David Baldacci - The Keeper

I nodded again, but I couldn’t think of a single way for us to accomplish it.

Thorne led us down another passageway until we came to a far larger cave than the one we had left. I heard the sound of something pounding into rock long before we reached it. As we came into the space, I could barely believe my eyes.

It was a mountain of rock underground. And swarming over it were little creatures in work clothes and sporting red woolen caps and high leather boots that covered most of their short legs.

“The aforementioned gnomes,” said Thorne, pleasantly enough.

The gnomes stopped what they were doing and turned as though hooked together, to stare down at us from their mountain.

“Come closer,” said Thorne enticingly. “I’m sure our little friends would simply love to meet you.”

Well, neither Delph nor I wanted to move closer and meet anything, but the prods in the back from the ekos forced the issue.

When the gnomes came more fully into view, I flinched. It wasn’t just that their faces were deathly pale and prunish and evil-looking. It was their hands. Or, rather, where their hands should have been.

Instead, they had long claws that looked as strong as metal. They were curved and deadly sharp, although they were covered in dirt from their work on the rock.

Their lips curled back like attack canines, revealing yellowish-black teeth that were rotted and misshapen. I put a hand down in front of Harry Two because I was afraid he might go after them. And as strong and brave as he was, he would have no chance against a hundred gnomes with sabers for hands.

Thorne grunted rapidly and the gnomes fell back as the armed ekos advanced on them. So, I thought, the gnomes were obviously kept in check by force.

I glanced at Delph and could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Thorne said, “Do you know what they’re mining off that rock?”

I looked at him. “No.”

He clapped his hands together and one of the gnomes ran off but was back in a jiffy, hefting a large bucket made of wood and encircled with metal bands.

Thorne took it from him as the gnome respectfully swept off his cap and bowed. I could see that his hair was bushy and filthy. And from the smells wafting off the thing, I could tell that bathing did not occupy a sliver of the creature’s time.

Thorne held up the bucket so that I could see inside. It was filled with blackish powder.

“Still don’t know what it is?” asked the king in an amused tone.

Delph answered, “Looks like morta powder.”

Thorne seemed impressed. “Well, well, brains and brawn. But you’re not exactly right. It’s not yet morta powder, but it will be.” He pointed to the high rock the gnomes were working. “That stone has two of the three elements necessary to make the powder. The third is charcoal, which must come from trees on the Quag’s surface. I brought the requisite formula with me here, and the ekos, once I trained them up a bit, are delightfully efficient in doing the appropriate mixing, compression and other tasks necessary. Indeed, they are quite good at building many things.” He thrust the bucket back into the gnome’s claws and waved him off with a casual flick of his hand.

The creature instantly obeyed, but as I kept my gaze on him, I could see him look back with a sullen expression as he clacked his claws ominously against the bucket’s side.

Thorne clapped his hands, and the gnomes returned to their work. I marveled at how rapidly they tore through the rock and dirt with their claws. They were like ants flitting through grains of sand.

Thorne led the way down another passage. We arrived at a large, stout wooden door with a blackened iron keyhole. Thorne produced a key and opened it. We filed inside and as I saw what was there, I gasped.

It was a large room, and from floor to ceiling, it was filled with mortas. Tall, short and even some in-between models I had never seen before. They were all shiny and looked in perfect working order.

“You would need furnaces and Dactyls to make these,” I noted.

“We have both,” replied Thorne. “Plus a great many other skilled ekos. They have proven themselves quite adaptable to my teachings.”

Thorne walked over to a corner and patted a thick-barreled contraption that was bracketed by two wooden wheels. “We call this a cannon,” he said. He pointed to another section of wall, where many crates were stacked. “And powder and ammunition for the weapons.”

Delph was staring upward at the shelves and stacks of shiny mortas.

He said, “What d’ya need all these for?”

But somehow I already knew the answer.

“War,” I said. “You’re planning on going to war.”

Thorne smiled, even as Delph exclaimed, “Cor blimey!”

I added, “And you’re not going to war against beasts in the Quag.”

Thorne shook his head and smiled even more broadly. “What would be the point?”

I finished my horrible thought. “You’re going to war against Wormwood.”

War? Against Wormwood?” exclaimed Delph. He stared over at Thorne like he wanted to rip him apart. “Are you nutters?”

Thorne gave him a withering look. “I can assure you that I am in full possession of my faculties, my brawny bloke.”

Thorne’s statement had hit me as hard as a collision with a garm. I felt sick to my stomach. Through my mind flashed the horrors that would result from what Thorne was planning. My village of Wormwood, all the places I knew so well, Stacks, the Care, Steeples, Council building, Loons, and my old family home, all lay in ruin. And starker still, I saw piles of Wugmorts dead from morta wounds. Even mighty Thansius and magical Morrigone.

Chiefly, though, I saw my brother, John, lying dead, his eyes frozen, his features still, his magnificent mind gone for all time.

With cold dread but a steely resolve I turned to Thorne.

“There is one problem,” I said firmly.

Thorne studied me, his eyes crinkling and an arrogant smile playing over his lips. “Oh, you think so?” he asked. “Do tell.”

“It’s a heavy problem,” I said cryptically, though I could tell he knew exactly what I meant.

“Oh, yes, indeed it is,” replied Thorne. “You’ve laid the mallet directly on the nail head, Vega. I can see that you’ve inherited the brains of your grandfather. You’re thinking of the mile-long rise we will need to reach the top of that cliff, eh?”

Delph said emphatically, “You can’t climb it. Not with all those mortas, cannon and ekos.”

“Quite impossible,” agreed Thorne.

“And ya can’t go to war without your bloody army,” Delph said, a triumphant look on his features.

“Well, I won’t have to, will I?” said Thorne patronizingly. “Let me show you.”

The room we now entered through a massive portal, which Thorne unlocked, was far larger than any we had seen so far. My gaze quickly flitted to what dominated even this enormous space.

“What in the Hel is that thing?” gasped Delph.

There was a huge structure, rectangular in shape and made of wood, that looked rigorously constructed. It reminded me of the water vessels fisher Wugs used back in Wormwood, only far larger. It could easily carry hundreds of ekos. Connected to its sides were long, stout ropes. But suspended over it, high in the air, was something that dwarfed even the mammoth wooden carrier. It was black and roughly the shape of a circle, though it was thinner at the base and wider at the top. The stout ropes from the wooden structure were connected to a frame that was in turn attached to this thing. It was flattened and suspended by other ropes from the high ceiling.

“That, my fine Wug,” said Thorne, “is the culmination of many sessions of work.” He waved his hand at it. “It is, in fact, an aero ship.”