James Enge - This Crooked Way

And down by the light …holding the light: what was that? Shorter than most men, with a flat head, covered with yellowish woolly fur, with ears pointing toward the horizon …a gnome? It was fussing with something bulky that lay on the ground. Morlock's pack?

This was clearly her chance to escape. The road-pit was between her and them. Even if the gnome saw her, what could he do about it? This was clearly her chance to escape. Too bad for Morlock, of course, but so what? The trouble was …there was something about some poor fool trapped in a situation that was his own damn fault that brought out the maternal in her. Usually her good sense trumped any impulse to intervene between the fool and his fate. But she was uneasily aware that, had she not snappishly overruled Morlock, that might be her struggling over there in the not-tree. Plus there was something he'd said….

…all out and I'll do what I can for you….

But the shoe was on the other foot, apparently, and it was up to her to do something for him, if she could. Rhabia swore silently but sincerely and drew her long knife, the one balanced for throwing. The gnome, or whatever it was, had a tendency to dance around a bit, but eventually he grew still again. She took aim and threw.

It was a good throw. In that light, at that distance, in that weather, she had no hope it would be a fatal blow. (Where were the internal organs in a gnome, anyway?) But at least it might hurt him; at best it might seriously trouble him.

At the last minute, though, the dagger slid aside and the point buried itself in snow. It might have been a gust of wind, but Rhabia didn't think so. The gnome dove and grabbed the dagger. He seemed to sniff it, and then he looked directly, searingly intently at her.

"Damn." Morlock-if it was Morlock (she thought it was)-was no longer struggling in the tree …if it was a tree (she didn't think it was). That gnome had nothing else to do now but come after her. She would have run off into the woods, but she found she couldn't move.

The gnome tossed what looked like a coil of rope across the road. It tied itself to a nearby tree. The gnome leapt up on the rope and skated nimbly across.

"Oh ho!" it said in a scratchy repellent voice as it looked up at her with the dark beautiful eyes of an evil kitten. "I'll have fresh meat for breakfast and lunch, or my name isn't All-Wise!"

It wasn't, as she later learned. But even if she'd known then, it wouldn't have made her feel any better.

The gnome who called himself All-Wise took them to his cave on the back of a big beast, like a bear with no head and leathery paws that were red as a sunset. Morlock appeared to be unconscious, but still alive; his clothing was torn and there were wounds on his face. Rhabia herself could not move, except to breathe and blink. Whatever he had zapped her with had a lot of staying power. The journey seemed endless; certainly hours passed as the headless bear lumbered after the gnome through the dense, high snow.

When they reached the gnome's cave, the headless bear shrugged them off onto the ground. The gnome took a flute or whistle from his gray smock; it looked like it was carved from brown bone. The gnome played a little tune, and the headless bear shrank until the gnome stopped playing, scooped up the tiny beast, and tucked it and the flute away in the same pocket.

He tossed Morlock's pack into the cave. Then he took Rhabia and Morlock, each by the collar, and dragged them (apparently without effort; he seemed to be strong as an ox, if nothing like as large) into the cave entrance. There was a large chamber filled with many peculiar things, like some sort of magical workshop, but the gnome didn't linger there. He hauled them to the back of the chamber, down a long tunnel covered with mirrors and odd writing, into a larger gloomier chamber deep underground where several iron cages dangled from the roof. There were mirrors and scribbling all over the walls here, too.

The gnome tossed them each into a cage and searched their persons with impersonal efficiency, taking all of their weapons and removing several inexplicable items from pockets of Morlock's clothes; finally he locked them in. Then he turned to Rhabia and, making an odd gesture through the iron gate, said, "You can speak and move. Is he"-a jerk of the bristly flat-topped head-"really Morlock Ambrosius?"

"Morlock, Ingrabe's son," she replied instantly. "He's a tinker, passing through this area. We-"

"You are a very poor liar," the gnome crowed, "as well as being remarkably ugly. You should strive for excellence in all things. This is the watchword I have made the …er …watchword of my life."

Something in the cave smelled rather strongly of rancid fat and as he moved around, Rhabia realized it was the gnome. She also realized that his "fur" was not really fur. It appeared to be a carpet of long yellowish gray warts completely covering his skin. They glistened in the light of the flameless lamp; she guessed that he rubbed fat on himself to protect against the cold.

"This isn't good, is it?" she said, more to herself than him.

"It's better than good!" the gnome responded. "Everything here, everything I am, is the best. I am All-Wise, All-Strong, All-Beautiful!"

"Your smell is pretty strong, anyway," she said scornfully. He could kill her if he wanted, but she wasn't going to flatter him.

But the gnome took it as a compliment, with a smirk twisting his warty face. "Oh, true: very true! A powerful and pleasing scent, refined and carefully aged animal fat mixing with my natural fragrance. I envy you for being able to smell it so clearly, and for the delight of seeing me for the first time. I would wish I were you, if you weren't so horribly ugly."

"Watch that!" she snapped. Maybe she wasn't some rose-petal goddess, but she had her share of admirers.

"Can't bear to," All-Wise (etc.) admitted cheerfully, averting his eyes from her to a smudgy mirror hanging nearby. There was one of these almost anywhere one looked, all over the walls of the dingy place. Dim flameless globes set over some of the mirrors provided a bare minimum of light. Wall space not hidden by mirrors was thickly larded with graffiti-Rhabia couldn't read a lot of it, but the name (?) NURGNATZ was repeated over and over. "But don't worry!" All-Wise said generously. "You can look at nae as much as you like. The effluvium of my beauty is inexhaustible, no matter how many hungry eyes feed on it."

At this point Morlock began to move sluggishly on the floor of his cage and All-Wise began to scream, "Wake up! Wake up! You're missing everything!"

Morlock's head jerked and his eyes opened. "What am I missing?" he croaked.

All-Wise made an impatient gesture, as if it pained him to have to explain the obvious. "Me."

"Eh," said Morlock.

"Something wittier please, Morlock-much wittier!" All-Wise sneered. "Try to match my high standard of conversation! You'll never make it, of course, but the effort should inspire you to undreamed-of heights! Why, just the other day I was saying to myself-"

"What is it you want?" Morlock cut in.

The gnome looked confused. On the one hand, Rhabia reflected, Mor lock had interrupted him. On the other hand, it was a fresh opportunity to talk on his favorite subject: himself.

"Want?" he said querulously at last. "I want to give you your finest hour! I want to give you a chance at greatness! I want to give you a golden opportunity that-"

"Can be described only in cliches, it seems," Morlock observed dryly to Rhabia.

"I'm going to cut you open and eat you," All-Wise snapped. "That way, you will be mingled with my greatness, although I don't expect you to be grateful for it."

"We're not," Rhabia confirmed.

"But I'm tired of your insolence!" the gnome screamed at Morlock. "Tired of your lies! Tired of your slander!"