Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “I’m a gnome,” I said.

  I wasn’t prepared for the reaction my words had. The being before me let out a wild yell and sprang straight up into the air. I trembled in every limb, expecting to be torn apart and dissolved instanter.

  But instead the human pointed a shaking finger at me and yelped, “Hellfire and damnation! It isn’t enough that I write about the blasted things, eh? Now they, come popping out from under my feet when I take a walk in Central Park.

  “Well, by all the pulps and slicks in New York, I’m not going to stand for it, drunk or sober!” He flung the bottle at my head but naturally it didn’t hurt. We gnomes are thick-skinned.

  “Sure I’m drunk!” he went on while I cowered before his fury. “If I. wasn’t drunk I wouldn’t be seeing you. It’s enough to make a guy split an infinitive! Look, you pot-bellied little rain-barrel!” And he pulled out an oblong, flat object which I recognized as a tome. It looked like no book I had ever seen, except perhaps the Brass Tablets of Belial, but I guessed it was a grimoire of human spells. I shrank back:—do you blame me?

  “Always the same!” the human screamed, clutching the book in both hands. “Three wishes or a curse! I know the formula backwards—you meet a gnome or a man with white whiskers or the devil himself and he gives you something you regret afterward. Well, I’ll be published in Braille if I let you pull a fast one on me, you miserable exhalation from a rum bottle. I’ve written too much about you.”

  HE waggled his hideously skinny finger at me. “Try some of your own—urp—medicine for a change. How’d you like that, eh? I know what you’re getting ready to do. Work some of your magic on me so that when I wake up tomorrow I’ll find that everything I touch turns to gold. Or a pudding on my nose. Or whenever I say anything silver dollars fall out of my mouth. Ha!”

  I could only stare, petrified. The human raved on, glaring down at me. “Okay, gnome! You asked for it. Whenever you say anything from now on cold iron will fall out of your mouth. How do you like that, eh?”

  I stumbled back, sick and shaking. My lips formed the word, “No—”

  The being’s grin was hideous. “So you don’t like cold iron, eh? I thought so. I’ve written enough about you and your pals. Well, I won’t be too tough. You’ll be immune to the cold iron yourself—it won’t hurt you. Gnomes-r-oh, my lord! Why don’t I dig ditches for a living?”

  He was overcome by fury and fell on his face. Before he could recover I whirled and leaped to safety. The black depths of the hole in the ground swallowed me. I flung myself into the tunnel, my back crawling with fear of attack. Perhaps I went a little insane then for I. have no recollection of getting back to the Middle Kingdom.

  In my brain two words were throbbing over and over as I raced on—“Cold iron . . . Cold iron!”

  Somehow I found my den and sitting myself down, trying to shut out from my mind all memory of what had happened. The exhaustion of fear overcame me and I slept, but my sleep was broken.

  I awoke to find Trocklar, my closest friend, shaking me. “Yiggar,” he said. “The King is furious. You didn’t check in yesterday and the rubies are short. Did you make up your supply?”

  Too dazed to answer I could only shake my head. Trocklar’s nose thumped up and down against his chin as he chattered worriedly, “Fafnir and Loki aid you, then. The King has sworn to turn you into a salamander for ten moons. You’d better hide—”

  I opened my mouth, to speak, but Trocklar gave me no time.

  “Not in the Middle Kingdom, of course. Perhaps Neptune will accept you for a while. Or—or even Hel might give you a haven if you bring her a big enough bribe. But you’ve got to hurry.”

  “Trocklar,” I said, “I have seen a human;”

  Clink—clink! Trocklar went a pasty green and screamed hoarsely. He jumped back, eyes tightly closed and stumbled toward the door, hands clutching. I heard him gasp, “Iron!”

  “Trocklar!” I followed him, and felt something hard and round under my sandal. Looking down I was just in time to see a small dull object fall out of my mouth and thud on the rock.

  It was—cold iron!

  No wonder Trocklar was clinging to the door jamb, lips twisted in a grin of agony. No wonder his eyes were squeezed shut against the blinding brilliance of iron. But—why didn’t it affect.

  Then I remembered. The human’s curse!

  Trocklar peered around the door at me. “A heaven of a joke,” he said sourly, still blinking. “What’s the idea? If the King hears of this—”

  “I can’t help it,” I said.

  Clink-clink!

  Trocklar yelped and jerked back. I ran after him.

  “It’s—clink—the—clink—human—clink!” At every word cold iron fell from ray mouth. I tried to hold on to Trocklar but he tore free and went yelling away down the corridor and around a bend out of sight. I stood looking after him, feeling sick. Loki! There are things with which gnomes should not meddle!

  And what now? I went back into my lair and blinked at the round pebbles on the ground. They seemed quite inoffensive and harmless. But they were as deadly as garlic to a vampire or wolfsbane to a werewolf. Such tiny things to be so packed with the power for evil.

  CHAPTER II

  In the Clink

  MY sack wasn’t hanging on its peg by the door. I’d forgotten.it, lost it above ground in my panic to escape, and it had contained only a dozen rubies anyway. And King Breggir had sworn to turn me into a salamander.

  To a gnome, born of the deep earth, the land of the fire-dwellers is ghastly. The Sea Realm isn’t so bad and Triton and his gang are a gay lot. Even dark Hel is endurable for a time. But fire—ugh! Maybe if I threw myself on Breggir’s mercy and apologized he’d forgive me—perhaps help me, somehow. I—well, I was frightened.

  I didn’t know what to do. I wandered around the lair, looking at the rainbow, cold sparkles of a myriad colors flashing from the jagged walls, the black pool in the corner. It wasn’t much but it was home to me. I’m just an ordinary gnome and I confess that cold tears were in my eyes as I stared around.

  But that did no good. I slipped out into the passage, wondering whether or not to flee. My decision was taken out of my hands as a couple of guards, armed with barbed spears, came scuttling toward me. Both wore green-and-brown uniforms and the scarlet caps of the royal troops.

  “Yiggar Throlg!” one said. “Old Breggir’s blowing off lava again. You’re under arrest—come along.”

  Just in time I remembered the curse on me and shut my mouth without saying a word. Things were bad enough, as they were without my scattering cold iron, and making them worse. I let the guards grab my arm and pull me along the tunnel under the big shining jewels in the roof.

  We went through the Major Caverns—I noticed Red Street had a hundred gnomes working on it—and entered the throne room, where Breggir sat on a diamond larger than himself. He was an imposing figure, with a beard that came down to his knees, mottled becomingly with loam, and like all gnomes he was bald. He was a beautiful gnome.

  His mouth stretched around under each pointed ear and. his nose was as big as my fist. His eyes bulged so that it seemed as though three large balls had, been stuck on his face. He was drinking warm mud out of a silver cup and arguing with his physician, Crog.

  “You’re a stubborn idiot!” Crog was snarling. “I’ve warned you about your ichor-pressure. Yet you keep on drinking mud, morning, noon and night!”

  “Oh, carbon!” Breggir grunted and saw me. His mouth made a square. His voice was earthquake-thunder.

  “Yiggar Throlg!” he bellowed at me. “You miserable crawling offspring of a slug! You wood-tick on the bark of Yggdrasil!” That was a nasty crack at my ancestors but I let it pass. I couldn’t have said anything anyway for the King was still shouting.

  “You nasty little lump of anthracite! You short-nosed verminous louse on a harp’s tail! I’ll have you toasted in Vesuvius and chased by scorpions! I tie a millstone to your beard and give you to the Giants! Wher
e in Helved are those rubies?

  “Don’t tell me! You went to sleep in some far cavern and thought you could lie out of your laziness. Well, you can’t! There’s been too much laxness in the Middle Kingdom lately. I’m going, to make an example of you, Yiggar Throlg! Just wait!” he promised and waved his sceptre at me.

  There were dozens of gnomes all around me now, staring, some of them grinning furtively. I guess they thought it was fun to see somebody else in trouble for a change. Being part of Breggir’s retinue is no bargain. TVs like patting Cerberus on the heads.

  The King extended his huge gnarly hands and clutched at the air in my direction. “Speak up!” he bellowed. “What’s your lying, excuse, you crawling little cutworm? It doesn’t matter. I passed sentence on you. hours ago. A salamander, that’s what you’ll be. Hear that? A salamander!

  “Well? Are you going to speak up or do we use cold pincers on your tongue?” He grinned maliciously. “You don’t like that, do you? Ice-cold pincers, frozen by the Frost Giants. Speak up!”

  The last two words came out like levin. Involuntarily my mouth opened. I was so scared I forgot all about the inevitable results. “It wasn’t my fault!” I gasped. “I met a human—”

  “Ha! A hu—yaak!”’

  It had happened. Cold iron clinked on the marble at my feet. There were immediate shrieks from all around me as gnomes fell over each other in their anxiety, to get away from the vicinity of the deadly metal.

  King Breggir fell over backward; His skinny legs were visible from behind the diamond throne, waving frantically. Crog, the physician, shrieked and fled. Breggir scrambled to his feet and followed. But he took time to Took back, squinting against the glare of cold iron, and to roar in an agonized voice, “You’ll be minced for this, Yiggar Throlg!”

  I was alone in the splendid cold silence of the throne room.

  It was lèse majesté, of course, but there was the silver cup standing on a pedestal, almost filled with warm mud. I drank it at-a gulp and instantly felt a surge of false courage, was still scared at heart but I was remembering that even the King had fled from my presence.

  Every gnome in the Middle Kingdom would be afraid of me—holy Hecate! For an instant a mad thought entered my mind. Nothing less than revolution. With cold iron I’d be invulnerable—Oh-oh—no I wouldn’t. Magic would still work on me. And if I were turned into a salamander I’d-be in a worse fix than ever.

  WHAT to do? I couldn’t explain.

  With every word I spoke I’d only get deeper into the mess. I longed for the understanding touch of a friendly hand’—but even Trocklar, my best friend, had fled from me.

  Then I thought of Nigsar Doog. She’d understand. Somehow she had always understood my troubles, ever since we’d been yndlings together. I—well, I was in love with Nigsar. To me she was the most beautiful gnome, under the world. She wouldn’t run from me. She wouldn’t be afraid. And Nigsar would help me somehow. That I knew.

  I ran into a side passage, hurrying toward her lair. A telepathic message quivered through the air, making me gasp. King Breggir had sent it forth.

  “All gnomes attention! Calling all gnomes! Yiggar Throlg is practising forbidden magic! He is armed with cold iron! Enchant him on sight—he is dangerous!”

  I quickened my pace, shivering. What a predicament! We gnomes are immortal, of course, but spells can be pretty uncomfortable. I sent up a silent prayer to Fafnir and either through his intervention or by sheer good luck I encountered no one during my hasty flight. At the door, of Nigsar Doog’s den I paused, looking around furtively.

  There was only silence in the passage. But the sound of voices came through the door. I put my hand on the latch, then hesitated as I caught a few words. Nigsar’s soft tones . . .

  “No! You’re lying! There must be some explanation.”

  And the voice of Trocklar, my bosom friend. “He’s gone bad, Nigsar, that’s all. Cold iron! He’s to be enchanted on sight. Breggir will spell him under Vesuvius for eternity.”

  A soft sob made my heart ache. “No—I don’t believe you, Trocklar. I know Yiggar better than that.”

  “Anyway, the King has spoken. You’d better forget about Yiggar Throlg.”

  There was subtle meaning in Trocklar’s tone. Unbelieving I stood and heard Nigsar ask, “What do you mean?”

  “That I want you—Trocklar. Yiggar never was good enough for you: And he’s doomed now. Take me instead, Nigsar. Where in the Middle Kingdom could you hope to find a better gnome?”

  Blind fury surged up within me. I heard Nigsar cry out, heard Trocklar’s voice raised in hoarse passion.

  “No—don’t! Don’t Nigsar—take your hands off me!”

  As I kicked the door open I heard. Trocklar mouthing, “You’re mine, d’you hear? The King will give you to me if I ask him. I want you—”

  He had Nigsar in his arms and she was fighting him off with all her strength. Hertunic was torn, baring one soft hairy shoulder and I went a little mad at the sight. I took one leap forward and clutched Trocklar by the neck, spinning him around to face me.

  Nigsar cried, “Yiggar!” She pulled out of her attacker’s grasp and fled into the adjoining chamber.

  Trocklar’s face was a study in fear and rage. “You! Still at large, eh? Well, you won’t be for long. The King has given free leave to use every spell against you.”

  I couldn’t speak. I choked with rage.

  He threw a spell at me, and it bounced off harmlessly. I saw his eyes widen. He tried another and that too failed.

  “Loki!” he cried. “You’re invulnerable!”

  I smiled, realizing what had happened. Human magic protected me. As long as I was under a human curse no other sorcery could touch me by the law of Precedence of Power, laid down by Odin when Hugin and Munin were hatched.

  Then I went cold with fury again. My best friend—ha! Well, I had a weapon which he, like every other gnome, feared.

  “Cold iron,” I said deliberately. Clink! “Cold iron. Cold iron. Cold-cold-cold. Iron-iron-iron.” Clink-clink-clink! At every word small round ingots fell from my mouth, rattling around our feet.

  TROCKLAR’S eyes were bulging crescents of agony. He lowered his head till only the dome was visible a above his broad hunched shoulders and clawed at the air. He made hoarse choking sounds; “No,” he choked. “No!”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, yes, yes.” Clink—clink-clink-clink! I kept on talking, repeating meaningless words, and a small pile of cold iron grew at my feet. I drove Trocklar back into a corner.

  Unable to endure the torture longer he fainted. His lumpy gnarled body collapsed in a heap and I felt the anger leave me. Eyeing the cold iron on the ground I remembered the curse upon me.

  Nigsar. I entered the adjoining chamber to see her lying unconscious on her couch, of pebbles. She was very lovely and I sank to my knees beside her and took her in my arms.

  Her soft, muddy eyes opened. She whispered, “Yiggar—you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  By Father Ymir I could have cut out my tongue! You’ve guessed what happened. I was leaning over Nigsar, my face; above hers, and before I realized what had happened a lump of cold iron fell out of my mouth and bounced off Nigsar’s nose. I might have stabbed her with an iron stake for the screech she let out. She gave me one glance of unbelieving pained horror and fainted again.

  I ground my teeth together, wishing I’d never have to open my lips again. Somehow I got up, brushed the iron away and kicked, it into a corner, stumbled out of Nigsar’s apartments into the corridor. There I stood, dazed, and heard that faint whispering in my mind that meant King Breggir was again ordering my capture.

  “Enchant him on sight!”

  Well, no enchantment could harm me now—I’d found that out. But I was a pariah. No gnome would ever come near me in the future, not even Nigsar. I couldn’t ask it of her. For her own sake I must never see her again.

  As I trudged along the tunnel my heart was heavy. I felt like
a Gorgon. In all the Middle Kingdom there was not one who would not fear me once I opened my mouth. I was lonely for gnomish companionship, the hammer of picks and shovels in the good brown earth, the. happy fights I remembered and the quiet evenings in my den. I was a gnome without a home. My mind sought feverishly for some means of escape.

  I tried to summon logic to my aid. First of all I couldn’t tell any gnome what had happened to me—for the moment I spoke my listeners would flee. You may wonder why I didn’t employ telepathy but King Breggir uses a machine of some kind to transmit his thoughts when necessary and not even he can read them. Wait! I had an idea!

  Remember the little dark pool in, my den? It isn’t shallow by any means and connects with an underground sea, which is a territory of Neptune though under a provisional governorship.

  The water folk aren’t afraid of cold iron, and I’d sometimes had to throw pebbles into the pool to keep them quiet at night. All the nereids want to be members of the Lorelei and the way they practise singing at all hours is a shame and a caution. But I hoped they’d forget my rudeness now.

  Nevertheless I took the precaution of drawing some ichor from a vein in my arm and letting a drop or two of it trickle into the pool as I called. I’d barred the door and had reached my lair by unfrequented tunnels so I didn’t really expect interruption. I waited.

  CHAPTER III

  Going to Hel

  I DIDN’T actually know whether or not the sea folk could help me. Yet I had to tell someone what had happened. I felt so awfully alone. Never until that moment had I realized the necessity of other gnomes’ companionship.

  The black water bubbled and a green head came up, the-gills flushed and quivering with excitement. “Oh, a gnome,” the nereid said, staring at me, then fastening a greedy stare on the cup of ichor in my hand. “Give me; that, gnome.”

  I drew back. “Now wait a minute,” I hedged. “I want something first.”

  “Never knew a gnome, who didn’t,” was the reply. “Dissatisfied dirty little wretches. Well? Want your death foretold?” That was a joke, of course, because gnomes don’t die.