The Anagram

by Russell French

  We have already observed how evil tends to be more easily noticed and better remembered than good. It will come as no surprise, therefore, to those of you not already cognisant with the facts, that goblins were the first to make their mark on human history. Of course, there is much myth and legend surrounding the emergence of these creatures. What is not in doubt, however, is that both gnomes and goblins discovered through bitter personal experience that really only the temperate climes of Northern Europe suited their delicate physique and that there are therefore whole areas of our planet where their presence is unknown, or at least certainly not recorded. Basically, extreme heat and cold are anathema to them. The goblins’ first appearance, funnily enough, is not in Europe, though, but in India, where they are mentioned in ancient Hindu texts as servants of one of the gods of the Underworld. They appear to pop up first of all in Europe in the British Isles, whence they travelled by sea to colonise all of continental Europe. They quickly established a reputation amongst those few humans who had the doubtful privilege of meeting them as grotesque, evil creatures, bent on mischief and destruction and therefore much sought after by equally low-minded men.

  The gnomes, on the other hand, do not make their bow until the early 15th century, when they are first described by the great Swiss surgeon and alchemist Paracelsus (1493-1541), one of the great modernists and free-thinkers of his time. Many scholars think that Paracelsus, amongst his many other talents, was almost certainly a Custodian, as he appears to have had more than a passing acquaintance with Theeth’s ancestors. He describes them as “appearing very aged, often with long white beards, and their figures are inclined to rotundity. They can be seen scampering out of holes in the stumps of trees and sometimes they vanish by actually dissolving into the tree itself.”

  Well, let us look at that assessment. Certainly very aged—Theeth could comfortably vouch for that, although he had looked the same for well over 100 years now. Beards—optional, although most gnomes preferred to wear them because they helped them to conceal their dissimilarities from humans. Theeth could also identify with the rotundity—it’s hard to keep active when you spend most of your life out of sight and underground. And he liked his food, so it was no surprise to see something of a paunch flourishing under the smart velvet waistcoat. As for their dissolving into trees, Theeth could only wish it was a characteristic he did have. There were times when it would have been very useful.

  One factual element that needs correcting—as even Paracelsus and others familiar with both gnomes and goblins appear to have got this badly wrong—is the matter of their height. In bygone days they were often described as being between but twelve and eighteen inches high. This is arrant nonsense, I’m afraid. Creatures of such diminutive dimensions could not have survived such a perilous existence for thousands of years—they would have been no more than a tasty snack to just about any carnivore worth its salt. No, your actual creature is a good four and a half to five feet high, or anything up to about 150 centimetres in new money. This explains his ability to pass himself off as human when it has been necessary, taking care to disguise as well as possible the various physical proclivities which distinguish him from his more advanced cousin. Jumping out of a pocket and ending up as a dog’s dinner would have had little more than entertainment value and done nothing for the furthering of the species. Their comparative height enabled them to move around more easily and survive harsher weather conditions when necessary.

  It is true to say that most people, even today, are blithely unaware of the existence of these two types of beings. We know through historical records that people have seen them and befriended them. We are aware, because he has told us himself, that Theeth was on good terms with Johannes Brahms and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, to name but two, and that both honoured that friendship, although Conan Doyle nearly gave the game away by going bonkers about fairies. Other humans undoubtedly made the acquaintance of both goblins and gnomes over the years. The standard text on the subject is still Brandreth’s Gnomes and Goblins: A True History, published in 1879 and now long since out of print. He had done his best in a well-meaning, kind-hearted sort of way, to tell the truth as he knew it and make the public at large aware that they shared their planet with biological cousins. Unfortunately, Garfield Brandreth was a typical Victorian eccentric with a lot of time on his hands and even more money. He had been one of the first to import garden gnomes into England and his obsession with them rather coloured the general public’s opinion of what they saw as his rather pathetic attempts to anthropomorphise these harmless little chaps. A pity; there is much good in his writing that is still relevant today. This, after all, was the book that had drawn Seth Cadwallader to Paris and set off the current chain of events.

  It is hard to assess the effects gnomes and goblins have had on European history. Any attempts to link their interventions with significant human events have of course been laughed out of court and there is precious little hard evidence to substantiate their influence. They themselves know, but it is not in their interests to publicise this. Both PP and Theeth have already hinted in these pages at what would in all probability happen if their existence did become common knowledge. They have had to be content with the satisfaction of knowing that their mighty intellects have had some bearing on some of the great decisions of recent times.

  Actually, one instance where we can shed some light on this is in the publishing of the King James Bible in English in 1611. The names of the forty-seven scholars who worked in committees to produce this epic are known. (Incidentally, the name William Shakespeare is NOT among them. Some students of our greatest writer have tried to justify his presence in the group by citing the sheer beauty and eloquence of the language used. No, whatever the Bard’s other achievements, and Lord knows they are legion, this was NOT one of them.) The only one of the acknowledged translators who was not a cleric, Sir Henry Savile, was a Custodian. It is probable, but not proven beyond all certainty, that at least two others were similarly inclined. They were instrumental, under the influence of major gnome intellects of the time, in making sure that the translation was written in a style of linguistic conservatism and that contemporary idioms were avoided. The two great writers of the time (of any time!), Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe no less, had already forsaken thee and thou in favour of you. Not so the KJV—the archaic forms are retained. Even more significantly, the new verb endings such as—e and—es (pace our friends Shakespeare and Marlowe again) are ignored in favour of the old form—eth. Even the now-accepted version of 1769 makes no attempt to remedy these old forms. It is hard to overstate the importance of such language for gnomes and their followers. The proliferation of the suffix—eth throughout the most important tome in the English language is difficult to overemphasise. Is it any wonder that Seth and thousand of others before and no doubt after him found consolation in such wonderful words? Just feast your eyes for a moment on this quotation taken (almost) at random from St. Luke. It is from his gospel, Chapter XI verses ix and x: And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

  Isn’t that beautiful? It is scarcely surprising that for many people even in this computer age this is still the only version of the Bible worth reading. The combination of the brilliance of the translation and the sheer lyrical cadence of the language continue to place it well beyond the reach of its harsher, more modern rivals.

  So Theeth had inherited the mantle passed down by his forbears—for the greater glory of man. Now, once again, this glory was under threat, not in a nuclear weapon earth-destroying sort of way, but much more subtly. Pursuit of personal wealth as opposed to the common good was creating greater and greater divisions in the world. A small minority were becoming obscenely rich while vast numbers were starving. How could that be right? How to stop this monstrosity before it spir
alled completely out of control? The first step was to defeat Pierre Poivre and his cronies. If they were allowed to continue unchecked, the world would be lost. He had faith in Beth and Gareth; they were as strong as any Custodians he had known. He was confident in their ability to defeat those two unpleasant creatures confronting them, although how they would do it, he was not too sure. It all hinged on the picture—was it real? He desperately wanted to believe; after all, Gareth and Beth, mere humans, certainly did. They had made out a good case for the infantile treasure in their possession. Too much had happened for it not to be genuine, hadn’t it? Yet could the fate of the modern world really hinge on a hastily—splodged doodle all too eagerly cast aside by its creator until he realised there was money to be made? There was that word again—MONEY. St Paul, yet another Christian sage, had got it right: Love of money is the root of all evil.

  Theeth sighed. There was no turning back now. Alia iacta est, as a famous leader from an earlier age had so portentously declaimed. All that remained for the Gnome leader to do now was to discuss with Bohommen and his other trusted underlings arrangements for Friday’s encounter and what action would be taken if various scenarios were enacted. It is still comparatively easy to move a body, or bodies, around London at night, provided you are prepared and have the wherewithal and sufficient manpower to hand.

  “If you have your Gods, prepare to pray to them now,” Theeth thought to himself. He almost wished he did have a God, an Allah, a Jupiter, he could call upon for strength and guidance, but such human frailties were not for him. This was his destiny and he was determined to face it with dignity and honour.

  34

  Gareth announced his attention of going back to his flat the next day. He had not been there for some three months now, having taken leave of absence from work when it became obvious that his grandfather’s illness was terminal. He also had to make a decision on whether he was going to go back to work at all. He had spent about half his inheritance from Brian on his flat; the rest he had shrewdly invested and it currently earned him a reasonable income. Add to it the money from Seth and he was, to say the least, comfortable, “not short of a bob or two”, as the saying goes. However, he was a lawyer by trade and training and was more than a little reluctant to throw away education and hard work in one kneejerk reaction. He really enjoyed the work that he did, and, like Beth, was starting to make a name for himself. “And for what? To hang around waiting for bad things to happen and then suddenly intervene Superman-like?” And what about Beth? She wasn’t going to want to give up her career just like that, particularly when she was just getting established.

  The young lady in question needed no second invitation to attack the shops again while Gareth bit the bullet and went to see his employers. He worked in the City for a prestigious firm of lawyers, Sansom McNab Winterburn. Their senior partner, Robert Sansom QC, was a large imposing man, always dressed in a dark three-piece suit and bow-tie and sporting a monocle. He had one of those deep velvet brown voices of the sort associated with BBC newsreaders in days gone by. If you are old enough to remember, or at least to have heard, Alvar Liddell or John Snagge, you will know what I mean. I suppose the nearest equivalent nowadays would be the golf commentator Peter Alliss. On many occasions, our Mr. Sansom had smooth-tonsilled an innocuous-sounding question to entrap some poor confused little witness under oath at the Old Bailey.

  The vocal cords were on good form again today. “Gareth, Gareth, my dear good chap. How lovely to see you. Come in, come in to my office and we’ll have some coffee and a chat. Maureen, can you do the necessary?” The unctuous smoothness was in stark contrast to Noel Lyttle’s rigid formality.

  “When are we going to see you again? Could do with you, I must say, could do with you. Lot on our plates at the moment. Remember that M.O.D fraud case?” Gareth nodded his assent. “Still going on, I’m afraid. Taking up a lot of time and resources. Nice juicy murder—you know, that Bow Street job? We’re prosecuting, thank goodness. Defence hasn’t got a chance, not a chance. So we could certainly do with you back here, sooner rather than later.” The tone was smooth and friendly enough but the underlying threat was there: Get back here NOW or forget it! It was also pretty obvious what the great man expected Gareth to do! Robert effortlessly poured deliciously-smelling coffee into china cups as he talked, adding cream and sugar to his own cup, while passing one over to Gareth.

  “That’s the problem, Robert, you see. I have some business to tidy up for my grandfather and it’s taking up a little more time than I had anticipated.”

  “Harrumph! Business? What sort of business? We need you here doing the job, the job you’re paid for. Can’t go running round the country forever, you know. Need you here, where you belong.” The mantle of civility was just beginning to slip, and it was a little too early for the first whisky and soda of the day.

  “I can’t tell you, I’m afraid, but it is stuff that needs doing.” Gareth was not being deliberately evasive, but he didn’t know how else he could explain his position. He nearly added “You wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you”, but he knew that would be asking for trouble. The whole story would be skilfully teased out and then disdainfully laughed out of court. “I’ll take unpaid leave if it helps.”

  “No, it doesn’t, really,” Sansom replied testily, as though dismissing a dry comment from an elderly judge. “I need you here NOW, not some time next year. You’re one of the best young lawyers around, you’ll be taking silk in a couple of years, no doubt about it, taking silk. The best education, the best training this country can offer. You can’t just put it on hold on a whim. I have to insist you come back to work, my boy. Back to work.”

  Gareth was more than a little relieved that the decision was being made for him. “In that case, I’ll have to tender my resignation, Robert, I’m afraid. Effective as of now.”

  Robert was apoplectic. His face turned puce, his eyes bulged and his monocle collapsed in an undignified tangle on to his waistcoat. “What did you just say, lad? Resign? You can’t resign from Sansom McNab Winterburn! Half the lawyers in the country would give their eye teeth to work here, their eye teeth! Have you gone completely mad, boy? There’s no going back you know, if you leave this establishment, no going back. No other legal firm will touch you after this, nobody!”

  Gareth remained red-faced but undeterred. “It’s not what I would have chosen, Robert, but unfortunately I have no choice. I have to see this through and I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

  Robert Sansom could see that Gareth’s mind was made up. He mollified his tone somewhat and said: “Look, I know your grandfather’s death has upset you, Gareth m’boy. Don’t do anything hasty. Stay off till Christmas and then come back and talk it over. Talk it over, what? You don’t want to be throwing away such a promising career and I can’t afford to lose such a good man. Have a think about it, eh?”

  “No, sorry Robert, my mind’s made up. I’ll put it all in writing and send it to you. I’ll come back another day and collect my things.” Gareth stood up and extended his hand. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Robert. As I said, I didn’t expect things to turn out this way.”

  Robert rather grudgingly accepted the proffered handshake. “Well, if that’s the way you want it, my boy, so be it, but I think you’re making a mistake, a big mistake. I’ll get Maureen to show you out.”

  Gareth left the building with a heavy heart and slumped shoulders. Even when his grandfather died, he had seen no reason why he would not return to work here in the fullness of time. He also knew Robert Sansom was a man who did not like to be slighted. Once he had resigned officially, he would not be taken back again, even if he made himself available for work immediately. He looked up at the windows again and just caught sight of a large be-suited figure turning away, his jowly face wreathed in cigar-smoke. Smoking was banned in the office now, had been since July, so he knew that his decision had affected Rob
ert more than the great man had cared to admit. “I hope all this is worth it. I’ve really burnt my boats now. And what’s Beth going to say?” He stopped to meditate on that last thought. He had only ever had to think of the consequences of his actions on his own behalf; taking another opinion into consideration was a new departure for him. Should he have talked it over with her first? Isn’t that what couples did? Hang on, who said anything about couples? This business had thrown them together but what was to stop them going their separate ways afterwards? Gareth knew in his heart of hearts that wasn’t going to happen. He headed towards the nearest Tube station to meet Beth in Oxford Street for lunch and then they would head down to Limehouse to see his flat.

  35

  “Unfortunately, my flat isn’t the easiest place in the world to get to,” Gareth mused while cutting up his steak. “No Underground stations for miles.”

  Beth looked up from her salad. “That was a bit silly, wasn’t it? Didn’t you think about that before you bought it?”

  “No, not really. I was really bowled over by the place and I could afford it, so I more or less signed on the dotted line there and then. Actually, it’s not as daft as it sounds. I was never going to drive round London much anyway and I’d already invested in a trusty bicycle as a result, so that’s how I get… got… to work. My car stays in the garage most of the time when I’m in London.”