The Realms Thereunder

2

“Gnomes?” repeated Daniel. “Really? What do they do? I mean, what are they? Where are they from?”

“They are a long-lived people-perhaps the smallest of the underground races. They make their homes in the corners unused by the other earth-livers. They are generally happy folk and do not usually intend harm or mischief to any.”

“Not that it would make much difference if they were to,”

Ecgbryt muttered.

“They mimic the actions of other races-of men, elves, dwarfs, and even goblins, I have heard tell. I would guess that the one on the rock is the king or chieftain.”

Ecgbryt snorted. “The dwarfish races sometimes use them as cheap helpmates. They don’t ask for money, content only to do what they see the dwarfs doing.” He shrugged.

“Why do they copy others?” Freya asked.

“They are Healfmods,” answered Ecgbryt, “that is, half-spirited, or halfminded-they do not think entirely for themselves.

All of them share their thoughts, such as they are, with the rest.

Apart, each of them is stupid. Together . . . in truth, together they are not much more.”

The gnomes were still moving and muttering to themselves in low voices, just as they had before. The only sign that they had registered the presence of the four newcomers was a quick dart of the eyes towards and away from the strangers, although their faces still remained sad and mournful, not in the least surprised or interested.

The travelers stood and watched for a time. The steady, circling movement and purple light was oddly hypnotic and relaxing. Daniel feared that he might turn into one of those mindless gnomes if he didn’t say or do something soon. Stepping forward, he drew a deep breath and called, “Hello!” in a loud voice.

The gnome on the rock jumped, his eyes comically wide. All of the gnomes stopped instantly as their heads spun around from every direction until they stopped at Daniel.

“Who said that?” said one with a bushy beard.

“Who’s there?” said another, a woman with a hat.

“Who said what?” asked a third.

“Hello,” answered a fourth.

“Who’s there?” asked a fifth.

“What?” said a sixth.

This fit of responses took Daniel by surprise and he stood in silence with the others. The chief had looked at him expectantly, as if he had spoken, though he never said a word.

“Um,” he began again, his eyes going from the chief to the crowd of gnomes and back again. “My name is Daniel and . . . uh, I’m-I mean we-are looking for a tunnel down to the Sl?pismere. If any of you, that is, if all of you, er, know of a way down, then that’d be, you know, great. Uh . . . otherwise, if you don’t, then that’s okay-but if you do, do you think you could . . .”

Daniel could hear himself babbling stupidly but he couldn’t stop. About sixty eyes were on him, staring steadily and expectantly. It wasn’t until Ecgbryt put a hand on his shoulder that he broke off.

“Best go easy, ??eling,” Ecgbryt said gently. Then he addressed the small crowd. “The Sl?pismere. We seek it. Where is it?”

“They seek the Sl?pismere!”

“Oh dear, where is it?”

“I say, what is it?”

“Alas! Who wants it?”

“Alack! Who is it?”

“Sl?pismere. Oh my.”

“The Sl?pismere.”

This time the chieftain closed his eyes and seemed to exert considerable effort before opening his mouth. “Hello,” he managed eventually.

“Hi,” said Freya. “What’s your name?”

“Negan,” the gnome answered after a shorter pause and a little less effort. “We are called Negan.”

“Oh.” Freya nodded. “Okay.” The other gnomes were standing quietly, watching the travelers.

“We understand that you seek the Sl?pismere . . .”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The gnome closed his eyes and nodded his head wisely. “Have you found it?” he asked, opening them again.

Freya faltered and Daniel picked up the conversation again.

“No. Do you know where it is?”

This brought the gnome chorus back again.

“Where is it?”

“The Sl?pismere, where’s the Sl?pismere?”

“The Sl?pismere? Forsooth!”

“What’s one of those?”

“Who had it last? Oh me.”

“Where is it? Oh my.”

The gnome chieftain closed his eyes and the murmuring stopped. “No,” he said after a time. “We don’t know where it is. It may be down one of these tunnels,” he said, gesturing around him.

“Not that we would know.”

“Why not, haven’t you been down them?” Freya asked.

“Didn’t you make them?” Daniel asked.

“Down them? Ha!” began the chorus.

“Make them? Ho!”

“Been them? Hee!”

“Ah, what’s the point?”

“Oh, what’s the use?”

“Eh, so many tunnels.”

“I wonder who did make them . . .”

The chorus stopped.

“No,” the gnome chief replied simply. “We have not.”

“They know nothing,” said Ecgbryt.

“Perhaps they do,” Swi?gar said. “How long has it been since you came here?” he asked the gnome chief.

“Long enough.”

“Too long.”

“Time flies.”

“It’s not so bad after a while.”

“When weren’t we here?”

“Ages.”

“Long?” The gnome chief sighed. “Oh, we don’t know. After a while all time is the same-a minute seems as long as an hour and the other way around. How long have you been here?”

“We just got here,” Freya replied, growing frustrated.

“Oh. Well, you won’t stay, though you’re welcome to, I dare say. But if you do leave, I fancy you’ll return, just like our cousin.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yes, you’re bound to see him if you wait long enough. His name is Gegan. He travels here and there. He’ll be here in a minute or so . . . a couple hours at the most.”

“Why aren’t you all with him?” Freya asked with a cautious glance at the rest of the staring gnomes.

“Oh, there doesn’t seem to be any point,” said Negan.

“Why not?” asked Freya.

All of the gnomes answered at once. “What’s the use?”

“What’s the point?”

“Welladay!”

“Alack!”

“Alas!”

“I’m hungry.”

“Woe!”

“Well, why would we go with him?” answered Negan peevishly.

“All roads lead one place-and you always end up where you happen to be. There’s no getting away from it. Anyway, I’m already here, so why not stay put?”