the Tome of Togethering.”
“Ah! No doubt you noticed that many of those old laws are no longer in effect.”
“We did.”
“But all is not lost.”
Hellä rapped the table with a fist, and silver automatons delivered three ancient books to the table: the Tome of Togethering, the Stern Reminder of the Looming Peril of Giants, and the Elder Annals! Even Faucon was dumbfounded. To think: The original works that had shaped his people! The ultimate bottom line of law!
“If you attempt to touch these tomes,” Hellä warned, “your knuckles will be rapped, and you’ll be removed from the Great Library permanently. Now, the Elder Annals were written—and, indeed, this protected city was built—with the assumption that those laws would eventually erode and cease to exist. The Elders knew that one day either the gnomes or the halflings would try to centralize and consolidate power over the other. That’s why we built this city—because to consolidate power, one must control information. We protect that information. The Elder Annals explain why the Vartijas were created.”
“And someone made them both disappear,” Agape said.
“The gnomes among the Elders believed that anyone interested in power would eventually come after the Vartijas. And they were right. What we don’t know is who.”
The halflings are responsible for hunting Vartijas. They hired Faucon to hunt Agape, Gerd said.
“The Dastardly Rogues Under Bigly-Wicke under Marquant Dique, to be exact,” Faucon volunteered. Hellä’s eyes swung to Faucon.
“I am no longer in their employ,” he explained. “But that is how I know they are responsible. I was hired by Marquant Dique under false pretenses to destroy Piini Automaatti.”
“Then we can no longer stay hidden here and hope for the best aboveground. We must create enough automaatti fighters to beat back a halfling invasion. There is much for me to do. Now: What will you do? What do you need from us, besides copies of the great tomes?
”
“I ain’t part of this dinkum quest,” Eino said. “I came here to become a Certified Gnomeric Gearhand, maybe help produce those automaatti you were talking about.”
“We can give you the gearhand exam, certainly,” Hellä replied. “And if you don’t pass, there’s always Gnome Unity College to help you get up to speed.” The old gnome dipped his hat, delighted.
“And how about you, sir?” Hellä asked Faucon. “What will you do?”
“I wish to destroy the Dastardly Rogues Under Bigly-Wicke and live under a government that respects the rule of law,” Faucon replied. “Preferably a return to the equitable system our people enjoyed under the Tome of Togethering.” His eyes alighted on the ancient book, crawling hungrily over the golden binding.
I wish this also, Gerd said. I would like a nest and keep in the Skyr. With laws. And maybe one of your machines that make meat waffles.
“We may be able to help with that,” Hellä said, smiling at Gerd. She turned to Båggi Biins. “And you?”
“I wish to complete my Meadschpringå,” Båggi said, “and I believe that means I should help my friends restore order in the Skyr.”
“I want the same thing,” Kirsi added. “I want to bring peace back to the Skyr so we can enjoy our land and Båggi can return to his mountain home.”
Onni nodded and twirled his finger around to indicate the others. “What they all said.”
“A unity of purpose. Good.” Hellä nodded at them and turned to Agape. “And you?”
“I…don’t know. Don’t I need to protect Piini?”
“Not anymore. You’ve fulfilled your function. You need not be a Vartija any longer. In fact, now that he is returned, it would be in your best interest to divest yourself of the aura, as it will draw those who wish to hunt you. It’s like wearing a pork chop around your neck in the Figgish Fen, honestly. We would like to keep Piini, if you don’t mind, for there is much for us to learn from an automaatti made many generations ago. But you are welcome to do whatever you wish. You may stay here with us and pursue any vocation you like, or not work at all, in recognition of your service. Or you may go into the world again, with or without Piini. Your call. As we gnomes always say, Do the thing that makes you sing!”
Agape sat back in her chair, stunned. “I…” Her voice died out, and she swallowed. “I don’t sing. And I’m not a Vartija aaanymore?”
“You’ve protected your charge, frustrated the plans of the halflings, and brought news that will mobilize our fight in accordance with the Elder Annals. Your responsibility is fulfilled. So: What would you like to do?”
Agape looked around at her companions.
Her desperation smells somewhat like chipotle mayonnaise, Gerd privately noted to Faucon.
The ovitaur’s mouth was open, but no sound came out.
It is good that you would try gryphon speech, Gerd said, but you are doing it wronge.
Kirsi gave her fierce grin and stepped forward. “Come with us, Agape.”
“Yes!” Båggi enthused. “We need someone of your wit and strength!”
I, too, once found myself without a home. But you have boon companions and are both wanted and needed, sheep person. You would honor us with your company, Gerd said with an enthusiastic hootle.
Faucon remained silent; either Agape would heed the call to action or she would ignore it.
“I…would like to see the Skyr at peace again,” Agape said. “So I guess I’ll come aaalong.”
Gerd trilled, and Faucon smiled to himself, and the others cheered, and the hunter let that die down before he spoke.
“It seems to me,” Faucon finally said, recognizing that what this group needed wasn’t purpose and cheering but an orderly plan, “that someone must approach the kanssa-jaarli with proper copies of the Elder Annals. What has happened to the gnomeric half of the two earls that would allow the halflings such freedom to spread disorder? The Toot Towers are open to the public, and as citizens, we have the right to ask questions. That might be more sensible than approaching the king, who has thus far remained ambivalent to the plight of the Skyr.”
“But what of the Dastardly Rogues?” Kirsi asked.
“I wish to expunge the remaining reservoir of my violence upon them!” Båggi said, but when he hefted his Telling Cudgel, it had a book carved into it and looked more like an umbrella than a weapon.
“Even in our full power, our small party cannot fight them.” Faucon looked to Hellä. “But an army of automaatti could.”
The steely-eyed mayor nodded. “True enough, and canny. We can assault them with automaatti and would welcome a chance to try some aggressive prototype devices.”
“So you’re the brawn, and we’re the brains?” Kirsi asked.
Hellä grinned a vicious grin. “I’d like to think we also have brains, and you also have brawn, or at least a gryphon. We can provide you with supplies and weapons, as well as a cadre of lookits to send us regular updates. In case you have difficulty speaking directly with Jarmo Porkkala, the gnomeric jaarl, I will give you a letter with my official mayoral stamps and curlicues on it that will grant you an immediate audience. You must deliver the Elder Annals to the jaarl, and I will send a copy to the king.”
Gerd had grown bored with the proceedings and left her place at the round table to pace in a way that appeared menacing to anyone smöl enough to be swallowed in one gulp. Hellä absentmindedly waved a hand, and a dapper automaton librarian hurried over and bowed to the gryphon, asking, “How can we help you, fair gryphon?”
Do you have any volumes of gryphone poetry? Gerd asked.
“Of course! The Great Library has most everything. Any particular poet?”
I wonder if you have any of the lesser-known works by Hurp Blep.
“Ah, yes, the master of screech sonnets! We have three volumes of what are generally considered his lesser works. Shall I bring them all?”
Do you have Death Screams of Squirrels I Snacked Upon This Fortnight?
“Yes.”
What about An Embarrassing Berry Snarled in the Hair of My Hindquarters? You have that too?
“We do! I will have them brought to you here, along with a refreshing snack.”
Soon enough, the gnomes were able to return to their plans, as the gryphon had a fish milkshake and several books of poetry in front of her.
“I would be honored to turn the pages for you,” the librarian said. “Shall I begin at the beginning, or were you interested in something specific?”
“Sonnet Number 42” in the Squirrels volume, if you please, she said.
Much to Faucon’s surprise, Gerd read aloud just for him, the voice in his head taking on a melodramatic tone he’d never heard from the gryphon before:
In midnight moon-tyme, in sylent darkness
I fly, owl-quiet, in silken air dreams
Of meaty updrafts in cöbält starkness,
And hear in both earholes the fryghtsick screams
Of springtyme squirrels as I crunch their spines—
Sweet music of the hunt a heartbeat’s drum
Suddenly stopt, tailbrushes twitch once, signs
Of life extinguish, and their flesh is yum.
But O! My fyne feathered lüv, if I live
For aught else, ’tis to provide for thy lack,
And gladly would I starve, gladly would I give
The death screams of the squirrels on which I snack.
For thy joy is my food, thy rest my sleep;
’Tis thou, my lüv, who art my nest and keep.
The last two lines were delivered in a strangled hootle that caused Faucon some alarm.
“Gerd, are you well?” he asked. “Were there bones in the shake?”
Gryphones cannot cry, but these words make my gizzard ache. I do not have a fyne
feathered lüv, nor will I ever…now. But I must content myself with fyne friends, even if they are not feathered. You are a fyne friend, Faucon, one who appreciates me as Gerd and not some idealized gryphone who had never supped upon the forbidden egges.
Faucon was quite moved, and he put a hand upon Gerd’s furred shoulder. “Groogle,” he said, his first attempt to speak in her language.
I think you meant to say friend, but you said biscuit, she told him. Still, it is enough.
Their moment was interrupted by Kirsi, who called, “We’d best get on the road. Are you ready?”
I was not finished reading, Gerd said, but I suppose I can go now.
“Would you like a to-go cup?” the librarian asked.
What is that thing you said?
“We can load all of Hurp Blep’s poetry into an automaatti in the shape of a bird—a Carrier of Underthing Poetry, in this case. It will follow you and require no maintenance, and it will recite any of Hurp Blep’s works for you on command in the original gryphon language or translated into any Pellican language you wish.”
Is this magick?
“It is gnomeric technology. We have made some improvements since the time of the Piini Automaatti you brought in. He was essentially an early reader model with some added functionality.”
I would like that very much. But what do I do when I am finished with the bird reader?
“Tell it to return here and request some other work, if you wish. The bird will eventually find you again and recite any new work you have requested upon command.”
This…this is an extraordinary library. I begin to see the valü of smöl people.
“Thank you. We do try our best. We’ll send the bird to find you when it is ready.”
“It really is something, is it not?” Faucon asked as they followed the others out of the Great Library and into the city again.
It was a pleasant place to be. For all that Faucon had grown up in halfling restaurants and artisan workshops, he felt most at home among precision and cleanliness, and the City of Underthings had both in great quantities. The people had a quiet and orderly but bouncy way about them—except for some sort of strange brouhaha happening up the street. Faucon went up on his tiptoes to look ahead and see what kind of miscreants such a society could produce.
