Hatched

by Bruce Coville

  “I wish I felt the same way,” he said miserably. “But I’m too worried about my treasures.”

  Then he explained to me about griffins and treasures.

  I was fascinated by all this. I also wanted to tell Gerald that Master Abelard sounded like a real jerk. But I figured that might not be the best thing to say right now.

  Instead, I said, “Here’s that book Karel said he was going to leave for us! Let’s take a look.”

  From The True History of the Lost City of Batavia (Limited edition, published by New Batavian Press)

  By Joosten Van Meer, Gnome in Exile

  In the early 3400s (or 1700s, as humans count the years) the rulers of the Enchanted Realm in Europe, and most especially the emperor (under whom all beings, from elf to gnome to griffin to dragon, serve), decided it was time to make the barriers between the human world and the Realm more rigid.

  So it was that an edict went out that all of the Enchanted, even those who had close ties to the human world and had long made their homes there, were to return to the Enchanted Realm and shut themselves off completely from the human world.

  The reason for this was sad but, most feel, inevitable. As the Age of Enlightenment dawned in Europe, the human world was becoming ever less welcoming to magic and enchantment.

  With some grumbling, most of the Enchanted agreed to this division. Many were relieved. Others mourned to lose their connection to the humans.

  One group, the gnomes of Batavia, a small underground city in Holland, rebelled entirely against what they considered this unnecessary isolation. The leaders of the city felt that a continued connection to the human world was vital for both worlds.

  Most especially Sophentrina Chronicus, one of the city’s designated Wise Women, argued this point. Though she was voted down in the emperor’s court, her arguments were embraced by the Batavians themselves.

  While some groups, such as the Enchanted Animals of the Deep English Forest, resisted the idea of separation well into the nineteenth (by human reckoning) century, the Batavian gnomes took a bolder route. They voted to undertake a mass migration to North America, where the strictures regarding separation of human and Enchanted were not yet so fierce, and the emperor’s reach was limited.

  Their journey was made possible in part by the aid of a group of renegade elves.

  The preparations were magnificent to behold. In secret, and in return for the greater part of the Batavian treasury, the elven shipyard prepared two dozen beautifully crafted vessels, each large enough to hold two hundred gnomes.

  The idea that the gnomes of Batavia disappeared overnight is a bit of an exaggeration. It actually took our people three nights to load all their household goods onto the ships. When all were on board, the little ships, far too small to sail on the sometimes storm-tossed waters of the Shadow Sea, were picked up by large cranes and loaded onto three elven ships, which were to carry them to the distant shores of the American continent.

  The sea journey was without incident. However, once the gnome ships were offloaded and passed through the Transcendental Curtain into the human world (something that was considerably easier to do at that time), the Batavians had adventures enough to fill a book as they made their way up the Hudson River and through various streams and rivers to the little town of Vande Velde, where they chose to settle, and which was eventually renamed Vande Velde’s Landing in honor of this event.

  The sudden abandonment of Old Batavia caused enormous distress in the highest ranks of the Enchanted Realm. The emperor’s first response was unbridled fury. Many a courtier still carries a gem that shattered the day the emperor shouted his rage. They keep these as reminders of how terrible his wrath can be.

  Once his anger had time to cool, it suited the emperor and the powers of the Faerie Court to send out conflicting stories about the vanishing of the Batavian gnomes, thereby sowing confusion about what had really happened. This, they felt, was better than letting it be known that the gnomes of Batavia had simply refused to bow to their authority. The emperor’s greatest fear was that if this became known it would lead to further rebellion. So the choice was made to silence all word of what the Batavians had actually done.

  Thus it is that from that day until the present, the continued existence of the Lost City of Batavia has remained a state secret in the Enchanted Realm. Indeed, to the best of our knowledge no one there has any idea where our city is now located.

  A strict ban on research into the matter has long been in effect, and any scholar foolish enough to defy this censorship is subject to immediate dismissal and banishment.

  Even to speak of our existence is forbidden.

  Which is completely fine with the citizens of New Batavia!

  Sunday, July 5

  This morning Master Abelard rejoined us. He is staying in the room next to ours.

  I was startled when he appeared at our door. It was not just that it felt strange to be only a bit taller than he is, rather than towering over him. What shocked me even more were the bandages and the crutches.

  “What happened?” I cried. “Did the Batavians do this to you?”

  “No, no,” said Master A. “This is the result of an altercation with an owl. It’s how I ended up here.”

  Then he told us the story of how he escaped the owl’s clutches and was carried here unconscious. He also spoke at length about his remorse at having dragged me into this. By all appearances, he is stricken with grief and guilt over having endangered my treasures. Unfortunately, I am confused as to whether I can believe him in this regard, as I now understand him to be a master of deception!

  I feel a poem coming on:

  Abracadabra,

  Magic and fire,

  My teacher’s a phony,

  A big rotten liar!

  Oh my. That one just sort of poured out. I’m not very proud of it. On the other wing, I have to say that it is true to the way my heart feels right now.

  Brad has offered to write up a description of the underground world we now inhabit. I am too distraught to do this myself, so I have accepted his offer.

  July 5

  Report to the City Elders

  from Eduard Chronicus

  Revered colleagues,

  Despite resistance from some of you, I have been out and about in the Up Above, and what I have to report is not good.

  Though the matter is not completely settled, it seems increasingly likely that the human government is about to approve the areas beside our home as the best spot for the DeFelice Wetlands Preservation Project.

  The project is being planned with good intent. Indeed, it will be very good for waterfowl.

  Unfortunately, if it is put into action, the plan’s effect on our city will be devastating.

  In short, it will submerge New Batavia.

  To be clear: If we do not take preparatory action, there is a serious chance that the city will be underwater before we know what is upon us!

  Will we literally drown, as some of you have accused me of saying? Of course not. We will have warning, thanks to our friends in the Gnome Protective Association, and we will make our way out in time.

  But the loss of goods and property will be overwhelming.

  Worse, we will be stranded Up Above! I hardly need stress the dangers if that happens!

  Our human friends are working as hard as they can to prevent this catastrophe. However, human politics have changed in recent decades, and individual voices are drowned out (just as our city shall be drowned) in the current climate.

  Is it certain that this project will be approved?

  No.

  Are the chances are good that it will be?

  Yes.

  With that in mind, is it not folly for us to refuse to prepare for the possibility of disaster?

  Respectfully submitted,

  Citizen

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/5

  Festering bags of sauerkraut! I just realized I’ve got a big problem. I was suppos
ed to send off my journal entries yesterday! Mom is going to kill me if I am not allowed back into WIPS this fall!

  I am also feeling awful for Gerald. I know he loves his teacher, but he’s having a hard time forgiving Master A for what he’s done. It’s obvious that it was really bad, but I have a sense that I can’t fully understand the depth of how hurt Gerald feels.

  I think it must be some kind of a griffin thing.

  Anyway, thanks to Gerald’s treasures, Master Abelard has been set free. I met him for the first time this morning.

  I am not sure how to feel about him. He is clearly smart and funny. In fact, he reminds me a bit of Herb. But I know too much about what he has done to easily trust him.

  Well, enough about Gerald’s teacher. Right now I want to describe the city. That’s because Karel gave me a tour this morning, and I need to get my impressions down while they’re fresh in my mind. (Also, I promised Gerald I would cover this.)

  Oh! One other thing first. The gnomes brought me a message from Bibi. It was in her handwriting, so unless they are extremely tricky, that means they did indeed tell her where I am. She says she might join us here soon!

  I knew my grandmother was an amazing person. As it turns out, I didn’t know the half of it!

  I wonder if Herb will be coming with her.

  Anyway, back to New Batavia.

  The first thing to deal with is the matter of size. I’ve spent a lot of time working on this, partly so I can get it clear in my own head, partly so I can try to explain it.

  Start with this: The average height for an adult male gnome is six inches, which is half a foot (as measured by a ruler, not an actual human foot, since those can vary greatly). Since it takes two gnomes to equal a foot, a six-foot-tall human is twelve times taller than the average gnome.

  Using twelve-to-one as my basis, I’ve been making some calculations. As near as I can make out, a medium-sized gnome house is about two feet wide and four feet long. (About 24 feet by 48 feet if it were human sized.)

  Allowing for a lawn and garden, you could still fit well over a thousand gnomish houses onto a football field! So though New Batavia appears to stretch on for nearly a mile in all directions, it is not nearly as huge as it first seemed to my newly shrunken self.

  Even so, it’s pretty dang big. I mean, there’s an entire city down here, spread over three levels of caves!

  Yes, three levels! There are stairs and slides (so cool!) and even squirrel-powered elevators to take you from one level to another.

  However, “caves” is not really the right term, as Karel made very clear.

  More about that later.

  I mentioned the houses before, but there are also schools and libraries (one of each on each level) and shops and taverns. Additional spaces are set aside as public areas, though you couldn’t really call them parks, since there’s no grass or trees. Well, there are tree roots. But it’s not really the same thing. Lots of mushrooms, though, which are often waist-high or more for the gnomes. (Well, for me, too, at the moment.)

  According to Karel, about six thousand gnomes live down here.

  They built their underground world around the roots of the trees, and those roots are part of what keeps it stable. It makes for a strange look, though, since curved, knobbly wooden pillars stretch from the “sky” to the ground. There are lots of them, and often houses are tucked against them or even use a curved one as part of the roof.

  I put “sky” in quotation marks because what’s above us is not really sky, of course. The problem is “roof ” and “ceiling” aren’t the right words, either. And since the gnomes don’t like to think of their underground world as a cave or cavern, I can’t call it the cave-top.

  “Caves are natural things,” Karel explained as we were walking down a side street. “This world is one we made ourselves, carving it out from the earth, and we are proud of that!”

  Anyway, since I have no other word for what covers us, I’ll use the gnome word for it, which is “skroothaben.”

  The thing to know about the skroothaben is that it’s not bare dirt. The entire surface is covered with a strong mesh that prevents “dirt rain.” This mesh is woven by the women of the colony, and it has never failed, which is why the gnomes like to say that the women of New Batavia hold up the sky. (They should probably say “hold up the skroothaben.” I guess they just think “sky” sounds better in that sentence.)

  Embedded in the skroothaben are thousands of gently glowing disks.

  When I asked Karel about them, he said, “I was happy to tell you about the streetlights. The skylamps, however, are not for discussion.”

  I found this answer annoying, but also pleasantly mysterious.

  The streetlights and the skylamps go dim at certain hours, to create a kind of night, and grow brighter for “morning.”

  However, it is never truly bright down here.

  “Do you ever go outside?” I asked Karel.

  “Oh yes. We call it ‘going Up Above.’ We go out quite frequently. It is not good to spend all your life underground. We mostly venture out after dark, of course, or early in the morning, as there are less likely to be humans around at those times.”

  Then he explained that they have an enormous system of spy holes and mirrors set up, to keep an eye on the woods and help them be aware of intruders.

  “We are also protected by some of the humans in town,” added Karel. “There are many times we would have been in great danger without their assistance. In return we provide medical care for their families, something we are very good at, as you may remember.”

  “Boy, do I,” I said. “I was never sure whether that was a dream or reality.”

  “Well, now you know the truth,” Karel replied.

  “So, the Gnome Protective Association is actually a real thing?” I asked.

  “Of course it is,” Karel replied. “Your grandmother is the president.”

  Excerpt from speech by Pieter de Muis before the New Batavian Council

  July 6

  My Dear Colleagues,

  We have heard the report from the alarmist Eduard Chronicus, and I wish to start my own remarks by noting that he is brother—twin, no less!—to the recent intruder Abelard Chronicus…that same gnome who took advantage of us by not revealing his true identity when we had brought him to safety and nursed him to health. Instead, he let us believe that he was his brother and therefore belonged here.

  Now let us consider that brother, Eduard. The standard view of Citizen Chronicus is that he is the sort who would set his hair on fire and run in circles at the sight of an aggressive cricket.

  He is not, however, representative of the grit and reserve of this council, and this city.

  To be brief, this fancied threat of his, of the drowning of New Batavia, is sheer nonsense. Our human protectors have always kept us safe from this sort of thing, and there is no reason for us to think they will fail us now.

  To divert so many of our resources, and so much of our wealth, to preparing for an utterly unlikely catastrophe strikes me as the height of folly.

  We have better things to do with our time and money!

  Monday, July 6

  Brad’s grandmother and her boyfriend have joined us!

  (“Boyfriend” is a new term to me and seems odd for a man who is clearly on the edge of old age.)

  Though we were glad to see them, they have come with terrifying news. It seems that some water project (I can’t say too much about it—I don’t understand these things) has been approved despite their best efforts to prevent it.

  As a result, New Batavia is in danger of being put underwater!

  Master Abelard is both subdued and jubilant. Subdued for many reasons, including the fact that this is terrible news. But also jubilant because it proves that what his twin brother has been trying to convince people of is true.

  (How could I not have known that Master A has a twin?!)

  Anyway, now that Eduard’s news has been confirmed, the ent
ire city is in a state of flustered dithering that makes me seem like the calmest creature who ever lived! Terror and cries of doom are everywhere!

  Clearly, Bibi (she told me I could call her that) and her boyfriend are trusted voices, for no one has questioned their report.

  This afternoon we held a meeting in our room.

  In attendance were Brad’s grandmother; her boyfriend, Herb; Master A and Master Eduard; Brad; myself; and Karel Hummel…whose first words on entering the room were “I’m not here!”

  Which I took to mean that his attendance had to be a secret.

  Shortly after we gathered there was a knock at the door and another human stepped in.

  “Lukas!” cried Bibi happily.

  “Lukas?” asked Brad. “As in Great-Uncle Lukas, the painter?”

  “That would be me,” said the man cheerfully as Bibi ran to hug him.

  “But I thought you were dead,” said Brad.

  “I didn’t tell you he was dead,” Bibi said. “I told you he was gone. About thirty years ago he chose to live in New Batavia. Well, chose with some persuasion from the gnomes. They were afraid the pictures he was painting might give them away.”

  “I was getting a little careless,” confessed the man. “I don’t regret the choice, though. I’ve been very happy down here.”

  Karel Hummel cleared his throat and said, “As I should not be here at all, I cannot stay long.”

  “Then let’s get down to business,” Bibi replied. “My brother and I can catch up later.”

  Master Eduard (that seems the best term for him, since he is Master Abelard’s twin) started by thanking Bibi and Herb for confirming what he had been trying to tell the city council.

  “I wish we had not been forced to do so,” said Bibi. “All of us in the Protective Association have tried so hard to avert this situation.”

  “Is there anything that could change the decision?” asked Brad.