When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Buddy Keisler shoots Wendell’s chains loose and they slip through Noah’s temple, freeing a whole cellblock of caged gnomes bound for the Prime Gate... right as two monks burst in shouting that they’re escaping...

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 99

The streets of Clockworks City were a flood of flesh and anger.

Gnomes of almost every walk of life gathered in public places to verbalize their thoughts and feelings. Once a common group was reached, they formed groups and assaulted those who had differing opinions.

Group against group, mob against mob...marching down alley and thoroughfare, smashing or marking virtually everything in their path.

Businesses were broken into, overtaken and plundered.

Youth and criminals looking for the excuse to give into their habits and lusts, justified their actions by pointing to the unified body of anger. Such is the way of mob mentality.

Philburt Bellows watched the city burn from their place of hiding. He sat huddled under the water tower, watching the street fights raging up and down Center West Street. Not even the Centurions would step in at this point. There were too many citizens for them to deal with.

“All this wasted power,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “If they just understood that by uniting together into one body...they could have gotten what they wanted from the Government without having to resort to violence among themselves.” He pulled his sweater tighter around his shoulders. “It’s a shame, really. All wasted because of anger.”

Already Bellows, Shamas and Philburt’s assistants...including Mr. Tanklestein, were forced to flee the apartment building. Set ablaze by a mob, Mr. Tanklestein watched his life’s investment go up in smoke.

“They’ll learn,” Shamas replied, paying close attention to a small group approaching the base of the building they stood on.

“Learn?” Bellows scoffed, “Learn what? No one’s listening any more to what I have to say, Shamas. I made what I thought was the best speech of my life...and when I offered a course of action, it lasted what...a day? Now the frenzy is growing and it’s out of control.”

“That’s not altogether accurate, Mr. Bellows.” Mr. Tanklestein leaned against the cement wall, looking out over the stretch of apartment buildings still standing...a vast maze of housing for thousands of occupants. “We’re seeing the effects of what you said upon the normals, not our workers. Not the people from the lower districts.”

“There is violence everywhere, Laurence.”

“True, but the anger is only out of control up top. Even now we have reports of people working together and forming organized groups outside our factories. Places of business and the shipping docks have been protected. Life is shifting back to normal...angry hearts are calming.”

“It’s true,” Nat said over the com-link. “The speech you gave is being related by word, through text and phone. Workers from the factories are educating those in their communities...giving them a reason to join us.”

Shamas took a deep breath and stretched his arms outward. “We may just get a response from the government yet.”

“What do you mean WHRN is down for rescheduling!?” Ian roared, “I have a spot reserved to execute this troll in front of the entire city, you idiots!!” Spittle bounced off his bottom lip.

The albino’s bodyguards took a step back.

“Get me Director Cummins!” he snapped. “What do you mean, he’s retired? Fine. Fine. Get me Chairman Boehing then. What?” His face contorted, “They can’t all have retired on the SAME DAY!!” With a shriek, Ian snapped the cell phone closed and launched it across the room. The device struck the far wall and shattered into pieces.

Pale white fingers gripped the closed black suit, unnatural strength lifting the bodyguard off the floor.

“You get your entire division active and here within twenty minutes. Have them meet us in the Citadel lobby. If we can’t do a national televised special to axe this troll scum, then I will personally see to it during a private party!” With a flick of his wrist, the albino sent the stout gnome flying back against the wall.

“Y-y-yes sir!” he stammered. Jumping to his feet, he flicked open his phone and raced to the elevator. He held the doors open, waiting.

The remaining four guards snapped to attention.

“And you four,” Ian growled like a jungle cat, “will watch the two prisoners. No one gets in, no one leaves. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” they barked in unison.

Striding across the floor, Ian turned around in the elevator, giving the security team one last glare. “On pain of death.”

The delivery truck swerved again to miss the youth running across the road.

“STUPID CHILDREN!” Tumbler screamed out the window, laying on the horn. “DIDN’T YER MOTHER TEACH YA TO LOOK BOTH WAYS!?”

“Calm down,” Telly said nervously. His hands gripped the dashboard so tightly his knuckles had turned white minutes ago. “We’re almost there. We don’t want to be pulled over right now.”

“I know,” the old gnome snapped, “I KNOW!”

“There!” Nibbles pointed, “There’s the parking garage...across from the minimart.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Pull in and drive to the top. I’ll get them ready.”

“Right,” Tumbler blurted, flicking on the turn signal. “I’ll be glad to stop driving and get off these streets of crazy nut-job protesters!”

Telly sighed heavily, “I’ll be glad when you stop driving too.”

A weathered fist snapped out and struck the young mechanic in the arm.

“Ow!” Telly laughed.

The sliding door to the transport box slid open, Nibbles’ face popping through. “We’re here,” she said quickly, “Tumbler’s driving to the roof, so we have a clear shot at this.”

“Clear shot,” Lili repeated nervously.

“Oh don’t worry, my dear,” Chuck patted her head reassuringly, “you won’t be going.”

Steadying herself as they started the curving incline, she grabbed the orange jumpsuit. “What do you mean I won’t be going?”

Freak hooked the ladder onto the side of the slag.

Chuck looked about for his helmet. “I mean just that. Craig here will make sure you’re dropped off at the warehouse. We’ll meet back there in less than 30 minutes.” He snorted, “I’ll probably beat you, what with gravity and all.”

But Lili wasn’t laughing. She tugged at the wizard’s outfit, nearly spinning him around. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“Oh my,” he gasped, letting the helmet drop onto the floor. “What’s the matter, little one?”

“I’m going to be alone,” she choked. “Wendell, Dax and Alhannah are gone. I don’t know how to get to the warehouse if anything happened and I...” her voice failed her. Instead, she quietly shook as she sobbed into the jumpsuit.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me,” the wizard prompted, “Everything is going to be just fine.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated. “Well...I can’t really promise if I haven’t seen it, you know.”

Lili sobbed louder and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Oh for goodness... alright!” Then softer, “Alright, I promise. I’ll be back, within the hour and we’ll all go home. Satisfied?”

She sniffed and nodded.

“There now, back away, you’re gonna stain my manly jumpsuit.”

“Alright Chuck,” Freak tapped him on the shoulder, “pay attention. Put this in your ear.” He handed the wizard an earbud. “Ernie is already online and connected to the suit.”

Pushing the electronic device into his ear canal, Chuck cleared his throat. “Ahem. Testing...one...two...”

“I’m here Chuck. Hear you loud and clear,” Ernie responded.

“Here’s a warning young man...last person allowed in my head didn’t last the night. Had to lock him up, poor devil. Looney as they come now.”

Ernie chuckled into the com-link, “I’ll risk it old timer. Now listen to Freak...you need to understand the ejection sequence.”

The van slowed to a halt.

Two bangs on the cab wall. “We’re here,” Nibbles yelled.

“Right,” Freak continued, “listen carefully Chuck. You have three main buttons on the console of the S.L.A.G.. The launch, the seal and prep and the eject. The first is the biggest button...”

“Did you make it red, like I asked?”

“Yes, now the sec...”

“...and it has ‘BOOM!’ written on it?”

“It does. Now you need to...”

“...and I press that one when Ernie...”

“CHUCK!” both Ernie and Freak snapped in unison.

The wizard nearly fell over backwards. “Woah. Irritation in stereo.”

“The second button on the left...the yellow one, is a two step button. The first time will open both pods and then once Dax and Stump are in them, a second push seals them up. The last button, the green one, is the eject button. When you’re ready to go, it will launch all three sections.”

The wizard looked a tad nervous for the first time. “And the chutes...they’re all automatic? Nothing to push or pull or scream at?”

The mechanic smirked. “All automated.”

“Right. And you put rope in the cockpit like I asked?”

“We did, but I still don’t understand why you need rope?”

Chuck patted him on the shoulder and then proceeded to climb the ladder. “Just makes me more comfortable. Never know when you can use a bit of rope.”

Freak rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m just saying...”

The vehicle rocked, then shuddered. The corner latches disengaging one from another. A strip of light entered the cargo chamber as the roof section separated and folded down to the sides. The entire vehicle was made for S.L.A.G. transportation. Slowly the back of the van transformed into a launching platform.

Chuck shimmied up and into the cockpit of the S.L.A.G. and strapped himself into the pilot seat. Flicking the ignition switch, the giant machine hummed to life.

“This is Pilot Glowpop, strapped in and ready to leave a bad taste in the government’s mouth. I repeat, this is Pilot Glowpop. Come in Chicken Central...do you copy.”

Ernie choked on the other end of the com-link. “Chicken Central? I’m not going to be called...”

“Ah, ah, ah...you could have called yourself anything you liked kiddo...but as I recall, you didn’t want to risk anything you didn’t need to. Hence, chicken.”

Freak laughed.

“Where are the goodies Nibbles said she had for me?”

“Small black pouch, to your left, two smoke canisters and a couple stick-explosives. The smoke you just pull the pin and throw. For the explosives, just jam the spiked end into a surface and press the button...it’ll blow in seven seconds.”

“Big explosion?”

Freak shrugged, “Enough to take a stubborn door off the hinges, I’d guess.”

“Good enough,” Chuck rubbed his hands, excited. “Uh, guys? Don’t say anything to the girl yet...but if anything goes wrong, I want you to know that I’m grateful.”

The com-link went silent.

“You kept your ends of the agreement. Win or lose...just wanted to say...thanks.”

The mechanic sniffed and quickly averted his face from Lili’s questioning stare. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Righteo!” Chuck cheered, “So aim me and fire already!”

Ernie sighed, “I’m getting a visual on the Citadel now. The calculations have to be exact for this to work.” The S.L.A.G. wings folded out and locked into place.

“It’s a big building...not likely you’ll miss,” the wizard studied the screen in front of him, “so fire!”

“Initiating firing sequence in 20...19...”

“Hey you!” snapped a voice from the end of the parking lot.

Both Freak and Lili spun around to see two Centurions, fully suited in riot gear, walking briskly towards them.

“Oh boy,” Freak stammered, “the cops.”

“Get rid of them, before they alert the Citadel,” said Ernie, “It could blow the whole thing!”

“But how?” the mechanic whined.

“Send the girl!” Chuck said quickly, “Have her distract them...”

“From a S.L.A.G. launch?” Ernie choked, “She’d have to poke their eyes out!”

Chuck shook his head, “They’re not here for us. With all the riots going on, I’m guessing these boys are hiding from having to engage more...resistant citizens. We’re just easy targets.”

“Psst!” Freak hissed at Lili, “Chuck says to distract them!”

The shocked look shifting to utter annoyance, she glared up at the mechanic. “Distract them. Really?”

“I said...what are you two doing up here!?” barked a Centurion, “There’s a curfew in effect. Show me your license and registration!”

Lili’s brows rolled forward to overshadow her eyes. “Right.” She jumped from the back of the truck and walked straight towards the Centurions.

“Evening officers,” she said in a sultry voice. Forcing a smile to her lips, she stepped one foot in front of the other, allowing her hips to sway just a bit. In an effort to hide her clenched fists, she interlaced her fingers behind her back. “We were just trying to avoid the danger down there in the streets, and...”

“I said license and registration!”

Lili’s smile grew wider. She bat her long eyelashes. “Would you at least let me see the faces of the gnomes I’m talking to?”

One mirrored helmet looked to the other.

“Please,” she added, rocking back on her heels.

“Oh...alright,” said the second officer. Slowly, both gnomes reached up and pulled their helmets free.

“Ahhh,” Lili cooed, “that’s better.”

Their smiles didn’t last. Before either of the Centurions could respond, Lili shot out a snap kick into the closest groin. The gnome heaved forward as the second stepped forward...right into her elbow strike. Cartilage snapped as his nose folded, his entire, over-sized head reeling backward. Lili pivoted her hips, dropping to a sweeping kick. The Centurion was airborne and unconscious within moments. She followed up with a jumping knee kick to the head of the first officer, rendering him likewise.

Wiping the blood from her elbow onto her blouse, she glared back at the S.L.A.G.. “They’re distracted!”

“3...2...,” Ernie continued the countdown.

Craig, momentarily distracted, lunged from the platform. He hit the ground rolling.

“1...launch!”

Double barrel jetpacks, salvaged from the losers of the last Trench Wars, exploded to life. Flame and smoke blew out, rolling down the transports bed and across the parking lot. Freak ran frantically away from the machine, cradling his bloodied elbow.

Lili covered her face as the smoke blew by her. “Good luck,” she said aloud, though only she could hear it.

Like a slingshot, the silver S.L.A.G. shot into the air, spinning wildly as it left a glowing orange and red arch in the sky.

“Wooooohooooooo!” Chuck laughed out loud. His grin stretched from ear to ear, eyes rolled back into his head as he gripped the sides of the pilot chair.

Up, up and up the machine flew, soaring towards the top of the Citadel. The last rays of sunlight glinted off the machines surface, while the trailing smoke stood out like a leaning tower of burnt marshmallows against the fading sunset.

“Five seconds to impact, Chuck,” said Ernie. “Going to swoop around to the backside of the building now. Get ready for impact in 5...4...”

The velocity continued to pin the wizard to his seat. All he could do was hang on for dear life as he was propelled through the sky. Yet the smile never left his face. Crazy as it all was...this was an adventure of a lifetime and he was beside himself with excitement.

Red lights flashed along the dashboard. Warning signals built into the S.L.A.G. to alert pilots of oncoming missiles or oversized objects used as weapons. The outer cameras showed the rapid approach of the penthouse.

...definitely an oversized object.

“And contact,” Ernie blurted out...just as the machine collided with the building. Several windows from the floors below, cracked or shattered, the metal frame of the structure bowing.

Chuck rattled violently in the pilot cage of the S.L.A.G.. Steel fingers, now gripping the outer skeleton of the Citadel, locked in place. Strange sounds the wizard could not identify, chirped and grumbled around him as the hands of the machine flash welded in place. Trails of smoke rolled over the rigid arms.

“Alright Chuck, the S.L.A.G.’s fused to the building. You’re fastened into place.”

“I can’t fall?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

“They’re going to have to cut that machine loose. When you’re ready, all you’ll have to do is unlock the cockpit. Normally that would cause a S.L.A.G. to lower to the ground...but since you’re not on the ground, the legs will raise to meet the chest. That should pull the escape pods into reach.” He paused, “That is...if we did this right.”

Unbuckling his seat belts, Chuck stumbled forward, his legs a bit wobbly. “Next question boys. If I’m outside and there’s a window between me and the penthouse...uh, how do I get in?” He looked about and grinned at the black pouch. Without a word, he slung it over his shoulder.

The buzz of the shoulder camera echoed through the cockpit.

“Check your monitor, Chuck,” Ernie said bluntly, “I don’t think the glass is what you’ll have to worry about.”

Black suits spread out across the living room, machine guns in hand. Some took a tactical position behind furniture, others behind cabinetry. With a nod from their leader, they opened fire.

With short squeal, the wizard hit the floor, hands covering his head. Glass shattered between the machine and the penthouse as the air crackled with gun powder and bullets.

Tink! T-t-tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! echoed the sound through the cockpit, bullets ricocheting off the S.L.A.G.’s surface. It took a moment for the logistics to sink in before Chuck peeked out from under his wide rim hat.

“Oh,” Chuck gasped, peeking up from the floor, “right. I’m in here, they’re out there.” Grabbing the edge of the console, he lifted himself up from the floor and adjusted his robes. “Jumpsuit gave me a wedgie anyway,” he said to himself, then louder, “Not to worry, I’m alright.” He peered at the monitor. The bodyguards were reloading their guns. “Trouble is...how do I get past these boys without becoming Swiss cheese?”

“What’s Swiss cheese?” Ernie asked.

“Never mind. Any suggestions?”

Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink!

“Well, the first thing is to...,” the S.L.A.G. started to rise, bending in half and thrusting the torso through the large opening of the window, “is get you and the escape pods into the penthouse.” The gnomes resumed their firing as the machine advanced. They spread out, taking cover behind retaining walls and cabinet counters. As the chest nestled onto the floor, the two egg-shaped containers slid forward on mechanical arms. “There Chuck, the chest and pods should be side by side. Just hit the prep and seal button on the left. Once you three are all strapped in and secure, press the escape button on the right.”

“Got it.” Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! T-t-t-t-tink! He watched the monitor until the bodyguards started to reload. “How do I open the cockpit?”

“There is a red toggle switch on the upper right corner of the console.”

Making a few clenching motions to warm up his fingers, Chuck took several sharp breaths. “You can do this,” he whispered to himself.

“What?” Ernie asked.

“Not now!” the wizard snapped, yanking the com-link from his ear. He tossed it onto the console. “Mind has to be clear.” Another set of sharp breaths. “Ready...set...” With a whip of his finger, he hit the toggle switch.

The S.L.A.G. vibrated as the cockpit door lifted. With it, an explosion of gunfire.

T-t-t-t-tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! T-t-t-t-tink! T-t-t-t-tink!

Chuck ducked behind the console with a loud “DOH!” Sparks flew overhead as bullets buzzed into the cockpit, whizzing about his head. “Come on you ninnies...empty your...”

click-click-click

“Right!” Kneeling up, Chuck closed his eyes and held his arms aloft. Ancient words came to his lips. Words he had not spoken for generations. When you’re a mägo...a really good one with proper experience, there was no need to kill the innocent. Or, in this case, the stupid. An educated weaver of magic knew how to put people to “sleep,” he finally whispered.

One by one the gnomes dropped their guns and fell to the floor in a deep and peaceful slumber.

Chuck peeked over the rim of the cockpit door. Bushy eyebrows bouncing up and down as his eyes shifted from side to side, scanning the battlefield. “Hello?” he called out, but no one answered.

Popping up to his feet, he flipped his hat back on his head. He made a wide bow. “And that is how you...,” pause, “Ah. Right. All alone,” he sighed, “Never mind.” Grabbing his rope, he slung it over a shoulder and slid down the front of the S.L.A.G. into the penthouse.

Tiptoeing, he carefully walked among the bodyguards. Shattered glass was everywhere, holes in walls and even a few planters lay in pieces, soil across the floor.

“Ungh...” moaned one of the guards.

“Whoopah!” Chuck blurted out, jumping back. “We have a live one, do we?” Snapping his fingers, the wizard’s dragon staff jumped from its hidden location to his hand. He knelt down, inspecting the muscular gnome. “You’re a strong willed one, my boy. Impressive.” Tapping a finger to his lips, “Guess we’ll have to use a stronger option.” Rising to his full height, Chuck struck the bodyguard across the head with the end of his staff.

Poking the body a few times, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Now to the business at hand,” he muttered, dashing down the hallway. At each room he dropped his staff down in front of him like a rifle, then flung the door open. When he stumbled upon President Stump, he grinned. “One down!” The gnome didn’t look mobile, however...he looked sickly and fevered. An I.V. protruded from his arm, but there were no machines. Chuck lifted an eyelid, checked a pulse and listened closely to the pattern of breathing. At least he was still breathing on his own, even though it was labored and shallow.

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, gently touching the pale hand. Eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids, sweat trickling down the sides of the President’s face. Even his lips were blue...yet the room was warm and comfortable. No window as open, no draft could be felt. Chuck inspected the liquid dripping down the tube. He was no doctor, but he had a hunch that the solution wasn’t helping.

Slowly, he pulled the tube from Stump’s arm.

Laying a hand on the gnomes head, the other at the center of his chest, the wizard closed his eyes. Once more, ancient words rolled over his tongue and across his lips. This was more familiar...an art he’d developed many years ago. There was always someone who needed to be healed. Someone who could use a release of pain. Again he repeated words that few knew. A minute passed, then another. Stumps breathing evened out, slowing, becoming steady and deep. Another minute after that, the gnomes shoulders relaxed.

Chuck let his hands drop to his sides and stumbled backwards. Tiny lights danced around the edges of his vision...and he coughed loudly.

Stump’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re...back,” he said weakly.

“Come to get you and Dax...though I don’t think we have much time.” Tucking the blankets around Stump, he started to slide his arms under the round frame, but the President stopped him.

“No, I’m staying.”

“What? You can’t stay here, my boy...not safe. Besides, I have two kids I don’t want anymore. You’re their father, so come on.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t go. The people responsible for all this trouble will be left in charge, with the power and the ability to hurt more of the good citizens of this city.”

The wizard frowned deeply. “You’re not exactly in a position to resist them, now, are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I gave my word to the people. I made an oath. It is my duty.”

“Well I’ll be...” Chuck’s mustache rose to either side of his face in a broad smile, “You gnomes never cease to amaze me. I can see why the boys chose to make this place their mortal home.”

“What? Who...are you talking about?” Stump asked, perplexed.

Chuck patted him on the head, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Overhead and out in the hall, the overhead lights flickered. A high pitched beeping rang through the penthouse. It was accompanied by a female voice.

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. There has been a breach to the Citadel security, floor 236...Presidential Suite. All available military personnel proceed to private lift #1. This is an intruder alert.”

The wizard gulped, “I gotta go.”

The President nodded weakly, “You have about three minutes before they show up,” and he closed his eyes once more.

Snatching the staff, Chuck ran to the end of the hall...the only door left.

The stench was sickening. From the moment the door was flung wide, the foul stench assaulted his senses and Chuck was forced to raise the sleeve of his robe to his mouth. Dax lay motionless on his bed. His skin, which was normally a darker shade of green, had lost most of its color. Instead, his face, chest and arms looked more like the fading paper of an ancient scroll...fragile and brittle. Tubes jutted out from his arms, neck and face...some hooked to I.V. bags hanging overhead, trailing clear and yellow liquids, while others drained the crimson red blood from him...running over the edge of the bed and into bottles on the floor.

The bottles. Dozens of containers filled with the elf’s blood were scattered across the carpeted floor.

Chuck stepped across the clusters, though he longed to kick them against the walls and shatter them.

“What have they been doing to you?” he choked out, though he forced his tears far from him. There was no time to question. No time to think. This was the last chance to escape.

“Looks like someone noticed the great big metal thingy crashing into the building,” the wizard mumbled, looking for some form of clean sheet. He yanked open a cabinet door and pulled an extra blanket from the shelf. “Come on monkey...this’ll have to do until we can get you to a better place.” But he hesitated.

Dax’s pale skin unnerved him. Lips of grey blue, charcoal rings under his sunken eyes...this was not an illness. His closest friend was being poisoned. Leaving the staff to stand on its own, Chuck quickly tossed the blanket across a free space on the floor and then proceeded to pull the tubes from Dax’s body. Blood seeped out and ran freely across the pale surface of his skin.

Placing hand over head and heart, Chuck closed his eyes and whispered the words of healing.

There was a cost for using such magic unprepared. Blood drained from the wizards face, until his own countenance took upon the mirror image of the evolu. His knees nearly buckled then, and his eyes popped open wide...his mouth dropping open, gasping for breath.

“That’s all for now,” he coughed. Grasping Dax under the arms, he pulled the evolu from his bed and let the oversized feet thump onto the floor and dragged him onto the blanket. Nodding, “That should help.”

Beep-Beep-Beep, the alarm continued to echo throughout the penthouse. Chuck whipped around the hallway, pulling the prone, pale body across the floor behind him. Dax’s body flipped and rolled, banging into the walls, the wizard grunting from the exertion.

“Diet,” Chuck yelled aloud, “That’s the new word you need to learn!”

“Unghhhh,” moaned the bodyguard as they passed.

Chuck stopped, looked around him, then gave a short whistle. His dragon staff raced around the corner, jumping into his palm. Following the momentum, he swung the wood and knocked the guard back out.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had left, but it wasn’t much. Reinforcements would be here soon...and they’d be killed or captured. Unfortunately, his money was on the former. “Ungh,” he grunted, pulling himself up onto the S.L.A.G. until he could reach the console. Fingers stretched and hunted about, locating the small earbud.

“You still there?” he stammered, winded, “’Cause this is a LOT more exercise than I was willing to contribute, I’ll have to you know...”

“Chuck!” Ernie screamed.

“What!” the wizard screamed back, whipping around, crouching in a defensive posture with his fists up.

“You’re there!” cheered the gnome into the com-link.

Frowning, “Well of course I’m...where else would I be?” He shook his head, irritated. “Stupid child.”

“I just...,” the gnome started to explain, but the wizard cut him off.

“I have Dax.” Glancing back at the evolu’s body on the floor, “How do I open these pods again?”

“Left button is to open and seal.”

“Thank YOU,” Chuck said, smacking the left button triumphantly on the console. “Got it!” He quickly slid off the nose of the machine and dashed to Dax’s side. “Almost out of here, little one. Just a few minutes and you’ll be...”

“Wow” Ernie chimed impressed, “You’re amazing!”

Chuck grunted under Dax’s dense weight, dragging his body out of the blanket. “Well I have been working out a bit. Leg presses, squats...,” he turned towards the S.L.A.G., just in time to see the pilot cockpit close.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” he shouted, dropping the evolu with a thud and sprinting towards the machine.

“Don’t panic,” Ernie said calmly, “I have this covered.”

“You do?” Chuck asked, perplexed. Lights flashed from behind the cockpit window and the pods retracted from the penthouse altogether. “Because I don’t think...”

“Trust me,” Ernie insisted.

The wizard shrugged and wandered back to Dax. “Ok, but I’m going to need another pod to put this monkey into.”

“What monkey?”

“Dax.” Snorting, “It’s just a nickname I...”

“Dax?”

With a gust and billow of smoke, both pods and the chest piece of the S.L.A.G. shot out the window and into the air, rockets blazing.

Chuck dropped Dax onto the floor...again. “That’s what I said.”

“You’re not IN the pods?!!” Ernie screamed.

Nose flaring and mustache quivering, Chuck stared at the shell attached to the side of the building. His only escape plan...had escaped without him. “No,” he whispered, fuming, “we are not.”

“Then why,” said the gnome, perfectly mimicking the wizards tone, “did you press the eject button?”

“I didn’t,” he replied with a deep breath. He let his eyes fall upon Dax’s seemingly lifeless body, “I pressed the left button.”

For several moments only static could be heard over the link. The wind whipped through the opening of the building, the alarm suddenly cutting out.

Chuck glanced around him, eyes flicking about.

The S.L.A.G. was completely useless to him now. Nothing was left behind that he could use except a giant frame now welded to the side of the Citadel building. The guards spread out over the floor would be waking up soon and the big cootie which he’d struck twice with the staff would be overly joyed to catch them. The elevator numbers were rolling up, which meant whatever forces that gathered to deal with this perceived threat would be here momentarily. Dax was completely unconscious and would be of absolutely no help whatsoever.

Brilliant.

Pulling the rope from up and over his shoulder, he dropped down next to the evolu and rolled him back over, into the blanket. Folding the top and bottom together, Chuck completely encompassed Dax and then wrapped his torso with the cord, making sure to loop the rope between his legs every third rotation.

“You were facing the console...weren’t you?” Ernie finally asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chuck muttered.

“Doesn’t matter? You just shot your escape pods out of the building and, oh yeah....you weren’t in them!”

Rope is a wonderful thing. You never know when a good, long strand of weaved cord will come in handy. Hang a tent, use for a clothes line, or, in this case...jump from a skyscraper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated without stopping. With Dax secure, Chuck used the remaining line to strap the body to himself. “I have rope.”

“Rope?” Ernie coughed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he replied, pulling the bud from his ear, “That you are distracting me,” and he tossed the bud out the window.

Struggling under the weight, Chuck rose to his feet. “Come here you,” he called to the staff, which obediently jumped to his aid. Stroking the dragons head affectionately, he wandered across the glass fragments and to the ledge of the open window. “Wake up,” he prompted, “I need your help!” Wood lids blinked. Looking out over the vastness of...nothing, Chuck gripped the metal frame next to him. “Oh my.”

The staff gave a short yap, shaking its head as it came to life. Its voice carried the undertone of cracking branches.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Chuck replied nervously. Did he dare to look down and see how big of a chance he was taking? He peeked and instantly regretted it. “That’s where you come in.”

The crystal eyes looked up, the small head tilting to one side. The creature gave a short gurgle, then a few short yaps.

“Did I accuse you about anything? No, I did not!” the wizard snapped, “You are not at fault. I am not blaming you...for ANYthing here, alright!” Then, lowering his voice, “But I do have to rely on you now.”

A short pause, then several more yaps, ending with a soft growl.

“Because,” Chuck said soberly, looking into the crystal eyes, “If you don’t, we’re going to die.”

The dragon snorted, then nodded its head.

“I need you to fly us down from here,” he said softly.

Sharp squawks and hisses snapped out from the dragon’s beak, which bobbed up and down like a telegraph machine.

“What happened to the humility and willingness to help your master?” he bellowed, eyes watching the elevator numbers growing.

Hisses were followed by a sharp snort, the dragon looking away.

“Changed your mind!?! It was two seconds ago!”

The creature’s eyes refocused once more on the wizard, its head making bobbing motions while the beak opened silently in rapid succession. If any words were spoken, only its master could hear them.

“I know you’re not an umbrella, but if a British nanny can float around with an umbrella and a handbag...you should be able to carry a gnome and an elf!”

Snort.

“He is not fat,” he retorted, “But I’m afraid you’re out of time,” his voice quivered. Behind them, the elevator dinged and the door slid open.

Closing his eyes and gripping the staff in a death grip, Chuck jumped.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: The techno-mägo finally tell me the truth... Noah’s been feeding his own people to the Täuku through the Prime Gate to buy Clockworks’ safety, and the assassin sent to kill me turns out to be a fan I just might talk out of it...

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 98

Mr. Upshot pushed the rest of the chemical through the syringe.

The sea-green liquid rolled down the tube, mixing with the clear fluid in the I.V. “There you go. He’s all set for another 24 hours.”

“And Dax?”

The scientist flashed a wry smile. “I’ll look in on him now. Make sure he’s acceptably comfortable.”

Ian frowned, “Not too comfortable.”

Mr. Upshot stopped at the door, but did not turn around. “Of course not.”

With a quiet click, the albino and his employer were left alone.

“It’s all about to come to an end,” Ian whispered, the faint, sour smell of his unbrushed teeth and last meal on his breath. He reached over and patted the prone hand reassuringly.

Everything was going according to plan, more or less.

Yes, there had been hiccups, but through it all, new opportunities had presented themselves. Delicious opportunities. The kidnapping of the Stump children was a perfect example...the albino couldn’t have planned anything better than that. Now he had control of the government, the media and the military forces of Clockworks. The Gnolaum couldn’t be controlled, he’d proven that...but his rants made in public, especially his declaration of revolution, had set the city on fire. Emotions were running amuck and crimes were being committed left and right as riots surged in every district.

It was the perfect diversion.

The violence and rebellion would mask just about any moves Ian cared to make. Even the Church had fallen into silence. Ian didn’t know where Wendell was at this point...but he no longer cared. The people were exactly where the albino wanted them and it was time to make his final play.

“Just one more pesky detail and I can usher in a new age for our people,” he smiled. There was an air of pride and triumph in his voice, but President Stump couldn’t hear a thing.

Sweat beaded across his brow and cheeks, sickly green rings around his eyes. The only sound that could be heard in the room was the faint hissing sound of oxygen pushing through his nose tube.

Ian watched the rapid eye movements under Stump’s lids, the sign of deep sleep. “I hope you’re dreaming of better days, my old friend,” he whispered again, leaning back in his chair. “Because those days are almost here. That’s why I did this, you know. It had to happen. We’ve become weak, tolerant of the despicable ways in which we are seen by the other races.”

Ian stood up abruptly, shoving the chair from him. Spinning on his heel, he paced the length of the President’s bedroom. He was so close. So very close. Had he missed anything? For several minutes he pondered his glorious plans...the steps he’d been forced to take and the alliances he’d made. No one would understand the horrible sacrifices he’d had to make to get this far. Would it be worth the risk?

“It’s worth the risk,” he said to himself. His mouth curled into a devious grin. So what if there was confusion, violence, or loss of life. “It’s all worth it,” he said louder, “We deserve to be so much more. We are the ones who have technology! Our people work on computers, develop lasers and build combustion engines...while we cower to the people around us,” he sneered, “the people we fear, who still use quill pens and parchment! They use horses...while we use monstrous S.L.A.G.s!”

He laughed out loud then. It was such a preposterous thought...to fear races that were so obviously beneath the genius of the gnome race.

“I will turn this around to our advantage, Potifur.” He stopped pacing, and laced his fingers behind his back. “The people won’t care what we had to do to rise out of this dung. In the end they will praise your might and determination to bring them into the light...even if I have to kill half the population to do it.”

There were things to do. Plans to put in motion.

Without another word, Ian stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him.

Not once did he notice the weak, yet conscious eyes of Stump upon him.

“You couldn’t throw them in the garbage can? The trash is ten feet away!” Freak kicked the empty cans of Jolt-Juice out of his path, “I’m going to add this into the workers rules and regulations of the company.”

“Oh my,” Nibbles snorted out loud, “Listen to the business owner...wanting to regulate how we work now?”

Telly laughed, holstering the drill at his hip. Grabbing the sides of the ladder, he flipped his boots to the outer edge, squeezed his legs tight and slid down. “Maybe he forgot that he got this contract with the help of his friends, huh?”

“No,” Freak teased back, jabbing the tall gnome in the ribs as he passed by the ladder, “but the managers should know what won’t be acceptable work behavior in their individual shops.”

“Managers?” Telly gulped, “Like, being in charge kind of managers?”

Freak laughed.

“Individ...you mean we get shops of our own?” Nibbles squealed with glee. She watched the TNT owner change from a stride to a bounce, a sly grin on his face.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot...ever since Chuck delivered on the first part of his promise. Just on the off chance that he can pull the rest of this off, what would I actually do? How would I want the company to run?” He shook his head, “I couldn’t just offer you guys a job. That would be stupid. Besides, Telly’s completely right...I couldn’t do this without you. Not just this crazy opportunity...but for years of help. You’re all brilliant. The best talent I’ve ever seen...and I thought...this might be a good time to think about expanding. On this opportunity, I mean. If the contracts are as big as we think...why not make departments, so you can do what you love the most. After all, you deserve it...and you guys are like family.”

Tumbler flipped up his welding helmet. “If we don’t get this thing in the air, there ain’t gonna be a business!”

“Awww, Tumbler,” Telly complained, “you’re ruining the moment.”

“I ain’t doing no such thing. We have to keep our side of the deal, remember? So get back to work!” But the old gnome grinned to himself. He stared up at Freak until the fat gnome noticed. Tumbler nodded, “But I like yer thinking, Craig. A lot.”

“How close are we for a test run?” called Ernie from the S.L.A.G. pit. He wandered out into the stadium with the Stump twins in tow. “I’m done.” Strapped to his shoulders and chest was a mini console with two joysticks. “The software is loaded and I’m itching to try this out.”

“You really know your stuff, Mr. Trench,” said Kip, “I’ve never seen someone build electronics that fast.”

Ernie adjusted the dials on his device. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, Kip, some things become a matter of habit.”

“...and he’s rich,” Buffy whispered to her brother.

Kip pushed her back and rolled his eyes.

“The last of the reinforced plate is in place,” Tumbler banged the machine with a gloved fist. “Nib...what about the pods?”

Welded to the thigh plates of the machine were two egg-shaped containers. Nibbles tightened the bolt holding the door securely in place. “I’m good here. The pods should be big enough to carry Dax and the President, but I’m a bit nervous about the chutes. These aren’t standard deployment devices...there’s no knowing if they’ll work correctly.”

The Trench Brother grinned, “I wouldn’t worry about Chuck, he’ll be fine.”

“I still think you’re crazy,” she pressed, “There are a dozen things that could go wrong with this. Why can’t we weld another tank on the back...double the fuel...”

“Because,” he cut her off, “we would have to rely on the old bird knowing how to maneuver for a landing...which is, I assure you, far more complicated than aiming him at the tower and shooting him towards it.” He softened his tone and forced a smile onto his face to calm her fears, “Besides, the bigger the fuel load, the bigger potential for a bomb. Burton is getting him up to speed...and with this as the main backup,” he patted the device strapped to his shoulders, “we’ll be able to get him to the penthouse. Don’t worry.”

Kip frowned, “You sound like you’ve done this before, Mr. Trench.”

“Well,” he smirked, flipping the power switch on. The mechanics backed away from the S.L.A.G. as the machine rumbled to life. Ernie’s smirk transformed to a wide mouth grin of satisfaction. “I wouldn’t say I’ve done this exact thing, Kip...but my brother and I did go to prison for something similar. This isn’t that much of a stretch.” Winking, “This should be fun.”

The twins looked at one another dubiously.

“It won’t solve all the challenges, but if I have it calibrated correctly,” Ernie stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth as he turned the dials on the mini console, “I should be able to pilot the basic functions of the S.L.A.G. should anything go wrong.” Gripping the two joysticks tightly, he pushed them forward. The machine, which had been repainted from a neon blue to striped gradients of silver and grey, took a step forward...then another. Ernie sighed. “It’s a bit slow on the response time. That’s not good.”

“Not good?” grunted Tumbler, throwing his gloves to the ground. “If ya can’t take over, these boys can get killed!”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Ernie replied soberly, “If the old bird is right, we’ve run out of time.”

“You could always change your mind and pilot this bucket for me,” Chuck said from behind them all. He strode out from the pit with Burton and Lili. They both looked extraordinarily nervous beside him.

Ernie shook his head. “I’m grateful and all for the deals you’ve made and what you’ve done, Chuck, but I’m not going back to jail for anyone. Breaking into the Citadel is not an option. It’s just not smart.”

“Goodness boy!” the wizard blurted out, “No one claimed to be smart, just desperate.”

Nibbles put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “What are you wearing?”

Chuck snapped the goggles over his face and zipped up his bright orange jump suit, which made him look more like a fruit popsicle than a pilot. He wore large black boots, laced up over his calves and black leather gloves. Across his chest in big, black letters was the slogan: ‘Old Men Shoot For The Moon.’ He ran a thumb under the words and grinned. “Cool, huh?”

“Cool is not the word I would use,” Tumbler chuckled. Telly jabbed him to silence.

“How did he do?” Ernie asked his brother.

Burton stared back, numbly.

“Well?” Ernie prodded.

His brother scratched his cheek, averting his eyes, “He did learn how to turn the engines on.”

Telly gulped. “And you want him to fly thousands of feet into the air?”

“Well...,” Burton scratched his head, “No.”

“Then how is he supposed to get this machine up there and rescue Dax?” Freak gasped. “We made all the alterations...and Nibbles even made him some special goodies for the security, but you still have to pilot the darn thing...”

“Bah!” snorted Chuck, “Just aim me at the penthouse and shoot me up. Traveled with the Barkum and Buntley Circus for ten years back in the day. Colby Barkum was a clever gnome...used to shoot me out of a huge cannon,” he jabbed Burton in the shoulder and winked, “Kids loved it. Landed in whipped cream.” His face froze, “Course... I never liked waiting for them to eat me free.” He shuddered.

“This is hardly the same thing as propelling a person through the air.”

“Oh I know that,” the wizard balked, “we’ll need a bigger cannon. That and a whole lot of whipped cream.”

They all sighed.

“Why do I have to know all the silly details about piloting anyway? I have brighter people down here who can do that for me,” and he patted Ernie on the back.

Ernie bit his bottom lip nervously, “Chuck, the controls...”

“So, we ready to go?” the wizard cut in, clapping his hands together eagerly.

“Not quite,” said Burton. “We can’t launch from the stadium. The trajectory is all wrong. If we aim you from here, you’ll smack the backside of the building and miss the penthouse altogether.”

“Right,” Chuck said thoughtfully, “It wouldn’t be proper to smack anyone’s backside.”

“Stop it,” Lili poked him. “You need to listen carefully...they’re trying to help.”

“Sorry.”

“Because of all the riots breaking out in the city, I think we have a great opportunity to get this machine into a key position. The government has Centurions posted all over the place as extra eyes and ears, so we’ll need to use one of the parts trucks instead of a S.L.A.G. carrier. If you launch from here, all the fingers will point to us.”

“Can’t let that happen,” Ernie said plainly, “They’ll shut us down.”

“Right,” his brother nodded, “which...”

“What about coming back down?” Lili asked. “Won’t the Centurions be watching?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Burton assured her, “Chuck knows what to do.”

She snapped her head around at the wizard, “You do?”

Chuck tapped the tip of his nose.

“This doesn’t make sense!”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Deloris whispered, giving her husband’s shoulders a light squeeze, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“But I’m so close!” he clamored.

“Which is why this is all so exciting,” she almost laughed. Morty hadn’t had much sleep...only cat naps, attacking him at moments. As soon as his eyes would open, he was back at the side of the PROMIS. Fine tuning, rewiring and retesting the device to make sure the energy output was even and stable. She ran her fingers through the wild and now matted white hair, intertwined with his prescription goggles.

Morty rubbed his red eyes and shifted the papers on the kitchen table. With the city in such an uproar, no one seemed to be paying attention to the warehouse. It was nice to sit out in the open. Three boxes with notes and diagrams were opened next to the black generator his father had left him. He looked at the intricately crafted metal container, tapping his fingernail on the table’s warped surface. “That thing is starting to annoy me,” he grumbled.

“You’re just tired,” Deloris encouraged him. “You need to take a nap and come back to this. Pushing beyond your limits isn’t going to do anyone any good. You’re close, darling, so very close.”

“Then why can’t I see it!” he snapped. Deloris stepped back, which was enough for the tinkerer to notice his mood. “I’m sorry Del. That was...rude.” His head dropped forward with a thud onto the table. “I just can’t see it. The missing piece. It’s eating away at me.”

“It could be so much worse.”

“I know,” he sighed.

The front door opened and slammed shut, causing them both to jump.

“Stupid, fat, ignorant...pig!” Höbin swore, stomping past the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” Morty called out.

Höbin skidded to a halt and shuffled back to the doorway. The historian had a huge handkerchief held to his nose, splotched with red stains. “Stupidity!” Dropping the cloth, Deloris and Morty gasped. His right eye was swollen and black, the bridge of his nose split and his top lip fat as a grape.

“Wow,” Morty’s brows jumped high. He looked up at his wife, “You’re right. I could end up like him.”

“Har. Har,” Höbin mocked, “You were right. I should never have gone out to find the seal.”

“Did you get caught?” Deloris asked, concerned. She moved to Höbin’s side and inspected his broken nose. “This is a nasty cut.”

“I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, “but no. The Shade ring did the job...it was the sorry excuse for a gnome I met once I got there that did this to me. A fat swine, named Adrian.” He snorted, then flinched, his hand going back to his nose. “If he’s a tinkerer, then I’m a troll.”

“Didn’t find the seal, I’m assuming?”

Höbin slid into the chair next to Morty. “Not even close, but I don’t believe they have it.” He touched the broken bridge of his nose with a finger and flinched. “He thought I was a bill collector after his...inventory.” He laughed. “Inventory.”

“So what happened to your face?” Deloris asked, checking the freezer for ice.

“Apparently I wasn’t the first person there, asking questions.”

Morty’s jaw dropped open, “The seal?”

Höbin nodded, “That’s my guess. So he locked the door to the shop when my back was turned and hit me when I spun around. Never saw it coming.”

“Well I hope you popped his back,” Deloris muttered. She took a handful of ice and placed it in a dirty rag.

“Deloris...that doesn’t sound like you!” Morty said, but he chuckled. “Condoning violence like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Höbin replied, “there wasn’t any violence involved.” He held up his cybernetic arm and pulled back the bottom two fingers. Small needles protruded from the tips. “I tasered him before he could swing a third time.”

Morty laughed louder, “Third?”

The historian shrugged. “He was faster than he looked.”

Deloris handed Höbin the cloth. “So the seal is gone.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think fat boy ever had it. If he did, he’s too stupid to know what or where it is.” Slowly, he touched the cold, wet cloth to his nose. “Oooo. Ow. I...think I’m missing a puzzle piece here.”

Morty snorted, “That makes two of us.”

His attention went back to the black box.

“Which way!” Buddy hissed, checking the silencer attached to the end of his rifle.

Tabbermain looked down the multiple corridors. They didn’t look at all familiar.

“Here,” Doddle whispered, “I’ll do it.” Without explanation, he stepped out in front of the group, hugging the wall. Guards and unarmed monks continued to wander the halls, forcing us to duck into side rooms.

“We need to keep moving,” Buddy hissed again, training the rifle back onto the hallway, “And I’m plugging anyone who sees us.”

“What if it’s another fan?” I added, hoping to evoke mercy in the assassin. I kept the wooden box filled with artifacts clenched tightly to my chest.

“I’m already going against my gut,” he warned, “don’t push your luck.”

“Shhhh!” Vin whispered.

Doddle closed his eyes and whispered something I couldn’t discern. Cupping his hands together, he blew lightly between his thumbs. A few more words and he opened his palms. A tiny light, the size of a pea, jumped up, into the air. Twirling and flipping about the gnome’s head. “Take us to the Gate.”

Off the light buzzed, whipping around the first corner.

“Let’s go!” Tabbermain encouraged, patting his fellow mägo on the back.

The three old gnomes found it challenging to keep pace with the tiny light as it flickered around corners and down deep hallways. It tapped against closed doors until opened for it, which usually led to stairs leading further down into the ground. It wasn’t long before the sounds of other life tapered off to silence.

“How far are we going?” I asked, now feeling more uneasy than sure of myself. The air grew colder as we descended, the gnomes shivering...including Buddy.

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” he said bluntly, “not a second more.”

Tabbermain nodded. “I remember where we are now. It’s just beyond this door.” He nodded to Doddle.

The tiny light vanished.

“Be careful and quiet,” Vin added, “They keep this area well guarded from the rest of the temple.”

“It’s because they shouldn’t be doing any of this!” Doddle growled. He bobbed up and down in place, raising his fists up like a boxer. “Someone needs to deal with them...”

“That,” Buddy said matter-of-fact, “would be me.” Sliding to the front of the line, he put a hand on the doorknob.

“No killing,” I reminded him.

The assassin paused, then slowly turned around. He glared at his fellow gnomes, “Do these monks down here work for Noah?”

They nodded.

“They know what he’s doing with these people? Knows where the Gate opens and what will happen to the citizens when they step through?”

They all nodded again.

Buddy looked up at me, his jaw set firm. “Right.”

Yanking the door open, he quickly slipped through.

All four of us crowded at the door, pressing our ears to the cold metal surface. At first there was nothing. Then a faint sound like compressed air being released. It was promptly followed by screaming. First one female, followed by many others. The outburst was immediately followed by gunfire. The explosions echoed. Something heavy then dropped against metal...like a metal grate, vibrating the door. There was a rattling noise...running...more gunfire. Another rattle. The series of noises repeated three more times as the screams continued.

I grimaced, fingers pressing and clawing at the door. No, no, no, I panicked, He’s killing everyone!

“We have to get in there!” I whispered frantically. “Tabbermain, please...Buddy is...”

But the door suddenly opened. A small hand pushed it wide. “I’m what?” he eyed us all. Then, “Come in, come in my friends,” the assassin waved, performing a slight bow. “Threat eliminated, dear gentlegnomes.” Buddy looked up smugly, “...and Wendell.”

The chamber looked like a warehouse, made of cement and metal. Attached to the hallway door was a catwalk, suspended ten feet above the floor. Narrow and made of weaved metal strands, it stretched across the length of the room, ending at another door in the cement wall. It was open, revealing computer consoles and several chairs. Two bodies lay at the end of the catwalk. One robe crumpled over, gun in hand, at the top of a staircase. The second body lay just inside the far room. I could only see up to the monk’s waist, but the trail of blood ran across the floor and under one of the chairs. My stomach turned.

Down below were a series of large cages, three on either side of the warehouse.

Gnomes filled every container.

I gasped. There has to be nearly a hundred gnomes in here...or more! My eyes wandered over the faces, dressed in white clothes, all huddled together. That...bastard is sending... I choked on the thought. Women and children were common among the faces peering back up. These were not just those forgotten from the furnaces below. Three more guards, all with weapons, lay sprawled on the cement floor, dead.

“Wendell!” someone called out.

I turned around. “Enid?” I gripped the railing, searching the dozens of faces below me. “Enid...is that you?”

“Yes,” the old gnome cried back, pushing his way to the front of the cage. Enid’s hand was firmly on the shoulder of a child.

“Simon!” I cried aloud. Simon. Thank goodness.... “Are you guys alright?”

Buddy jabbed me in the leg with the rifle. “The stairs are over here. Let’s get a move on...we have no idea when others could show up or check in.”

Hoods draped over faces, hidden in shadow...each of them had a stream of blood running down their chests, like crimson ties. I stepped over them, cautiously.

“Lucky thing I popped the last one,” Buddy grunted, nodding to the body just inside the doorway. His words echoed his facial expressions...cold, calculated and unfeeling. “He almost got to the phone. Could have sent for backup.”

“He could have lived,” I whispered, disgusted.

“He could have gotten us all killed,” the assassin sneered back, but he quickly adjusted his demeanor. Nodding to the cages below, “Including the kid you came for, so stop your whining and let’s get going. Move it!”

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle were already at the cages, six boxes of weaved steel, filled with wearied faces which reflected their fate. Though their bodies and clothes were clean, every pair of eyes carried with them the terror of the tortured soul. Tabbermain whispered into a lock, as if imparting some great secret and one by one, levers turned and doors popped open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Buddy snapped, “We’re here for a boy and I’m assuming that old one...for Wendell, that’s all!”

“But,” Tabbermain stammered, “what...about the rest of these people?”

“Not my problem.”

“Mr. Keisler, please...” started Vin.

“I don’t know what these folks did to be stuck in here...”

“They didn’t do anything,” I cut in...the anger rising in my voice, “That’s the point, Buddy...they’re completely innocent. Snatched from their homes, kidnapped, brought here...and now they’re going to be fed to Täuku through the Prime Gate!”

Several of the women and children let out a terrified shriek.

Blood drained from the writer’s face. Slowly the rifle lowered in his hands as the assassin looked around at the captive faces.

“They’re...what?”

I lowered my voice. “These people, all of them, are going to be given as sacrifices to the Täuku.” I leaned closer, so only Buddy could hear me, “As food.”

“Hey,” cried a caged gnome, “Isn’t that Buddy Keisler? It is!”

The writer’s head popped around as a murmur washed through the prisoners.

“Wow!” cried another, “The greatest writer of all time came to save us? Three cheers for Buddy!!”

“WooHAW!” they boomed in unison, “WooHAW! WooHAW!!”

I turned around just in time to see Doddle whispering something to the gnomes through the bars. Noticing my attention, he stepped back quickly and started whistling.

“You’re the greatest, Buddy...we love you!” yelled the gnome closest to Doddle.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

The assassin seemed unable to control his emotions. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he let the rifle slide back on the sling strung over his shoulder. Arms open wide, he yelled, “What kind of a horrific world do we live in when my loyal fans are treated like animals?!” Tears streamed down his cheeks. This did not last long. Eyes narrowed and lips curled back into a vicious snarl. For a moment, I thought the writer had discovered the ruse.

“I will not let this happen,” Buddy vowed. “We’re getting out of here.” He blinked out the wetness and pushed the thick glasses up with a gloved finger. “All of us.”

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Own your own copy of CHOICES

Buy the Digital Author Version

Buy the Starter Bundle (Save 40%+)

Grab Your Merch Today!

Continue Exploring

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Noah works Wendell over on the altar, twisting every gasping answer he give’s into a lie his scribe can scratch down... while Tabbermain and Vin beg him to leave the boy be...

<-- Read PREVIOUS Chapter

Read NEXT Chapter -->

^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 97

“Noah knows I’m the Gnolaum?”

“Yes.”

“He’s looking for my friends, so he can round them up?”

“Yes.”

“...and bring them here too...?”

“To send them with the rest of us.”

“Which is?”

Tabbermain gulped, but didn’t reply. The blood drained from his face.

Okay, this was bad. “You can’t tell me...or you won’t tell me?” I prodded. Whatever the gnomes had done to me, the Ithari was able to fully restore my strength and alleviate some of the soreness from my muscles. Though I was still chained to the altar, it was more frustrating than painful at this point. I looked to the other two gnomes, but they didn’t look any more enthusiastic about sharing this apparently bad news.

“It’s because it’s our fault,” Vin finally whispered. “We’re the cause of all this death.”

“What are you talking about, death? Noah’s the one who dragged me into this...I certainly don’t blame you three, so don’t...”

“It isn’t about you being captured,” Tabbermain piped up. He sniffed, but refused to look up. “This is about the Prime Gate. We fixed it for Noah...and now he’s using it without anyone in Clockworks knowing.”

There was a way off this island? A way out of here!? Wait, why would they be so bummed abou... “Uh, what exactly is Noah doing with the gate? It can’t be all that bad.”

All three gnomes looked up at me wide-eyed.

“Ok,” I gulped, “maybe it is that bad.”

“They’re being sacrificed,” Tabbermain whispered, dropping his eyes back to the floor in shame. “A trade, for our freedom.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Where is the gate being opened to? Humans wouldn’t harm you, that I know of. Neither would evolu. The dwarv...I mean, Kutollum? Is that where the gate is opened to?”

They shook their heads.

“Then where? Come on you guys...I can’t help if I don’t know what the snot is going on! Speak up!” My raised tone sent all three scampering into the straw. “Oh. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “Look, I have friends who were taken by Noah’s goons. Sweet people, who helped me. Nursed me back to health when no one else would.” I paused, lowering my tone, “Like you gentlegnomes.” Tabbermain and Vin looked up. “The gnomes are very special to me...so if someone is hurting you, I want to know about it!”

A few quick nods between them and they scooted as far forward as their chains would allow.

“We need to talk as quiet as we can, so Noah won’t discover what we know.”

“What’s that!?” Doddle belted out, “You’re whispering again and you KNOW I’m hard of hearing! Speak up!!”

“SHHHHH!” Vin waved his arms. “We’re whispering on purpose, you dolt, so SHUT IT!”

Doddle crossed his arms and flopped back into his straw bed, huffing.

Tabbermain rolled his eyes and sighed. “Techno-mägo aren’t exactly loved, but we’re not illegal in Clockworks either. We’re a quiet group that find the arcane fascinating...and the fact is, we’re only frowned upon by the religious, and not even the whole of them either. It’s mainly the clergy here, who freak out when things start floating around or change shape. Monks start crying ‘evil this’ and ‘possessed that’. If they don’t control it or can explain it away, the clergy immediately tag it to be of demonic origin. That’s why the few of us who exist, usually stay hidden...or work for the government if we reveal our talents at all.”

“What about me?” I asked. “They have me pegged as some religious icon!”

“Oh, well,” Vin smirked, “that’s different you see. You’re supposed to get your powers from the Gods, while we dabble in the no-no’s of the Universe.”

“Right,” I chuckled. “So how did you end up in here?”

Tabbermain sat back and folded his legs under him, resting his arms across his knees. “The three of us were assigned to do a little work for the Centurions. Simple stuff, nothing big. Deal with a growing vermin problem in the sewers. Place a few enchantments in the tunnels...scare the rats off and the like. It was something we all had experience in. Completely normal stuff...or so we thought.” He gave Vin a grave look, “As soon as we’re deep in the tunnels, the commanding officer of the Centurions has us gassed and brought here.”

“Noah has a charming way of inviting guests,” I winced, tugging my wrists.

“Noah gave us a choice,” Tabbermain said, “work for him, or our children and grandchildren would suffer the fate of the heretics.”

I frowned. “Suffer the fate of...” but I stopped short. The look on both Tabbermain and Vin’s faces said enough. “Right. Never mind. It’s bad.”

“So we agreed,” Tabbermain breathed, “What choice did we have? He brought us down here and showed us a set of stones. We worked for weeks before realizing what it truly was. The Prime Gate of our people...the one artifact the government had destroyed to prevent entrance to our lands.”

“We knew the symbols,” Vin cut in, “and I have to admit, I was fascinated too. We weren’t being treated badly...”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “chains and straw are my thing too.”

“We weren’t in here at that point! We had rooms, beds, ate in the hall with the brother monks...,” he sighed. “It wasn’t half bad, really. Hearing rumors that we were called upon divinely as workers to open the way to our salvation sounded pretty wonderful.”

Tabbermain patted him on the shoulder. “But it was all a lie, as you can see.”

“I’m not understanding...” I said, “what changed, that you’d end up prisoners?”

Now it was Tabbermain who scoffed. He shook his head in disbelief. “We should have seen it coming. Noah had us forge chains that would resist certain magic. We were told he’d been commissioned by the President to create a safe place for captives from other lands to be held for trial. We, of course, wouldn’t know of any agreement like that, so of course, we agreed. No sooner had the work been completed on the gate, and we were placed in here...captives to our own craftsmanship.”

I shook my head, “You still haven’t answered my question. All this, because you’d completed the reconstruction of the Prime Gate? That hardly makes sense. Why not let you go? Send you home, where no one would be the wiser? Doesn’t sound like you were a threat.”

“Ahh,” Tabbermain sighed. “But we were a threat.”

“We stumbled upon Noah’s reason for using the gate,” Vin said with disgust. “He was coddlin’ with the enemy.”

“He was what?” I asked.

“Noah was opening the gate and selling our own people to the enemy as slaves!” Vin snapped louder. He looked around and lowered his voice. “That thin-lipped snake has been giving our own kind to the Täuku as a sacrifice offering...to secure Clockworks safety.”

No.

My head slowly rested against the cold stone, the silver band prickling under my skin.

No. No. No.

Why would anyone betray their own people to their enemies? Flashes of a hunched robed figure came to mind. Lili cowering on the basement floor of Til-Thorin. Snake-like tentacles slithering out from under the dark hood...magic flame. Flame that never stopped burning...

I shuddered.

“Why,” I gasped. “Is it money? Power?” I looked up, “Why would Noah...”

“Because of you,” Tabbermain whispered, cutting me off.

The chamber fell silent.

“Me?”

The gnome nodded. “The prophecy everyone talks about...that everyone quotes, is only a part of the whole.” His eyes grew moist, his face conflicted with concern...and regret. “It’s not a pretty ending.”

It never is, I sighed. “And you know this, how?”

“It’s not just a religious prophecy...it was for the mägo of the people as well. Given to us all hundreds of years ago, being passed down through the years. Many of our families remember it...but the general population cared nothing for religious or magical whisperings of future times.”

“And I’m in it?”

Vin nodded. “The Gnolaum is. So if you have the job, kid, yeah...it’s about you.”

So this is why Noah’s on edge? Why I’m chained up in here? “I would never hurt the people of this city!”

“We know that,” said Tabbermain, motioning to me to quiet down, “or that’s what we believe anyway. But Noah is so convinced that you will plunge this city into darkness, he’s made a pact with the followers of Mahan, that when the Dark Lord returns, this island will be left alone. He’s buying our freedom with the blood of the innocent.”

“That’s why we’re chained in here,” Vin added, “because we saw one of his detestable offerings and tried to stop him. Tried to close the gate and dismantle it.”

Tabbermain nodded to the other side of the room. “The monks tortured Doddle over there, for days, until we revealed everything we knew...everything we’d seen.”

“Which sealed your fate here,” I concluded.

Vin silently tapped his nose.

This keeps getting more twisted as I go! I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of disgust. Not that I hated the gnome people, but that this truth, this revelation about Noah, the leaders of Clockworks and the casual disregard for innocent life turned my stomach.

I clenched my fists tight and...heaved.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Come on Ithari...we’ve been here long enough!

Taking a deep breath, I pressed my knees against the stone altar and pushed off with my hips and thighs.

You’ve granted me strength before! Give it to me now!!

“Unnhhhh!” I grunted.

I could feel the power surging through my veins, but the chains didn’t budge.

“You can’t break those, boy,” Vin warned me.

“I’ve got this!” I grunted back. Thoughts of Simon’s face, terrified in front of a Täuku beast. Would they work them? Beat them? Eat them? The anger beat a powerful rhythm in my chest.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Again I heaved, pulling with all my might until my face turned beet red. “Shuuh!” I gasped, falling forward against the stone. Sweat beaded across my forehead. Blood trickled across my wrists where the spikes bit into my flesh. “Why won’t this move!?!”

“That’s what we’re trying to tell you, Wendell, you cannot use magic against these chains! The enchantments detect the magic and use the power against you!! The harder you try, the stronger the chains become.”

“ARRRGH!” I yelled, scraping at the stone with my fingertips. “I’m USELESS!”

“No, you’re not,” Vin said calmly.

Tabbermain looked over shocked, but the gnome was focused on me. “You have given the people something to live for. Something to fight for. Doesn’t matter if they have the wrong information about you...they have the right intent and the right desire. That makes you different, Wendell Dipmier. That makes you better than a prophecy.” He smiled as I looked over. “And we will help you find a way out of here.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Noah said, disgusted.

He pressed the button, stopping the recording, then leaned back in the leather chair. The spring squeaked as he did so.

“Do you have all you need then? Enough to convict the human and turn the population against him? I don’t want any chance of the people loving him. I want them to despise and loathe him. “

“We have more than enough.”

“Excellent. The sooner you can edit the conversation, the sooner we can sacrifice these delusional heretics and get back to a peaceful existence.”

The monk bowed low as Noah arose from the chair. “As you wish, isä.”

Noah grinned.

I stood in the crisp night breeze. It felt delightful against my hot skin. The moons were out and the faint scent of honey was in the air.

Nothing looked familiar to me, but I’d grown accustomed to that. I was on a new planet, among new people. New experiences and expectations. The trees, the forest, mountains in the distance, and...

Howling.

At first it sounded like a wolf...something I might hear on Earth. Yet something about it was off. The hair on the back of my neck rose up.

“Hello?” I said aloud, but there was no one to answer.

Another howl cut through the night air.

This time, much closer.

That’s a bit close for comfort.

I looked about.

There was a small cluster of rocks in the distance.

Move Wendell.

A howl.

Right. Not good being out in the open.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

The stars were out in their majesty. The twin moons were high in the night sky and for a moment, I was able to catch the fading flame of Erimuri. I longed to go back there...to have a safe place to just be. To rest for a time without having to worry about expectations or doing something wrong.

To be alone.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

Another howl.

I blinked again, the sound was near the tree line of the forest. I sprinted towards the rocks. Looking back at the trees, I caught glance of shadows whipping across the landscape!

Get To The Light, Wendell!

The breeze blew across the open fields of grass, up the hillside, over me and into the forest. If it was an animal, it was sure to have my scent. All around me, encasing the valley, were mountains. Huge formations of stone, jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow.

Have I...been here before?

Another howl...this time from the open ground.

It made my spine jump.

“Ok, maybe we should move faster now,” I whispered nervously. “Move your butt, Wendell, before someone finds it!” That’s right, keep moving, I told myself...pushing my legs to move faster and faster.

This is, until I stepped into an animal hole and twisted my ankle.

“Argh!” I cried out.

Rolling onto my back, I brought my knee towards my chest.

My ankle.

Dang it!

“We’re on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!” Doubt whimpered.

My ears perked back as the world around me seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments, I bit my lip to keep silent. With all my might, I tried hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

A silence that was soon broken by a faint hissing sound.

“Get up, Wendell,” Doubt urged me. “I don’t CARE if you’re hurt...it’s time to move your butt!”

Releasing my leg, I flipped over to my belly and forced myself up onto my knees. Scanning the ridge where I’d just come from, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Then I heard it.

The hiss.

Great. Snakes.

I hate snakes.

Not more than ten feet away, a cluster of large rocks mocked me and my feeble efforts. Using my arms and knees, I worked my way across the grass like a wounded animal.

“Come on, you can do this,” Doubt growled. “Move it!!”

Another howl...but this one was close enough to cause me to slap a hand over my own mouth for fear of crying out. Rolling the last few feet, I froze at the edge of the rocks.

Stay calm, Wendell. You can do this.

Not knowing where to go or what to do, I ducked my head and tried to curl my body between the stones. Wolves...or whatever that was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

Well,...as long as it was a small snake.

Already the pain in my ankle was subsiding. I could feel the warmth washing over skin and pulsing through bone and muscle. Would it be enough? I needed to find some sort of...

The sight of the buildings, sitting in a cluster of light and safety almost made me cheer. I bit my lip. The buildings were still a ways off...much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are...or what that thing is out...

My attention was immediately pulled back to the present.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Crap. Crap. CRAP!

Hands shaking, I held my breath, quivering. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, no clue how that happened, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to eat MY FACE!??

I clenched my eyes tight.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

Stay calm. Keep...calm.

The sound drew closer and closer. Sliding up to the far side of the boulder I was hiding behind. I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe...but fear of being found kept my mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I inched my hand to my mouth and silently sipped air through tight fingers.

It...stopped.

My eyes wide, darting back and forth, searching the shadows around me without moving my head.

Please go away. Please, please, pleeeeease...

All I could think about was being eaten.

Long fangs, piercing my legs, injecting the deadly poison to paralyze me long enough to swallow me whole.

I’m going to die the death of digestion!

I regretted all those late nights watching those horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults.

I don’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

I clamped down on my bottom lip.

It’s moving!

I clamped my fingers over my mouth.

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud...briefly scraping up against the rock where I trembled and hid.

Please. Please. Please, I pleaded. Don’t eat me. There has to be a nice fat...bear or...I stopped whimpering.

Wait a minute.

I have been here. I know I have.

I looked around me carefully. The trees, the grass, the stupid hole I fell in. I quickly took in everything I saw. It was just like the dream back at Til-Thorin. Over and over I’d had the same dream. Some of the pieces shifted or changed, but the whole of the experience had remained the same. That was the point.

The underlying message.

This has to mean something, I convinced myself.

Then I saw it.

The light from the moons cast long shadows along the ground. Dark shapes moved near my shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, perhaps wounded, the creature was dragging itself across the rocks and grass. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at first. The contours didn’t follow any recognizable form I knew, but one thing looked certain...the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the frame.

What IS that thing?

It looks like...

No! I-it can’t be!?

I watched it sway, slithering from my position and dragging its mass over open ground. I’d seen that before. I knew I had. My mind raced, hunting for clues...some memory that might help link this creature to my past.

I peeked over the rocks. Gratefully my position had gone unnoticed and I used that advantage to stare. The pain in my ankle was all but gone now...which meant I could bolt for the homes down the hillside. Or...I could follow the creature, discover what it is and why I had such a familiar feeling about it.

Follow it. On my own. Out in the open.

Riiiiiight.

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it’s out of sight, I’ll make a dash for it. The lights in the distance were a bright sign of hope. I wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what I’d just seen?

Almost there.

I watched the slithering shadow carefully.

Keep going, you ugly, that’s it. One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to my knees, I grabbed the rock for leverage and jumped to my feet.

I sprinted for the homes in the distance.

“See ya suck...”

HSSSST!

Poised silently on the far side of the rock was a second creature.

It was not a wounded animal.

I cringed, stumbling back from the outcropping. I gasped for breath, unable to inhale as I looked squarely into the hood of my nightmares. The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Trembling, my feet shuffled backwards.

“No,” I choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but I couldn’t finish the statement. Thoughts and feelings collided with such clarity...it all came to me in an instant.

YOU!

The creature swayed in front of me, reeling up like a viper. The robe of charcoal blackness.

Til-Thorin.

The dreams.

The things seeking after the shard.

That’s what you are!

But...I hesitated.

It wasn’t real. The robe didn’t exist. It had been another creature in a robe that I fought.

One with magic, trying to kill Lili.

Lili....

Hollow, vacant holes stared back where a face should be. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out...yearning.

“Clossssser child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards me, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over me even while it hunched, arms outstretched, fingers...or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into my mind chilled me to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” I screamed, my senses returning. I realized my mistake.

The robe lunged...but not before I arched wide, sidestepping to avoid its attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked only air as I became a blur of motion.

I never heard the approaching footsteps, nor the panting of the great beast.

With a thunderous growl, a giant wolf lunged in front of me and sunk its teeth into the outstretched arm of the tattered robe. Larger than two full grown men, the canine rammed into its prey. Landing on the far side of the rocks, it whipped its head from side to side, jaw clenched tight.

A high-pitched screech ripped the night air, sending chills down my spine.

There’s monsters everywhere!

Without looking back, I spurred myself on, gulping air as I ran.

There was only one place to go.

The village.

I had no idea how much time I had before the robes would be upon me...or the wolf would be looking for more food. The last thing I wanted to do was lead danger right to their doorsteps. But I was going to need help. Hero or not, I could not do this alone.

Not yet.

Have to get everyone’s attention.

“Välo,” I barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around me, blazing like a beacon and brightening the area. I held the image of my skin, glowing like the noonday sun. I hope this doesn’t hurt.

“Teho!” I shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of my shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe, right on my heels, fell back from the light, a tattered sleeve covering the gaping opening of the hood. The creature slowed its pace to a crawl.

“HEY!” I bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but I didn’t have time to explain. “LET ME IN!” I cried, “LET ME INNNN!!”

I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the nearest hovel. My momentum was so great, I slammed into the front with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” I shouted back in gulps, banging on the door with a fist. “Monsters. Out here. Trying to eat me. Help!”

But the door remained closed.

“Come ON!” I shouted even louder, “You guys have wolves the size of cars and those....those....oh, let me in! Let me in!” I banged on the door frantically, reached over and rapped on the window, but drapes covered every inch.

“Sanctuary!” I shouted, “Refuge! Haven! Asylum!” I flipped around and placed my back against the door and whimpered, “Mommy?”

I never imagined my life would end as a doggy treat...

“Go away,” replied the voice warily, “It is night! No torch burns that bright...which means either you be the problem...or you have magic with you. If you have magic...then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” I gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to...ok, get inside to save my skin, but hey...I’m also warning you! Have a little compassion...so what if I’m using magic?!”

It had never occurred to me that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. I’d naturally assumed what I’d seen over the past few months was the norm. Then again, I spent most of my time in the presence of magic using individuals.

Had I been wrong?

Was the use of magic actually frowned upon or taboo?

I shook the thought from my mind. There wasn’t time. It didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting.

I turned my head slowly, the swaying motions at the edge of the light catching my attention. The thing hissed loudly at me.

Oh boy, I gulped.

The light of Ithari suddenly...dimmed.

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged...the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment. The giant wolf was almost done working on its own rebelling meal, tearing one of the robes to shreds.

Would it attack another robe...or me?!?

NOT GOOD!

I flipped back against the door, my confidence quickly waning. I screamed frantically, “Come ON! I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled back, now irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along...take your problems with you, I say!”

Ithari’s light waned...and finally vanished from under the black cloth of my t-shirt.

“But there’s...danger,” I pleaded. Please don’t shut me out. Please listen to me. People are going to get hurt. “Why won’t you listen to me?” I whimpered weakly. “The creatures are...the robes...” but it was no use. My forehead rested against the wood surface of the door.

“Please open up...” I whispered, to no use.

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

My eyes fixed on the door.

I lifted my head.

“What...did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice cooly, “You made your choice, boy!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

My feet stumbled back from the door, hands clenching into fists. The voice...the words...they sounded familiar.

Too familiar.

The wood of the door splintered, ripping from the hinges. Fragments flew outward, forcing me to raise an arm and protect my eyes. A heavy rancid scent of decaying meat and molding rot rolled out from the doorway...assaulting my senses. It made the world spin and my eyes water. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I reeled back, gagging.

In the shadows of the doorway, rising up to dwarf the height of the framework, lurked a robe. Black as midnight, tattered and frayed...it lunged.

Ithari flared like the noonday sun.

I blinked...and all went dark.

I blinked again...this time clenching my lids tight. I could feel the cold metal wrapped tightly around my wrists...the metal band around my forehead.

“It was just a dream,” I whispered to myself.

A horrible, confusing dream.

I looked around the dim room. The candles had all but gone out now, leaving a single torch near the door as the only source of light.

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle all snored peacefully in their straw piles. The small bodies, curled up like children, made me smile. They have to be three times my age...yet they look so cute when they...

My head perked up.

Shouting, out in the hallway.

First one voice, then another.

Then all went silent.

My ears twitched. A faint sound caught my notice.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The latch to the cell door jiggled. A pause, then a moment later, the slab of wood slowly pushed open.

At first I wasn’t sure what it was...small and black, but as the person entered the room, I recognized the muzzle of a rifle. A pale gnome, with thick glasses and dark braided hair stepped through. The braid was so long, it wrapped at least twice around the gnome’s neck. A tiny backpack hung from shoulders, a pistol strapped to each hip. In his hand was an oblong device, a tiny red light flashing in rhythm of the beep, beep, beep.

Seeing me chained to the altar and the other prisoners similarly confined, the stranger pushed the door closed behind him.

“Do you realize how hard it is to sneak into this temple, past three dozen armed guards and find you?” he asked in a high-pitched, whining voice. It sounded like something from a child’s cartoon.

“I...don’t,” I said, confused.

The gnome grinned and then laughed, ending with a sharp snort. “Easy as eating pie. Just need a tracker,” he held up the palm device, “and shoot the guards as you go.”

“You killed everyone on the way in?” I gasped.

Feigning shock, “I am NOT a barbarian. I’m a professional. We don’t use the word kill,” adding a drawl, “We say ‘retire’. It sounds more civilized when you knock someone off.” He smirked. “No one was retired, gnome-scout’s honor...well, unless they deserved it.”

This is all I needed, a new level of crazy.

“Who are you?” I said.

“You don’t recognize me?” the gnome asked, astounded. Cradling the rifle in his arms, he turned to one side, displaying his profile...then to the other. “Recognize me now?”

“Can’t say that I do,” I said.

The gnome grumbled. “Then I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

My brows crinkled. “I thought you didn’t use the word, ‘kill’?”

“Yeah, well, I do when it’s going to hurt...and with what you’ve put me through...I’m going to kill you. Slowwwly.”

“What?” I squeaked, “Why? I haven’t done anything to you...we don’t even know each other!”

Tabbermain stirred behind me.

If this assassin is going to kill me, better that the gnomes not wake up. No witnesses. If no one knows he’s here, he can do his thing and just let them live and move on.

Thin brows dropped down the high forehead to hover over his eyes, “Oh, but you have done things to me.” He stepped forward and lifted a thick soled boot, resting it on the side of the altar. “Horrible things.” It was then that I noticed the tape and bandages on the gnome’s left hand. “You’re bad luck!”

I pulled at my chains, but the stranger put a hand over the links to quiet them. Holding a finger to his lips, the gnome slid the backpack off and placed it next to Noah’s box of artifacts at the other end of the altar. He set the rifle down on top of it.

“You see, Mr. Dipmier, I was hired to put a bullet through your head.” Taking his glasses from his face, a white cloth appeared in his hand. He started cleaning. “Well, not a bullet, per se...but it was my job to, and I quote, ‘assist you in expiring within a public place’, end quote. I tracked you, followed you...and in every situation, I had the perfect setup. The wind, the lighting, plenty of people to see the gore...and proof for me to get paid. I’ve done this for years, you see...so when things go wrong once, it’s annoying. But when it goes wrong each and every time? Well, that means something else is at work here. Something fighting against me.” Sliding the cleaned glasses back onto his face, he leaned close to my face, “Something bad.”

Replacing the white cloth inside his vest, he stood up and stretched. “The first shot was when you had your interview at WHRN.” He held up a make believe gun, aiming through invisible sights at me, “It was perfect. Perched up high, low wind, hidden behind a cement ridge...and then at the precise moment, a bird lands on my barrel. A bird!” He clamped his lips tight. “An actual freakin’ bird. The bullet ricocheted off a gutter and hit me in the arm.” He rolled up his sleeve to display the bandage. “You were out of view before I could reload!”

He started to pace, his upper lip twitching.

“My second try wasn’t optimal, so I decided not to take any chances. I used a tracker bullet.” Stepping closer, he wedged his thumb into the crook of my shoulder. “Feel that tiny lump?”

I grunted and nodded. There was a light pinch over my rotator cuff.

“The bullet breaks apart on impact...small grains of rice, which act as transmitters. So I can pick you up with,” he lifted the oblong, black device, “this. But just as I pulled the trigger, a vehicle pulled up in the street below your balcony speech, reflecting the sun precisely in my eyes. I flinched, you got hit in the shoulder and that poor cop got it full in the chest.” He sighed. “Didn’t even get paid for that one.”

“It just sounds like bad circumstances,” I replied. My stomach dropped out, thinking about the officer that died because of me.

“No!” he sneered, raising an index finger, “I control my circumstances, through preparation, timing, planning...but not with you. Even when I was fed up and decided to blow you and your cohorts up, my grenade launcher misfires, blowing up the water tower behind me.” Sniffing, “I...almost...drowned. ME!” He looked at me pleadingly, “Do you realize how horrible life would be, without...me?”

I smiled weakly, hoping it looked like compassion.

Oh joy.

Isn’t there anywhere in this city where people are normal?

“Then,” he snapped, raising a fist, “I figured, forget the public. He just needs to die and I’ll take photos to get paid. No brainer. So I track you below the city, and set explosives in the pipes. But do they go off when they’re supposed to? NO THEY DO NOT!” he yelled aloud, “IT BLOWS UP WHEN I CHECK IT...,” his shoulders bounced in a sob, “including my pinky finger!” Raising the right hand, I counted four digits. His pinky looked like it had been cauterized at the first knuckle.

“So here I am, dedicated as I am, to finish the contract I started. Slip in, slip out, no one will know I was even here.” He grinned triumphantly.

“Buddy Keisler!” cried Doddle, “Oh my goodness, is that really him?! Guys, wake up...you’ll never believe who’s here!”

No, no, no...Doddle, you silly old...

“You know me?” the assassin asked cautiously. His hands drifted to his sidearms.

“Are you kidding?” Doddle beamed, “I’m your biggest fan! The Acid Rain series is the greatest spy novel series ever written! It’s magic, poetry, and sheer brilliance for the discerning reader!!” The smile exploded into deep, hysterical laughter. “You...are...the...coolest...author...EVER!”

I winced as the assassin dashed past me to Doddle’s side.

“You...really think so?”

Huh?

Doddle reached up and shook the assassin’s hand briskly, “Please tell me Acid Drip will be released soon, because I can’t wait! I’ve read all your books four times already...and I helped start District 14’s Buddy Keisler’s Buddy’s Club!”

Buddy beamed with glee. “You didn’t!”

“I DID!”

The assassin pounded his chest with a fist. “You guys are my FAVorite fan club. Glenda is the best coordinator I’ve ever communicated with!” He paused, looked around at...no one, then whispered, “The book drops next week, actually.” He added a wink, “And I’ve included three bonus chapters on Bookworm’s background as a tracker.”

Doddle clapped his palms together, then interlaced his fingers. “Ooooooh!”

My jaw dropped as Buddy Keisler squatted down next to the old gnome and started shooting the breeze about character development, worldbuilding and the try/fail cycles of writing.

I sighed.

No, no,...over here. Just shoot me.

Nothing makes sense to me anyway.

“I must be dreaming,” Tabbermain whispered, “is that....,” he rubbed his eyes, “NO!”

“It IS!” cheered Doddle.

“Buddy Keisler!” hooped Vin, “In our dungeon cell? How cool is that!?”

“Yeah,” Doddle grinned, patting the famous author on the back, “He came here to kill Wendell.”

“What?” stammered Tabbermain, “Kill, the Gnolaum?”

Buddy shrugged. “Guys gotta pay rent.”

The gnome looked crushed. “You’d kill a fan?” He glanced over at Vin, giving him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “Isn’t that a shame, Vin?”

“What? Oh. Oh! Yes...complete shame! What, other readers might get the wrong impression that you don’t appreciate our praise.”

Buddy looked between them, confused. “Fan? Him? But he’s human!”

“Ah,” Tabbermain challenged, “but he lived here for quite a while undercover as a gnome.”

The assassin gasped. “You don’t say!”

Tabbermain glared at me.

“Absolutely!” I jumped in. “I wanted a chance to experience the culture...and what better way than to partake of brilliant literature?”

The gnomes grinned in agreement.

...but then it hit me.

I HAD read Buddy’s books, or at least one of them, anyway.

Freak had provided me with a copy of ‘A Clean Kill In Clockworks’ while I was resting in between Trench battles.

And...it was good.

As in, addictively good!

“But you said you didn’t recognize me.”

I gulped, “Ah. Well...”

“Oh you can’t blame him for that,” chimed Doddle, “you didn’t start putting your picture on the cover until book seven anyway!”

Buddy pondered and nodded to himself, “True. It was quite a risk, being identified. I had a lot of contracts to fulfill back then.” He studied me, “You...really like my books?”

I could finally provide a big, honest grin. “Are you kidding me? Huge fan, but I have to admit, I was only given a copy of ‘A Clean Kill In Clockworks’. I didn’t know there was a series! Seriously, a half-gnome, half-Kutollum assassin, masquerading as a writer? So cool!”

If he kills me, I’m going to hell.

“What I loved most about the book, though, was how Bookworm made each of his assignments look like the death was a natural cause. Truly, Mr. Keisler, your writing is amazing.”

A very special kind of hell.

Now it was the three techno-mägo who looked shocked.

I winked at Tabbermain.

The assassin smirked. “Wow. The Gnolaum, a fan.” But his face instantly contorted, “Wait a second,” he glared at each of the captives in turn, “I was paid to kill a fan? Those dogs, want me to knock off my own readers!?? DEVILS!”

“You don’t have to kill any of us, you know,” Tabbermain added.

Jumping to his feet, Buddy strutted to the altar and snatched up his rifle. Clicking off the safety, he gave the techno-mägo a devilish grin. “Oh I know...and I don’t plan to. Though someone is going to meet their maker soon enough.”

He took aim at my chains.

I flinched and pluckily turned my head away.

“That won’t work,” Vin started to say, “it’s enchanted and completely...”

The weapon fired, the echo near deafening.

Metal shattered, plinking off the stone walls. I tried to hide my face, abruptly slumping back onto my rear, fire coursing through my arms and back.

“...vulnerable to physical damage.” Vin finished.

“Huh,” grunted Tabbermain, “didn’t think to protect it from guns.”

“Nor me,” sighed Vin. “Good thing.” He held up his own chain still binding his ankle. “Next?”

Buddy grinned a sly grin. “Absolutely.”

Three shots later, they were all free. I groaned loudly as I tried to stand up.

“UNGH! So stiff!” I grunted.

The Ithari was already working, pulling the pain out and pumping energy into my limbs. My back popped and bones creaked as I rose to my full height.

Buddy took a step back, as did the other gnomes.

My joints and muscles realigned as I stretched.

“Ooooooo. That feels SO GOOD!” I moaned. There was only one more problem. I held the shackles up...still hanging from my wrists. “What about these?” I said, wiggling the stray links still attached.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Doddle laughed, and snapped his fingers.

The shackles fell from my wrists, the pins pulling out of my skin.

I looked down at the gnome. “How...?”

He winked behind his thick glasses, “Without the magic, they’re just metal...and metal we can do, right boys?”

Vin cracked his knuckles and grinned wickedly. “You are SO right, Doddle. And I’m achin’ to show these religious goons just how much.”

Tabbermain grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “We’re not here to fight, Vin,...we’re here to get out.” He gave a short bow, “Thanks to our most excellent author-friend.”

Buddy beamed.

“I’m not leaving yet,” I said soberly. “Not without my friends.” I patted my jeans, then slipped my fingers into my pockets. They’d taken the letter. My heart sank, the hope of having some definite direction as to what to do now gone. Kneeling down, I leaned my head toward Tabbermain. “Would you help me take this off?” I pointed to the pointed circlet still piercing my brow.

“Oh...yes!” the gnome replied, inspecting the artifact.

“But you’re friends are probably gone by now,” said Vin, “not much use in trying to save what isn’t here, boy.”

“We don’t have time for this gentlegnomes...and gentlegnola....,” Buddy grunted, “Whatever. We need to leave...now.”

The four gnomes looked up at me expectantly.

Gripping the corner of the altar to steady myself, I grit my teeth and groaned. Removing the silver band was like being clawed across the scalp with razor blades. “Owww!” I flinched as Tabbermain pulled the artifact free.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

I rubbed my forehead, blood trickling down my sideburns.

“I owe you...and I thank you for that help...but I can’t leave my friends.” I looked at the assassin bluntly and unafraid. “I won’t leave them. Any more than I would leave any one of you, now that I’ve met you. Some of these gnomes are just children, without parents to care for them. They can’t be left behind. So I would ask you, if you know the way, to show me where Noah keeps the prisoners. Though I’m not asking you to come with me.”

“I’ll go,” Tabbermain said immediately. “I know where they’re being kept...but I also think that Noah ought not to have a Prime Gate under his control. I helped put it in his hands, so this is partially my responsibility.”

“Our responsibility,” Vin added. “I’ll go as well. I helped build the Gate, I’ll help take it down.”

“Well you’re not leaving me behind!” stammered Doddle. “But I’m not taking any blame. You built the gate before I got here, so it’s your fault, not mine.”

They all laughed.

I looked to the assassin. “Thank you Buddy,” and I held out a hand.

Buddy stared at the large open hand and scoffed. “If anyone’s killing you, it’ll be me. I won’t give anyone else that satisfaction while we’re within these walls...but this was NOT supposed to be a rescue mission!” He rolled his shoulders back, feigning annoyance. “Lost quite a chunk on this job...and someone’s going to have to pay.”

I considered the words, keeping my hand outstretched. “Agreed. I’ll think of something. You have my word on it.”

Reluctantly, we shook hands.

“And,” I added quickly, “I’m not leaving these.” Grabbing the circlet, I popped open the ornate wooden box, tossed it in and snapped it shut. I tugged on the ropes weaving in and out of the wood and started tying them into knots.

Without warning, the door to the cell burst open...and two overly muscular monks barged into the room. Wielding clubs, one cried aloud as he charged, “Escapees!”

Spinning on his heels, Buddy Keisler popped the rifle up to his hip, trained on its new target. “They burst into the chamber, desperate to apprehend the escaping prisoners. But Buddy was too quick for them, his reflexes honed by years of intense field work and refusing to die, despite the odds.”

“No killing!” Tabbermain shouted out, but it was too late. The gun fired twice.

Both monks spun around, smashing their heads against the wall. They collapsed to the floor. Trails of red seeped out from under their robes. A soft moan escaped their lips and one rolled onto his back.

“Well I’ll be,” Vin gasped, “he shot them both in the leg.”

Without pausing, Buddy stepped forward. “Showing uncommon mercy, mainly to improve his reputation, Buddy knocked the guards out...so that his prowess would be whispered among the corrupt religious sect.” Grasping the end of his rifle, the assassin used it like a bat and struck both monks across the face.

“Why does he talk to himself like that?” Tabbermain whispered.

“I think,” Doddle replied quietly, “that he’s writing as he works.”

“Then let him do his thing,” I added, pulling the wooden box under my arm, “And let’s get out of here before someone else shows up!”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Noah works Wendell over on the altar, twisting every gasping answer he give’s into a lie his scribe can scratch down... while Tabbermain and Vin beg him to leave the boy be...

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^{Made with AI trained only on my own artwork. The honest story of how, and why →}

Chapter 96

The phones continued to ring...until Ian had them removed altogether.

Constant reports of fights, fires, vandalism, mobs rummaging through the streets, destroying property populated the airwaves. The flat screen mounted to the wall continued to show updated clips and photographs of the chaos rolling through Clockworks like a shadow stretching out from a waning sunrise.

All the captains, chiefs, commanders and executives responsible for every military and civil fighting force was seated around the giant table.

“And how is the President doing?” asked a uniformed gnome.

“He has been sedated, General Bink,” Ian Twofold replied grimly, “from the sheer grief of his children be snatched by terrorists.”

“Can nothing be done?” asked another.

Ian removed his mirrored glasses and placed them gently on the table. He took a moment and rubbed his eyes with white gloved fingers. “All that can be done is being done gentlegnomes. I was placed under the strictest orders to attend to the troubles erupting in this city...to quell these rebellions and to execute the core cause.”

“You mean the troll,” asked a silver-haired gnome.

“I do.”

“That might not be the wisest course of action,” spoke up another. “There has been no documented proof of violence from this Dax...and he was, after all, one of the favorites from the games. Do you truly think the best course is to execute the poor fellow?”

Ian slapped his hand down onto the table so hard, the crack resonated throughout the room and caused several gnomes to flinch back into their chairs.

“Not wise? Poor fellow?!” clear eyes glared behind the albinos focused scowl. Several attendees averted the intense gaze. “What am I hearing? Are we not responsible for the welfare and protection of our people? Are we not the leaders of this fair city? If it is not we, who can rise to the challenge and do what is right when all other recourses have failed? Who can be turned to? I ask you all, WHO?”

Spinning around in his chair, Ian lifted the remote and clicked.

“Even the media stations have been infected by this unforeseen disruption to our way of life! What do you think will happen next? And all because we allowed strangers into our lands!”

General Bink cleared his throat and sat forward in his chair. “The Gnolaum is not considered a stranger in my mind. He belongs to all races of this world.” Several heads nodded at the notion. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a human.”

“But we don’t actually know that Mr. Dipmier is the Gnolaum,” Ian barked.

“Then you admit to being wrong during your press conference?” The executive smiled wryly. “From what I remember, Ian, it was this administration that welcomed the Gnolaum and proclaimed his authenticity to the city.” Leaning back in his chair. “That puts you in a tight spot.”

All the gnomes around the table nodded in agreement.

“That was not my decision,” Ian said cooly. “I was following orders, nothing more. Now I have an opportunity to clear this mess up and save the administration from ruin by reestablishing order in this city.”

A loud knocking cut into the conversation, followed by the office doors swinging wide. A young female, dressed in a powder blue miniskirt and a black blouse and shoes, rushed in. Gripped tightly in her hands was a manilla folder. Nearly two inches think, she strode briskly around the table. Without a single acknowledgement of the others in the room, she leaned forward and whispered in the albinos ear.

Officers and executives looked curiously at one another.

“What?” Ian burst out loud. His face contorted in anger and a venomous look was thrown at the young female. “Give me that!” he sneered. Snatching the envelope from her hands, Ian slapped it down on the table and flipped it open. Photographs slid across the polished surface before the startled assistant could grab them. Dozens of pictures were piled high, along with typed reports.

“What are these?” asked General Bink.

Ian reached out to snatch them all back, but the military leader slid a single picture out of reach. Using his finger, he pulled the photograph in front of him. It was a panoramic shot of a grocery store...or what used to be one. Gnomes were flooding both in and out of the structure, carts filled with food, water and various supplies. Most were male, though some were accompanied by females. The scene showed mothers and their children off to the sides of the photograph, staying far from the activity. The windows of the store had been shattered, graffiti spray painted across the walls and the blurred image of a violent riot inside the location could be seen in the background. General Bink slid the picture to his right, so the other leaders might see for themselves.

“It looks like this mess is growing beyond your control, Ian,” Pink said cooly.

“Nonsense,” was his only reply, but it didn’t sound convincing.

“What else do those reports contain, Mr. Assistant to the President?” asked an executive, studying the photograph closely. “Because this looks like a much bigger problem than you’re suggesting. One that would affect not only my stock holders...but the whole of my company.”

Ian forced a smile as he replaced the mirrored sunglasses onto his face. “Just some minor skirmishes in the mid districts. Youth, feeling a bit rambunctious and overstepping their bounds. Nothing the Centurions can’t handle.”

The executive nodded to the stack of pictures. “That looks like a great deal of overstepping.”

Standing up abruptly, Ian grinned wide and motioned to the door. “I think this meeting was a tad premature. Why don’t we reconvene in a day or two, shall we? Thank you all for coming, the secret service will see you out.”

Curious and wary stares were tossed the albino’s way...yet Ian remained calm and stoic. His pearl white smile never wavered. When at last the elevator doors closed in front of the last leaving party, he collapsed back into his chair.

“What is going on with this city!?” he raged, “It was not supposed to happen like this!” Spittle foamed along his bottom lip. His head snapped around at the girl. “What else do you have on this?”

“N-nothing, sir. That’s all we’ve collected so far. There are fights occurring in the streets now. It’s everywhere. The normals are retreating to their homes, while the lifts to the lower districts are being closed off.”

“Closed off?”

“Yes, sir. The reports say that the lift operators have sided with the factory workers and muddles and have removed themselves...parking the lifts at lower levels and then turned them off. No one can travel below except by ramp or stairs.”

Ian’s anger subsided. “What about supplies? The stores in these pictures?”

“Without the lifts, sir, there are no supply chains. At least not from the factories below. The greenhouses have been closed off, all manufacturing has ceased...and the delivery chains have joined them. Drivers won’t work until this can be resolved. More than a six hundred truckers were assaulted, fifty eight placed in hospital. So they shut down.”

Ian slammed a fist on the table.

The girl gulped and shifted uncomfortably beside him. “The city is being closed off, sir.”

“What about the utilities? Water, sewer, electricity?”

“Still on...though there have been some demands from members of the Public Works.”

“Demands?” Ian frowned, “What demands?”

The girl once again, fidgeted in place. “They...uh, well...”

“Oh spit it out, will you!” he snapped. “What do these criminals want?”

“They want...the resignation of this administration, sir.” She leaned over carefully and slid a few pieces of paper aside, searching for a report. “The Workers United are demanding the government faction be placed into the hands of the City Counsel until a new election is called.”

There was a momentary lull as Ian stared down at the official letter, which happened to be signed by Philburt Bellows himself. The lull was followed by extraordinary laughter.

“Are they serious?!” he cried, “Toss our control into the laps of that decrepit group of pencil pushers and social groupies?” he threw his head back and cackled.

The young lady took a step back.

“So all these years we’ve allowed Bellows the freedom to dip his toes into the various pools of our society...only to have him gather his dogs together for a fight?” Slapping his palms on the table, his fingers curled like claws, his nails scraping the surface through his gloves. “So be it. I’ll give them a fight they will never forget! A fight this city will never forget!!”

“Ahem.”

“What now!?”

“They made a second demand as well, sir,” the girl peeped just above a whisper. She pointed to the letter.”

Snatching the paper up, Ian scanned it as he read aloud. “blah, blah...we demand that you surrender your office and blah, blah....ah, here it is. As we have determined in our own minds that the Gnolaum is in fact, the one of prophecy, we also declare, as a united people, that his specific associations could pose no threat or harm to this people. Thus, we demand that you release the evolu, known to the people as Dax, within the next cycle. Refusal to honor this request will bear with it, immediate and city-wide consequences. We do hope your wisdom exceeds your previous judgement in these matters as we have secured the core resources of this island and will, if required, use them for the good of the people. Respectfully, Mr. Philburt Bellows.”

White hands rent the paper violently into dozens of pieces.

“Get out,” he whispered aloud. “Now.”

Walking briskly across the carpeted floor, the young lady hurriedly closed the doors behind her.

All the plans, all the efforts he’d made over the years…carefully, meticulously, working his way up the chain of command and into the good graces of the government faction, for what? To lose it all? To go back to pasting flyers on lamp posts for lowly city reps trying to make a name for themselves? He sneered, thin lips curling back. No. It was a mistake to have worked for others. He should have run for office himself. But then he would have been watched too closely. Someone, eventually, would have worked out what his true intentions were.

Now he was being called out. The President was sedated and out of the way...for now. The officers of this administration would be forced to administer his word for the time being, but for how long? How long did he actually have before the wave of truth came out and all his plans were exposed?

“All because of this stupid human and his friends!”

Ian didn’t bother to wipe the drool from his bottom lip.

“Fine. If that’s how we have to play the game, then that’s how we will play it.” With a single fling of his arm, Ian exploded the papers into the air.

“This is NOT what I had in mind!” Philburt cried out. The smoke was still rising from several fires he knew were started by people advocating his message, but not following his example. The streets were packed with screaming gnomes...volunteers from the factories below. They walked, hand in hand, chanting and speaking to any ‘normal’ they met. Workers rushed from door to door, handing out flyers that explained what was happening in Clockworks and how the government was exerting unrighteous dominion over the people. It was an urge for those in wealthier circumstances to come out of their shells and support their fellow citizens in their right to earn something more.

But few would agree.

Philburt and Shamas looked out from the apartment rooftop.

The city looked like a maze from up here. A maze that looked impossible to solve except from up here. A perspective and view that allowed for one to see the overall picture of what was in play. What barriers there were and what turns had to be made.

It wasn’t easy.

The normals were too engrained in their lives...the patterns of relying on the government for assistance, thinking it was the only way. The best way. What did it matter if other people suffered, so long as your own life maintained a steady flow of consistency and security?

But at what cost?

Runners were turned away from door to door, house after house, apartment after apartment. The normals retreated into their homes, shut their blinds and ignorantly waited for the situation to pass. This was, after all, someone else’s problem.

That’s when the violence started.

Some of the younger volunteers had had enough. The snide remarks, the disgusted glares, being turned from place to place without a single consideration for others. The truth of Clockworks City...of how people treated one another, was quickly thrust into the light.

...and the light was an ugly one.

A knocked over trash can, a rock through a window...that’s how it started. Before the day was through, groups of youth, thousands in number, had started painting over windows, along walls and other high-profile locations.

Normals Hate The Poor.

The Unwanted.

We Are Not Slaves.

Equality Or Nothing!

“You can’t control it all,” replied Shamas, “And even if you could, would you want to? Be like the government faction...seeking to control others?”

“No,” Philburt said soberly. He watched another window being broken by rocks, “I wouldn’t. I’d rather teach the people correct principles and let them govern themselves. Encourage them to do good.”

“Most of them are. Just look at them. Yes, there are some hot heads out there...but there is a lot of injustice these folks have been dealing with,” he shrugged. “Being treated like dirt wears on you. I know from personal experience.”

“It doesn’t make what they’re doing, right.”

“No, it doesn’t. But you also warned them. You placed the plan in front of them and those who vary from what you have committed to do will have to suffer the natural consequences of their actions.”

“They’ll be furious.”

“No,” Shamas corrected him, “They’ll be guilty of crimes. The anger is a choice...as are their actions right now. Your focus needs to be on guiding the masses in the correct efforts.”

“I just...” but he stopped. There was no point regretting his actions now. It was too late. The wheels were in motion and this was an all or nothing effort. Things had to change in Clockworks City...or else. “Has anyone from the administration replied yet to our demands, Mr. Tanklestein?”

The old factory manager sat at the small, round kitchen table. His kitchen table. On it were charts, papers and a sparkling laptop.

“No, Mr. Bellows. Not a word as of yet...but the day is not over yet.”

Nathan Taylor looked up from the screen, his wheelchair hardly fitting in the tiny nook used for a dining room. “Are you serious about using the Public Works as leverage?”

Bellow looked over his shoulder, but said nothing.

“Right then,” Nat replied, “I guess that answers that.”

“It will put millions at risk,” Shamas said quietly so only Philburt could hear him. “The moment we stop the water...or the power. Think of the hospitals. Think of how many people will suffer...maybe even die.”

The business owner looked up at him sharply. His nose flared. “How many have already suffered for the negligence of these wealthy gnomes who care nothing for their fellow gnomes? We have never said that things need to be equal...only in opportunities. We are not asking for a penny...and we earn what we keep.”

“You don’t have ta sell me.”

“But I feel I do at times. I don’t want this plan to be confused with replacing one bad set of decisions with another.” Bellow’s expression softened, “This is about being aware and taking off the shackles, not robbing one people to give to another. That’s what this government has done!” Taking a deep breath, “Using the utilities will turn the focus of the masses onto this administration. If we cannot change their minds and encourage a resolution, then it will be forced upon them by their own followers...because they will be seeking for relief. But no more relief than these workers seek themselves.”

They stood in silence for several minutes, both staring out the windows. As the light waned over the great city known as Clockworks, the fires set by the anger of mobs grew brighter.

Shamas sighed loudly. “I wish Wendell were here. Maybe he could talk to the people and calm them down.”

Philburt Bellows leaned against the window frame. The light from the fires reflected in his dark eyes. “I’m afraid that this has gone far beyond what even the Gnolaum was expecting.”

“Goodness,” Höbin whispered aloud, “This is a bit more than I was expecting!” The streets were rampant with enraged and overenthusiastic citizens wanting to shout out every last personal squabble and injustice of their lives. The historian had to hug the sidewalk several times, just to avoid being trampled by fleeing mobs. “Where did all these people come from?”

Youth jumped on top of parked vehicles, windows exploded in a nearby restaurant and a chair rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. Dozens of gnomes lined the walkways, arm in arm, shouting up at scared faces looking out from apartments and barricaded homes.

It was utter chaos.

“Then again,” he smirked. Patting the shade ring on his right hand, Höbin kept his pace even and his voice low. The magic was once again working as promised. He could move about without being noticed, so long as he didn’t create any reason to warrant direct attention. Gnomes walked or ran past him without a word. Without a single glance.

Lucky for the fishis, the address Höbin secured was within walking distance. Almost half a day...but he didn’t have to use a public transport, which would have drawn unnecessary attention to himself. The result would have been jail...or worse. As it happened, the Mushcranks lived in the lower districts, under the warehousing plateau. It was curious, that the most famous of all tinkerer families would make a hole in such a dangerous and poverty stricken locale.

Höbin stepped into the shadows of a deserted shop doorway and checked the paper again.

“2242 Boorum Street.,” he grunted, “This is Boorum, but...”

The buildings on Boorum looked almost depressed. The cross breeze from the refinery districts carried the soot and other caustic chemicals over to plaster themselves on the brick and steel buildings. Smaller family-owned manufacturing plants, like a cobblers shop, weavers and the like, lined the street, their walls and foundation slowly eroding away. This was the area of the city where it was undecided of whether it should be zoned remodel or historical.

That meant no one cared.

Not a penny would be spent to refurbish the buildings, nor pay to have them demolished and removed. Once upon a time, Höbin thought, this must have been a charming place to visit. Now it was a corridor of tired, hunched over buildings that no one wanted anymore.

A group of youth shot past Höbin, hooping and hollering, while the last boy sprayed bright orange paints in waving lines across the brick walls as he ran. A sudden wind change threw overspray into his hair and the side of his cybernetic eye.

“Blasted...,” he started to shout, but thought better of it. He was out and extremely vulnerable. If it wasn’t for the desperation in finding the last seal, he wouldn’t risk this. So he wiped the paint off as best he could with the sleeve of his jacket and kept walking.

2242 Boorum was an old repair shop. The painted sign on the front that read ‘Mushcranks & Beyond: If we can’t fix it, we can come up with something better’, was faded and in many places chipped or missing. However, the lights were on in the shop, which was a good sign.

At least someone was home and Höbin had the right place.

“Steady, old man,” he whispered to himself, “You need to do this right and not blow it.” But what should he say? There was no telling what the seal even looked like. He only had a description from Morphiophelius of what the seal from Til-Thorin looked like. He’d traveled around the world to Väthinerä, but that was only the resting place of the first seal. Only the Nocturi and whomever stole it knew what it looked like.

“What do I say?” Höbin said aloud.

“Say whatcha like,” chortled a short fat gnome, stoking a rather thick cigar. He had a tattered grey apron on and bear arms, wielding a broom, “that’s my rule, it is!”

Höbin nearly fell over in shock. He’d never heard the large gnome approaching. “Uhhh, yes. Exactly. That’s what I was thinking?”

“Lookin for a clock? A refurbished uPad perhaps, for the grandkids maybe?” The gnome wiggled his wiry eyebrows at the historian, “You’d be the talk of the reunions, you would...buying the little ones a custom detailed, refurbished uPod. Oh yes you would!” He pointed at Höbin and then tapped his own eye, “Looks like you’re a gnome up on popular technology.”

Not knowing what to say, Höbin...nodded.

“Thoughtcha might! Can always pick ‘em, I can!” He waved, “Come on in, good sir...I’ll show you me wares and ya can pick from the best.” With a grunt and a train of thick white smoke rolling up and over his forehead, the obese gnome led Höbin down a short flight of grungy looking stairs.

Pushing on a rusted door they stepped into the shop.

Small shelves lined the walls, piles and piles of oddly stacked...Höbin was not sure what they were, though the historian would most likely call...junk. Chipped cups, TV’s with cracked screens, radio hybrids made from scraps and retro telephone parts, the absurdities never ended.

“Interesting shop you have,” was all he could think of saying, not wanting to offend.

The fat gnome grinned pridefully, smoke shooting from his nostrils. “Adrian Mushcranks, “ he beamed, holding out a dirty hand. His chunky fingers wiggled in place until Höbin finally gripped them in a firm handshake. “Master repairman, at yer service. If me and me son can’t fix it, well...we’ll invent something even better, we will! Now let me show you me special selection of fine custom wares.” Waddling behind the counter, he proceeded to lay small electronic devices onto the glass between them.

Well, Höbin assumed they were electronic devices, but in truth he wasn’t quite sure.

Two of the five items looked like uPod shells, but one was missing a screen, wires protruding from the device. The other was covered in random ink markings. The rest, well...they looked more like sardine tins that electronic devices.

“These are...your special items?” Höbin asked.

Adrian just smirked. “It’s a mobile entertainment device.” He reached down and wiggled the tiny red and yellow wires, “Built to hook up to you entertainment system. Plays music, movies, maybe even games! Even comes with a remote.” He patted the device, winked, and then plopped down a huge metal box onto the counter with a thud. It was covered with buttons and dials.

“You call that a remote?” Höbin asked shocked. “Aren’t remotes supposed to be convenient? Portable?”

Adrian waved the comment away. “Phhaw! People want flexibility, adornments for their homes! That’s why this comes with its own custom stand.” He flipped a plastic milk crate onto the counter, wiggling his eyebrows. “And if it’s decor yer worried about, I’ll throw in a custom doily to give the set ambiance.” He grinned wide with the last word, waving his hands over the trash.

This couldn’t possibly be the same family Höbin was looking for?

Was it?!?

“I uh,..” he stumbled for words, “Nice wares, but I’m looking for something specific.”

“Ahh...a discriminatory kinda customer, I see.”

Höbin bit his lip to keep from chuckling. “MmmHmm.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?”

Here goes everything. “Actually yes. I’m looking for antiques of a particular type. My agency says your family,” he paused, pulling the scrap of paper from his pocket, “if my information is correct, descends from the famous Mushcranks? As in the microchips, copiers, industrial lifts Mushcranks.”

The gleeful look on Adrian’s face vanished without a trace. He spit his cigar onto the floor without taking his eyes off of Höbin. “Maybe I is and maybe I ain’t. Who wants ta know?” With slow and precise movements, the round gnome waddled out from behind the counter.

“Oh, well, it’s only me asking,” Höbin said, adding a quite gulp at the end. “Just me.”

“Well,...just me,” Adrian said with a scorn, “why would you be wantin’ ta know about my family? Cause I’m awful tired of you lot snoopin’ round here, askin’ all sorts of questions I can’t answer! I don’t take ta threats comin to me home where me old lady and kids sleep.”“

Confused, Höbin rattled through the forms and names he’d looked up...and completely missed the shop owner walking around him and bolting the door shut.

Adrian cracked his knuckles.

“You ‘n me is gonna have a little talk and work all this out.”

Höbin smiled and turned around. “That’s a wonderful idea...,” he started to say.

That is...until the shop keeper broke his nose.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With his ruthless lawyers behind him, Chuck takes control of WHRN and the Brothers Trench, giving Freak and the TNT crew just 48 hours to build a flying S.L.A.G. and rescue Dax from execution...

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Chapter 95

I looked up through my sweat-drenched hair.

It was hard to blink, trying to get the salt water out so I could see clearly, but it was no use. Sweat drizzled across my eyebrows, pooling at the bridge of my nose.

I blinked again anyway.

Even the sharpest pain had lost its effect. My body flinched from reflex now. The razor cuts burned with a fire that had diminished to a dull ache.

So…tired.

I blinked again.

Perched on a tiny stool sat a fat monk with large, round glasses. Dipping his quill pen into the inkwell, which was balanced precariously on the corner of the altar, he continued his scribbling. Pushing the glasses back up onto his bulbous nose, he muttered, “...and that’s all I know. Right then,” he looked up at Noah—who seemed preoccupied in his own anger. “I have a wizard, Dax the troll...”

“He’s...,” I sputtered under my breath, “not...a troll.”

“Right then,” scribbling, “I’ll place a footnote here to that fact. Uhhhh, here we are—a girl and you came here because you were dead and now you’re not, which was accomplished by gnome technology.” He stopped, reading the notes over again, just to make sure he got the wording correct. “Um, father Noah...I was unaware that we had the ability to bring people back from the dead.”

“We don’t,” Noah snarled.

“Ah, yes, but Mr. Dipmier just said...”

“THIS,” snapped Noah, reaching over and grabbing a fist full of the fat gnome’s hood, “is why we interrogate! To sift through the LIES!”

“You got what you wanted,” Tabbermain whispered, “Let the boy be.”

Noah released the scribe and strolled casually around the alter, side stepping the small trails of blood soaking between the cobblestone. With each step, Tabbermain and Vin withdrew…scuffling up against the wall and dragging their chains with them. The monk sneered at the aged prisoners, holding the tiny whip high. Blood dripped from the speckles of flesh trapped between the jagged grooves of the weapon.

“Would you like to take his place?” he warned.

Both gnomes cowered and shook their heads vigorously.

Noah turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. It disgusted him to be here. To look upon the human filth anchored to the alter. It disgusted him that a human was even in Clockworks, polluting his homeland. But it infuriated Noah even more that he could not break the will of this creature who the people were calling the Gnolaum.

Without warning, Noah spun around and dropped his forward knee, using his whole body to power the blow of the snake whip. Metal shards tore through black cloth and embedded deeply into my flesh. Blood splattered up Noah’s dark robe and across his cheek.

I quivered, but made little sound. There was no energy left. Something in each strike that shattered any resilience I had, or resistance to pain. My outstretched hands, held in place by the chains, spasmed against the stone, then went limp. My eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, fluttered briefly...then closed.

“Disgusting,” Noah hissed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe. He’d have to change now. Clean the heretic’s blood off of his person. It would not do to have the monks look upon him as anything but the most civilized of leaders. It would cast doubt in uneducated minds…to see their spiritual father doused with the blood of...he looked down at Wendell...an enemy.

Tossing the whip into the open box, Noah reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a worn handkerchief. He wiped his cheek properly.

“This will continue, until I get the information I am looking for, Mr. Dipmier.” Examining the cloth, he folded it over and used the clean side to wipe his cheek again. “Or,” he stared down sternly, “until it’s time for the offering. Either way, your visit here is about to come to an end.”

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Noah kept his gaze upon Wendell. “Enter.”

Light from the hallway torches trickled into the chamber and a thin, wiry figure strode past the scribe and up to Father Noah.

“We may have enough,” he whispered. He glanced over uneasily at the scribe, then down at the unconscious human. “I think you should take inventory yourself, isä.”

A sly grin flashed over Noah’s face…a predator smelling the blood of wounded prey. His wide nostrils of the hawk-like nose flared, “Good.” Shoving the handkerchief back up his sleeve, he turned abruptly and strode towards the door. “I’ll give you time to consider your predicament, Mr. Dipmier,” the comment had an undertone of danger, assuring that it would be conveyed to the hero when he woke. Noah turned at the doorway and glared back at Tabbermain, though his comment was meant for Wendell. “I would advise you not to squander it. For when I return, the enchantment granted by your fellow inmates will be broken and we will allow the chains of frost to do the work they were initially created for.”

Tabbermain averted his gaze. His quivering fingers absentmindedly rubbed his wrists.

The guards filed out of the chamber after Father Noah, the flustered scribe scooping up his pen, ink and papers. Lifting the hem of his robe with one hand, supplies in the other, he dashed through the door, before it closed sharply behind.

“Ungh! These theatrics,” Noah grumbled, waving at the torches. Pulling a small chain from around his neck, he aimed the tiny device attached to the end and clicked one of its many buttons. With a whirl and click, rows of florescent bulbs flipped down from hidden compartments, flaring overhead and flooding the hallway with artificial light. Noah gave a sigh of relief. Composing himself, hands slid into the folds of his sleeves. He gave the scribe a warning glance, which kept him at a distance, escorted by the monk guard. Noah then turned back to the messenger. “Report.”

Now that the overhead lights were on, the thin gnome looked even more gaunt compared to his superior. His sharp cheekbones cast shadows across his face, and his paper thin lips were a near replica of Noah’s own. He bowed his head quickly, “Yes, isä. We have recorded your conversations as instructed. The quality of sound is quite good. Perfectly useable.”

“Footage?”

“We have taken footage at key points of your conversation, but I don’t think we have much to use. The lighting is bad, angles and you,” he hesitated, not wanting to anger Noah, “tend to move about a lot while you speak.”

The monk did not slacken his pace. “Did you get any close ups?”

“We did. A few during your more compassionate poses and the Gnol---,” he started to say, but a sharp glare from Noah gave the monk second thoughts. “...human, at his most emotional or angry. We should be able to piece enough footage together, if you feel the quality is good enough.”

The session had gone on for hours, despite Noah’s efforts to break Wendell. It wasn’t as impressive so much as frustrating. Though he’d wanted the human to reveal his secrets, Noah was more interested in causing a great deal of pain and suffering. Payment for all the injustices against the gnome race. Of all the injustices about to befall the gnome race. “Mr. Dipmier has remarkable recuperative powers.” Too remarkable for a mere human, but he didn’t make that thought known. “We will let him rest for now, see to these recordings you have made and if they fall short, well,” his devious smile returned, “we’ll have to provide the boy with another opportunity to confess.”

The group followed a turn in the hallway, then another.

“Is he a mägo then?” the messenger asked aloud.

Noah snorted. “Did you not see his performance at the WHRN station? Of course he’s a mägo, you fool.” He did nothing to hide his disgust at the word describing the grotesque magical practitioners. “And he’s had the aid of those thorns in my side.”

“We did keep the footage of Tabbermain aiding the boy, isä. Would you like that separated out? It could be used to begin a new inquiry.”

Father Noah shook his head and slowed his pace to a crawl. The guards behind them placed firm hands on the shoulders of the scribe. They stood afar off, granting privacy to their leader.

At the end of the hallway, two monks armed with guns, stood guarding the main exit…thick transparent walls and a single steel door, separating the original dungeon and the remodeled basement of the holy shrine of TGII.

“No need. The techno-clowns have nothing further we can use, now that the gate has been reactivated. The scales, dear brother, have finally been tipped in our favor.” A smile peeled back over both their thin mouths. “The Religious Faction will soon be the only faction in control…and the only faction left!”

The monk looked over Noah’s shoulder at the scribe, then whispered, “And if you cannot find where the last seal is located?”

Father Noah gave a wary glance at the armed guards ahead of them “Then no one shall find it,” he hissed, grabbing the monk’s robe and pulling him closer. Gritting his teeth, the thin black mustache quivered on his upper lip. “I will cast that human into the darkness where he belongs…to be consumed with the rest of the traitors!”

“A-as you say, Isä Noah,” the monk shuttered, “so shall it be done.”

Noah nodded and made a fluid gesture to the exit. “Now show me what your department has recorded.”

I stumbled.

Hands outstretched, I gained my balance before falling over.

My feet felt so very heavy.

No, it wasn’t that they were heavy. My muscles didn’t seem to want to work.

The smiley, its bright yellow face practically glowing on the front of my shirt, was frozen in a content expression, completely inanimate.

Weird.

The sound of crickets tickled my senses. It was something I hadn’t heard in months. You just don’t hear those sounds of nature in Clockworks City, and I hadn’t realized I’d missed the sensation. I walked to the edge of tree line and looked up.

Nothing about this area looked familiar.

The sky was clear, the moons high. I could even see the flower formation of lights on Iskäri-Käläm. Erimuri was alive and bright tonight.

My head swayed from side to side…the sheer weight of it taxing the muscles in my neck.

I noticed a glow in the distance. Walking up a little ridge, yellow lights flickered down the hillside.

A town? Village maybe? I didn’t actually care, so long as it wasn’t ablaze or deserted.

“Well, you’ll never know unless you start walking, Wendell,” I said aloud.

Shifting among the rocks, careful with my footing, I started my way down, focusing on the lights of the dwellings.

I looked down at my hands. Though they looked normal in the moonlight, my fingers felt swollen.

Sore.

Tired.

Needed to rest.

It was then that I noticed.

The mountains seemed so large and intimidating, now that I’d left the protection of the forest. Giant formations jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow…glistening in the moonlight. The curtain of trees in front disguised the base of the mountains...like black fingers trying to claw at the sky.

An animal howled in the distance.

“Okay Wendell, we are walking,” Doubt gulped.

Good idea.

Walking fast and focused, going toWARDS the light sounded wise to me. My feet moved quickly, but I restrained myself from a full-fledged sprint. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to be noticed by a would-be predator, right?

Right. Of course.

It could be…hungry…on the hunt for human fast food.

Another howl.

I’d read an article once that intermittent sprinting was a very healthy exercise. Being healthy was a good choice…and I wanted to make good choices.

How did I get here?

“Just keep sprinting,” Doubt gulped.

I know, but…the last thing I remembered was being chained to a stone alter. If I was right, somewhere in the Church or temple of TGII.

“What does that matter right now?”

I swallowed as the third howl ripped through the silence of the night. This time it was close.

Too close.

What good was intermittently exercising, anyway? Tough guys go all out and push themselves, right?

“Yes!”

I could see the buildings better now. Fields of what looked like corn and other plants were growing tall, with barns in the distance. Lanterns ablaze outside small homes.

Shadows moved.

…and my heart skipped a beat.

“Horses,” coughed Doubt. “We’re okay.”

A dozen homes, maybe, scattered about. The rest of the landscape was fields, prairies and scattered clumps of trees.

It looked like any farm you might see back home on Earth.

Another howl.

…followed by a distant growl.

Not distant enough.

“Crap. Crap. Crap!” Doubt squealed. “You gotta R—*”

My legs took off with a life of their own.

Trying to suck in air, sweat started beading across my forehead.

Looking over my shoulder again, one of my heels landed on the edge of a flat stone. The moisture caused me to slip, throwing me off balance. I couldn’t catch myself…and tumbled forward with a grunt.

I hit the ground.

Hard.

“Argh!” I cried out. Rolling onto my back, I grabbed at my leg.

“We’re on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!” Doubt snapped.

The world around me seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments I bit my lip to keep silent, trying hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

Get Up Wendell.

“Hey,” Doubt gasped, “what is SHE doing here?”

That silence was broken by a faint hissing sound.

Scanning the ridge, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Again I heard the hiss.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

“LISTEN to her,” Doubt panicked, “Move it!”

Not knowing where to go or what to do, I ducked my head and tried to curl my body to mimic a stone. Wolves...or whatever beast was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

...as long as it was a small snake.

“What are you DOING?!??” Doubt panicked. “Don’t mimic rocks…mimic a bird and FLY!”

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Ithari pulsed through bone and muscle. Already the pain in my ankle was subsiding and I could feel the warmth washing over skin.

Would it be enough?

“Let’s find OUT!”

The farms were still a ways off…much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

“So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are...or what that thing is out…”

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like…scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Get To The Houses, Wendell. Get To The Light!

Crap. Crap. CRAP! Hands shaking, I held my breath. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to EAT MY FACE!??

“You know it won’t eat our face, right? IT’S GONNA SWALLOW US WHOLE!”

Not helping!

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

I clenched my eyes tight. Stay calm, Wendell. Keep...calm.

This is where I would probably wet myself.

If I wasn’t such a hardcore tough guy, that is.

“No worries,” Doubt whimpered, “I did it for us.”

I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe, but fear of being found kept my mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

My eyes wide, they darted back and forth, searching the shadows around me without moving my head.

I’m a rock. BE a rock.

Please go away.

Please...

I’m not even chewy!

Just skin and bones….all gristle.

I regretted all those late nights watching horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults. I didn’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud.

Get To The Light, Wendell!

Please. Please. Please, I trembled. Don’t eat me. I don’t taste good. There has to be a nice fat...

Then I saw it.

Long shadows stretched out across the ground, fed by the moons light. Dark shapes…rising across my shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, the creature dragged itself across the rocks and grass. The contours didn’t follow any recognizable form I knew, but one thing looked certain...the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the front.

What WAS that thing?

It looked like...

No! I-it couldn’t be!?

I watched it sway, slithering from my position and dragging its mass over open ground.

I’d seen that before.

I know I had.

My mind raced, hunting for clues…some memory that might help link this creature to my past.

“What does it matter!??” Doubt squealed. “Let’s get OUT of here!”

I peeked over the rocks.

I couldn’t help but stare as the shadow swayed, slithering away from my position and dragging its mass over the open ground. At the same time, curiosity didn’t take place of the gratitude I felt. My position had gone unnoticed.

Wendell, the rock, Dipmier was still alive.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

The pain in my ankle was all but gone now…which meant I could bolt for the homes down the hillside. Or...

“Or!?!! What do you mean OR??”

I could follow the creature, discover what it was and why I had such a familiar feeling about it.

“Follow…,” Doubt choked. “Are you INSANE?!??”

Follow it. On…my own. Out in the open?

“Riiiiiight. You hit your head. I know it. Gotta be brain damage…”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the wisest choice.

“No duh.”

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it’s out of sight, I could make a dash for the lights in the distance.

The bright sign of hope.

I wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what I’d just seen?

Almost there.

I watched the slithering shadow carefully.

Keep going, you ugly, that’s it.

One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to my knees, I grinned. “See ya suck...”

HSSSST!

Poised silently off to my left was another creature.

It was not a wounded animal.

It was worse.

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Tha-Thump-Thump!

I gasped for breath, unable to inhale as I stared into the hood of my nightmares.

The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Wendell…RUN.

Trembling, my feet shuffled backwards. “No,” I choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but I couldn’t finish the statement.

Thoughts and feelings collided with such clarity…it all came to me in an instant.

YOU!

The creature swayed in front of me, reeling up like a viper. The robe of charcoal blackness.

Til-Thorin.

The dreams.

The things seeking after the shard. That’s what it was!

But…it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be! The robe didn’t exist. It had been another creature in a robe that I’d fought.

One with magic, trying to kill Lili.

Lili....

Hollow, vacant holes stared back where a face should have been. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out...yearning.

“Clossssser child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards me, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over me even while it hunched, arms outstretched, fingers…or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into my mind chilled me to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” I screamed, my senses returning.

I realized my mistake.

The robe lunged.

…but not before I arched wide, sidestepping to avoid its attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked only air as I became a blur of motion.

Wendell…RUN!

Had to get away.

Without looking back, I spurred myself on, gulping air as I ran. There was only one place to go.

The village.

I had to warn them.

No. My brows dropped forward.

I have to protect them.

It’s time to do more. To be more. That meant accepting the mantle of the hero. I’d accepted the responsibility in front of others...even in front of the Iskari High Council…but I’d not accepted it for myself.

Evan was the real hero. I knew that now. He was the one everyone actually wanted. But they had ended up with me instead.

It was time to accept that fact once and for all.

Exerting all the strength I had, I put distance between myself and the robe. The hissing sound faded into the background of the crickets.

“If I’m not the hero,” I huffed out loud as I sprinted, “then it’s time I learn how to be one!”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

The words felt...good.

Powerful.

The village was close and I had no idea how much time I had before the robes would be upon them. Great, I frowned,…I’m leading the danger right to their doorsteps.

But I would need help.

Hero or not, I couldn’t do this alone.

Not yet.

I had to get everyone’s attention.

“Välo,” I barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around me, blazing like a beacon, brightening the area. I held the image of my skin, glowing like the noonday sun in my mind.

“Uhhhh, Wendell?”

“Teho!” I shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of my shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe, right on my heels, fell back from the light, a tattered sleeve covering the gaping opening of the hood. The creature slowed its pace to a crawl.

“HEY!” I bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but I didn’t have time to explain. “TO ARMS!” I cried, “TO ARMS! TO ARMS!!”

I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the nearest hovel. My momentum was so great, I slammed into the front with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” I shouted back, banging on the door with a fist. “Your village is about to be attacked by...,” but my voice cut off.

What the crud do I call those things?

I had no idea what to say, what to call these things chasing me without sounding like a complete lunatic. “Demons,” was the only word that came to mind, but I didn’t say it out loud. The villager wouldn’t likely open up hearing that. “We need to warn your village!”

But the door remained closed.

“Did you hear me?” I shouted even louder, “You’re under attack!” I looked into the front window, but drapes covered every inch.

“I heard you,” replied the voice warily, “and it is night! No torch burns that bright…which means either you be the problem...or you have magic with you. If you have magic...then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” I gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to warn you! So what if I’m using magic?!” It had never occurred to me that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. I’d naturally assumed that what I’d seen over the past few months was the norm? Had I been wrong? I shook the thought from my mind. There wasn’t time. It didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting.

I turned my head slowly, the swaying motions at the edge of the light catching my attention.

Oh boy, I gulped.

The thing hissed loudly at me.

The light of Ithari dimmed.

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged…the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment.

Not good.

“NOT GOOD!” Doubt concurred.

I flipped back against the door, my confidence quickly waning. I screamed frantically, “Come ON! Blast you…I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled back, irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along…take your problems with you I say!”

Ithari’s light waned...and finally vanished from under the black cloth of my t-shirt.

“But...there’s danger,” I pleaded.

Please don’t shut me out. Please listen to me. People are going to get hurt.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” I whimpered weakly. “The creatures are...the robes...” but it was no use. My forehead rested against the wood surface of the door. “Please open up.”

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

I lifted my head, my eyes fixed on the door. “What...did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice coolly, “You made your choice, boy!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

My feet stumbled back from the door, hands clenching into fists.

The voice...the words...they sounded familiar.

Too familiar.

The wood of the door splintered, ripping from the hinges. Fragments flew outward, forcing me to raise an arm and protect my eyes. A heavy rancid scent of decaying meat and molding rot rolled out from the doorway…assaulting my senses.

It made the world spin and my eyes water.

Slapping a hand over my mouth, I reeled back, gagging.

In the shadows of the doorway, rising up to dwarf the height of the framework, lurked a robe. Black as midnight, tattered and frayed…

It lunged.

Spinning on my heels, I was unable to take even a step before razor claws raked across my back.

Blood sprayed from the gaping wounds.

I cried out into the darkness.

“Don’t do it…you’ll get us all in trouble!” Vin snapped. He reached out and grabbed Tabbermain’s wrist.

The gnome yanked his hand free and whipped his head about to face his friend. “Weren’t you listening? Noah already knows we helped him!”

“You helped him, not I,” Vin said sharply. “Don’t blame me for something you did.” He looked around him, wondering where the hidden cameras must be. Behind stone? Behind cobweb? “And you’re the one getting us into further trouble!”

With a deep sigh, Tabbermain’s face softened. “I’m sorry old friend. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that and it was very unkind.”

“Yes it was,” Vin pouted, folding his arms.

“Please forgive me.” Then softer, “The boy is in so much pain, can’t you help me? I don’t have the strength to do this alone. My talents are in metal and stone, not flesh and bone.” Tabbermain watched his friend huff and roll his eyes…yet Vin did not move from the straw he lay upon. “He could die if we do not lend him aid.” Poking Vin’s leg with a boney finger, “And you would be responsible for helping put the famed Gnolaum to death, plunging the hopes of the people into darkness.”

That got his attention. Vin popped up into a sitting position. “Oh no you don’t,” he grumbled, “You’re not gonna put that on my conscious!”

Tabbermain turned his head to hide the grin on his face, “A wise choice, as always.”

Vin grumbled again, realizing he’d been played. “Let’s get this over with. If we’re going to tick off the monk, we might as well do a thorough job of it.”

“That’s the spirit, you old coot!” shouted Doddle from the other side of the room.

“Oh shut up!” Vin snapped, but it only made Doddle laugh louder. “Can you reach him? My chain isn’t as long as yours...”

Tabbermain reached out for Wendell, fingers stretching for his heel. The hero lay prone across the alter, shuddering violently. The blood across his back still seeped from open wounds and every few minutes, the unconscious hero sobbed loudly.

Grunting and pulling at the chain on his own ankle, the gnome could barely touch the end of Wendell’s sneaker with a fingertip. “No,” he gasped, “he’s still too far away.”

“Here, let me try to pull him closer,” Vin said in a kinder tone.

“No,” retorted Doddle, “save your strength for the healing…you’ll have to help Tab. I’ll do it from here. I don’t have to touch the boy.”

Tabbermain and Vin nodded, scooting back into the straw.

Pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his wide nose, Doddle let his neck relax and his head fall forward, chin resting peacefully upon his chest. Raising his hands into the air, fingers spread wide, the gnome began reaching through the air...searching.

“Focus,” Tabbermain whispered, but it was more for his own benefit than to be heard, “you can do this.”

Doddle’s head tilted ever so slightly. His hips rocked forward until he was kneeling erect. Suddenly his hands stopped, fingers tense and curling inward, as if latching onto something which could not be seen.

“Push his legs out,” Vin whispered then, a smirk worming its way onto his face. “You’ve got it, Doddle. That’s it.”

Inch by painful inch, Wendell’s feet pushed out behind him. His torso lay upon the altar, with little pressure upon his legs…but he’d been kneeling for more than a day, hunched over the stone structure. His legs were stiff and numb, unwilling to so easily comply. Chains held his arms and wrists in place...but nothing bound the boy’s legs.

Doddle grunted then, his face flushing a beet red. His hands and arms trembled, muscle tight as he leaned ever forward, pushing at the invisible object.

“Almost there!” Tabbermain encouraged him.

Wendell’s knees scraped across stone, inch by inch, until, with a sudden jolt, his legs shot out behind his hips...and past the two gnomes.

“You did it!” Vin cried with glee. He grinned at Tabbermain, “The little fart actually did it!”

Doddle’s eyes rolled back into his head. Like a plank, he fell backwards into the straw. For long moments all that could be heard was his labored breathing. Wheezing and gulping, like air being forced through a straw.

“Doddle?” Vin called, “Are you alright?”

Tabbermain’s face grew pale, “Doddle! Speak to us!!”

Sitting up, the gnome adjusted his crooked glasses and blinked several times in rapid succession. “Woo,” he shook his head, “That was...,” he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, “...intense.” Then looking over to his friends, he smiled brightly. “It worked?”

Tabbermain clapped his hands together, then rubbed them vigorously. “Perfectly.” Staring down at Wendell’s legs, he gave Vin a nod. “You ready?”

The grumpy gnome sat up on his knees and similarly clapped his hands together. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Faster and faster they rubbed their palms together. As they did, each gnome began to hum. Deep, from the base of their chests, in a single, carefully picked note. The notes added to one another. Clinging. Amplifying until the chamber was filled with a deep rumbling of power. Taking a sharp breath, they continued the perfect note...and their hands began to glow. The pink of their flesh sparkled, but not with light. Red spots appeared, like the reflective surface of a ruby, spreading across wrist and palm, working down to their fingers.

Reaching out, Tabbermain ceased the labor of friction and placed his palms under the lip of Wendell’s jeans, grasping his ankle. Vin, without a word, followed suit.

Wendell let out a gasp..his head wincing upward, only to thud back down onto the cold stone of the altar.

Both gnomes took another sharp breath and continued the solid note.

“That’s it!” giggled Doddle.

Color flooded back into Wendell’s body. The blue in his lips faded, his cheeks flushed. But that was not what the gnome stared at.

Across the hero’s back, the open wounds started to mend. Layers of torn flesh reached across the gashes, created by the arcane whip, and joined together. Tiny fibers, connecting to one another, until the wounds closed in full and pulled tight. Each slash left its mark across Wendell’s flesh…but within moments, his torso was completely healed. Even the mägoweave repaired itself, now free to do what it was enchanted to do. Gashes and tears mended themselves until at last, Wendell lay upon the altar whole.

Tabbermain and Vin ceased their chant. Their own blood now trickled down from their noses and they swayed. Tabbermain fell onto his back exhausted.

“Thank you,” he whispered aloud. “I could not have done that without you, Vin.”

“No,” Vin gasped, leaning heavily on his hands, “No you couldn’t have.”

I stirred. A faint moan escaped my lips.

Both Vin and Tabbermain moved back from my legs as I tried to right myself. Grabbing hold of the corners of the altar, I drowsily lifted my head.

“Where am...,” I moaned again, this time, much louder, “Oh.”

“How do you feel?” Doddle asked cheerfully.

Rolling my head from side to side, my neck popped several times. “Like I’ve been chopped into bits and glued back together.”

The gnome scrunched his face. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“I wouldn’t recommend trying it.” Ok, forget the glue…I felt like I’d been stepped on by a giant. My head throbbed loudly, bass drums beat like thunder in my ears. I let my forehead rest on the stone. The tiny tink sound, accompanied by the prick of a pin along my brow, reminded me of the silver circlet still wrapped around my skull. I flexed the muscles of my back, rolling my shoulder muscles. The searing pain was gone.

Completely gone.

I looked at Tabbermain, who was sitting cross-legged and wiping the blood from his nose onto the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “Did you do this? Heal me?”

The gnome shrugged.

“We both did,” grumbled Vin, sniffing, “you’re welcome.”

I felt foolish, it taking so long for the comments to make sense in my head, but it was obvious now. These were mägo. The... “Are you...techno-mägo?” I asked, curious.

Tabbermain studied my face for a moment in silence before nodding.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. “Thank you,” I added, forcing a grin across my weak face. “I’m very grateful.” I looked over at Vin, who sat there, glaring. “To both of you.”

Vin huffed, but he stopped glaring.

“I helped too!” squealed Doddle, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, “Though, I don’t really know healing magic.”

“Well I thank you anyway,” I grinned, “for your part.”

Doddle beamed.

The pain in my head had grown through the night. I was finding it much harder to focus on anything for very long. Even now, my eyes blurred and I could only see the gnomes’ faces if I blinked over and over, shaking the fuzziness from my head. It was like standing in a fog, wrapped around your face. You were aware of more, but you just couldn’t see but a few inches from your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a way to get these shackles or this crown-thingy off my head, would you?” I asked hopefully.

Tabbermain shook his head. “I don’t know much about the artifact on your head...but those chains cannot be broken by magic. Of that I know for certain.”

So much for trying. “How do you know magic can’t get me out of the chains? Maybe the person who made them left a flaw in it?” It was reaching, but I was ready to grasp at anything at this point.

Again Tabbermain shook his head. “There are no flaws in the chains.”

“But how do you,” I started to say.

“Because we made them, boy!” snapped Vin, folding his arms in finality. “We were the ones who created the chains. Together, the three of us…and they’re made to withstand any magical force or coercion. They’re made to hold mägo fast...and over time to drain their ability to focus and perform the magic itself.” The gnome lifted his own leg into the air, the single chain dangling from his ankle. “So smart we were...to make our own prison.”

I slumped backwards, as far as the shackles would allow. Wonderful. “What about the thing on my head? Can you do anything about that?”

Tabbermain stared at the ring of silver and shook his head again. “We did not create it…though we know a fair amount about it.” Pointing at my head, “It’s meant to weaken your resistance to suggestion. The longer you wear it, the easier it will become for Noah to get whatever information he’s looking for.”

“But I don’t have anything to take,” I sighed, frustrated. “Why doesn’t he understand that? It won’t matter what questions he asks…he won’t get what he wants...because I don’t have any secrets to uncover! There’s nothing for me to lie about. I came here to mix among your people and to help unite the population. Once that was done, I was going to leave.”

The gnomes fell silent. Each glanced at one another, but the bulk of their attention remained focused on me.

“What about the seal you’re looking for?” Tabbermain asked. His eyes darted around the chamber, hoping to locate the hidden eyes and ears of Father Noah. The statement was so matter of fact and unemotional, my mouth popped open.

“Uhhhh,...what?”

Tabbermain frowned. “There are two deceptions here. One is, you are lying. You are looking for the seal...of the Demoni Vankil. You know it’s here, in Clockworks, and you still look for it. You cannot leave without it…I can see that plainly in your face. The second lie is not yours, but Noah’s.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “He would probably trust me more if he believed that I was actually the Gnolaum. I understand that everyone’s talking about me like some prophet or divine being…but I’m not. I admit that! But I can prove that I’m the host of the Ithari…I am, in fact, the Gnolaum. If he allowed me to get up, I could show him the gem in my chest. Easy as can be! I’d let him examine me, the gem, whatever he needed…so there would be no doubt in his mind that I am, in fact, the real article!”

“But that is the second lie, Mr. Dipmier,” Tabbermain said calmly, though he looked visually disturbed. “Not only does Noah have exactly what he needs to carry off his plans...he has always known that you are in fact, the Gnolaum.”

The words hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer. “B-but...that doesn’t make any...”

A look of pity crept across the gnome’s face.

“That’s why you are in here.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With Motherboard unavailable for the rally speech, Philburt Bellows rises to the task of educating and inspiring tens of thousands of his workers across the city…

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Chapter 94

Telly looked over his shoulder again.

“Would you stop that?” Tumbler snapped, banging the metal surface with his wrench. “TGII help me, if you don’t stay focused, we’ll never get this done in time!”

The tall gnome skulked and tightened the next bolt. “Sorry. I’m just...nervous. We didn’t get the permission ta do this!”

The old gnome sighed. “I know, kiddo. I’m sorry too. Shouldn’t be snappin’ atcha like that.” He glanced around them, patting the safety harness attached to the ladder. “It is a bit creepy, being exposed like this.” It also didn’t help to have their voices sucked up in the vastness of the Trench Stadium. For nearly two hours they’d been rerouting the system wires of a discarded INERTIA S.L.A.G.. It felt weird, breaking into the company’s Trench pit, not to mention uncomfortable. “The old man said it was ok,” he added, “and he did have a security pass to get us in here.”

“He also had a way into the Citadel, if you remember,” Freak grumbled. “For all we know, the Centurions are on their way right now!” He pushed a dolly laden with scrap metal closer to the machine. “Cause if that wizard’s wrong, we’re likely to get shot at!”

“Oh relax,” Nibbles giggled, yanking out another wire, “he may be crazy, but you have to give him credit…he’s delivered on every promise so far.”

The chubby gnome leaned over the metal and wiped his brow with a stained glove. “Which is making me more nervous, not less, Nib. How is he doing it?” His eyes grew wide as his voice dropped to a near whisper, “He’s not even a gnome! How can he have this much influence and pull in a foreign land? We’re working in the Trench Stadium, just like we needed, on a competition grade S.L.A.G....and no one’s come to arrest us yet? But LOOK!” He pointed around the rim of the stadium. Every ten feet, an armored camera was mounted to the wall. Each one of them were pointed at the TNT crew. “Don’t tell me somebody ain’t watching.”

“So?” she teased him.

“SO WHY HAVEN’T WE BEEN ARRESTED YET?” he choked, rattling the dolly violently, his face flushing beet red. Huffing heavily, he let his head drop forward with a dull BANG against the metal.

“I can arrange it if it means that much to you,” Chuck said calmly. He stepped into the light of the open stadium from the shadows of the private S.L.A.G. pit behind them.

They all jolted upright and nearly fell from their places, Telly’s arms waving about as he grabbed a large rivet.

“You’re going to blow a brain cell if you’re not careful, young man.” Chuck smirked. “Sorry,” he corrected himself, “I meant gnome.” Lili and the Stump twins stood quietly in the pit doorway. Dressed in a glistening black suit that looked like a million credits, Chucks beard was in a Kutollum braid with silver metal accents, which rested heavily on his chest. It was impressive to see his six foot plus beard neatly folded against his chest. The wizard glanced up at the machine under construction. “Looking good!”

“Looking illegal is more like it,” Freak gasped, trying to catch his breath, “And what are you doing now?”

“Waiting for us, I’m assuming,” called a voice from the darkness of the pit. The scuttle of many feet resonated from the cement chamber, growing more dull as they reached the light of the stadium. “And I think we need more lights on, before someone hurts themselves.”

Recognized by the countless posters about Clockworks, the Brothers Trench strode into the light. The TNT crew froze in place, all eyes upon the two most famous S.L.A.G. pilots of all time. Ernie and Burton Trench…mechanics, fabricators, ex-convicts and creators of the Trench Wars. Both were dressed in brown, worn, work overalls and stained leather jackets. They were immediately followed out by three identical midgets in black suits, white shirts, paisley silk ties and dark horn-rimmed glasses.

Chuck stepped over and shook Burton’s hand firmly, then Ernie’s. “Morning boys. I’m assuming we have a deal?”

Ernie scratched the wild patch of hair on top of his near-pointed head and laughed openly. “We’d be fools not to take it, Mr. Smith. Not like we had much of a choice, but we’re not the ones in charge anymore, thanks to you.”

Freak blinked hard once. Then a second time. “What’s he talking about?” Then weakly, his voice trembling, “What have you done now?”

“What have I done?” Chuck gasped, offended, “Why I’ve kept my word, you little, hyperventilating...”

Lili dashed past the wizard and slid her arm through the mechanic’s. “You look like you could use a nice, peaceful walk, Freak.” She winked at Nibbles, who immediately dropped her wrench and hopped to the ground. “Enjoy the company of two lovely ladies?”

“That’s right, hunko,” Nibbles added, catching on, “It’s high time someone pointed out how awesome you are.”

“I am?” he muttered, befuddled. He looked between the two girls, confused. “I-I’ve never been...awesome before.”

“Of course you have,” Lili beamed, batting her eyes. “In fact, when we get back, there will be a wonderful gift waiting for you, just to prove how awesome you are.”

Lost in the moment, Freak didn’t resist. “I hope it’s pizza,” he mumbled to himself. “Or pickled herring.” The thought made his face light up, “That’s always nice…pickled fish. Don’t get it often. My wife hates the smell of it.”

The girls patted his arms, leading him away with soothing whispers of how under appreciated he was through the Trench competitions and began pointing out his heroic participation in the Citadel raid.

Telly watched the three walk off for a lap around the open arena and frowned. “How come I don’t get fawned over like that?” he mumbled.

Tumbler snorted. “Cause yer ugly, I keep telling ya. Freak is chubby and cute, like a bear. I’m old an senile, so I don’t know no better, but you? Yer just ugly without an excuse. So you better find a stupid girl.”

“He’s not ugly,” frowned Buffy, beaming up at the mechanic. “I love a tall gnome myself.”

“Or blind,” Tumbler muttered to himself.

Chuck nodded at the midget triplets, “I thought cloning children was illegal?”

Burton laughed. “Our lawyers. The BBC.”

“BBC?”

“Briney, Bardsley and Clarence. Second biggest law firm in Clockworks.”

Chuck grinned. “Not bad, but I use Stilence, Mish, Trition & Mise myself.”

One of the lawyers gulped loudly.

Ernie shook his head, “The four horseman of law? How the TGII did you manage that? We’ve tried to get on their client list for years…but their office said they won’t take on new clients for...well, ever.”

“Sounds about right,” Chuck replied nonchalant. He opened his jacket, briefly tugged at an inside pocket. He wrinkled his nose.

The brothers exchanged uneasy glances. “You’re family’s been with the firm for generations, then, huh?”

“Oh no, no,” the wizard shook his head, absentmindedly, searching another pocket, “just me. Do you have the agreement ready?” He looked up awkwardly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do need to hurry here, boys. Time, you see…not much of it. I’d like to conclude this meeting and get on with work if you don’t mind.” He walked over to one of the S.L.A.G.s feet, whipped out a handkerchief and dusted the metal surface. “I’ll sign over here. Now, anyone have a pen?”

Ernie nudged his brother forward.

“Oh. Yeah,” Burton grunted, “Right. Pen?” He shot his legal team a fiery glare.

The midget lawyers did a comical dance around them…papers popped out from glistening black suitcases, while golden pens were thrust into Chucks face.

“We listed all of the requests you made right...here,” said one lawyer, tapping the line lightly with a chubby finger.

“The transfer of control?”

“To Philburt Bellows, overseen by a rotating board of twenty four annually elected factory workers,” said the second lawyer. “And yes, we included the clause that the factory workers can only be elected by the factory workers and Mr. Bellow’s has no actual voting power at any time.”

Chuck nodded, scanning the list. “Excellent. What about the mechanical contracts?” He paused to look up at the Brothers Trench.

Ernie nodded. “Exclusive to Freak and the TNT Crew.”

“What?!” Tumbler blurted out, nearly falling off the ladder. “We have...a contract? With the Trench Brothers?”

The wizard shook his head. “You have all the contracts. He did say exclusive, young man.”

“I don’t believe it!” the welder gasped.

“I know,” Telly whispered, astounded, “he actually called you young.”

“Well you better believe it,” Ernie replied firmly, “because the contract obligation starts one week from the moment this old guy signs the papers. And that’s Brother’s Trench,” he added, “not the other way ‘round.”

Telly beamed. “I got a job again! I can call my momma and tell her I have a respectable job again!”

“Hmmmm,” Buffy grinned, eyeing the mechanic, “A tall, handsome gnome, with a job.”

“The only hitch we had, Mr. Smith, was the pilot clause.” Ernie scratched his head and shrugged. “We can’t force a pilot to take the risk you’re asking. S.L.A.G.s are made to hover and even glide, but they don’t technically fly.”

The wizard frowned, “Thats’ not good enough.”

Burton shrugged. “This ain’t about being difficult. I don’t know how we can do it in the time frame you’re asking, anyway. It’s just not possible.”

“Yes it is,” Freak said boldly. Lili and Nibbles were still holding onto his arms as they strode up to the group. The walk had apparently done him a world of good, because he was breathing easily, the natural color was back in his face and a smile had even formed. “I’m serious,” he said firmly, “Get me the parts and the tools and I can build you what you need.”

Chuck rocked back and forth on his heels, considering. “The question is, can you do it in 48 hours?”

For a moment, Freak hesitated. He studied the faces of his team. Nibbles leaned against the leg of the S.L.A.G., a smug look of confidence on her face as she popped a bubble. Tumbler wiped the grease from his hands on a dirty rag, exchanging one stain for another, while Telly started laughing out loud. They’d always been an unlikely team…but they were the best group of talent in the industry. They’d never missed a completion date...and they’d had some unique jobs before. Of course they could.

The chubby gnome took a wide stance and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, we can.”

With the scribble of a pen, Chuck tossed the contracts to the lawyers. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

All three lawyers looked at the wizard in dismay. “Don’t you want to read the fine print?” asked the third midget.

“Naw,” Chuck sighed, waving the comment away, “I hate legalese.”

“But, how do you know we didn’t place a hidden clause in there, or took advantage of the conditions?”

Dropping his head, so his wild brows cast heavy shadows over his eyes, he said evenly, “Because, boys, I’ve given the Brothers here, the best position they ever had as a public company. They get paid more, so you blood-sucking leeches get paid more. The best news is, I get what I want. So it looks to me like everyone’s happy.”

The wrinkles around his eyes folded together, creating tiny slits to peer through. “So if there’s any hiccup in this contract…or I think you’ve tried to manipulate me, I will make a call to Stilence, Mish, Trition & Mise. Their client will then inform them that you three, from Briney, Bardsley and Clarence, have dealt ‘deceptively’ with me.” Both sides of his mustache curled up towards his ears in a sly grin. “That is not a word they take lightly, so you boys know.”

Lips quivered and all three gulped in perfect unison.

“Now, I don’t know the legal terms to use here, so I’ll just be blunt. They don’t call Stilence, Mish, Trition & Mise the apocalypse for nothing. You will be stomped out of existence, like a bad habit,” the grin grew ever wider, “because that is precisely what I shall request them to do.”

His expression was devoid of even the faintest hint of mercy.

“They never lose,” he said just above a whisper. Then leaning in, he added, “E-ver.”

In a wild flurry of papers, hand-stitched suits and silk ties, the midgets fumbled and nearly fell over one another.

“Yes sir! We’ll...take care of everything!”

“Absolutely. Nothing to worry about. Thank you, sir!”

“Have a wonderful day, sir!”

“We’ll have the contracts copied and delivered by currier,” they hollered together as they fled, “this afternoon!”

Burton and Ernie laughed boisterously as their legal team hightailed it out of the stadium, sprinting for the furthest staircase leading up into the stands. Twice a briefcase was dropped, papers exploding in their feet, followed by panic and embarrassment.

“I would have paid good money to see that,” Burton chuckled.

The wizard snorted. “You just did.”

Telly and Tumbler shimmied down the ladder to join the conversation. The tall mechanic scratched the stubble on his face, leaving a grease streak across his cheek. “Wow, Chuck…you’d really trash ‘em just for messing with you?”

“Of course not!” he said aghast. But the proclamation of innocence was quickly followed by a wink.”Unless I don’t get copies by the closing of business today.”

“Let me get this straight,” Tumbler spat, “You got these two fellows here to give you a contract…for Freak, to do all their mechanical labor?”

“Well, no. It’s not that simple,” Ernie cut in. “We don’t actually own W.E.T. INC anymore.”

“What?” Nibbles burst out, choking on her gum.

“When news of the Gnolaum hit the market, our stock dropped.” Ernie shook his head in disbelief, “Dropped through the floor would be puttin’ it lightly. We were ripe for a takeover.”

“Which is exactly what happened,” Burton cursed. “Our business was snatched right out from under us within days! We were bought and cancelled the same day. Trench Wars was dead and G.E.A.R.S. immediately ceased production.”

Nibbles snorted, “Who in their right mind would want to kill the hottest spot on television?”

“I had the buying tracked,” Chuck said, patting his pockets, “It was one group, snatching up all the shares at fraction of the value. A shell corporation, owned by the Board of Directors of WHRN.”

“But they air the games,” Freak said, confused. “Why would they jeopardize their biggest show?”

“Because they don’t own the franchise.” Chuck pulled a long pipe from his suit coat pocket and placed it in his mouth. He wiggled his fingers, and a match appeared. “They get paid for air time, but the giant bulk of the money, including the sponsors, went to the Trench boys.”

Lili stared at him, shocked. “How do you know all this? You’ve been with us all this time.”

With a flick of his thumbnail, the match sparked to life. He glanced up at her and offered only a wink.

Burton spun around and faced the wizard directly. “Come to think of it, we never did understand how you snatched those shares for yourself? WHRN is big, but there was more than a billion credits in shares, grabbed overnight. The Board of Directors couldn’t possibly have that much discretionary income to put this into play. They’d have to borrow from the banks! How could one gnome possibly do it?”

Chuck puffed casually on his pipe, then blew out the match. “Leverage.”

“What are you talking about?” Freak snorted, “What leverage?” Glancing at the Brothers Trench, the mechanic thought better about revealing the truth of the human wizard. “How could you possibly have any leverage against WHRN?”

With the grin of a fox, Chuck tapped the end of his nose. “Like I said before, Stilence, Mish, Trition & Mise don’t lose. Ever. So I gave them a call and told them what I needed. It’s not always what you know, but who you know.” He smirked, considering himself quite clever. “You know?”

“Is anyone following this wrinkled prunes banter?” growled Tumbler.

Nibbles and Lili laughed.

Sighing, Chuck threw his head back and gently blew smoke into the air. It rolled upward, twisting and rolling into the shape of a serpent. Throwing its head back, it spread paper thin wings and flew off. “The trade was illegal. Stilence, Mish, Trition & Mise also have astounding pull with the banks. When you put the two together, the Board of Directors at WHRN were guilty of more than just this takeover. There’s a reason they’re the largest media monopoly in the city. After having their evil ways pointed out to them, they were willing to sell their shares at a discount and resign their positions.” He couldn’t stop from laughing to himself. “Call it an early retirement, letting them side-step criminal charges and prison time.”

“Holy smokes,” Telly chuckled, “You blackmailed the guys at WHRN?”

The wizard snapped his head up, gasping. “That’s such a nasty word! I would never do such a...” He shrugged and stuck the pipe back in his mouth. “Ok, maybe I would.” The eyes of the group stuck to him like glue. “Oh alRIGHT! I DID blackmail them...and...” he broke off.

“And what?” Lili prodded.

Head bobbing from side to side, “I might have taken over WHRN in the process.”

There wasn’t a closed mouth in the stadium.

Freak stood erect, in complete shock. His eyes narrowed to slits. “I was wrong to call you crazy...”

Chuck pulled the pipe from his mouth. He turned slightly, his shoulders and face muscles tensing. Eyes darting about the group, he silently mouthed, sorry.

Arms flew into the air as Freaks pudgy cheeks rolled up and thin lips revealed a perfect pair of straight, white teeth. “You...are...SO COOL!”

The wizards arms dropped to his side. His shoulders went limp. “I am?”

Everyone burst into hysterical laughter.

“And all you want is a custom S.L.A.G. in 48 hours?” The mechanic chuckled, looking up at the work already been done.

“A custom, flying, S.L.A.G. in 48 hours,” Chuck corrected.

Lili stepped up to the wizards side. She placed a comforting hand on his arm, which he gratefully patted. “Why 48 hours?” she asked.

His expression instantly changed as he looked back at her. There was genuine worry behind his words. “Because I think that’s how long we have until Dax’s execution. They want an audience. The whole of Clockworks to watch my boy being put on a chopping block, but I pulled the plug. Only for 48 hours though. We told the Presidential Administration that WHRN has serious technical difficulties.”

Burton gasped for breath, still laughing, “And they believed you?”

“Well, WHRN is having technical difficulties right now.” He shrugged, “Because I sent everyone home on paid leave for the next 48 hours, compliments of the Board of Directors.”

The laughter started all over again.

“I have a skeleton crew playing reruns of ‘Painting with Rob Boss’ while we supposedly revamp the program schedule. So that gives us two days only. After that, who knows. “ He wrapped an arm around Lili’s shoulder and pulled her closer with a squeeze. “So time is ticking, my dear.”

Freak clapped his hands together. “Then I have an idea for the S.L.A.G..”

The Brothers Trench nodded to one another.

Ernie placed a firm hand on the wizards shoulder, turning him around.

“We may have an idea for your pilot.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell dreams of Robes, while a new friend attends to his chained discomfort.

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Chapter 93

“I wasn’t expecting this many.”

“We can’t turn them back. Not now. Look at them. Look at their faces. They know what’s going on.”

“But they don’t know what is at stake here.”

“Don’t they? Most of these people have lived in poverty their whole lives. Through this company they’ve had an opportunity to see what can be done when people work together. When there’s a common goal, drive and focus. When there are leaders who actually care about them...and leaders prove it through their actions, not just empty words.” He smiled, “The rest of Clockworks might feel that society is breaking down, but these folks’ve seen a spark of a better life. A chance to be seen and heard.”

“Careful...you keep talking like that and you’ll find yourself standing up here giving the speeches.”

Shamas laughed. “Not on your life.”

“Which, I might add,” grinned Bellows, “you’re supposed to be protecting.”

“Having doubts that I can do my job?”

“Well...look at this place. A drafty warehouse? I’m feeling a bit exposed…especially after what I’ve watched happen to Wendell.”

Wendell. No one had heard from him or about him in far too long. It wasn’t a good sign and gnomes were getting antsy. Centurions were moving about in force, swarming through Clockworks City like ants. Gnomes were being arrested for the smallest violations. The prisons would soon be full and another option would have to be used.

What that option was, Philburt Bellows didn’t want to know.

“I suggested the warehouse on purpose,” Shamas said. “It’s about controlling the environment. Not only can we bring more people together to talk to them in safety and numbers, we can manage the flow. The benefit here, is they’re your own people. They love you. We can contain a situation if we have to…and if someone tried anything here, your fans will most likely assist us. Trust me, this is a good idea.”

Bellows backed away from the bay window over looking the factory floor. What’s done is done. He turned to the monitor perched on the desk. “Where are we, Mr. Taylor, with the other factories? Are they linked?”

Nat looked up from his keyboard and into the camera. “Not quite. Getting there. We only have ten out of the twenty five on the list so far. The government’s trying to reroute the signals.” He smirked. “They hacked into the feed, but they don’t pay their civil servants enough to provide a significant danger. I’m just guessing here, but I think the last thing the government wants is to have an organized people opposing them.”

Shamas laughed out loud. “Isn’t that what the G.R.R. is?”

“Yes and no,” Nat replied. “We’re organized, but the G.R.R. isn’t nearly as big as most people think. The government never paid us much attention because we didn’t pose a significant threat until Wendell showed up. We didn’t have a reasons to use our full gambit of tools.”

“I don’t think they want an organized people, period. The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries or anyone else. It frightens them,” Bellows said, his smirk unmistakable. “TGII forbid we actually have a say in the way we live our lives!”

“Who needs to be up in front of the people giving speeches now?”

“Shut up, Shamas.”

“You know this has never been done before,” Nat added. “This is literal history in the making here, gentlemen.”

The wealthy business owner scratched his beard. “Now we just need Motherboard as the grand orator and we’re set.”

“Yeah,” Nat piped nervously, “about that. I’m...not sure he’s going to be up to this. You may have to take the lead on this one.”

“That is not acceptable,” grumbled the business owner. “I’m not the leader of this movement, Mr. Taylor. I have placed significant resources behind your organization because of what it represented and what your boss said he was willing to do for the people!”

Shamas frowned as he watched the color slowly drain from the programmers face. “You alright?” He asked.

Nat bobbed his head. “I’ll be fine. Mr. Bellows is right.” Running his fingers through his hair, he swallowed roughly, “I’ll get Motherboard online immediately.”

Within the hour, twenty-five of Philburt Bellow’s production factories had been connected by private communication links, and the factory floors converted to meeting halls. Each building was chosen to be a key spot, to spread and influence citizens with the message they were about to hear. Now was the time. Now was the opportunity the G.R.R. had been looking and longing for. Philburt Bellows, the single richest gnome in Clockworks, had influence over millions of poverty stricken citizens. Gnomes taken from the streets in which they were left, to struggle, survive and even starve...and given a measure of hope. Today would be the first time he put those connections at risk.

Pacing the floor of the managers office, the round-bellied gnome fought the urge to bite his nails.

Each building was equipped with a giant projector, so training films could be played to the product line workers as they labored. Hovering over the bay doors, these monitors now had the smiling face of one of the most famous…and elusive…gnomes alive: the G.R.R. leader known as Motherboard.

His black hair was slicked back over a perfectly round scalp. The pale, clean shaven face had one adornment…the signature mirrored sunglasses, which always covered the calculating eyes that seemed to see all possibilities...and all conflicts in Clockworks. Motherboard reached up and adjusted the double button collar around his neck, then looked into the camera…peering out over crowds he could not actually see.

“My fellow citizens of Clockworks City,” he began, “I am known by many as Motherboard, leader and originator of the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries...and I come to you today to give you a gift of truth.” Like a bomb, the factory floors erupted with thunderous applause. Smiling faces beamed up at the monitors, hands waving high into the air.

Motherboard held up his hands for silence. “Thank you. Thank, my good friends, but our jubilation must be held close to our hearts a bit longer. Our journey is not over. In fact, it has only begun. I have called upon my dear friend and associate, Mr. Philburt Bellows, and asked his permission to speak to each of you on a most pressing issue. Your freedom.”

Looks of concern and confusion jumped between workers, unsure.

“Do not fear,” Motherboard smiled, “...erk.”

Shamas and Philburt stared from the managers balcony.

“Did you see that?” the bodyguard asked.

“See what?”

Shamas pointed at Motherboards image. His pale skin rippled across the screen. For a moment, his cheeks turned blue, as if all the warmth in his body had fled. Then it vanished.

“What’s happening, Nat?” Bellows snapped, “What’s wrong with him?”

Nathan was darting glances between his own monitors, frantically typing away. “I....uhhh,” was all he could volunteer.

“We m-m-m-must s-s-s-stay the course!” Motherboard stuttered aloud. “K-k-k-keep our f-f-f-focus ONLINE!” Factory workers began to chuckle as the G.R.R., leader whistled out loud and then flickered his eyebrows into the camera. Some of the audience laughed out loud, while others frowned and muttered how inappropriate the rebel leader was behaving.

Philburt watched the mood shift dangerously fast on the factory floor. “Mr. Tanklestein,” he snapped, “get a camera prepped...and do it quickly.”

The plant manager dashed to the cabinet, pulled out a briefcase and yanked the tripod free. There wasn’t much room or light, so he turned on the desk lamps and aimed them at the window to the factory floor. He was convinced it would make a more convincing and professional backdrop.

“What are you going to do?” asked Shamas, helping the factory owner, who was struggling to take off his sweater.

Straightening his hair and then his tie, “What I should have done a long time ago.” Philburt stared at the monitor, watching Nat frantically work a control board just out of view. “It’s time to be who we were meant to be, Mr. Taylor. No more, no less. No excuses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar, Nat looked up. “Mr. Bellows, I...” he pleaded nervously.

Bellows cut him off, grinning, “Did more than anyone could properly thank you for, Mr. Taylor.” Then nodding, “But I thank you nonetheless.”

The young gnome took a deep breath as his eyes flirted about his controls. “I never thought it would happen this way, you know.”

Shamas frowned. “What would happen? What are you talking about?”

The ignorance made Bellows grin even wider. “Today is a good day to make history, don’t you think, Mr. Taylor?”

Cracking his knuckles, “Yes, Mr. bellows, I believe it is.”

Mr. Tanklestein dragged a free chair in front of the factory window. “The camera is ready for you, sir.”

Shamas folded his arms abruptly, “Anyone mind telling me what the tick-tock is going on here?”

“I think, Mr. Wrenchturner,” Bellows smirked at the use of the bodyguards full name, “we are about to employ you full time.”

Nat let out an uncharacteristic belly laugh. “Rerouting the lines to your office. Camera goes live in 4...3...2...”

In a sea of confusion, the factories connected across Clockworks City fell silent as the familiar face of Philburt Bellows flashed over the image of Motherboard. More than half a million gnomes stared into the face of their employer and humble benefactor. He looked back through the camera like an old friend, each line in his worn, care-laden face displayed years of commitment to the people. The laughter, the pride, even the concern and sorrow, held together by the stress and determination of a true leader. His wrinkles bunched together as the sides of his mouth raised in a wide, jovial smile.

“My first impulse was to call you my friends,” he said casually, “but that would be inaccurate.” Pulling his glasses from his face, he lifted a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the lenses. “Each of you are more than that to me.” Swallowing to control his emotions, “Much more than that.” Wiping his eyes, he placed the glasses back on his face. “I would go so far to call you my family.”

Shamas and Mr. Tanklestein peeked out over the factory floor…the workers mesmerized in silence.

“What is family, I wonder? Is it not people who work, laugh, eat and struggle together in common? Those who look out for one another and lift each other up when we run out of strength or stumble?” Wiping his bulbous nose, “Maybe you have a different definition, but that is mine. Though I do not know all of you personally, I hold each of you dear to my heart, regardless. You...are why these factories exist. Many of you know this to be true…through your managers, through our social programs and through our transparent accountability policy.”

A wave of nodding heads rippled through the crowd.

“That is why today is so important. Why this moment is so important...and why I have asked for the members of this family to gather together.” Taking a deep breath, Philburt Bellows emotionally stepped across the threshold. “Because it is time a question was asked...of each of you. Something important that will, I believe, determine your future, my future and the future of this great city and people.” Leaning his head forward ever-so-slightly, he looked over the top rim of his glasses. “That question is: Are you ready to be something more?”

It took a few moments for the question to sink in. Factory workers stared blankly at the screen, not quite sure what was being asked. Before long, a low hum of murmuring erupted through the crowd. Questions of their own jumped from one member to another…each new, unanswered thought feeding off the last. The sound rose louder and louder until it reached through the glass of the manager’s office.

“Let me clarify,” Bellows said softly, “so we can all come to the same understanding in this most important matter.” He paused to smile into the camera, like a father talking to his intelligent child. “You see, I used to flatter myself about being an educated gnome. I had the opportunity to receive the finest schooling, which fed my drive and focus to build a financial empire. I assumed that my actions, were in fact, the norm. That those around me were of like mind and disposition. My mind and heart were convinced that given the tools and the opportunity, any gnome would live so as to take every advantage placed before them. That they would naturally achieve what I had already done. Possibly more.” Shaking his head, “In this, I was sorely mistaken.”

“My own mother taught me from when I was very young, that there is always an opportunity to learn more. To be more. And I took it upon myself, while my own children were yet alive, to foster that same belief in them. It was important to me that they realized, regardless of time, circumstances or degree of intelligence, one could live to be the ancient age of the Gnolaum himself...,” he paused for effect, “or older, and yet you’d still be able to add to your store of knowledge. Progression is never-ending.

“Yet as I built these factories,” his voice took a sad undertone, “I learned that once workers had their basic needs met, they seemed fulfilled and their souls were satisfied. You...stopped reaching.”

Many gnomes in the sea of onlookers cast about uneasy glances at their fellow workers.

“I watched you, observed and learned from you. A pattern emerged, plain as the rising sun. Regardless of the circumstances, a new worker would do whatever it took to learn the job assigned them. Just enough knowledge to be proficient in the requirements at hand, to obtain the comforts you sought. Food, clothing, shelter. Then it stopped.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It all stopped! The reaching, learning, growing…and you remained in your present state. Yes, you still had food, clothing and shelter…but what you did not realize, is that over time, if not fostered and encouraged, our minds and hearts become empty, faint, wearied, dull, and dare I say…stupid. Before we know it, we have to be woken up to the reality before us. There is an ache within us, almost like a hunger. You may not be able to identify it, but I can! It is the knowledge that you are meant for more and you deny yourselves. That innate drive to grow and progress that we hide or ignore until we rot from the inside!”

It was hard not to grit his teeth, or give himself to the fire building in his chest. He focused on the camera, pleading to it like an old friend. “We need a fresh manifestation of our awful state and circumstances to stir us up and awaken us from our sleep. To remove the scales from our eyes!”

Shamas turned from the window. He’d never thought of it before. It made more sense now…why he jumped from job to job, taking what paltry employment he could. But why? Why take the scraps when he knew he was capable of so much more? He had the knowledge and skill to rise to the top of his industry. He also had the respect of others of his profession…those dedicated to preserving the lives of clients. Fighters. Warriors. Some honorable, others not so much. The question that started to haunt him now was, had he waited too long? Was there still hope for a better future? He stepped back to watch the factory owner.

“Have none of you noticed my every waking moment…focused on your welfare? Not simply to provide for your worldly needs…but to empower you, by offering countless opportunities to improve your minds, your skills, even your connections?”

His expression then changed. Eyes peering into the lens of the camera, brows rolling forward to meet the bridge of his glasses. Philburt’s anger pierced every factory across the city, giant eyes looking down at each and every worker. “If the majority of you had taken advantage of the opportunities offered, when set before you, this group would control the wealth of the nation! Each of you would have the tools, knowledge and resources not only to live out your lives far beyond your greatest expectations…but you would have the sheer power to lift up others around you.” Leaning forward in his chair, “And have any of you been deprived of this privilege? No, not one. Have I or any manager in the sound of my voice, cast a single obstacle in the way of any individual, to deprive him or her of rising above their current station? No, not one.”

The speakers echoed through each factory without resistance. Not a single voice was raised against his loving, yet cutting accusation. Bellow’s voice continued to ring painfully in every ear.

“I do not say these things to wound you, my family,” he dropped to a lighter tone, “but to be that voice. To wake you up to the reality before you. My hope is to shine a light on the awful state we are now in…while showing you the opportunities that are still offered…IF YOU WILL ONLY SEE THEM!” He paused to collect his thoughts…his shoulders heaving with the pent up frustration of years past. “Look upon your managers. Those who run these factories. Each gnome, both male and female, have the knowledge, skill and practical experience to leave my employ and start a business of their own. To make fortunes of their own, should they wish to.” With a smile, “And some have done just that.”

Gasps echoed across the factory floor. Eyes eagerly looking amongst themselves.

“There is not a manager or floor leader that does not know the name of Mr. Tanklestein. A manager who is ever the first to arrive, the last to leave and comes to the aid of any worker if the need arises. Mr. Tanklestein is the perfect example of what my fondest hopes have always been. His relationship alone with BTS Fabricators, has allowed us to employ tens of thousands of workers. He has designed an entire line of rivets for their use and added them into our own product line. Tens of thousands of gnomes now have food on their tables and a roof over their heads, because of this good gnome!”

Workers cheered and applauded. Tanklestein was well known and adored by all. Many looked up at the office window.

The factory manager moved out of view.

“Yet none of you would likely guess that BTS Fabricators actually stands for Bruce Tanklestein Fabricators. That your beloved manager still works here, among you, in the fond hopes of helping one or more to rise to a similar advantage! No, you would not have guessed this…but now you know. There are dozens of leaders here, mixing among you on a daily basis, who have come to me over the years with ideas and passions of their own. Intelligent gnomes, who saw possibilities and needs, to which they could apply their intelligence, their experience and fueled with the right resources, elevate the whole!”

“Well I’ll be a...,” chuckled Shamas, staring at the factory manager. “So you’re...rich...and you still work here? Why?”

“I have enough for my needs,” Mr. Tanklestein replied quietly with a shrug. “Running my business is important, Mr. Wrenchturner,...but helping these people...” He nodded at Bellows as the factory owner continued to perform for the camera. There was look of admiration in the old gnomes eyes. A gratitude and loyalty in the way he held himself to the ready. “Helping others be what they have the potential to become…that is the most important thing I can do.”

It was impossible not to admire them. Shamas had met kind people, but this was something different. It was more than kindness or a desire to relieve the suffering of another. These gnomes were literally trying to change the country, through one relationship at a time. The thought seemed crazy…but the proof was standing here, right in front of him. Bellows had changed Tanklestein’s life by holding out an opportunity. He didn’t do the work for him…this was not a handout. It was educating a gnome on how to build his own foundation and teaching him how to build his own future.

By setting the example, the love and compassion had ingrained itself. The factory manager had followed Bellow’s example and improved upon his own sphere of influence. One gnome’s efforts, in turn, changed the lives of thousands.

“Now look out over this city,” Philburt challenged, “because I am not the only one with a plan or a desire for you. There are those now, in power, who have crafted a plan. Leaders who have worked together for generations, plotting, planning, conspiring, to steal away your freedoms. To put you down and hold you down!” The words were bitter, but they had to be said. It was critical to put a face upon the growing evil.

“I have done everything in my ability and with what resources I have, to put each of you in possession of the opportunity and power needed, to rise above your circumstances in life. To resist and even battle this growing evil, placed upon us by unjust laws, crafted by corrupt leaders, who no longer care about us. Leaders who seek only their private and personal gratification…to satisfy their lusts for dominion and control.” Again he frowned into the camera, “The specific control over each and every one of you, to keep you as slaves.”

Like a powder keg, the factory exploded. Shouts and curses rumbled the windows. If the gnomes were angry before, they showed their fury now. Shamas ran to the window. Fists raised high in the air, followed by loose boards, miscellaneous wrenches and arm-length pieces of scrap metal.

“What the tick-tock are you doing, Bellows?” Shamas gasped under his breath. “You’re creating a frenzy!”

But the owner never heard his words. Philburt Bellows continued to stare into the camera, his thoughts far from the place where he sat. Instead his mind traveled to the past, latching onto experiences which had led him to this point in time. To all the conversations he’d had with mentors of his own,...and to the counsel his beloved wife had given him before she passed away.

He went back to the beginning.

“So where does this leave us?” he asked the camera plainly, allowing the words to distill upon the gnomes that watched him. His suggestions and hopefully, his plan quickly formulated in his mind. “If I were to walk among you now, would I see anger upon your faces? Rage?” Shouts rose up from the factory floor, booming through the thin windows of the managers office. They thought his words were spurring them on…encouraging them to feel the injustices of life. But they were wrong. “Yes, I can feel the anger in you,” he said, “but why are you angry? Can’t you see that the path before us is clear and sure? That the future is bright and lovely for not only those within our factories, but the whole of the gnome race?” He grinned, “Of course not, because most of you are blind!”

Again voices shouted back. This time, however, it was towards their employer.

“Look about you!” he cried aloud, “Look at your managers! Do they look angry?”

Mr. Tanklestein walked past Shamas and calmly through the door and out to the factory balcony. Without a word, he stood there, smiling down at the people he served day after day.

“Do they look afraid?” Bellows shouted into the camera. Then softer, “Of course not. They grasped onto the opportunities placed before them. They held onto them with all their might. And these opportunities changed them. Uplifted them. Empowered them! Whereas each of you are ignorant of what transpires outside these walls to a great degree. You are forced to rely on others to do the thinking, the planning, the guiding and directing. Because you do not act, you must be acted upon...and what is the end result? You are left to your own imaginations. Left in darkness, unable to understand the things of society, forced to go groveling and feeling your way through this world. You have no light to shine on your path! Oh, you hope for the best. You hope there is a TGII out there, and if it truly does exist, that It will grant mercy to you and your situation in life.”

Bellows waited for a moment, then yelled fiercely, “AM I RIGHT?!”

Again the factories fell silent.

Now it was time to shine the light, he grinned to himself. Time to show the hope he’d waited decades to provide. To wake the people up once and for all.

“Now let me ask you a question before I go further.” Scooting to the edge of the chair, he cocked his head to the side and looked over the ridge of his glasses. “How did you feel when you first came to work for this company?” He paused. “How did you feel when you stepped out onto that factory floor, completely ignorant…but with the assurance that you would have all the help, instruction and encouragement needed to succeed?”

“It was the best day of my life!” someone yelled out.

“And mine!” screamed another.

These bursts of exultation were followed by many shouts of affirmation.

Philburt already knew their answers, because the hiring process was specifically engineered to be meaningful. Specific reasons why he hired the souls he did. “Did you think it was possible to have such feelings?” More shouts. “And when you came back, day after day…were treated with kindness and respect? In fact, did you ever doubt that you had value?”

“NO!” boomed dozens of voices in unison.

“Of course not! You learned what could be done when working together, binding minds and hearts, focused as one. You learned that to partake of these opportunities, you must become the friend of he or she who had provided that opportunity. Isn’t that so? Is there any gnome here, in their right mind, that would choose to be the enemy of their supervisor or manager?”

“NO!” boomed voices again.

“This is why you see only peace and love in the faces of your managers. Those who encourage you, assist you and hold out opportunities for those willing to take them. To learn is to know, to know is to understand, to understand is to have peace! For one with knowledge can navigate a dangerous environment...and use circumstances to their advantage and benefit.”

Standing up, Philburt motioned to Mr. Tanklestein. The older gnome dashed in and detached the camera from the tripod. Following his employer, Bellows led them back out to the factory floor.

The workers cheered. Screams and shouts of joy and happiness, raising hands high, waving at the individual who had ended poverty for so many and given hope to all. It was nearly a minute before he could calm them down enough to talk.

“We have a situation before us that affects every gnome of this great city,” he shouted out over the factory floor. Mr. Tanklestein stood to the side, trying to film both Bellows and the reactions of the crowd he was speaking to. “A revolution has begun. One that has the potential to lift this people up...or plunge us into darkness. So far, the people of this city have raged against the change. They fear it, because they do not understand it. But change is here. Change must happen. Because of the evil choices of our leaders,” he lifted his voice to a shout, “and our own ignorance and complacency, we now walk upon the edge of a knife!”

He leaned heavily against the railing, “If we can remember the principles of working together...of lifting one another up, we have an opportunity to change the way Clockworks will be run from this moment forward!” He lifted his hands high into the air, to the scream of his followers. “Not by violence or in fear...but UNITED!”

He could not help but smile. With all his might, Bellows shouted,”WHO IS WITH ME?!!”

The windows shook with the thunderous applaud of thousands.

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Buy the Digital Author Version

Buy the Starter Bundle (Save 40%+)

Grab Your Merch Today!

Continue Exploring

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Two of the smartest gnomes in Clockworks City find the answer to their most important questions…

<-- Read PREVIOUS Chapter

Read NEXT Chapter -->

Chapter 92

“Hello?” I called out among the trees.

Heavy branches swayed in the cool spring breeze. I wasn’t entirely sure how I knew it was springtime, but I did. The sweet scent of fresh growing grass peeking up from the soil, new buds on trees, it all spoke new life to me. Even the light blue glow of the twin moons overhead gave me comfort.

There I was, standing out in the open.

No chains. No gnomes. No more pain.

But…how did I get...?

I placed a hand on my side.

The wound, where Noah’s whip had torn my flesh...the mägoweave was whole once more. Holding my breath, I pressed in firmly with my fingers, ready to flinch.

Nothing.

I pushed again, harder this time, but there was no pain.

Thank goodness.

The smiley, its bright yellow face practically glowing on the front of my shirt, was frozen in a content expression, completely inanimate.

Weird.

The sound of crickets tickled my senses. It was something I hadn’t heard in months. You just don’t hear those sounds of nature in Clockworks City, and I hadn’t realized I’d missed the sensation. I walked to the edge of tree line and looked up.

Nothing about this area looked familiar.

I laughed.

Like you’d be able to tell where you are! Dork.

The sky was clear, the moons high. I could even see the flower formation of lights on Iskäri-Käläm. Erimuri was alive and bright tonight.

I grinned.

So the question was: how had I arrived at…wherever this was?

I noticed a glow in the distance. Walking up a little ridge, yellow lights flickered down the hillside.

A town? Village maybe? I didn’t actually care, so long as it wasn’t ablaze or deserted.

“Well, you’ll never know unless you start walking, Wendell,” I said aloud.

Shifting among the rocks, careful with my footing, I started my way down, focusing on the lights of the dwellings.

It was then that I noticed.

The mountains seemed so large and intimidating, now that I’d left the protection of the forest. Giant formations jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow…glistening in the moonlight. The curtain of trees in front disguised the base of the mountains...like black fingers trying to claw at the sky.

An animal howled in the distance.

“Okay Wendell, we are walking,” Doubt gulped.

Good idea.

Walking fast and focused, going toWARDS the light sounded wise to me. My feet moved quickly, but I restrained myself from a full-fledged sprint. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to be noticed by a would-be predator, right?

Right. Of course.

It could be…hungry…on the hunt for human fast food.

Another howl.

I’d read an article once that intermittent sprinting was a very healthy exercise. Being healthy was a good choice…and I wanted to make good choices.

How did I get here?

“Just keep sprinting,” Doubt gulped.

I know, but…the last thing I remembered was being chained to a stone alter. If I was right, somewhere in the Church or temple of TGII.

“What does that matter right now?”

There was no real way to tell. I hadn’t seen anything until I awoke in that bad position, and even worse situation. It only got worse once Noah showed up. Were my friends looking for me?

My friends.

I swallowed as the third howl ripped through the silence of the night. This time it was close.

Too close.

What good was intermittently exercising, anyway? Tough guys go all out and push themselves, right?

“Yes!”

I could see the buildings better now. Fields of what looked like corn and other plants were growing tall, with barns in the distance. Lanterns ablaze outside small homes.

Shadows moved.

…and my heart skipped a beat.

“Horses,” coughed Doubt. “We’re okay.”

A dozen homes, maybe, scattered about. The rest of the landscape was fields, prairies and scattered clumps of trees.

It looked like any farm you might see back home on Earth.

Another howl.

…followed by a distant growl.

Not distant enough.

“Crap. Crap. Crap!” Doubt squealed. “You gotta R—*”

My legs took off with a life of their own.

Trying to suck in air, sweat started beading across my forehead.

Looking over my shoulder again, one of my heels landed on the edge of a flat stone. The moisture caused me to slip, throwing me off balance. I couldn’t catch myself…and tumbled forward with a grunt.

I hit the ground.

Hard.

“Argh!” I cried out. Rolling onto my back, I grabbed at my leg.

“We’re on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!” Doubt snapped.

The world around me seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments I bit my lip to keep silent, trying hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

“Get up Wendell…time to move it!”

That silence was broken by a faint hissing sound.

Scanning the ridge, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Again I heard the hiss.

“Come on,” Doubt panicked, “Move it!”

Not knowing where to go or what to do, I ducked my head and tried to curl my body to mimic a stone. Wolves...or whatever beast was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

...as long as it was a small snake.

“What are you DOING?!??” Doubt panicked. “Don’t mimic rocks…mimic a bird and FLY!”

Ithari pulsed through bone and muscle. Already the pain in my ankle was subsiding and I could feel the warmth washing over skin.

Would it be enough?

“Let’s find OUT!”

The farms were still a ways off…much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

“So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are...or what that thing is out…”

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like…scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Crap. Crap. CRAP! Hands shaking, I held my breath. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to EAT MY FACE!??

“You know it won’t eat our face, right? IT’S GONNA SWALLOW US WHOLE!”

Not helping!

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

I clenched my eyes tight. Stay calm, Wendell. Keep...calm.

This is where I would probably wet myself.

If I wasn’t such a hardcore tough guy, that is.

“No worries,” Doubt whimpered, “I did it for us.”

I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe, but fear of being found kept my mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

My eyes wide, they darted back and forth, searching the shadows around me without moving my head.

I’m a rock. BE a rock.

Please go away.

Please...

I’m not even chewy!

Just skin and bones….all gristle.

I regretted all those late nights watching horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults. I didn’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud.

Please. Please. Please, I trembled. Don’t eat me. I don’t taste good. There has to be a nice fat...

Then I saw it.

Long shadows stretched out across the ground, fed by the moons light. Dark shapes…rising across my shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, the creature dragged itself across the rocks and grass. The contours didn’t follow any recognizable form I knew, but one thing looked certain...the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the front.

I couldn’t help but stare as the shadow swayed, slithering away from my position and dragging its mass over the open ground. At the same time, curiosity didn’t take place of the gratitude I felt. My position had gone unnoticed.

Wendell, the rock, Dipmier was still alive.

The pain in my ankle was all but gone now, which meant I had a choice: remain on the ground, out in the open...or sprint for the homes in the distance.

Running away held a special allure to me at the moment.

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it was out of site, I could make a dash for the lights in the distance.

The bright sign of hope.

I wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what I’d just seen?

I stared at the slithering shadow.

Keep going, you ugly, that’s it.

One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to my knees, I grinned. “See ya suck...”

HSSSST!

Poised silently off to my left was another creature.

It…wasn’t a wounded animal.

It was worse.

I gasped for breath, unable to inhale as I stared into the hood of my nightmares.

The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Trembling, my feet shuffled backwards. “No,” I choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but I couldn’t finish the statement.

It was swayed in front of me…the robe of charcoal blackness. Hollow, vacant holes where a face should be. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out.

“Closer child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards me, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over me, arms outstretched, fingers…or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into my mind chilled me to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” I screamed, my senses returning.

The robe lunged.

…but not before I arched wide, sidestepping to avoid the first attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked air as I became a blur of motion.

Nerds do have a super power. One those of us from public school have perfected to survive bully encounters.

It’s called: FLEE

Without looking back, I took off.

There was only one place to go.

The village.

I had to warn them. .

No. My brows dropped forward.

I have to protect them.

I’d accepted this responsibility. Did it in front of others...in front of the Iskari High Council.

But I’d not accepted it for myself…for my own personal reasons.

Evan was the real hero. I knew that now. He was the one everyone actually wanted. Who Dax was there to retrieve. But they ended up with me instead.

It was time to accept that fact once and for all.

Exerting all the strength I had, I put serious distance between myself and the robe. The hissing sound faded into the background of the crickets.

“If I’m not the hero,” I huffed out loud as I sprinted, “then it’s time I learn how to be one!”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

The words felt...good.

Powerful.

The village was close and I had no idea how much time I had before the robes would be upon them. Great, I frowned,…I’m leading the danger right to their doorsteps.

But I would need help.

Hero or not, I couldn’t do this alone.

Not yet.

I had to get everyone’s attention.

“Välo,” I barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around me, blazing like a beacon, brightening the area. I held the image of my skin, glowing like the noonday sun in my mind.

“Uhhhh, Wendell?”

I hope this doesn’t hurt.

“Teho!” I shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of my shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe fell back from the light, slowing its pace to a crawl…its arms raised to protect eyes that didn’t exist.

“HEY!” I bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but there wasn’t any time to explain. “TO ARMS!” I cried, “TO ARMS! TO ARMS!!”

I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the nearest hovel. My momentum was so great, I slammed into the front door with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” I replied, banging on the heavy wood with my fist. “Your village is about to be attacked by...,” I had no idea what to say. No idea what to call the things chasing me. “Demons,” was the only word that came to mind. “Open up, we need to warn everyone!”

But the door remained closed.

“Did you hear me?” I shouted again, “You’re under attack!” I glanced into the front window, but drapes covered every inch. I couldn’t see a thing.

“I heard you,” replied the voice warily, “and it is night! No torch burns that bright which means either you be the problem...or you have magic with you. If you have magic...then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” I gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to warn you! So what if I’m using magic?!” It had never occurred to me that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. I’d naturally assumed that what I’d seen over the past few months was the norm? Had I been wrong? I shook the thought from my mind. There wasn’t time, and it didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting at the edge of my projected light.

The swaying motions at the edge of the light caught my attention. The thing hissed loudly at me.

The light of Ithari dimmed.

“Wait,” I squeaked, “What’s going on?”

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged…the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment.

Not good.

“NOT GOOD!” Doubt concurred.

I flipped back against the door, my confidence quickly waning. “Come ON! Blast you,”I screamed frantically, “I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled, irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along…take your problems with you, I say!”

Ithari’s light waned...and finally vanished from under the black cloth of my t-shirt.

“But there’s danger!” I pleaded.

This wasn’t working.

“People are going to get hurt, blast you! Why won’t you listen to me?” The back of my skull rested against the wood surface of the door. “Before it’s too late.”

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

I lifted my head and turned sharply, eyes fixed on the door. “What...did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice, “you made your choice, boy!”

Flinging the door wide, the robe lunged out at me.

With a shriek, my head flipped upright, torso tugging against the chains. Like the waves of the sea, a powerful coldness washed over me, causing my body to shake violently.

“Easy there,” whispered the old gnome. He knelt at the edge of the candles, watching carefully. “It was just a dream.”

Blinking groggily, I tried to swallow.

I felt so…drained...my throat dry. The coldness had taken over bone and muscle. “W-where...” I muttered.

“You’re still here, with us,” the gnome whispered. “Noah’s gone, but he’ll be back.”

A dull ache throbbed inside my skull. A liquid fog, churning, making it hard to focus. “Why does my head hurt so...much?”

The gnome inched into the light and pointed at me. “It’s the crown of dreams,” he said. “The walls you naturally build in your mind are whittled away.”

Swallowing, “Why?” I flexed my fingers, but I couldn’t feel them.

“Because it weakens your defenses. Noah’s after information. By jumbling it about in your consciousness, it’ll be easier to take.”

I grit my teeth. “So...cold. Don’t understand why...it’s so very cold.”

Glancing over at his sleeping friend, the gnome inched closer to the ring of candles. Leaning on one hand, he reached out and grabbed the flame of a candle. The wick went out.

Smiling to himself, he rocked back onto his knees and opened his palm.

Hovering over the center of his hand, was the open flame.

“Hold perfectly still, Mr. Dipmier,” he whispered.

“Call...me Wendell.”

Closing his eyes, the gnome mouthed words in silence. Surrounding me, the remaining candles swayed…each flame leaning in an invisible wind towards the gnome. The flame in his palm intensified, turning in on itself, rolling in place. Yellow fire turned white, but it didn’t stop there. Within moments, he held a near transparent ball of heat.

Lifting his hand to his lips, the gnome blew in my direction.

Like the fragile pieces of a dandelion, the sphere of heat swirled and drifted up and around, floating over the ring of candles and down towards my shaking body. Skimming along the surface of my back, it drifted over the mägoweave, up and over my head, then, splitting in half, rolled down both arms to the shackles.

With a resounding pop, the effects were instantaneous.

Color surged into my flesh as the magical cloth and the Ithari worked together, warming my skin, bone and blood.

With a single breath, I sighed relief.

“Thank you,” I gasped, lifting my head to look at my savior.

The gnome shrugged. “Tabbermain...and I’m afraid it won’t last. Oh, don’t worry,” he added, “the shackles won’t be able to work as well, but this warmth will only last an hour or so. I suggest you gather your strength.”

I nodded. “Thank you Tabbermain.” I curled my fists. “Can you get these things off me?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. We made them too well.”

I blinked. “You...made these shackles?”

“The shackles, chains, even enchanted the door to get out. The three of us did,” he said, nodding to the sleeping gnomes. “Didn’t have much choice.”

I grunted. “We always have a choice.”

“Do you have children?” Tabbermain asked pointedly.

“What?”

“Children. I asked if you have any children, Wendell?”

“No, I don’t.”

The kind face turned stern. “Well we do. All of us. Grandchildren too. So until you have tiny lives depending on you for their survival, don’t tell me about choices.”

“Right,” I said. Then softer, “That was very inconsiderate of me. I’m sorry.” Then, “Thank you for the help.”

The old gnome collapsed back into the straw and leaned against the stone wall. “Just don’t mention it to these two. They’re likely to be irked that I went against Noah’s plans.” Averting his gaze, Tabbermain picked out strands of straw and broke them into pieces. “He’s a wicked-cruel gnome, that one is. Not right in the head.”

I stretched, rolling my shoulders, and flinched. “Ouch.” The warmth of Ithari pulsed through my skin, numbing some of the pain from the wounds, but it still hurt. “I should have healed,” I whispered.

“Another aspect of the artifacts he’s using. The chains prevent you from using magic, especially healing. The whip manifests a poison that attacks healing magic.” Leaning forward, Tabbermain cocked his head to one side. “Is it true? You’re the Gnolaum? As in...you have the gem...in your chest?”

I nodded. “Drilled herself right through my ribcage.”

The gnome’s ears wiggled as bushy eyebrows popped up. “You’re not serious!”

“Oh, I am very serious. Hurt worse than...well, let me put it to you this way: This job is to die for.”

You were not dead, Wendell.

The tingle in my chest made me smile. “Well...almost, anyway.”

“Wow,” gasped Tabbermain, “I don’t think that would be an experience I’d want to have, myself.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly something I got to choo....,” I paused. “Never mind.”

“He won’t stop, you know.” The look was one of resignation. “Noah.”

I pulled at the shackles, trying to lower my head towards my hands. If I could just pull the ringlet off my head.

Grrrr.

It was no use. The chains held me firmly in place, arms outstretched.

Blast.

“What does he want so badly that he’d hurt his own people?” I asked.

Tabbermain remained silent.

I stopped struggling and stared at the gnome. “You know, don’t you?”

“Don’t you tell him a thing.”

Tabbermain shifted away from his waking friend. “I didn’t.”

“Tell me what?” I prodded.

“That if we don’t kick yer hide off the island, you’ll ruin life for everybody,” replied the third gnome.

“Doddle!”

Tabbermain sighed. “It’s too late, Vin.”

“No it’s not,” replied Doddle innocently, completely ignoring my presence. “That’s what we’re not supposed to tell him, right? So don’t tell him that! I’ll make up something. Something extra clever...like,” he looked about the cell as if he’d lost something. “Ooo! Ooo! I know!” He adjusted his thick glasses and trained his goofy grin on me. “Would you believe us if we said you were an alien, from another planet? That you got kidnapped and this was, in fact, just a really bad dream?”

I bit my lip. “Actually, I just might be willing to believe something like that.”

Doddle giggled and clapped his hands wildly like a three year old. Beaming back at his fellow gnomes, he shouted, excited. “See?! We’ll just tell him that!”

With a loud moan, Vin rolled over into the straw and went back to sleep.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: While Chuck puts his plan into motion, President Stump confronts Ian, while Wendell gets his first taste of Father Noah’s personal attention.

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Chapter 91

Morty sighed heavily, his shoulder slumping forward as his forehead rested against the warm metal cylinder of the PROMIS.

For several minutes he kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the lowering hum of the machine powering down.

There had to be a solution to this.

An entire lifetime had been spent in this specific pursuit.

Was this so bad...wanting to follow in the footsteps of his own father? A gnome who desired to become a tinkerer among the most intelligent race of the planet? Morty had exceeded his father’s expectation growing up, latching on to the desires, hopes and dreams of his parent...and translating them into success. In school he was always at the head of the class. In University, he astounded the professors with his comprehension of math, energy manipulation and mechanical engineering...

All the skills and more, that Morty would need to complete this one task. To create a perpetual energy source for the gnomes of Clockworks.

“Where did I go wrong?” he whispered to himself. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he thudded it against the metal. “Where did I fail?”

The stressful statement was followed by a warm and lingering kiss on his cheek.

“You, my love, have not failed.” Deloris’ soft finger combed through his white, wiry hair jutting out from behind gigantic ears. “You have discovered another way this will not work. So scratch it off the list and lets get ready for the next test.”

“But I was so close,” he replied, “I was convinced that I was at the finishing end.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pulled him away from the PROMIS. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she smiled sweetly. “You are close. Closer than you have ever been. So don’t give up now, when you have worked all your life for success. Cross this off the list and use what we’ve learned.”

How did she do that?

No matter how down Morty felt, Deloris had the ability to pull him out of the darkness. Shine a light on the here and now and provide a perspective. She didn’t carry him. She never carried him. He didn’t need that. No tinkerer wanted someone else to do the work for them...that was the whole point of being an inventor in the first place. No, what he needed was another view point. Something to clear his senses and if needed, to lock onto and use for himself. She uplifted, encouraged and prodded him...but never carried him.

“You’re an amazing girl,” he whispered, the gratitude sparkling in his eyes, “you know that, right?”

“And brilliant,” she added with a smirk, “for marrying such a cute and inspired tinkerer.”

He chuckled. “Looks like I’m one lucky guy.”

She started giggling, looking around at the scorch marks on the walls. “Especially since I never married you for your money.”

They both laughed.

“Right,” Morty beamed, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously, “let’s work this out.”

Undoing the container locks, he yanked and pulled on the handle until the battery tray came dislodged. Foam bubbled over the connectors, where the cables had melted clean away.

“Not the batteries too?!” he growled in frustration. Three high voltage units sat completely fused to the tray. The tops of each battery were cracked open, the acid within drained. “It’s worse than I thought.” Snatching his insulated gloves, he dropped to his knees and reached into the tray’s compartment. Wiping his hand along the baseboard, he inspected his fingers. He frowned. “That’s...not right.”

“What is it?”

Using his elbow to get upright, he held his fingers in front of him. “There’s no acid. The compartment is dry.”

Deloris mimicked his frown. “Shouldn’t there be acid all over? If the batteries broke open, everything should be wet. Shouldn’t it?”

“Exactly. I should have pitted metal or even holes, but dry?” He glanced back at the tray. “The batteries didn’t explode.” Curious, he knelt by the tray, pulled a glove from his hand and held his palm over the open tops of the batteries still bubbling. “It’s cold.”

Deloris snorted. “This isn’t making any sense. A melted battery would come from acid or heat. Since it’s built to contain the acid, that’s not likely, so that leaves heat.”

“Feel this!”

She knelt at his side and held her palm over a battery. “It’s...”

“Cold.”

Puzzled she looked to her husband. He was grinning from ear to ear. “What?”

“I’m not sure if I’m right,” he whispered.

“Yes you do,” she smirked, “you always get that look when you know you’re right, but you want to prove it to yourself, just to make sure. What is it?”

Morty put the second glove back on his hand and unlocked the tray, pulling it completely free from the PROMIS. “These batteries were used up. The shard doesn’t create electricity...and that’s what these batteries are made to absorb and store. But I tested this in smaller quantities...so I know the energy is similar. When the PROMIS was turned on, it multiplies the energy present...which means we had too much of what it couldn’t store.”

Deloris looked at him and smiled awkwardly. “Okayyyy? ...and that means, what exactly?”

Morty beamed. “It means I didn’t fail.” Lifting the tray, he virtually bounced to his work bench, setting the batteries down and yanking the gloves off his hands. “That means this energy is more potent than I thought and we need to do a few other tests, quickly.”

“Don’t we need to create a new type of battery? Something that will hold the charge?”

He shook his head. “This is about changing the way we look at energy altogether. The Lanthya Shard is alive. It emits a bio-electrical pulse, or bioelectromagnetism.” Popping open a few of his cabinet doors, nimble fingers shuffled through charts, books and papers. “The same kind of energy produced by living cells, tissues and organisms.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, Morty...that’s a stone, not tissue.”

“If I’m right...that’s where the thinking has to change!” Tugging on an old, brown book with a torn spine, he pulled it free and set it on the bench. Flipping quickly to the back of the book, he scanned the index. “I’m not saying I know what’s going on, Deloris, but I have a hunch here...and it’s been a while since I’ve had a good hunch.”

She walked behind him, giving his shoulder a light, supportive squeeze.

“I think this has something to do with voltage-gated ion channels.”

She chuckled. “Ok, now you lost me.”

“Think about bioelectronics...”

“The synergy between electronics and biology?”

He nodded. “We use forms of it in cybernetics all the time. Look at Höbin in the next room...he functions perfectly using that technology every day. The devices use a combination of power cells and his own biological energy created by his cells to function. Even if his batteries drained completely, his own body, if given enough time, would replenish the batteries.”

“But the device usage would drain the batteries faster than his body could replenish them,” she countered.

“Right...but that’s where the Shard is different! It creates too much bio-energy for the batteries to store. It’s meant to be used, to constantly be in flux, not tucked away.” He flipped the pages, shrugging. “At least that’s my hunch, anyway.”

“I’ve been thinking about babies.”

Tapping the chapter heading, “I don’t think they can be used as batteries...,” he froze. “Wait,” turning to face Deloris, “did you just say...”

“Babies.”

“Yeah, did you just say that?”

She nodded. Blinking her long lashes, she searched his face. He looked stunned. Lost even. It wasn’t something she’d talked about with him for too long. The thought of having a child, of having their family expand was beginning to ache in her chest.

He blinked. Then again, his mouth still open in what she guessed was shock.

“But...”

“I know,” she whispered, looking away, “It’s too late to actually have a child. I mean, I’m too old to have a child. Thought my career was always so important...”

“Hey,” he cut in, shifting closer and turning her chin to face him. His smile was warm and comforting, his touch soft. “None of that, young lady. We both made our choices according to where we were and what we knew.”

“But you always wanted to have children.”

He grinned, tapping the end of her nose with the tip of his finger. “I still do. But my first priority was to be a supportive husband.” His face flushed, “And though I think it would have gone better if you didn’t think I was insane half the time, I did the best I knew how...and I’m proud of you.”

She chuckled, recalling so many arguments over the invisible wizard and his troll side kick. Chuck and Dax were most certainly real...but Morty had endured her doubts and accusations for years.

“Seriously Deloris...I’m glad we made those decisions, because you have helped a lot of people. Men, women, children, communities. Think of the technology you helped develop...that if nothing else, brought the Gnolaum back to this world!”

She hadn’t thought about that. What would have happened if that technology...having the ability to go into the very thoughts of another by linking... “That’s it!” she burst out. “You darling little gnome, you figured it all out!”

Bushy eyebrows folded forward. “I what? You found out a way to have a baby?”

“No!” She laughed. “You said we had to find a different way of thinking about energy, right?”

“Well yes, but...”

“Well what if it’s not us that has to change? What if, instead of all the devices having to be altered, such as batteries to take a charge from the Shard...there was a way to change the way the Shard thought about the devices?”

“Hmmmm,” Morty said thoughtfully.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think,” he looked at her seriously, then winked, “that we can always adopt.”

Nestled quietly in the next room, Höbin had reached his own plateau. Even connected to the exclusive records and internal database of the FAF, he found himself falling short of his professional expectations.

“You’re losing your touch, old man,” he chided himself. “If this were an intellectual fight for the world title, you would have been knocked out by now!” With a huff and a flick of his metallic wrist, the names book flipped off the desk and slid across the cement floor.

“Author of thirty two books, winner of every major researcher and field award, the only gnome granted access to the libraries of the evolu, kutollum and human realms...” he took a deep breath, “ AND a member of the Fishis Hall of Fame!” He slumped back into the leather chair. “Yet you can’t find the simple answer to who was the greatest tinkerer of your own people? Bah.”

He yawned and stretched his arms high over his head.

“You’re getting old, too,” he mumbled.

But he knew it wasn’t actually his research skill, so much as his open frustration with the genetic gnome habit of exaggeration. That was the key. No matter where Höbin looked, regardless of the records, every tinkerer...backed by their specific guilds...touted and hyper-promoted their success. Every inventor was talked about as if they were the best. But not everyone could be the best. So how did he sort it all out.

Dropping his face into his hands, he yawned again.

“Höbin!” Morty cried, flinging open the door and startling the old historian.

Morty stopped short. “Ooo, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you, but I could use your help!”

“What’s up?” Höbin tried to smile. What he really wanted to do was find some of the less desirable characters from the Black Market and taser them. It always made him smile to taser a truly nasty individual. Someone who deserved to be put in their place.

“Do you have access to more than just the FAF database?”

“Sure do. DMV, IRS, BBD, AAWLI. All the major systems, why?”

“BBD? AAWLI?”

“Book Binding Division and Animal And Wildlife Library Index. Good information sites, trust me.”

The tinkerer shrugged. “If you say so. But do you have access to the Patent Office? I want to see if there’s anyone with some extra-ordinary designs for transformers.”

Höbin sat up and pulled the laptop forward. “Let me check.” A few clicks of the buttons, and...” He stopped typing. “Patent Office.”

Morty nodded, “That’s what I said.”

“No, no!” Höbin beamed, clicking away on the keyboard faster than ever. “That’s the answer I needed, stupid fool that I am! I’ve been stuck trying to sift through who the top tinkerers actually were, but I get stuck. Gnomes brag like old women at baking competitions. But what happens when someone actually invents something accepted and used by Clockworks?”

Morty snorted, “They create a patent for it, of course.”

“Exactly. So what I need to do is take these names and cross reference them with the Patent Index and...” His laptop beeped back at him, flashing the list of results on the screen. “...I get a list of possible family lines to choose from.”

Deloris walked through the door. “Did it work?”

“Haven’t gotten to it yet,” Morty replied without looking up. “I think Höbin may have found his own answers about the seal.”

The historian grinned. “And there he is. The most famous of all tinkerers.”

“Really?” Morty beamed. “What did he invent? What’s his name?”

Höbin glanced up, perplexed. “I can see why I had to go through all this trouble to get a name, if an accomplished tinkerer like yourself can’t even make a guess.”

“I wouldn’t point fingers,” Morty snorted, “tinkerer’s are more common than historians. Yours is a regulated field, mine isn’t. Anyone with a mind to build something is encouraged. There are no qualifications, regulations or licenses required to start. The Tinkerer’s Guild is a series of guilds within guilds with tens of thousands of members...with hundreds joining and quitting daily.”

Höbin nodded. “Noted. Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted. So who is he...or she?”

“It’s a famous...family, it looks like. The first member who put the family on the map was Jarus Bucket. He invented the furnaces, the hot water heater and designed the first stage of the generators we’re still using today.”

Morty let a long whistle escape his lips. Glancing at Deloris, “That’s...quite a list.”

She smiled. “Not hard to be amazing when not much has been invented in the first place.”

“Oooo, you’re a harsh judge.”

“Just prejudice, that’s all.” She winked.

Höbin scanned the screen, scrolling down a list. “Looks like his family was famous for a slew of inventions that literally built our way of life. Generation after generation, his descendants remained tinkerers. From the pumping systems and industrial lifts, to synthetic materials, microchips and digital copiers. There has to be more than a hundred inventions here.”

“And they get royalties on all those items?” Deloris asked stunned.

“Only the original tinkerer gets the payout. It doesn’t transfer to the family after the inventor dies, unless they developed the invention as a business. What I’m seeing here are patents for public projects. Most were commissioned by factions.” Höbin clicked a few more buttons. “Yup, paid for by the city counsel.”

“Which means?”

“Which means,” Morty said with a sigh, “that the inventions were paid for in advance, so there wouldn’t be royalties. It was a flat commission to perform.”

Deloris scrunched her nose. “Ouch.”

Morty nodded. “Ouch is right. No one does that anymore. Too many tinkerer’s were taken advantage of. That’s why it’s against Guild policy now. They want their members to be protected.”

Höbin scribbled something on a notepad. “Good enough for me. I have an address to go see them.”

“Go? See them?” Morty choked, “Are you nuts? You’re a wanted gnome, Höbin, or have you completely lost your mind?”

The historian laughed. He pulled a ring from his pocket and held it up in the light. “I thought I had, but you solved that, my friend. With this ring, I’ll be able to travel safely enough I think.” Then, more seriously, “That last seal has to be found, no matter the cost.” He looked at the name and address he’s scribbled down.

“Now I know exactly who to look for.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell wakes up in a dungeon cell, and in the company of three old gnomes, chained to the wall. He himself is chained to some kind of alter made from stone. It is when Wendell realizes that things are bad, that they get worse…and he meets his captor face to face.

Father Noah.

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Chapter 90

“Is it done?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop asking me that. This is very delicate work and I’m sure no one wants to get caught...especially me.”

“But you’re always so fast in your clickity-clack world...typing on those buttons and such. You work faster than most of us can talk.”

Nat smiled to himself. It felt good for someone to notice his efforts. Funny thing was, he never thought the old wizard had paid much attention to him in the first place. It gave the compliment more weight. But this was a dangerous task. He’d been asked to hack into government databases, steal funds under the name of the President...and then...

How did the wizard even get Stumps actual finger prints in the first place? The paperwork would be the easy part...a little artwork, a bit of cut and paste and even a novice could fool a government official. Chuck wanted the team to have pardons for the crimes they already committed. Nat’s job now was to take the tools he’d been given and set up a new life for all of them. If done right...this could cover all their tracks. If done wrong, well...

Chucks confidence made him smile again, but Nat made sure not to show it. “This is a bit more complicated than what I’ve done before. It’ll take some time to plant the phony files into the system. Give them a bit of official history.”

“But you can do it?”

He nodded, “I think so, yes.”

Chuck tousled the programmers hair. “Excellent.”

“This is a lot of work you’re expecting us to do in a dangerously short period of time, you know,” complained Freak. The TNT crew, the twins and Lili were all huddled around one of the main tables, looking at schematics of S.L.A.G.s. Buffy stared up at Cryo64, who grinned back at her unabashed. The shop owner shook his head at both of them and refocused, “I’m not sure we can do it.”

Tumbler took a pen and scratched some notes on a pad. “We can, Craig...you know we can...we just need the parts, the tools and a big enough space to work in. We’ve done tougher jobs than this.”

Freak gave him the evil eye.

“Yeah,” Telly added, “where people don’t want to shoot at us would be nice!”

“No one tried to shoot at us,” Lili clarified.

“Maybe not,” he countered, giving the twins a nervous look, “but after what they’ve said on the news, who says the Centurions wont try to?”

Nibbles popped the bubblegum in her mouth, “I’m with Telly. There’s no way I want to stick my neck outside if I don’t have to. But I don’t mind helping out. I like Dax.” She pondered a moment before adding, “We need a place to hide just as much as a place to work.” She sighed loudly, “Too bad this place doesn’t have a work station like the Trench Arena.”

“Ooooo,” grinned Telly, “that would be sweet. A dedicated work bench, lifts...and I miss all the pop they keep in that little fridge, too.”

Freak grumbled and rolled up the schematics, “Doesn’t do any good to wish.”

“No,” Chuck said aloud, his tiny, gnarled fingers combing through his beard, “But I don’t think we have to wish for anything.”

“Oh boy,” cringed Nibbles, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “I think he’s having another idea.”

They all moaned.

President Stump sat motionless in his wheelchair, the door propped open behind him. Clouds rolled like the waves of the sea, past the windows of his dining area. It was his favorite room, made completely out of transparent materials. He could see all the lights of Clockworks below him, slowing flickering to life as the last rays of daylight fell behind the mountain range.

He wondered if his children were safe. Were they warm? Had they eaten? It was strange, how the pressures of life seemed to fall away when the parent in him rose to the essential issues of his children. But there was nothing he could do now. Not effectively, anyway. The twins were no longer in his care.

All he could do now, was wait.

Yet, with only a few minutes of evaluation, he’d sent his children off with terrorists. It wasn’t true, of course. The people who had broken in were friends of Wendell and Dax. He wasn’t sure if anyone would agree with him, but that was enough for Stump. Something in his heart told him that sending his kids away was the right thing to do...even now. There was unseen danger here.

The children would be safe the further away they were.

Stump could hear the door to Dax’s bedroom prison open and close. The doctors talked out loud as they walked through the penthouse. The home they’d turned into a prison without consent. The home they’d violated.

No. The home Ian had violated.

The very thought caused his brows to slowly sink, like rolling black storm clouds, filled with anger and vengeance.

The elevator doors closed. A few mumbled words and then footsteps towards him. The light tapping of shoes across the solid floors echoed softly until the sound stopped just shy of the doorway. Stump could smell the spice scent of Ian’s aftershave.

“How are you feeling?”

The president didn’t bother to turn the wheelchair to face him. Didn’t even turn his head. “Does it matter?”

A light sigh, “Of course it matters. That’s why I asked.”

Fat fingers gripped the cushioned arms of the wheelchair.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Mad?!” Stump snapped, “Of COURSE I’m mad!” Yanking on the oversized wheels, the chair flipped around in one abrupt motion. His pale face and bloodshot eyes stared up at the albino, “You’ve turned against me and started a coup!”

Ian Twofold let his mouth drop open. “A coup? You’re not serious.”

For a moment, Stump hesitated. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“I’m more loyal to you and this administration than I’ve ever been!” the albino fumed, “Is that what this looks like to you? A take over? That I’m usurping your authority? Your power?”

“Well, I...” For a moment, he faltered...then his eyes refocused on his assistant. “You’ve lied about my children, Ian. You threw the Gnolaum to the wolves and have an innocent person drugged in the next room! You actually sentenced him to be executed, when he has done nothing to...”

“He’s a troll!” Ian cut him off. Spittle fell from his bottom lip, his eye twitching. He hovered over the president, fingers curled into claws, “Or have you forgotten that this is the very race that eats our people!?”

“No,” Stump replied firmly, “I have not forgotten. You seem to forget that I’ve seen those who served faithfully in environmental recon. I have seen others die. Brave gnomes defending our shores before the automated systems were put in place.” He met the crazed gaze with an indignant stare of his own. “But now I see a gnome who has over stepped his bounds. Exerting authority he does not have...to further a plan, based on a skewed perspective of reality!”

The albino threw his head back in a near cackling laughter.

“So I’m insane, am I?” Wiping the saliva from his bottom lip with the back of his sleeve, “Well this position doesn’t exactly provide a stable environment to work in, now does it.”

“You’re stalling.”

Gripping the arms of the wheelchair, Ian thrust his face close. “And you’re missing the point! This isn’t about you or me. It’s about the people. It’s about this city! This administration made an oath to protect the inhabitants and at the first sign of danger, you didn’t simply fail to defend us,” he snorted, “you brought them HOME!”

Pushing himself upright, Ian spun around and paced the room, like a caged animal. “This isn’t a coup, my fluffy fabulousness. If I wanted you gone, I could have dealt with you days ago. Weeks. Months, even! Oh don’t look at me so shocked. That’s never been my intent.” He looked back hurt. “I’m trying to save you.”

Stump frowned now, confused. “Save me? How is...”

“The people are scared!” Ian continued, “The poor are ripping this city apart, brick by brick as we speak...because that...that human, posing as the Gnolaum, has encouraged them to rise beyond their station! He has fostered a rebellion among our own people!”

“Ian...he is the Gnolaum.”

“No! The Gnolaum is a gnome!” he choked, “He has to be a gnome...because the rest of the world doesn’t care about the little people of this city! They hate us. FEAR us!” His pacing quickened, a hand lashing out to rap knuckles on the glass as he passed. With the billowing clouds outside, it looked like the albino was walking on air. “So I have put you back into favor with the people. You need to be seen as a true leader during this time of confusion. By making the hard decisions you couldn’t make, I’ll make sure this administration and your lineage, lives on!” Stopping in mid stride, he faced president Stump and grinned.

It was a eerie expression across a flushed face.

“Stop this madness,” Stump whispered, “if you’re bent on getting rid of them, then ban them. Send them away on a boat. Get them off the island...but don’t kill them! Don’t do anything that we might regret later on, Ian. What if, after all your conviction, you’re wrong about Wendell?”

“No,” the albino growled, “you’re still not listening. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“The object of my desires is quite simple, Mr. Dipmier,” Noah said with a dash of anger. He loomed over me, twisting the thin strands of leather in his hand. His teeth were clenched tight, fighting to control the anger. “I want you to give me information. Specific information.” He raised an index finger, “No. Detailed information...about why you are here and what you have been doing here since you arrived. Once you have done that, I will then require a confession from you.” He looked upward, his face softening, “Something that will reassure the flock of this city, encourage them, to remain faithful and follow the edicts of the Church.”

I watched the monk sway to the rhythm of his own words, my stomach turning.

“....and then for you to leave Clockworks. Forever.”

I was about to throw out a snide remark, but the trembling old gnomes in my peripheral vision stopped me cold. For whatever reason, all three were cringing from the religious leader. If Noah walked around one side of the altar, they would retreat.

What have they done to you boys?

“Are you paying attention, Mr. Dipmier?” Noah snapped, lifting my chin with the handle of the whip. “I do not like to repeat myself.”

“Why would I help you?” I almost choked. Something stirred in my gut.

“Ahh,” Noah grinned, “The answer is simple.” Dangling the whip in front of my face, the metal tips tied to each strand looked like broken metal teeth. “You won’t have a choice.”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“Do you like this? It’s an ancient artifact we’ve used here in the Church for some time now. Generations in fact. Only on the ‘bad’ people, of course.” Noah casually motioned to the blue-stained box. “All these remarkable tools have been used to, shall we say ‘encourage’ the truth from those with a disposition to withhold information. Circumstances like this.”

I frowned, my eyelids narrowing. “What do you mean, like this? You kidnapped me and now you want to torture me?” I tugged at the chains more out of anger than any hope of escape. A chill bit into my wrists and shot up my arms when I did.

I wasn’t going anywhere and I knew it. My only hope was to either convince the gnome he was wrong and let me go...or comply. Which didn’t sound too bad...talking, that is. There weren’t any secrets left that I had to worry about. Noah knew who I was...or at least who I claimed to be.

“I have no doubt the government faction had their way with you. Interrogated when you were first arrested? That is their way. Technology or chemistry to extract what they want. But this,” Noah grinned, wagging the short whip in his hand, “is special. Evil to use against evil. Poetry, really. You see...we hate magic here in Clockworks. It is an abomination. Unnatural. A belief system that takes us further away from TGII and the truth of the Universe. But these artifacts,” he held the whip up, as if it were a prized trophy, “were shaped and molded by the wicked of your kind, allowing me to use that inherit evil...to deal with the disease among us.”

“That,” I gasped, trying to control the chill pulling at my spine, “doesn’t even...make sense.” I smirked. “You sniff glue, don’t you.”

One of the prisoner gnomes snickered.

“Silence!” Noah snapped, ignoring my jab. “Of course it makes sense, stupid boy.” The monk looked at me smugly, “Do we not use weapons to deal with criminals? A gun used as an evil tool can also be used to silence the evil in the criminal. A blade can defend a kingdom...”

I shook my head. “I’m thinking industrial glue.” Noah sounded too much like the philosophy teachers and professors back home. Their views never made sense to me, twisting perspectives to fit their point, mingling scriptures or biblical stories with their own interpretations...but not quite speaking the truth. “Then wouldn’t the real evil be in the person? Isn’t it,” I shivered again, “the intent that matters?”

Noah looked down at the weapon in a loving, longing way.

It was…kinda sick.

“The intent of this item is to do harm. It was created to do harm. It can only cause harm. Thus, in all sense of the word, it is evil. But,” he wagged it lightly in the air, “it is not an evil I created. My intent is to do good with it.”

“The ring is altogether evil,” I muttered under my breath.

“Excuse me?” Noah frowned.

I shook my head, “Nothing. You sound like the whip has a will of its own.”

Noah once more caressed the leather strands. “It does.”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Another chill ran down my spine. One that had little to do with the cold in my muscles or bones. This guy was literally nuts, and you, Wendell, are in a deep pile of cow dung.

“Now you get it,” whispered Doubt.

Shut up.

“This has an odd name, but I never remember it correctly. I believe it translates into something close to snake bite. Or maybe it’s serpent venom...I do seem to get them mixed up.” Noah circled around the alter, to stand behind me. “Now that we’ve had our little chat, let’s get started, shall we?” Folding the sleeves of his robe back, he leaned over so I could see his face. “I would like to start by asking you how many accompanied you to this island? Exact numbers, please, with their last known whereabouts within the city.”

So that’s it? He wants information so he can round up my friends?

Subject them to this?

No way.

Taking a deep breath, I growled. “Go snort another glue stick.”

“Wonderful,” Noah said, almost gleefully. “I was hoping for some resistance!”

I watched the tiny weapon, dangling from the gnomes hands, vanish from site. I didn’t like the thought of being whipped...but it was hard to fear something that looked like a child’s toy.

Be brave Wendell.

Even hunched over the altar, I was taller than Noah. My torso hid the monk within my own shadow. The flickering candles did not reveal the movement behind me, neither was there any sound to prepare or warn me for what happened next.

The rare and expensive mägoweave, a magical cloth with the durability of the choicest plate mail, gave way. Like teeth of a wild beast, metal bit deep into flesh.

My head whipped back, eyes wild with mouth open wide.

“AHHHHHHHH!” I screamed...the sound pounding against the impenetrable walls of stone. Even as the scream faded from lack of breath, the yellow smiley continued. My lips trembled in a silent cry of anguish.

The prisoners cringed, slapping their hands over their enormous ears as I yanked against my bonds, arching my back.

I grit my teeth and clenched my eyes tight, already blinded by tears. Tickles of lava rolled down my back, setting every nerve aflame. Noah’s arm dropped a second time...the tiny whip, once again, sliced effortlessly through the mägoweave and tore at flesh.

Again I screamed, but my mind reeled. Drums pounded in my ears, drawing my attention away. This was beyond anything I’d experienced. Pain I didn’t know existed. I bit through my tongue, blood trickling over my teeth and from my bottom lip. It was near impossible to inhale. The more I struggled to take a breath, the greater the fire grew across my back. Tears of unspeakable pain ran down my face, dripping off my chin and onto the altar.

This will all have an end.

Muscle and sinew of my back lay exposed to the candlelight. Blood ran freely down the track of my spine.

Noah lowered his hand and smiled.

“I’ve always found that to be such a lovely sound.” Pulling the whip back across his palm, he examined the metal shards fastened to the end of each leather strand. “It’s the sound of attention.” Lifting my chin with the whip’s handle, he smiled mockingly, “Do I...have your attention, Mr. Dipmier?”

Draped over the cold stone, I shuddered. I could feel the Ithari working within me...the familiar pulse of warm energy pumping through my veins, but the pain didn’t stop. It didn’t let up. Fire surged through skin and muscle...down my back, making me ever aware of the torn flesh and seeping blood across my skin. Even the magical cloth refused to mend itself as it had always done before.

I looked up in confusion and Noah grunted with satisfaction. “No, the pain won’t stop. Not until I tell it to. One of the advantages of possessing such rare and powerful artifacts.”

“Why...are you doing this?” I asked, my hands shaking violently. “I...haven’t hurt...anyone.”

Noah grit his teeth. Taking the butt of the whip’s handle, he jabbed it against my temple. “Yes…you…have!” he snarled, “You’ve hurt millions, just by your presence. Then there’s the winning the Trench Wars against my Trinity pilots. That in and of itself became a sign to many that you were greater than the Church.”

That can’t be right. Why would any right-thinking person believe...”But it’s...just a game.”

Nostrils flared. “You think this is a game?”

I shook my head. “Trench Wars is a...sport. You don’t determine your religious beliefs on a sport.” But the serious look on the monk’s face disturbed me. “Do you?”

“I am astounded, Mr. Dipmier...that you claim to be one of our religious figures and yet you are so ignorant as to the population of this city. Trench Wars, the Church, our traditions...these are most important to us. They define us. They set us apart from the rest of the world, which hates and despises us.”

“I don’t,” I said weakly.

Noah let the ends of the whip fall limply to his side. “But that’s because you want something from us, now, don’t you?”

Sweat trickled down through my eyebrows, following the bridge of my nose and into my eye. The salt stung, but it paled in comparison to the burning in my back. I blinked it out. “I don’t want anything from you,” I said weakly.

The whip lashed out, slicing deeply across my ribs. My scream pierced the shadows, dying out with an echo and gasp of my breath. The blows weren’t just sharp...there was force behind them. As if I’d been hit with a hammer. Blood trickled off my shirt and across the stone.

“Don’t lie,” Noah said evenly. “There is no room for lies in this place. For sooner or later, Mr. Dipmier, I will pull the truth from you.”

Placing the weapon down upon the altar, Father Noah walked to the propped open wooden box. He ran his fingers tenderly over the objects contained within.

He’s going to kill me.

Whatever he wants, he won’t let me leave here alive.

The crazy midget has already kidnapped children, the elderly and the unwanted. He doesn’t care about me. My head swayed heavily over the stone...and I coughed. No matter what I said, Noah considered me a threat.

It was time to shift my attentions.

To survive.

One way or another, I had to survive and find a way out. To get out of my bonds and...

Why am I not healing?

But that wasn’t what was foremost on my mind. Ithari would do whatever she could...I couldn’t change that fact. No. My mind kept coming back to the whole reason I went back to the furnace in the first place. I stared up at the monk, the words finally falling from my lips.

“What did you do with my friends?”

“What?” Noah looked back, nonchalant. “Those dirty, disgusting vagabonds we pulled out from the garbage heaps?”

I flinched at the harsh, but not completely inaccurate description.

“Yes.”

Noah’s attention went back to the box. “They’re being processed and sent to satisfy the contract obligations we have in place. I wouldn’t worry about them...as far as you are concerned, they’re gone. You should focus on our conversation, Mr. Dipmier. There will be time to mourn their loss later.”

Gone?

Mourn their loss?

I growled out loud, anger seizing my chest. Simon’s dirty little face flashed through my mind, adding to the rage. Why was the world filled with such evil people? Beings who didn’t care for those less fortunate, even helpless?

Did they have no conscious?

No compassion or love?

I yanked and tugged against the chains violently, trying…unsuccessfully, to ignore the pain. “If you’ve hurt them...I’ll,” I started to say, but the threat was useless, and I knew it.

“You’ll do what, exactly?” Noah finished my sentence, not even looking up. “You’re in no position to bargain,” he smiled to himself, “or threaten me.”

“What have you done with them?” I pressed. “If you’re in control of me and you’ll obviously get what you want, then why not tell me? Give me a measure of peace before you rip the ‘truth’ from me.”

“Because,” Noah said coldly, turning to lock gazes with me, “It would give you that measure of peace,...and you deserve none.”

The anger and sheer spite in the gnome’s eyes shocked me to silence.

“However, perhaps you knowing will serve another purpose. So I can tell you that they’re being processed.”

I could feel the blood cooling on my ribs and skin. Clotting and sticking to my shirt strands. I grunted as I tried to prop myself up, “What does that mean, ‘processed’?”

“It means, my young friend, that they are all being tagged, scrubbed and disinfected, dressed and fed.”

But that didn’t sound bad, I had to admit. What am I missing? “Then why would you say they’re gone, if you’re taking care of your people?”

Noah stopped his motions to consider the words. “Hmmm. I do like that perspective. Takes a great deal off of my shoulders.” He nodded to me, rather amused, “Thank you for that.”

I gasped. No matter what I say, he’s completely oblivious to what he’s doing! Did causing harm to others come so naturally to this gnome? “What do you want from me, Noah?” I blurted out. Maybe I should try something else. “You don’t have to go through all of this. I’m happy to share any information with you that I can. I’m not in possession of any great secrets, but I don’t want to cause more trouble. I have obviously caused enough already.”

Noah lifted a thin circlet of metal from the box. He rotated it in the candle light, the surface glinting against the flames. “It’s good to see you taking responsibility for your fault in all this so readily, Mr. Dipmier. I appreciate that. I really do...but the information I want from you are things you most assuredly will not want to share.” The gnome grinned with satisfaction and walked forward with the circlet.

It was as thick as my pinky finger and made of silver. There looked to be tiny markings inscribed into the metal, but I couldn’t make them out. On the inside of the circlet, however, I noticed what looked to be spikes jutting out from the metal. Noah leaned closer.

“I need the truth,” he whispered, then almost hissing, “The absolute truth.”

Holding the metal over my head, a red light appeared from within the metal. First a glow, gentle ripples running below the hard surface...then it flickered...red sparkles, surrounding the ring itself. As the light grew...so did the ring itself. With each passing moment, it expanded, growing wider and wider, until it looked as if it would fit perfectly over my scalp.

Without another word, Noah thrust the ring down over the crown of my head.

Miniature razors bit through skin, impaling themselves and binding to my flesh...and bone.

“Ahh...AHHHH!” I screamed. Fire and ice raked across my scalp. The muscles in my neck fought to keep my head upright. This pain, however, faded almost as quickly as it began...and within moments, not a trace of discomfort was left. I blinked several times, my eyes coming into focus.

Noah stepped back and sighed satisfactorily. “Now I shall have it.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell, in an attempt to save his gnome friends in the furnace area, he faces the invaders with magic. Unfortunately, he is tasered by several Centurions and electrocuted unconscious.

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Chapter 89

“Did you leave any trace?”

“No, Father. We stopped and secured the area, but there was a significant amount of damage. Repair crews will be there for days. I made sure there weren’t any cameras in that location of the tunnels, so no one knows we were there.”

“What caused the explosion?”

“Not certain. The section wasn’t near volatile containers or machinery—so it can’t be a malfunction. It had to be set on purpose. A bomb.”

“Rebels?”

“That would be my guess.”

“And the rest of the gnomes?”

“No one was hurt. They’re being processed now. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days to get them cleaned up well enough to join the last batch. These ones are pretty grungy.”

“Wonderful. I knew you were the one to entrust with these important missions of faith.” Pause. “Now, what about the human?”

“The Gnol…”

“Don’t call him that, Captain!”

“I’m sorry, Father. Forgive me. Habit, nothing more.”

“I understand. We must be careful. Thoughts become words, words become actions.”

“Yes, Father. I…uh, made sure the ‘human’ was taken directly to the cells below. Thought you might like him in the main interrogation chamber. Away from anyone else. Well…except…”

“Don’t worry about them. They are of no consequence and will soon be joining the offerings to secure our safety.” Tapping a finger to chin. “Did he have any weapons? Objects of any kind upon his person?”

“No, Father, only this.”

“A letter?”

“Yes, sir. Only a blank piece of paper. Ran a spectrum of lights over it—but it doesn’t have invisible ink. No markings at all.”

“A bit odd, don’t you think, Captain?”

“Very odd. But I’m not the one that should be thinking about these things. I leave that to those with greater minds.”

“As you should. And you’ve kept your men clear of the area?”

“Completely. The monks have done all the hands-on work from the point of our arrival.”

“We don’t want anyone second guessing, now do we? It could weaken beliefs, give the enemy a chance to destroy our carefully built spiritual ecosystem. Do we want that to happen? Any chance of that happening?”

“Absolutely not, Father.”

“Of course not. Excellent. You’ve done well, Captain. Very well, in fact. TGII will reward you for your faithfulness in the next life. I have seen a tremendous mansion in the afterlife.”

“Thank you, Father!” Pausing. “Oh, there is one small issue I need to deal with—but it…requires your insight.”

“That is?”

“One of the captives was, in truth, one of my own men. The one I told you about? The…’human’ switched places with him…and I was forced to leave him behind.”

Another pause. “What’s your point, Captain?”

“It…well…”

“Spit it out.”

“Yes, Father. He seems to have had a change of heart.”

“Has he now? And what kind of change would that be?”

Pause. “He’s convinced that we’re making a mistake. That these infidels are, in truth, innocent gnome citizens and not infidels at all.”

“I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Yes, Father. So what would be your counsel? He’s a good soldier and I’d like to get him the help he needs.”

“There is only one thing you can do with those corrupted by the ways of infidels, Captain. Process him with the others.”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a problem with that, Captain?”

“No, Father,” he said firmly. “I serve the Church.”

“As you should. You are a good and faithful disciple. It would be heart wrenching to see you swayed by this evil that has befallen us. Now make sure the human is placed in the Chamber of Truth, then go home. See Belinda and the kids.”

“Judy.”

“That’s right. Go home and see Judy and the children. Remind yourself what you’re doing all this for, Captain. It’s to protect the things you love.”

“Don’t you mean the people you love, Father?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do.”

Ughhhhh.

Everything felt…heavy and sluggish. No matter how hard I willed them to, my limbs wouldn’t move. My eyes fluttered, but refused to open.

Ughhhhh.

Kids.

What happened to the kids? My mind drifted to the moments before my blackout. The screams of gnome children. Images of little bodies being thrown into the back of transport vehicles like sacks of feed.

No. No, no, no...

My eyebrows arched up, slowly…painfully…pulling my lids after them to reveal…nothing. Just a void.

A drafty darkness. Moving about me.

No…it wasn’t the darkness moving..it was me,

I blinked again, swaying…waiting for my eyes to adjust, but only the faintest grey outlines displayed any hint of my surroundings. Every muscle screamed at me…and for just a moment, I wished I’d kicked the Centurions instead of using magic.

Note to self: Little men in mirrored helmets are mean.

I had to admit, though…I felt pretty good about myself. I’d actually used magic…in combat. Not that I’d won, or even got away for that matter, but now I knew for a fact that I had the ability to dish out the pain. Not just take it.

I had to smile.

Ow.

Smiling hurt too.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and…immediately regretted it. I coughed hard. The chill air was earthy. A damp scent, like dirt after a rain.

No.

It was older. Like my grandmother’s forgotten potting shed, with hints of mold, because she let things cook in the sun. I blinked again, hoping my eyes would adjust. I could still feel the ache through my spine and back muscles.

That was one heck of a jolt those midgets gave me!

Ungh. My skull complained with every motion and I almost fell over.

Oooooooo, I’m going to be sick.

Even though I could feel the warmth fed to me through the mägoweave, I felt chilled to the bone. Tiny points of pain pricked me along my neck and spine. I could tell that Ithari was working on me, but my limbs still felt numb. Especially my forearms.

Odd.

I tried to wiggle my fingers, but couldn’t tell if they were responding. My legs were shifting, and I felt hints of pressure in my knees, but everything was so cold. A dull pressure, greatest around my wrists.

Leaning back, a scraping sound echoed.

“Shhhh,” mumbled a strained voice. It was gruff and harsh, with a gravel undertone.

“W-who’s there?” I squeaked out.

“Shhh,” came a second voice from behind me. This one was a bit higher-pitched. “Some of us are trying to sleep. Do you mind?”

“Oh,” I stammered. “Uh…I’m sorry.” But I immediately snorted. “No, wait. I’m not sorry…where am I?”

“You’re in the dark,” replied the voice. It was followed by its own snort. “And they said he was smart.”

“Oh, leave the child alone, he’s not hurting anything.”

The last voice was smooth, calm and soft. As if the owner was sitting there, in the dark, waiting.

“I have a hard enough time trying to get any sleep around here,” the first voice grumbled. “You may appreciate our generous accommodations, but I do not. Therefore, shut up.”

“Time to get up…already?” Said the second voice.

“No,” answered the third. “Snappy-pants is just angry that…”

“Argh,” I grunted aloud, now ignoring them all. Tugging my forearms back, sharp pains shot through my wrists. I tugged and instantly flinched. “OW!” Something sharp cut into my flesh, and again, that scraping sound echoed around me.

I flinched, but my arms were held fast.

That’s when I noticed my lack of movement. Whatever was around my wrists, also held me in place. In this kneeing position. I tugged harder and flinched again, jolts shooting up through my arms and shoulders to get to my neck.

“What’s going on?” I grunted.

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother fighting the chains,” the third voice said soberly. “Won’t do you much good. The shackles are meant to keep you uncomfortable. They weaken you by keeping your body cold.” Then in a loud whisper, “The key is to sit still and relax. The effects of the metal fade if you’re compliant.”

I squinted, leaning forward, trying to make out the curved pieces of metal biting into my flesh. The voice was right. I blinked a few more times. Chains stretched across a stone slab, ending at my forearms.

Oh, come on…I’m shackled? Dropped from High-Tech right to No-Tech? Seriously?

I grunted loudly.

“Doesn’t anyone care that I’m trying to get sleep around here?” grumbled the first voice.

“No,” said the second and third voices in unison.

It’s going to be ok. Relax, Wendell. You’ve been in bad situations since you got here. This isn’t a problem, it’s just a new challenge. Chains. It’s nothing.

I nodded to myself.

Just a challenge. Something simple to figure out. You have tools now. The gnomes know who you are…you don’t have to hide anymore. Use what you have. What you know. Be what you are. I nodded again, resolute.

Stop hiding it.

I whispered, “Välo.”

All around me, a soft, white light came to life. Like an approaching dawn, the light continued to grow, mimicking the image I held in my mind.

“Oooooo,” cooed the second voice. “He’s one of us!”

“I’m gonna come over there and punch you right in the head if you don’t shut up,” warned the first voice.

“Yeah,” scoffed the third. “Let’s see you try. Why don’t you close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

The light flooded the chamber, revealing my full surroundings.

I was right, I hated to admit. I was in a dungeon. Uneven stone walls and floors, with no window to be found. Huge pillars, maybe four feet in circumference rose high above me, supporting what looked to be a slanted roof. Statues of gnomes wrapped around the pillars.

Curious things.

The stone was shaped to look like the tiny race, working in pairs. A stout gnome on the bottom, chipping away with hammer and chisel, while a second, balancing on the first gnome’s shoulders, worked the stone higher up. The detail of the facial expressions was lifelike, hair and protruding tongues adding to the flow of the action. Oddly out of place, too…especially when I knew I was surrounded by a technologically advanced civilization.

It reminded me of Til-Thorin.

Well,…the being locked up part of Til-Thorin, anyway.

Straw lay scattered across the floor, inches thick and piled high within the corners. Small clumps bunched near my knees at the base of the altar. A musty scent of urine lingered in the air. It wasn’t noticeable at first, the chill helping to mask its presence.

I wrinkled my nose.

Smelled like someone needed to call maid service.

The only exception to my stone environment was the large wooden door set squarely in the wall in front of me.

My chest heaved as I started to laugh.

I know, not the reaction one would think to have, waking up chained to some psycho-alter. But for all the stress and strain, for all the events that went awry, I couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t a loud or boisterous laugh…but my shoulders lightly bounced and a few snorts escaped my lips.

I’m not even supposed to be here, I thought comically. Abandoned, chased, blamed, accused, hated…this is all so…NOT what this was supposed to be!

I laughed again to myself as I shook my head.

Is this what happens when you try to help people? When you try to be the person you’ve been asked to be? You get blamed and… I struggled for the right word.

“Crapped on anyway?” Doubt chimed in.

Exactly. It was a disturbing thought.

“No. This is not ok,” he added. “In fact, this is very, very bad, Wendell.

I tugged against the chains. Once again, intense pain shot through my wrists, back and neck. I wasn’t going to sit here, while my friends were who-knows-where and suffering who-knows-what…at the hands of a looney midget with a power complex!

Concentrating, I imagined the light collecting into a single spot above my head.

Hold that thought. Focus on it.

“You know, you’re really getting good at that,” Doubt said cheerfully.

Thanks.

“Now we cane clearly see the crap we’re in,” he added.

Ignoring the chill running through my arms and legs…I imagined the light rising a few feet above me. Holding a snapshot of the thought, I whispered, “Teho.”

Immediately the light followed the path I’d imagined with clear intent. Like liquid rolling across a counter, it collected a few feet above my head, slowly growing in intensity. With it out of my direct line of sight, it became easier to see my surroundings clearly.

This included my unusual roommates.

Three gnomes sat against the walls, gaping at the light over my head. Two of the dirty faces beamed with delight, while the third looked overly annoyed and turned his head into a ragged sleeve.

“Bravo!” cheered one, clapping. The giant mustache, so long it was braided at each end, rose high, to reveal an open grin of delight. “Well done!”

“Shhhh!” grunted the gnome next to him. Dirty hands pulled the sailor’s cap down over his eyes and he turned in toward the wall.

“So it is true,” the third commented sadly. The gnome sat alone, chained to the opposite wall. “Noah captured the Gnolaum?” He glanced over at his fellow gnomes and shook his head. “This isn’t good.”

I tugged again on the chains that bound me.

…but they were firmly attached to either side of the altar.

“You sure you’re going to be alright?”

Nathan Taylor wasn’t actually sure anymore, but he nodded anyway. He’d been alone before, of course, but never when so much seemed to rest on his shoulders.

Alone.

The battery assisted chair was low on juice and stalled on the small lip of the door jam. Shamas gave it a small nudge, helping it over.

Nat smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

“I can help you if you need me to,” the bodyguard added, seeing the solemn look on the programmer’s face. “My computer skills are a bit weak, but I’m a quick learner.” He gave the empty street a once over.

Shamas knew they were safe—but he did it out of habit.

The shops had all closed years ago. It was only the occasional tumbling scrap of paper and the faded signs overhead that reminded him that this had once been a bustling commercial community. A place booming with business and opportunity. It was all dust and garbage now.

A shame, really.

Then again, it was also perfect for a G.R.R. cell location. “There seems to be little need for my skills of late,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “Everyone runs off and does what they want, no matter how hard I try to stop them.”

The comment made Nat crack a smile. “Bellows will need you. This surge of anger among the populace has to be focused and controlled. If it isn’t, a lot of folks are going to get hurt. Your skills are more vital than you think.”

“I’m a bodyguard, not a group therapist.”

“You’re someone who understands the nature of others. You know how people react, move, plot. You also understand the mob mentality, Shamas. If nothing else, you could assist as a first rate counselor, so don’t sell yourself short.”

“Hmph,” Shamas grunted. “You suddenly sound like a natural leader yourself. Maybe Deloris was right—Motherboard might not be the only one who can pull this off.” He gave the cripple a light jab in the shoulder.

Nat just frowned. “Motherboard,” he sighed. “Right.”

“Something wrong?”

Shaking his head. “No. I’m alright. Just…tired I guess.”

“Get some rest.”

“I plan on it. Thanks.”

With a final wave, the door slowly creaked to a close behind him. He turned the wheelchair around and locked it. The final latch on his life, trapping himself inside.

That’s what it felt like.

No matter how hard he worked, or how hard he tried, Nathan couldn’t get ahead. He didn’t know how. Motherboard was the face of the G.R.R., even though Nathan Taylor had been there from the very beginning. One line of code at a time, he’d locked himself away, hiding from the world.

The world he had always wanted to change.

“Now I’m all alone again,” he whispered aloud. “Just like in the beginning.”

Deloris was gone. Slid the key to this building across the desk before handing in her resignation. She’d stopped here first and gathered all her physical belongings. It was a life she just didn’t want anymore. She wanted to be with her husband and to support him in his dreams as he had spent a lifetime supporting her.

Not that Nat could blame her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He envied Deloris. She finally knew what she wanted more than anything else. Morty was brilliant and he obviously loved his wife…and she, him.

“What else could a decent person want?” he sighed.

At least he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

Unlocking and lifting the dashboard up from the custom wheelchair, Nat stretched his arms…and stood up.

“Ohhhhh,” he yawned loudly, leaning to the side. With a grunt, he threw an arm high over his head, stretching. “I forget how good that feels!” Hips popped as did his spine. Sitting in one place, day after day, only stretching while alone in bathrooms or in his locked bedroom wasn’t easy. He twisted and turned, pushed and stretched, trying to shake off the pain in his muscles. Even his bones felt weak from sitting for so long.

The elevator bell dinged.

Nearly falling over his own feet, Nat threw himself back into his chair and slammed the dashboard back down into place. Just in time to see Chuck stumble through the doors. He spun around, trying to gather the long strands of his beard from the gaps in the sliding doors.

“Blasted facial hair!”

“Chuck!”

“Woo-HAW!” the wizard gasped, throwing himself back against the opposite wall.

Slapping his palm over his chest, he gripped his robe tightly, heaving.

“Are you trying to KILL me, boy?” he yelled. “Why would you spook an old man like that?!” He blinked twice, his chest rising and falling heavily with each gasp of breath.

“What are you doing here?” Nat exclaimed. “No one’s supposed to be here anymore. I got word you made an attempt to get into the Citadel…” He gave the wizard a look of disdain. “…along with a charge of kidnapping? Seriously, Chuck? Kidnapping?”

Brushing himself off, the wizard straightened his hat. “Oh no, we got in just fine—there was no ‘attempt’ involved. We asked nicely, they let us pass, and…” Then, shaking his finger, “You need to go shopping, boy,…there’s no food in this place. Can’t properly entertain if you don’t have any food around.”

“Chuck.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here?” Nat asked again, ignoring the wizard’s off-topic remarks. Then, “Wait. How did you even get in here? Deloris and I have the only keys.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’m a wizard. You don’t think I can’t wave my hand and…”

Nat frowned.

“Oh, alright,” Chuck huffed. “Your girlfriend turned out to be an exceptional lock pick.”

Nathan’s eyes popped open wide. “My…girlfriend?”

Walking around the back of the wheelchair, Chuck grabbed the handles abruptly and pushed Nat into the elevator. “You know…the cute one who’s always eating.”

It was difficult to get comfortable, no matter how I shifted my weight.

My knees weren’t just numb from kneeling, they were weak and heavy.

Maybe that’s their intent, I complained, trying to shift my hips and take some of the strain off my thighs and back. Bring the tall human down to their size.

I glanced at the chained gnomes, immediately averting my gaze.

For the past hour the three had hardly said a word. They simply…stared. Three sets of huge, round eyes, staring through the shadows at me. The feeling was a bit too familiar and it made me shudder more than once.

“You know,” said the second, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, “I didn’t think the Gnolaum would be a human.” He glanced at his fellow gnome captives, eyebrows bobbing about. “Seriously disappointing, if you ask me.”

“Well, what did you think he would be?” asked the first. “A giant? A kutollum? Or maybe a sorcerer from Mäväro?”

Shrugging. “I don’t know. Did he even have to be a ‘he’ at all? Why couldn’t it be a female? Ooooo,” he grinned, adjusting his thick coke-bottle glasses over his bulbous nose. “An evolu female. No. Wait. A leggy evolu female. That would have been nice.” His eyebrows bobbed up and down again. “That’s a whole level of hot, right there.”

“What?” snorted the first, now wanting in on the conversation. He sat up abruptly from his prone position and snorted. “A female? You’re joking. That makes no sense what-so-ever.”

“Oh, I don’t know…who said it had to make sense? How does us being in this cell make sense? Or that the leader of our church has gone funny…,” he paused, then shook his index finger, “without any ha, ha part of the funny, mind you! None of this makes any sense.”

“Downright stupid, you are,” snapped the first, shaking his head.

“Don’t be so rude, Vin,” said the third. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, I’m just saying,” said the second, completely ignoring Vin’s derogatory remark, “that a pretty lady with a good heart would do far more good in the world than a male. That’s all. She’d be nice to look at…and smell a might better than the lot of us. Maybe the whole world wouldn’t be at war right now if we all had something pretty to look at?” He nodded triumphantly at Vin. “Did you think of that? No-you-did-not.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Lady Tamorah was certainly beautiful, and…I couldn’t argue that such beauty would turn heads. I’d never get close enough to vouch for how she smelled, though.

“He has a point,” agreed the third.

“Thank you, Tabbermain,” said the second.

“You are most welcome. The thought of smelling a pretty elf sounds nice.”

“Shut up!” snapped Vin. “You’ve both lost it. The Gnolaum’s always been a male…and here you are, talkin’ ‘bout sniffin’ girls like they were flowers. You’ve popped your brain-pans!”

“Well, he may be a human,” Tabbermain continued, ignoring Vin’s comment, “but it’s better than a vallen or a therrin, don’t you think? Or…” He shuddered so hard the shackle on his ankle rattled. “Could you imagine a Täuku Gnolaum?” He winced. “Ew.”

“Vallen? Therrin? Täuku!? The Gnolaum’s a hero, not a villainous, flesh-eating monster,” snapped Vin.

“You do know I’m right here,” I cut in, frowning at each of them in turn. “I can hear you.”

The room fell silent. None of the confined prisoners looked me in the face.

“What an odd bunch,” whispered Doubt. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

Shut up.

All three looked exceptionally old. Older than Morty or Höbin, I guessed—each with wild tufts of facial hair for eyebrows, mustaches, and beards. Unlike myself, the gnomes were only shackled by a single leg.

“My name’s Wendell,” I tried with an uncertain grin. Then I added, “Wendell P. Dipmier.”

Nothing. Each gnome completely averted their gaze from my general direction.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked awkwardly.

But the three gnomes didn’t get a chance to answer. The sound of a key being inserted into the door startled us all.

The two prisoners sitting together, Vin and Tabbermain, grasped onto one another like little frightened children. They shivered and stared at the door, while the tiny gnome on his own, frantically scooped up the straw around him. The echo of his single chain rang out as he quickly heaped a pile onto his legs and chest.

Taking a hint, I whispered, “Läkätä,” and the light instantly vanished, plunging us into darkness.

“Yup,” the second whispered to himself from under the straw. “He’s one of us.”

“Shut UP,” snapped Vin, before burying his face into Tabbermain’s shoulder.

The sound of the dungeon door opening raked at my spine. Like fingernails down a chalkboard, the slab of wood scraped across uneven floor. Like a creeping dawn, a dull light seeped into the room. Torches, held high, bounced lightly along. One by one—small hands, protruding from robes, holding the flames aloft, entered the room. Each figure had a hood drawn over their head, without faces for me to see clearly.

“You’re awake,” said the closest robe. Calm and deliberate, the tone had a slight nasal quality to it.

I squinted, trying to see up into the hood, but the torch was held high, casting deep shadows. The glow completely hid the gnome’s face. The folds of the heavy robe dragged along the floor as the figure approached, revealing brown sandaled feet and fat, stubby toes.

The voice did sound a bit familiar. There was only one person I could think of, who would be responsible for me being here. Responsible for the problems I’d experienced, both inside the Trench Wars and out.

“Father Noah, I’m guessing,” I said aloud.

The figure hesitated for a moment, the hood tilting ever-so-slightly. “Very good, Mr. Dipmier,” Noah replied. “We’ve never officially met, but I won’t bother offering you my hand, if you don’t mind.”

I snorted to myself.

There wasn’t any need for deception on the gnome’s part. Noah didn’t like me. I knew it. I could hear it in the gnome’s tone, but more importantly, I was in a dungeon…in chains.

“I don’t bite, you know,” I countered. “Besides, you’re the one who had me tasered and brought here…not the other way around. Remember? Or do you treat all your guests in such a rough manner?” I grinned smugly. “Centurions or not, I know they work for you and not the government.”

Pulling the hood back over his shoulders, Noah stood there and smiled. Not of triumph or revenge, not even of mockery…but of knowledge. The monk looked calm. Almost too calm.

“I met President Stump,” I smirked. “Good guy. So, who should really feel uncomfortable? Not you. You’re holding all the cards.”

It wasn’t until that split second that I remembered…

I wasn’t alone when I’d been captured. The entire furnace area had been flushed out. All the people rounded up. To make matters worse, Simon and Enid were still missing.

That was the smile. He knew I knew.

“What did you do with the muddles?” I growled threateningly. Chains rattled as I pulled. Behind the lip of the altar, two animated eyes glared up and over the lip of stone from my shirt.

Behind Noah, four robed figures stepped forward. Each carried a torch in one hand…and what looked to be a club in the other.

“Isn’t that a derogatory term for the homeless, Mr. Dipmier?” he grinned sarcastically. “And you believe yourself to be a champion of the people. Shame, shame. But we’ll get to them soon enough. There are always certain precautions one must take when dealing with an enemy.” Noah stared down at me cooly, the flickering light enhancing the dark rings under his eyes. “You never know how they might react under the most innocent of situations.”

I raised a numb arm, lightly shaking my wrist. The chain rattled. “You mean, like, try to get out of shackles?”

Noah chuckled. “That and…revenge for past offenses.”

I scoffed. “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to be violent or get revenge for being kidnapped. Been there, done that. This doesn’t even make my top five worst moment list.”

Casually sitting on the edge of the altar, Noah grinned. “I plan on changing that soon enough.”

“That’s it, Wendell, be a retard and tick off the midget with the key to your freedom!“ Doubt snapped. “At least preTEND to be civil.”

I frowned. “Do you mean getting to know me, or…are you referring to my worst moment list?”

The smile grew. “Yes.”

My head flopped forward with a heavy sigh.

“I might as well light up the sign out front for business and add ‘G.R.R. Cell’ to the bottom of it!” Nat growled. He spun his manual wheelchair around, nearly crushing the wizard’s toes. Glancing over at the teenagers, who were rifling through his pile of electronics on a side table, he barked, “Don’t touch anything!”

Buffy flinched and dropped the circuit board.

Freak, Tumbler, and Telly were seated on the sofa in front of the television. Lili was nestled into one of the leather chairs, her arms around her knees. Nibbles, however, batted her eyes at the computer genius, then slid a stool up next to his main console.

He gulped and tugged the collar of his shirt.

“Are you seriously part of the G.R.R.?” Kip asked bluntly, obviously excited.

Nat mumbled something incoherent under his breath and then, “Yes, I really am part of the…” He whipped back to Chuck. “Why did you bring them here?! Don’t you realize how badly you’ve jeopardized the entire G.R.R. network? Now we can be accused of kidnapping!”

“Not really,” chimed Kip. “We’re both 18. Legal adults.” He shrugged. “I won’t be pressing charges.” He looked to his sister. “You?”

“Don’t look at me,” Buffy sighed. “I don’t want to go back to living 24/7 under a microscope. Besides, we don’t get to do anything without Twoface giving his approval. I hate that.”

“Exactly,” grinned her brother. “In fact, I just might sign up to be a terrorist myself.”

“Terrorist!?” gasped Nat, looking rapidly between both youth. “W-we are NOT terrorists!”

“The cops say you are,” Kip smirked. “It’s also on the web,” he glanced over and winked at his sister, “…and you know if it’s on the web, it’s gotta be true.”

“ARRRGHHH!” Nat bellowed.

“Goodness!” Chuck snorted, spinning the wheelchair around and away from the teens. “Calm yourself, boy, before you blow a brain cell and fall over. So they have a misconception about what you do. Kids make up their own minds, so show them what you do and stop fretting about it! Good news is, we didn’t kidnap anyone.”

Buffy plopped down onto the couch next to the TNT crew and snatched up the remote with a bored sigh.

Nat was already shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what we think, Chuck—the government will say differently. They also own the media. They’ll put a spin on this situation and call us…”

“Hey, look!” Buffy squealed, pointing at the flatscreen. “We’re on TV!”

Sure enough, WHRN’s anchor desk displayed pictures of the twins grinning back at viewers, a large headline overhead which read: Widower Stump In Mourning—Twins Kidnapped in Attempted Government Coup.

The announcer looked into the camera gravely. “As the city continued to rage with violent outbreaks from factory workers, a renegade G.R.R. terrorist cell infiltrated the heart of our government. Six Centurion soldiers and two secret servicemen were brutally slaughtered within the Citadel as the Stump twins were forcefully abducted from the loving embrace of our illustrious president.”

“WHRN has been informed that advanced technology was employed to bypass the advanced security systems in place, including the distortion of camera footage. Authorities are working around the clock to follow potential leads and ensure the safe return of the Stump children. In the meantime, Ian Twofold, the president’s personal assistant, had this to say about the tragic event…”

The scene changed to the president’s personal media room within his suite. The albino wiped his eyes with a snow white handkerchief and then handed it to one of six gnomes in black suits and mirrored sunglasses behind him.

“It is a sign of dark times when a group, forever claiming to be champions of freedom for our beloved people, rears up and attacks, not only our beloved leader…but his defenseless children.” Pausing, Ian reached up and slowly pulled his sunglasses from his face…revealing red, swollen eyes. “This has devastated our beloved President…as it would any loving father!”

He paused, sniffing, and wiped an eye with a pale knuckle. “Our beloved leader has fallen horribly ill, overcome with grief as officers comb this city, searching desperately for his children.” Looking into the camera directly, the sadness turned to a vicious sneer. “Whoever you are…you vipers, we will find you! Mark my words, you foul excuse for gnomes…I love those two children like my own…and I swear those who are responsible will taste the full wrath of the law!”

With a squeak, Buffy clicked off the television and dropped the remote like it was infected.

“Love those two children?” gagged Kip.

“Ewww,” shuddered Buffy. She pulled her legs up off the floor and curled into a ball. “That’s just…gross!”

“Six Centurion soldiers brutally slaughtered?” gasped Chuck.

“Don’t forget the secret servicemen,” moaned Tumbler.

The wizard looked around the room, befuddled. “But we didn’t hurt a fly!”

“Wow,” whispered Telly.

“We are so screwed,” whimpered Freak, dropping his face into his own palms. “If I get out of this alive, the wife’s gonna kill me.”

“…terrorists,” sighed Nat.

“So look at the good news!” chimed Nibbles. She sat with her arms folded, swiveling softly on the stool, blowing bubbles.

Everyone stared back.

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “Didn’t anyone notice what they did?”

“You better enlighten us,” said Lili.

Popping her bubble, she grinned wide. “They don’t have any pictures of us? Come on! How many times were we scanned walking through that place?”

“Half a dozen?” replied Telly.

“If not more,” she countered, “so doesn’t it seem strange to any of you that this Ian guy doesn’t spit out that he knows who we are?” She blew a quick bubble and popped it between her molars. “Sounds to me like they don’t want us to be found out…at least not yet.”

Nat stared at the black TV screen. “Maybe they don’t know where we are after all…or…”

“They don’t actually care,” Lili finished.

“Does that mean Twoface is…” Buffy choked, looking to her brother for comfort. “…going to hurt our dad?”

Kip reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Not if we can help it, my dear.” Grasping the back of Nathan’s wheelchair firmly, Chuck spun him around. Glaring. “Which comes down to you.”

“Me?! Why does any of this come down to me? I’m not the one breaking into government buildings and stealing children!”

“Not children,” Kip and Buffy said in stereo.

The wizard flicked the programmer sharply in the forehead with a boney finger.

“Ow.”

“None of your lip, young man, or next time I’ll use the cane.”

“Sorry.”

“We need your creepy blue friend out here.”

Nat frowned then. “He is not creepy, so stop saying that.”

Chuck shrugged. “Your blue friend, then.”

“What do you want Cryo for?”

“Cryo 64 online!” boomed a jovial, slightly giddy voice. The small projector overhead buzzed along the ceiling, throwing its beam over the main console. A big blue face grinned down at Nat and the wizard. “What’s uuuuuuup!?”

“I didn’t call you,” Nat said sharply without looking up. His eyes remained fixed on Chuck.

“I did,” replied the wizard.

“SwEET!” piped Cryo. “I love to be of service!”

“Uhhh,” stammered Nibbles, “what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a him,” corrected Nat, “not an ‘it’,…and he’s broken.”

“No I’m not,” said Cryo. “I feel absolutely fanTAStic.”

“Shut down,” Nat ordered.

“Belay that command,” Chuck said cooly, standing upright. Smiling brightly at the hovering face, he said aloud, “Cryo—we are in desperate need of your help.” He glanced momentarily at Nat, then shifted back. “And only YOU can do it. Our very lives may depend on your success. Are you up to a challenge?”

“Up to it? OH yeah, baby—throw it my way! I’ll knock it out of the park…slam dunk it…slap it silly and eat it for breakfast.”

Buffy giggled. “I like him—he’s funny.”

“And you are aDORable!” Cryo replied with a wink.

“Ok, this is gettin’ more disturbing by the moment,” grumbled Tumbler.

“For once,” Telly added, “I’m with you.”

Cryo grinned back at both of them through blue teeth.

Chuck stepped between them, pointing at the digital apparition. “We need you to dig deep into the Citadel. Trace any communications, both public and private, concerning Dax. We ticked off the folks in charge. At best, we made them nervous—and I don’t want them deciding to kill the monkey before we can get to him!” One of his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Think you can keep track where the gnomes take him…and make sure we know what happens as it happens?”

“Not a problem!” Cryo64 blipped. For a split second, the face faded, the black gaps representing eyes, closed. “He’s in the Presidential suite.”

“You found him…already?” the wizard asked, impressed.

“I certainly did, gramps,” Cryo beamed.

“Uhhh…Good,” replied Chuck.

“He’s still there,” Cryo chimed.

“Alright,” Chuck nodded.

“Yup, still there.”

“Fine.”

“Still there.”

“Cryo!” the wizard snapped.

“Yes? Oh, Dax is still there, by the way.”

Gritting his teeth. “Let me make a correction. Tell us WHEN they move him and we’ll go from there. Alright?”

“You GOT it, buddy.” The blue face stopped talking and simply…smiled.

Chuck turned back to Nat and sneered. “Yes, he is creepy.”

Before the gnome could reply, “Now we come down to you.” The wizard pulled a small device from the sleeve of his robe and handed it to Nathan.

Nat inspected the device in his palm. “How on…” He looked up. “How did you get this?”

Shrugging. “I have my connections.” Then, in a softer tone. “The President’s fingerprint is on that device. I want you to use it to reverse the credits I paid in fines. Put them on a credit stick and make them untraceable. I want them portable, so whoever uses them, can do so anonymously.”

Nat nodded, still staring at the device. “I can do that.”

“Next, I want you to create a document with a time stamp. Use the President’s signature, absolving all of us from being prosecuted.” Leaning forward, he flipped the gnome around and pushed his face uncomfortably close, so their big noses touched. “And most importantly, I want you to hack into every media station in Clockworks. I don’t care how and I don’t care about the damage—just get control of the media.”

“Why?” Nat scoffed.

Standing upright, the sides of Chuck’s mustache lifted in a grin. “Because I need you as a last resort backup.”

There was a tug on the wizard’s sleeve.

“Yes? What is it, my dear?”

Lili fidgeted in place. “What about Wendell?”

“Wendell?”

“How do we know he’s still ok? We haven’t heard from him in days and no one’s talking about him. We’ve been so focused on Dax and the uproar in the city—it’s like Wendell’s been forgotten.”

Chuck did a double take.

“That seems a tad odd, my dear, coming from you of all people,” he said.

Seeing her concern, Chuck lifted her hand gently and patted it. “I know this might sound harsh, dear one, but that boy is clever and resilient. Not to mention protected by the power of the Ithari. He’ll be just fine. Our priority is to get Dax back. He needs our help right now, not Wendell.” He smiled brightly. “Our hero is probably kicking back with his friends down below, chatting away.”

No matter how many candles were lit, the chamber retained its cold grip on me.

I shivered violently, then uncontrollably.

Even during the magical storm I’d experienced on my way to Til-Thorin, the magical cloth had protected me from the sleet and bone-numbing pain. But I couldn’t feel my hands at all now.

More than once, I found my teeth chattering and I had to clench my jaw tight to control them.

The good news was, I didn’t feel the slightest pain. That was…so long as I didn’t move. The bad news was, if I did move, it felt as if my muscles were being torn from my shoulder sockets.

If my discomfort mattered to anyone else in the room, no one showed it.

The monks worked diligently in silence to create a wide circle around the altar using various sized candles of golden wax. Noah stood back as bodies ushered through the doorway and nimble hands organized the wicks in arched patterns.

Holy candles, Noah shared aloud, but something wasn’t right.

The three old gnomes chained to the walls cowered from the circle of light and soon an odd smell filled the room. The smoke rose into the air, taking over the dank, musty scent…replacing it with a bitter odor that burned my nose.

The light also played with one’s perceptions, casting multiple shadows of Noah upon the walls as he paced about.

“Thank you, brother,” Noah said softly, taking a wooden box from a monk. “That will be all.” He gently placed the container on the stone altar between me and himself.

The box was covered in strange symbols, carved into the deep blue-stained wood, dozens of knots protruding from holes around its rim.

With a silent nod, the monk retreated hastily—taking all but two of the guards with him. The large door scraped across the floor, closing with a loud WUMP!

For long moments, all that could be heard was the rattling of the chains as I fidgeted.

“This is not good, Wendell. Not good at all,” Doubt hissed.

My pulse raced as unsettling memories came back to me.

World History class and thoughts of the Spanish Inquisition. Unspeakable torture flooded my mind. I fidgeted, struggling to keep my teeth from chattering.

“You’re stuck in a dungeon with a psychotic midget, Wendell.” Doubt let out a deep sigh. “I bet Dorothy and Oz didn’t have to deal with garbage like this…”

You’re not helping. I tugged at the chains again.

“What could Noah possibly want with us? So you spoke out against the leaders…so what? You encouraged gnomes to stand up for themselves…but torture? Come on! Ok, your revolution comment may have been over the top, but… “ Doubt sighed again, I’m assuming at my stupidity. “Even I thought it sounded like such a good idea at the time.”

“I hope you realize, Mr. Dipmier,” Noah broke the silence, “that you’ve been causing a great deal of stress for me…and this magnificent city.”

“Yup, he’s pissed about the speech.”

Gulping. “Right…about that. You see, I was just trying…”

“I agree with you,” Noah cut me off.

I frowned. “Uhhh…you…huh?”

Noah placed his hands within the folds of his robes and showed me a kind, genuine smile. “I said I agree with you.”

My brows crinkled forward and remained stuck there. It didn’t make sense that Noah would agree with anything I had to say. This turn of attitude made me feel ill.

“There is a need for a revolution in this great city…as well as a purging of evil influences among our people. And I’m just the right person to make that happen.”

“…aaaand there’s the psycho,” Doubt squealed.

With slow and lingering movements, Noah kept his direct attention focused on me. “The general people of Clockworks City are sheep, Mr. Dipmier. Good people who are, in reality, mere animals too stupid to make proper decisions for themselves.” His fingers curled around the far edges of the blue box—worn and weathered from time and use. He pulled the container closer to him, hugging it against his pear-shaped belly. “They need a firm hand. A brighter mind to guide them. Someone to navigate them away from evil influences that would disturb their peace and interrupt their duty to their community.”

“And that person, I take it,” I cut in, refusing to hide my sarcasm, “is supposed to be you?”

Noah’s expression softened so much, he almost looked kind.

Almost.

“Exactly. Which is why my position and responsibilities are so important.” Deft hands started untying the series of knots binding the lid. One by one the circular pieces of rope came undone. “My holy and sacred duty is to make sure the flock is not polluted by the actions or beliefs of heretics, enemies of TGII and, of course, charlatans.”

The top of the container slid off as the last knot came undone.

Noah lifted out a whip.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell is cornered by Centurions in the furnace district and makes a desperate choice…he has to let himself be captured to find out where Simon and the others were taken. Meanwhile, Chuck’s crew barely escapes the Citadel with the President’s children but without Dax, who remains tagged and imprisoned. Höbin pulls off an audacious escape from the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a delivery crate, blowing up the van on the way out. And Morty reveals his greatest breakthrough yet — a completed PROMIS device, powered by a Lanthya shard.

It was an intense chapter!!

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Chapter 88

“This is absolute rubbish,” Höbin grunted again.

“You keep saying that,” Morty snickered, “and yet you keep reading it.” He put the mini screwdriver between his teeth and twisted the cable cover into place. It was almost done. So close…so close.

The historian scratched his head vigorously. He’d been at it for hours since he’d gotten back, and his notes were scattered all over the desk and floor. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so frustrated. “The so-called facts that the FAF has gathered over time just don’t…add up.”

It wasn’t that Höbin was unorganized — no, it was the exact opposite. He was trying to follow the same systematic approach he’d always used to sift official documents, and it wasn’t working. The lists he’d copied from both the guilds and Morty’s individual genealogy charts were identical. At least that was confirmed.

Höbin knew he was on the right track…so what was going on?

“It’s like someone’s keeping two sets of notes,” he muttered. “One for the official collection, where we have to use time stamps…and the other with the actual personal information I’m looking for.” He huffed. “But that makes as much sense as a donkey in a dress. Why would someone care enough to adjust personal lines of achievement? Why alter the personal notes when you already have full credit in the official ones?”

Morty popped the cover into place and laughed to himself.

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“What? Oh — no, sorry,” the tinkerer said quickly. “That’s just me being excited. Not about your dilemma.” He set the cable down and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The PROMIS backup was finally ready for testing on a larger scale.

His cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

He’d been out of practice. But now it was time to let the joy overflow. For some strange reason, TGII had paved the way for success — and Morty was going to not only take each and every blessing offered…but be grateful for it all. Success was so close he could finally taste it.

He lifted his arms to his sides and stretched, yawning out loud.

“Stop that,” Höbin grumbled. “Your good mood is…annoying me.”

“Oh-HO!” Morty laughed. “Upset that I beat you?”

Höbin threw himself back in his chair and snorted. “We’re not in a race, you can’t—” He did a double take. “Wait. You’re done?”

Morty’s grin only grew wider. “I’m done. The device is complete, whole, intact…ready for full-scale testing.”

Höbin rose to his feet and waddled over. It really was a thing of beauty. Nearly eleven feet tall, Morty had kept the original cylinder design for the lenses — allowing the light to be magnified and converted into energy.

Höbin patted the giant tube with a gloved hand. “You think it’ll work? The entire grid is more than sixty thousand miles of cable, you know. Plus, you don’t know what will happen once you start pumping juice into the system.”

Morty appreciated intelligent conversation. Even though Höbin was a fishis and not a tinkerer, he had a keen mind and comprehended things outside the box as a matter of habit. It wasn’t hard for the historian’s imagination to stretch and accept something new — something unique or original. The foundation of a tinkerer. He couldn’t help but admire that in the cyborg.

“I believe,” Morty said, “with the right power source, I can generate enough juice to make a serious dent in the electrical grid. As for what will actually happen when the power sources collide, well…” He shrugged. He had no clue. That was alright. One problem at a time.

“Will anyone notice the drain from the grid?” Höbin walked around the circumference of the device, counting the cables. “I’m assuming here that the shift between energy sources won’t be instantaneous.” He paused, staring at the cables on the floor. “You don’t…have it all plugged in.”

“No, not yet,” Morty said. “I need to run the final tests before I attempt the actual connection — just in case I missed something.”

The fishis peeked over the lower hump of the device. “Soooo…what’s your power source?”

Morty pointed to the top of the cylinder. “See that chamber? The one with the black sealing rings? That’s the infuser.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a black velvet bag. “Where I will put…” He loosened the drawstring.

Light escaped from within — warm, comforting, like sun on a cool spring day.

Morty slipped his hand inside and pulled free a shard that glowed in his palm. He stared into it and whispered, “This.”

Höbin nearly fell over. He grabbed the edge of the PROMIS to steady himself. “WOAH there, buddy! Is that—” He blinked hard. “Wait a minute. That can’t possibly be a…”

Morty nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the prize he held. “A Lanthya shard.”

“A shard!?” Höbin choked. “How in the world did you get your hands on an ancient artifact — and may I clarify here, a priceless and infinitely powerful artifact!”

Morty couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks burned with strain and — well — relief. His worst problems since he’d started this project were solved. It was always the power source. But now, even if PROMIS rejected the first attempt — even the hundredth — he could always try again. And again.

The Lanthya shard was unlimited power.

He started laughing, louder, almost hysterically. “I know.” He clutched the shard to his chest and looked up. “Chuck owed me a favor… and a promise.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” Höbin swore.

Morty bobbed his head, gleeful as a child with a new toy. “I can’t wait to plug it in!”

Deloris continued to ignore Nat’s pleas to rest. There was no place to rest. Not after the events of the last two days. There were too many people, too many eyes on her all the time. Funny — it never seemed to bother her until today. Now it was…irritating. She was on edge, and for once, she had to get out. Get away.

So she paced through the vacant warehouse. Alone.

She didn’t want to lecture or be lectured to. She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to talk to another reporter. She didn’t want to give her views to Motherboard or to Bellows.

Clockworks City was tumbling into chaos.

She just wanted to be alone and think.

No. That wasn’t accurate.

She wanted to go home. That was it. She wanted to be with her husband. Her silly, awkward, delightfully brilliant husband.

She shuddered. The husband who had pleaded with her to stay and help him complete his life’s work…yet still supported her drive to serve the G.R.R. To serve the cause.

Supported her leaving him on his own.

Again.

It was funny how it took so much loss and so much adversity to see things clearly. They’d never had a chance to have children. No. That was another lie. They always had time — but Deloris chose a career over offspring. Not that she regretted her accomplishments…but there was no family to leave any legacy to now. No one to carry the name or the dreams forward — like she and Morty had done for their own fathers.

Morty had asked more than a dozen times to have children. Lovingly. Patiently. Never pushing…only waiting.

He always waited.

She always left.

Now the world was changing. Faster than Deloris thought possible.

Wendell was supposed to deliver the carefully scripted speech. To cause people — specifically the normals — to reconsider their positions in society. To open their minds and hearts to new possibilities, new opportunities, for a more unified race. A race that could venture out into the light — like the Gnolaum prophecies said they would do.

But Wendell had changed the course of the focus.

Revolution.

That was all he had to say to those suffering. Those struggling and beset by harsh conditions. A single word that set Clockworks on fire.

Revolution.

The flow of goods had stopped. Stores were being drained by panicked citizens. Transport masters were demanding raises. Citizens were refusing to pay travel fees. Manufacturers were redistributing and selling to workers first — at fair prices, too. Customers, or the general public, were now second in line…because if workers stopped working, no one got goods at all. The poor were learning they had value in society — not because someone said they did — but because they could see the cause and effect.

Technology allowed hundreds of millions of minds to connect and unite at the push of a button. Sharing ideas, sharing focus, coordinating open rebellion against a system that was not only broken…it was corrupt.

Her soft shoes scuffed across the cold cement floor. A brisk wind whipped around the machines and over her shoulders. She shivered and pulled her sweater tight against her blouse.

Was it such a bad thing? To have the government pulled down by those it was built to serve? Pulled down by those it was abusing? Ignoring…or worse?

The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries were about truth and choice. The belief was that if there was full disclosure — and the choices were set honestly in front of a gnome — he or she would choose right more often than not. It wasn’t perfect…but freedom wasn’t about perfection.

It was about choice.

Even the choice to struggle, ignore, refuse…even fail.

If the choice was plain and open, one would more likely seek freedom, not slavery. They’d seen it in the lower districts. In the slums, where poverty crushed the hope and light from so many souls — until hearts united. Until people reached out to one another — not always by an idea, but through the sheer need to survive…and it grew. One good experience gave way to another, fostering the desire to create an organized body that did good for one another.

Peaceful coexistence. Not violence, and certainly not war. If a neighbor was suffering, others would come to their aid — even if the government was not involved. Especially if the government was not involved. That was not the role of the government.

No. The citizens were already overtaxed, overregulated, manipulated, and forced to live a life that did little more than feed a machine to keep the rich rich and the poor utterly destitute.

And now Deloris didn’t want any part of it.

She sighed.

“I miss you, Morty,” she whispered to herself. “I was a fool to leave. They don’t need me here. Not anymore. Not like you do.” She sighed again, so heavily her shoulders fell forward. “Like you always have.”

But like so many important things in life, she’d put her husband on a shelf.

Now Wendell was gone. No one knew where, other than down a manhole. In a city with over a billion and a half people, that wasn’t much to go on. The media continued to spin the events into problems that didn’t exist and completely ignored the real change — the real events. Feeding lies to the people and making the Gnolaum sound like a terrorist.

Too much. Too big. Too fast.

“Deloris?” The older com-link crackled in her pocket. She’d promised Nat she would take the small communication device, so long as she was physically left alone. The device fell silent for a few moments, then, “Deloris, I’m sorry for the interruption, but we need to talk. It’s important.”

She pulled the bulky device out and held it close to her mouth. Pushing the blue button, she said, “Go ahead, Nathan.”

“Cryo just picked up a distress alert. The furnace doors have broken down. I believe that’s where Wendell most likely retreated to.”

“Otger was with him.”

The device crackled, then, “Exactly. But that’s not all. We caught a secondary message. It was through the Centurion channel, directly from the Citadel…but they were trying to keep it quiet. Off the main waves.” The voice dropped to a near whisper. “Someone broke into the Presidential suite.”

It was not the kind of news Deloris was prepared for. She shook her head. “Chuck.”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

“Great,” she muttered to herself. Then, lifting the mic to her mouth, “Anything else?”

Crackle. “Yeah. Morty called for you. He said it’s urgent.”

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” The squeak in Nathan’s voice made him sound like a teenage girl. “You can’t just…leave!” His hands trembled against the metal frame of his wheelchair as he searched her face.

Deloris lowered her head, her fists resting on her hips. “I’m sorry — would you like to say that to me again?”

Nat gulped and quickly raised his hands. “That’s not — wait. I didn’t mean…”

“You’re a valued asset and a skilled individual that we will greatly miss,” Bellows filled in. He grinned into the camera. “That’s what I believe our young friend was trying to say, Ms. Hinder.” The wealthy business owner turned slightly in his leather chair, struck a match along his desk, and brought it to his pipe.

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” she corrected him — though it came with a smile. It felt good to say that name out loud. Her name. “That’s been my name for most of my life, Mr. Bellows. It’s about time I started living up to it.”

Nat gasped, looking from the monitor to Deloris, then over to Shamas.

“Don’t look at me,” the bodyguard shrugged, backing away. “I’ve never been married.”

“Guh — puh,” Nat sputtered incoherently.

Deloris giggled. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen the computer genius speechless.”

He slapped a hand down on the wheelchair. “How am I supposed to get on without you?”

Leaning over, she gave Nat a motherly kiss on the forehead. With a broad smile of confidence, she whispered, “Historically.”

Her bags were already packed and sitting outside the office door. Shaking hands with Shamas, she added softly, “Watch over him, will you? He gets a bit uptight from time to time…and tends to rub people the wrong way.”

He winked.

“Oh,” she added, turning back to Nathan. “I also believe there was a particularly adorable fabricator on the TNT crew who idolized you.” She blew him a kiss as she shut the door. “I’d look her up if I were you.”

And with that, she was gone.

For several moments the office remained quiet. The only sound was the pulse of factory machines through the cement walls.

“I’m sunk,” Nat finally grunted, his chin dropping to his chest. His eyes widened with the realization of what lay before him. “We’ve incited riots all over the city and now, without Deloris to move them…sway them, they’ll run amok.” He gasped, head popping upright. “Or worse — they’ll leave!” He let out a shuddering breath. “We’re doomed.”

“Nonsense,” Bellows chided him. “You have more willing followers than ever before! Look at the general population of my factories alone. With the right direction and encouragement, the G.R.R. will be unstoppable. That woman isn’t changing her loyalties, Nathan — just her focus.” He chuckled. “Teedlebaum is about to change Clockworks as we know it. You’ve said it yourself, and so has Motherboard. If he succeeds in completing his device, that tinkerer will bring a whole new level of freedom to our race.” He puffed once, satisfied. “For goodness sakes, boy — it’s a great time to be alive!”

Shamas smirked. “Great time to be a gnome.”

“I don’t care how fast they are!” the Centurion barked. “Stun ‘em and bag ‘em. Every last gnome in this furnace is going with us…NOW!”

“SIR, YES SIR!!” the mirrored helmets shouted in unison.

“MOVE OUT!”

Children sprinted away, running for the main furnace where they could hide under the piles of garbage. That was the last-resort tactic — to hide closer to the furnace — but it worked against the uniforms. The heavy leather and armor of the Centurions trapped the heat against their bodies, driving them back from the machine. The air was also too hot to breathe, but the children seemed able to endure it better than the elderly. Certain spots had been created — insulated pockets, along with cloth and small containers of filtered water. These would allow the children to stay cooler, longer, and outlast their pursuers.

Centurions fanned out, leaving nothing in their wake. Not a word was said to the muddles, either. Once in range, the gnomes were beaten with clubs until unconscious…or stunned. Short, shotgun-style weapons shot tiny wires at fleeing targets, piercing tattered cloth.

Muddles fell on their faces, flipping about like fish, unable to control their muscles as they were pumped full of electricity. Centurions laughed wickedly. Several held down the triggers until foam covered their lips and faces turned blue.

I was already on my feet, sprinting across the heaps.

They didn’t care.

I caught sight of a female collapsing in a powerful seizure. Old or young — these Centurions just didn’t care. My stomach clenched, the smiley on my shirt hyperventilating. I had to get the kids away from these vicious attacks.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“There he is!” cried an officer. “The Gnolaum — just like they said we’d find him!”

Centurions broke off from the arch and came after me. My longer legs gave me the advantage, and I quickly put distance between us.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I clenched my fists as I ran. I could feel power surging through my veins. Then the thought hit — sharp and ugly.

We have to go with them.

My skin crawled at the idea of these good people being subjected to this violence, but I had to leave with this group of soldiers. I had to find out where everyone was being taken. Find out what happened to Simon. It was the only way to learn where they were hauling the muddles.

I just had to stop the violence.

But how?

Something glinted in the firelight.

I skidded to a stop and threw myself at it, yanking it free — part of a flattened filing cabinet. The drawer had been crushed into the frame, leaving a handhold big enough for three fingers.

A shield.

Not perfect, but it would do.

“There he is!” shouted a Centurion.

Four were still coming — still pushing into the heat. Determined.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I stood upright, keeping the crude shield tight against my chest, and lifted my free hand in a defensive posture. “Now boys,” I called, loud enough for them to hear over the furnace. “Let’s talk about this.”

“We’re not talking with you about anything, you heretic!”

“That’s not technically true, Bernie,” another voice snapped. “You just talked with him about…well, not talking with him.”

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“Well, you did.”

“Just shoot him!” screamed the third, huffing as he crested the garbage hill.

Two weapons came up.

Tiny red lights blinked at the ends. Infrared targeting.

I didn’t flinch. Let them settle. Let them commit.

One…two…

I snapped the shield up and ducked.

Thwip — thwip — thwip.

PING! PING!

Needles bounced off the cabinet.

“You missed!”

“Do…we get another try?”

“You only get one shot, moron! Roll it back up — fast!!”

Good to know.

I reached down, grabbed the ends of the cables, and barked, “Säko!”

My skin tingled as the current gathered from the air and poured into my arms — pushed through my hand into the wire like ice water. Hair rose all over my body. I held the intent in my mind: current down the wires, through the weapon, into the Centurion’s uniform.

The gnome stumbled, but didn’t drop.

“Woah — feedback!” he yelped.

It’s not enough.

Another uniform came into view. I knew how to throw arcs of lightning, but I couldn’t risk killing someone if I lost control.

Then I heard it — just on the other side of the garbage ridge.

Children screamed.

Agonizing, lingering cries of pain.

…and laughter.

Something in me went cold.

“Teho!” I roared.

“AHHHHHHHH!” the Centurion shrieked. Sparks spit from the weapon. His small frame shook violently, arcs pulsing across the leather.

I forced myself calm — just enough — and let him drop, twitching, to the ground.

No pause. I lunged, snatched the second set of wires. “Säko teho!” I hissed, picturing him being blown back.

Sparks erupted again — this time flipping him through the air. His helmet bounced hard as he landed and skidded.

“He’s armed!” the third yelled. “Shoot him!”

I didn’t have time to raise the shield.

Three weapons fired at once.

Needles punched into my neck, my arm, my thigh.

“Argh!” Pain snapped me sideways.

Then I gritted my teeth and snarled, “Säko teho!”

Every muscle in my back and chest locked as I drew a heavier current out of the air and funneled it through my skin. I kept my eyes wide and held the image — me as a battery — sending it back through the wires they’d shot into me.

Like grabbing an electric fence.

Except I was the fence.

They felt every bit of it.

Unable to let go, all three dropped to their knees, trembling. One by one they tipped and fell onto their backs.

“Läkätä,” I blurted.

The charge bled out of me in a violent shiver. I collapsed forward, face-first into a wilted box. For nearly a full minute I fought my own breathing, muscles in my face and arms twitching like I’d been turned inside out.

Woah.

Now…that was intense.

I blinked hard and forced myself up.

The children’s screaming had stopped.

Completely.

Oh no.

I looked over the scattered Centurions. Out cold. Good.

Keeping low, I crawled — arms and knees — until I reached the top of the ridge. I eased my head over the lip.

The back of the transport was open.

Small bodies were being tossed inside like refuse.

The children.

My stomach turned.

I counted what I could see. Each child was thrown into a rough pile. Every toss made my jaw tighten.

I have to go down there.

I have to go with them.

Which meant I was going to get tased again — because there was no way they let me ride conscious.

“Maybe I can lie here and pretend to be unconscious,” I said to myself. “Make it look like a real struggle and they finally caught me.”

“Maybe you won’t have to pretend,” a cold voice said behind me.

My blood froze.

I started to turn —

More than a dozen needles hit me at once. The sensation shot up my spine, and the world became a single brutal line of electricity.

ZZZZZT!

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck uses cold, hard credits to secure the TNT crew’s loyalty and launches a daring plan to break Dax out of the Citadel before the government carries out his execution. Meanwhile, deep beneath the city, Wendell wakes up in the furnace district — but what he finds there is far worse than he expected.

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Chapter 87

“This isn’t gonna work!” Freak cried out loud.

Everyone agreed with the genius mechanic, but the wizard wasn’t listening.

“Did you listen to the news flash? We don’t have any more time,” Chuck stammered, trying to pull the uniform over his head. Again it stuck. It was the beard. Nothing wanted to work when you had what felt like a ten-foot beard attached to your face. “They’ve set the execution after that stunt Wendell pulled, and now…” Lili yanked harder until the collar finally popped over the wizard’s head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

She smiled and proceeded to lace her boots.

“I agree with Freak,” grumbled Tumbler. “No one’s gonna believe you ‘n me are working for a food delivery joint.” He tugged uncomfortably on his orange-and-green smock. “I look like a monkey.”

“Monkey’s saving a monkey,” Chuck grinned. “Sounds perfect to me.” He sat at the kitchen table and started braiding his beard into a manly Kutollum style. It wouldn’t do to break into Centurion headquarters, grab Dax, and then ruin the whole strategy by tripping over his own face. “Besides… gnomes your age,” he started to say, then reconsidered, “your age anyway—are being forced to find new and less appealing forms of employment nowadays.” He tilted his head, considering. “Think about it. How many stores can you walk into now without some old crony welcoming you, bagging your groceries, or walking kids across the street in an orange vest?”

Telly chuckled. “He has a point there. You won’t find a single Pall-Mart store that doesn’t have some old prune…” He hesitated when Tumbler glared back at him. “I-I mean respectable senior citizen, saying ‘Welcome to Pall-Mart.’”

“I don’t give a flying TGII what happens with other gnomes.” Tumbler shoved his hands into the smock’s pockets like he wanted to strangle the fabric from the inside. “I care about how I have to live my life—and if those guards—and may I remind you there are THOUSANDS of Centurions in that building—catch us, we’re—”

“Oh poo,” Chuck interrupted, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t tell me that’s fear I smell? All this noble talk about doing the right thing, and then a little challenge comes your way and—”

“Little!?!” croaked the old gnome. “We’re about to walk into the Citadel dressed as food delivery boys! No one’s gonna buy this!”

The wizard smiled. “But it’s really good food.”

“I don’t care,” Freak grunted. “I’m not doing it.” He tossed the smock onto the kitchen table.

“Yes,” replied Socket, “you are.” She sat hunched over the table, reading each line of the contract Chuck had produced right before dinner. Her eyes devoured every detail as her tiny hands quivered with excitement. “He’s delivered what he’s promised so far and we’re not backing out now.” She flipped the page. “Perfect,” she whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Glad you approve,” the wizard smirked, “because it wasn’t easy to get Bellows to agree.” He flicked his gaze toward Freak. “However, even at a profit, you’ll be less expensive than the maintenance services he currently uses. With his fleet of delivery vehicles, you’ll have more work than you know what to do with.” He raised a single eyebrow. “Well…if you make it back, that is.”

Craig shook his head wearily.

Nibbles pulled a small packet of what looked like raisins from her pocket and started eating. “You still have to deliver two million credits, you know.”

Chuck shook his head. “I still have to deliver two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits, to be exact.” He grinned wide.

She popped another bite into her mouth. “You make me nervous.”

“Well, he’s making me happy,” chirped Socket, “so leave him alone and get ready. You’re all doing this.”

“What if I don’t come back?” Freak pouted. “What if they catch us and decide to throw me in prison?”

His wife considered it for only a moment, then beamed her lovely white smile. “Then I’ll build up the business for when you get out.”

Chuck smirked. “Ah. True love.”

All ready to go, Lili looked around the room and frowned. “So explain to me again why I’m the only one in a dress?”

“Because my knees are too bony and I haven’t shaved in over a millennium,” Chuck smirked.

“Because,” Telly winked, nudging her softly with his elbow, “you’re management.”

“I’m…?”

“The one in charge, sweetie,” said Nibbles. “You get to take lead and hopefully you’ll distract them enough to squeak us all by the cops.”

Lili’s head flopped forward with a moan. “I’m the bait. Again.”

Telly nudged her again. “You really are that cute, ya know.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop it,” chided the wizard. “We have less than three days before they end my boy’s life—and I want him back!”

“Your boy?” Socket scoffed, wrinkling her nose in open disgust. “But he’s a—”

“HE’S NOT A VALLEN, ALRIGHT?” the wizard boomed.

The room snapped still.

Chuck didn’t shout again. He didn’t need to. His eyes locked on Socket like a vise, and that was worse. He pointed at her—slow, precise. “Dax is an evolu. Born, bred, and true.” His voice dropped into something ragged. “That poor child was cursed and cast out from his own people at no fault of his own.”

He swallowed hard.

“I raised him.” The words came out quieter. Sharper. Like they hurt to say. “I taught him.” His eyes shone, and he didn’t blink it away. “And I want him back.”

He pointed at each of them, one by one, like he was counting heads at a funeral.

“Your corrupt government wants to execute an innocent elf.” His chin lifted a fraction. “And I claim him as my own.”

A pause. A dare.

“Anyone have a problem with that?”

Each shook their head.

Chuck nodded once, satisfied. “Then let’s go shopping and get this poppycock over with!”

“Oooooohhhh,” I moaned.

“And they all know about this?” Mal asked.

“Yup,” Otger said. “The whole city.”

“Well I’ll be,” Mal whispered. “You mean after all these years, he actually exists?”

“Yup,” Otger repeated. “And you even called him a turd.”

The preacher flinched. “I did, didn’t I?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh boy. Well—not time to worry about it now—let’s get him up and out of the way.”

Hands found me. A lot of them. For what felt like hours I floated along, half-dragged, half-carried. Every so often my knuckles clipped the ground, banged a can, or bumped over some unknown mound of garbage.

“Put him here. No, over here. I’ve got something soft to put under his head.”

“Is he breathing?” a child’s voice asked.

“Well if he wasn’t breathing, Dain,” Mal replied, “he wouldn’t be making that sound, now would he?”

“I guess not.”

“You…guess not.” Mal sighed. “We need to work on your observation skills, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did it open?” I moaned.

“Sure did,” Otger chimed. “We’re in.”

I tried to lift my head. Every muscle screamed in protest. I groaned again. “That…was not fun.”

My eyes burned. The familiar yellow-orange glow surrounded me, but voices still had no faces—just shapes.

“That was one big jolt you took, kid,” Mal said. “Don’t try to sit up all at once.”

“Didn’t listen to you last time,” I muttered, then forced myself upright anyway.

“No. No, you didn’t,” Mal said, sheepish. “Then again, I didn’t know you were a mythical being from another time and place either.”

I rolled my head side to side. My neck cracked and popped loud enough to make a kid jump. “No one said I was mythical anything. I’m just like you.” I paused. “Well…not like you, but—” That sounded worse. “I’m mortal. There.”

Mal laughed and patted my shoulder. “Not sure I’m going to agree with you on that one. Don’t know many mortals who’d still be kicking after getting blasted across a service road by a bajillion volts o’ juice.”

“There’s no such thing as a bajill—”

“I know that, Otger,” Mal sighed. “I was making a point.”

“Gotcha.”

I blinked until the world sharpened.

Blane. Trigg. A couple of children. That was it.

The tent town was gone—torn down. No laughter. No running. No women.

My stomach sank. “Where is everyone?”

“A lot happened after your escape,” Mal said quietly. He nodded to Blane. The cab driver and Trigg drifted away, giving us space. “We had another raid not long after the last transport left.”

“Where’s Enid?” I asked. “Simon?”

Mal’s mouth tightened. “They took most everyone, kid. First the women. Then any kids they could catch. When they showed up this time they were angry. Things got…physical.”

Otger shifted. “Dayl?”

Mal patted Otger’s forearm. “I’m sorry. He blocked the way so some of the kids could run. The Centurions beat him for it, then hauled him off with the last load.” His eyes slid back to me. “Enid. Simon. Jeris. Dayl. All the community leaders—except me and Trigg. We were inside the furnace collecting when they hit the camp. By the time we got back out, the last transport was already leaving.”

The words hit like a hammer.

Simon was gone.

My chest went cold. “I have to find where they took them,” I said, staring at Mal. “And we have to get these gnomes out of here. There’s a place for them at any of the Bellows factories. Tell them I sent you.”

“And get there how?” Mal scoffed. “We don’t know our way. If we get caught—”

“Then you won’t be any worse off than you are now,” I snapped, then steadied myself. “Hiding here and waiting to be hauled off.” I looked at Otger. “Otger can guide you.”

Mal shook his head hard. “No. The moment a Centurion sees us—”

I grabbed his arm. Not gently. “The Centurions have enough to worry about up top. A group of muddles is the last thing on their list.”

Mal’s frown deepened as he tried to pull away. “Don’t call me that.”

“I know you’re not a muddle, Mal,” I said, tightening my grip. “But you’re not forgotten or useless either. You’re the leader down here. Get them out.”

“I can help too,” a broad-shouldered gnome said.

He stepped forward, fingers hooked in his front pockets like he owned the place. “I know the paths Centurions take. I know what streets they’ll avoid. If we get cornered, I can buy time. Create a diversion.”

I smirked. “And who is this volunteer?”

Mal shoved him forward. “Do you recall zapping a certain Centurion so you could sneak on the transport?”

My eyebrows jumped. “Oh.”

“Name’s Leith,” he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it — and his grip felt like iron.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied flatly. “Joined the force because my father wanted a better life for me. Slaved away on trash tankers.” He glanced around the furnace landscape. “So this wasn’t exactly new to me. Took me a day or two to remember my roots and see what’s really happening down here.”

“Try five or six,” Mal muttered smugly. Then his eyes darkened. He rolled his lip between his teeth like he was bracing himself. “Point is, Leith’s a natural leader. A survivor.” He looked at me. “And he has a secret you need to hear.”

Leith waited for Mal’s nod, then spoke carefully. “We aren’t really Centurions.”

I frowned. “Not really…?”

“Not like you’d think,” Leith said. “Our team was handpicked months ago. Formed based on our backgrounds and religious beliefs.”

My stomach dropped. “Religious beliefs…”

“We work for the Church,” he said. “Not the government.”

My heart sank further. “Why would the Church kidnap people?” My hands started to shake. “Isn’t one of their jobs to care for the poor? The needy?” My voice climbed before I could stop it. “Who needs love and help more than the people living down here?” Then the rage broke through. “What the hell kind of religion is this?”

Leith and Otger both gasped.

“Now watch it!” Mal snapped, jabbing a finger at me like a dagger. “You may be the Gnolaum, but my beliefs go beyond you, sucker, so watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“The Temple of TGII—some call it the Temple of Nothing—is founded on the belief that the universe is planned,” Mal said, voice steady, almost reverent. “A vast machine. Perfect. No spare parts. Every single thing has a purpose, Wendell.” A faint smile cracked through the grime. “So don’t judge my religion just because you’re staring at the rusted cogs of the system.”

None of it made sense. If this was charity, why was it done like a raid?

I turned back to Leith. “Where did you take people?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Drop-off point near the sewers behind the Temple. Our commanding officer radios in. Monks meet us and escort captives inside.”

I didn’t like any of that. “And you don’t know what happens after?”

“No, sir. We get paid. We’re sent back to our districts. If we talk, we’re never called again—and we’re excommunicated.”

“And you don’t want that,” I said.

Leith looked genuinely offended. “Of course not!”

“But you were kidnapping innocent people,” I pressed. “That didn’t bother you? Not once?”

“We were told they were apostates,” he said, jaw tight. “Hiding. Plotting against the Temple.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. “These people? Seriously?” I swept a hand at the children, the dirt, the hunger. The kindness. “These are your apostates?”

Leith shrugged. “You’d be surprised what a person will believe when they refuse to question their spiritual leaders.”

I exhaled hard. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Mal patted Leith’s back. “It’s alright, son. We appreciate the truth.” He nodded toward the group. “Go help them gather. We’re doing what the Gnolaum suggests.”

“Just Wendell,” I said quickly. The title still made my skin crawl. “Please. Just call me Wendell.”

Mal gave Leith a look, but Leith hesitated. For the first time, his face softened. The soldier mask slipped.

“I did it because I thought I was protecting people from a bad influence,” he said quietly. He swallowed, eyes flicking to Mal. “I was wrong. It took me living with them to see who the bad influence really was.” His voice roughened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

Then he turned and walked away.

I watched him weave through the trash mounds until he found a child standing alone. Leith knelt, smiled, and offered a hand. The kid took it.

I looked back at Mal. “It wasn’t just sitting down here that changed his mind.”

Mal shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“The Church hates me,” I said. “They threw me down a garbage chute.” The absurdity made me snort. “Now that they know who I am, they hate me even more.”

Otger shifted uneasily. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

Mal smiled at him, gentle. “Go help Leith, alright?”

Otger nodded fast. “Good idea,” he blurted, then hurried off.

We waited until we were alone.

“I’m sorry I was harsh last time,” Mal said.

I smirked. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “You were a turd.”

“Agreed.”

“Hmmm.” His eyes narrowed in mock assessment. “I sense humble seeds growing within you.”

“More like a frustrated acknowledgment that you’re right,” I said.

“Ah.”

I rubbed my face, exhausted. “I don’t know anything about the Church, Mal. They want me dead. Why?”

Mal dropped onto a crate and yawned like we were discussing weather. “You’re upsetting the balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated. “What balance? All I did was try to win at a national sport.”

Mal smiled. “Really? Was that all? Or were you using the games to build something else?”

I hesitated. “Maybe.”

He just sat there, waiting.

“Oh, alright,” I muttered. “Yes. I was trying to win so I could give a speech to the city.”

“To do what?”

“To gain favor with the people,” I said. “People are being controlled by—” I stopped, because Mal was already grinning. “The Government and the religious faction have major control over the people.”

“You already knew that,” Mal said. “You see it every day. You just didn’t think about it long enough.” He leaned forward. “They manipulate elections, businesses, guilds…souls. That’s why the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries exist.”

He knows about the G.R.R.? My eyebrows lifted. “How do you—”

Mal scoffed and waved a hand. “Please. Everyone knows the freedom faction. Most just talk about it behind closed doors.” He stared into the furnace glow. “Only difference between them and the other two giants is the G.R.R. doesn’t shove an agenda down your throat. They put choices in front of you. That’s power. Simple and terrifying.” He sighed. “The Church hates that. They want to choose for you—so the thinking is already done.”

A gust of hot air surged as the furnace kicked on. Loose papers fluttered. Empty containers rolled down a nearby mound. Heat whipped past us—dry, stale, carrying decay.

I stared at the massive doors. “The heat’s being sucked out,” I said.

“Out the door you opened,” Mal replied.

Otger wandered back into view, slower this time, watching me like I might explode again.

“Can I see it?” Mal asked suddenly. His voice went careful. “The Ithari. It’s what we talk about. Learn about.” His eyes flicked to my chest. “And you.”

I tried not to laugh. “I’m not reincarnated. I’ve never been here before.” I smirked. “I’m just a guy with a really stressful job.”

Mal scratched his head. “Well that’s disappointing. We were taught you were the same host through the ages.” He studied me, eyes drifting to the yellow smiley face on my shirt. It stared back like it knew something. “But it’s under there, isn’t it? The gem.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Then leaned in and lowered my voice. “And it drilled itself into the center of my chest.”

Mal pulled back a fraction. “Drilled?”

“Right through skin and bone.”

“Eww.”

“More like ow.”

“Right.” He swallowed. “Well…can I?”

I lifted my shirt.

The orange-yellow light reflected off the gem’s perfect surface. It pulsed — like it was breathing with me.

Mal stared.

Otger swayed behind him, one hand raised over his head, waving urgently. Neither of us noticed.

“What can you tell me about the Church, Mal?” I lowered my shirt. “Anything that helps me. Or protects me.”

“Noah,” Mal said instantly. The humor vanished. “Noah is the one to watch. It’s been years since I worked the Temple, so I don’t know who’s still there—but Noah is the dagger. Shrewd. Devious. Hungry.” His eyes hardened. “Obsessed with power. His eye’s always been on the Arch Bishop’s scepter.”

“Arch Bishop?” I echoed.

“Arch Bishop Dillian,” Mal said. “Good gnome. Head of the Order. But he doesn’t have many years left. Noah took control of most functions even when I was still clergy.”

“Uh, guys?” Otger piped up.

“Just a second,” Mal snapped.

“The real power of the Church is followers and contributions,” Mal continued. “That rests on the normals, not the poor. Normals have discretionary credits. They give more. In turn, Noah changed the repentance process.”

I blinked. “Okay, this is getting heavy for me.”

“You asked how to protect yourself,” Mal said. “I’m showing you where the power sits.” He tapped the air like he was placing pieces on a board. “Credits. Influence. Leadership. Noah uses money and fear to move people like levers. That’s why he can’t control the poor as easily. They don’t have money to lose and they don’t get invited into the ‘good’ parts of the system.” He nodded at the furnace landscape. “Make sense?”

“Guys?” Otger said again — higher now.

“Hold on!” Mal snapped. He grabbed three small cans from the ground and arranged them on a bucket between us, then balanced a wilted box on top. “This is the Church,” he said, pointing. “These are the pillars. Credits. Influence. Leadership. Take one away—” He pulled a can and the box teetered. “Unstable. Take away two—” He snatched a second can and the box flipped off the bucket and clattered onto the ground. “It falls.”

Otger stepped between us. “Guys!” he snapped.

Mal glared up at him. “Oh, in the name of TGII, what is so blasted important?”

Otger was sweating now, shifting like his skin didn’t fit right. “I forgot something.”

My stomach tightened. “What did you forget?”

“When we opened the door…” Otger swallowed. “When you trigger the failsafe on the motor, it also triggers the alarm.”

My blood ran cold. “What alarm?”

Otger wiped his brow. “The alarm to the Utilities Guild… and the Citadel.”

“Citadel?” Mal coughed. “Why in this cruddy world would a furnace alarm alert Centurions?!”

Otger cringed. “In case the accident wasn’t an accident.” His eyes flicked to me. “Like what we just did.”

Oh boy.

“Get everyone moving,” I said fast. “Leave everything—leave it all. I’ll figure something out, but we have to—”

Children screamed.

A transport shoved through the furnace doors, lights flashing.

Centurions poured out — two by two — forming a wall across our only escape route.

I winced.

“…run.”

“No, you can NOT pick at the food,” Chuck snapped at Telly, slapping the mechanic’s hand. “Pick up the pace, people—this smell has to last us.”

“Relax,” Tumbler grunted at Freak, who tugged at his smock for the hundredth time. “You look fine.” He shoved the catering box across the walkway. “Can’t say the same for this wobbly wheel!”

“I look like a high school dropout that can’t get a real job,” Craig muttered.

Nibbles giggled, enjoying the whole charade. “Well, we know the truth about you. Sexy, brilliant inventor and mechanic…now a secret agent on his way to break out a known criminal…”

“SHHH!” the wizard snapped, but she only grinned wider.

“Are you sure no one will remember you from the last time we were here?” Lili asked. “You did leave several impressions.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “And I left my staff at home so I wouldn’t leave any others. No, I’m not sure I won’t be noticed. It’s the night shift. Should be different staff.”

“We’re about to find out,” Telly cut in. “Look.”

As they crossed the street, gnomes were running in and out of the Citadel. Centurions — and what looked like a gnome version of firefighters — sprinted to vehicles out front. Red and blue lights flashed in the night air while leaders barked orders.

“Wonder what’s goin’ on?” Telly said.

Chuck grabbed the tall gnome’s smock and yanked. “Come on—we can use this distraction.”

“I’m not comfortable doing the talking,” Lili whispered.

“Got it covered,” Chuck chirped. He pulled a paper from his pocket and read it aloud. “President Stump, check. Two kids—teenagers, check. Twins, check. Known to like pizza and—” he lifted the bag in his hand, the clear containers sloshing noodles and what he assumed were vegetables “—whatever that’s supposed to be from Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Diner…check.” He glanced at the buffet box Tumbler pushed. “Check.”

Lili scooted closer. “You’re going to remember all this?”

He laughed once. “Of course not. That’s why the senile one should do it!” He shoved her through the front door and held it open for the rest. “Everybody in, and don’t say a word!”

The lobby looked almost barren compared to their last visit. Guards rushed past them toward the commotion outside, making Freak flinch. One Centurion slowed, gave Craig a curious look, then moved on.

A gaunt gnome with a thick brown mustache waved them forward. “Next!”

Lili hesitated as conversations around her slowed into a stutter. Cops and convicts alike seemed overly aware of her presence. Heads turned. Eyes locked. She tugged her suit coat tighter.

Chuck plopped the food bag on the counter and slid in behind it. He leaned an elbow on the desk like he owned the place. “Good,” he said, relieved. “Someone mature to talk to for a change.” He waggled his eyebrows at the Centurion, who looked mildly amused. “I don’t mean to complain, sir, but the younger boys around here don’t seem to have appropriate respect for those of our…shall I say…levels of experience in life.”

The officer rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Irritating.”

“Aggravating AND annoying.”

Chuck rapped his knuckle on the counter and leaned in. “Then I don’t want to disturb your evening any more than I already have, sir… but I need your help.”

The officer adjusted his hat. “What can I do for you?”

“Well…” Chuck looked over his shoulder at Lili, still fidgeting under the stares. “You see that lovely young girl there?”

It took a moment for the beauty to register, then the gnome’s face lit up. “Indeed I do.”

“She…is my boss.” Chuck feigned annoyance. “As much as I hate to admit it.”

Leaning forward, the officer gawked at Lili. “Doesn’t seem like a bad job to me, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, not when I’m gawkin’, no,” Chuck said quickly, waving it off. “I mean a near child being in charge. You see, I’m in training tonight…and this is my very first delivery run.” He poked the Centurion’s sleeve to reel him back in. “And she sent me here. To this respectable, important place.” He shook his head like fate itself offended him. “Me!”

Chuck scratched at an eyebrow. “If I don’t prove I can do this, officer—she’s going to kick my wrinkly butt back to scrubbing dishes.” Another poke. “Dishes! With the TEENAGERS!”

The officer sat up as if waking from a dream. “That’s…horrible! No self-respecting gnome of our…maturity should have to—” He cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”

Chuck whipped the paper back out and began to read. “Six large jungle pizzas… three orders of Cho-noodles…”

At the mention of “Cho,” eyes shifted from Lili back to the wizard.

“…two orders of pickled shrooms in dancin’ duck sauce… four orders of fish friers with a side of chopped garlic in blue wine…”

Tongues rolled over lips. A few throats audibly swallowed.

“Eight orders of Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Dumplings…” Chuck glanced at Telly. “That does sound tasty…” Then he lifted the list closer to his nose. “And three Party-Platter-Explosions.”

“Goodness,” the officer breathed, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. “That’s enough to feed a small army! Who is this for?”

Chuck frowned, puzzled on purpose. “Well, that’s the strange part. I’ve never been here, but this is the address.” He turned the paper slightly, as if it might confess. “The note says, ‘Top floor. Twins. Guards will COD.’” He shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what that means. Do you?”

Several Centurions nearby smirked, cleared their throats, and returned to their tasks. The older officer chuckled.

“That would be the Stump kids.”

Chuck’s bushy eyebrows bunched like storm clouds. “As in…President…Stump?”

Nodding, the officer said, “They tend to order food when their father’s not looking. We get it pretty often.”

“So it’s okay for us to take this up?” Chuck asked, hopeful.

The officer smiled. “Oh, sure. You just have to sign here.” He slid a ledger across the counter. “Then take two guards with you to the elevator. That’s it.”

The whole crew perked up. None of them expected it to be this clean.

Chuck signed, slipped his fingers through the bag loops, and lifted the food from the counter. “Why only to the elevator?”

The officer checked the signature, then said it plainly.

“Because if anything goes wrong after that, the president’s security detail will personally shoot you.”

The walk to the elevator was a lot longer than anyone anticipated. Nearly forty-five minutes, weaving in and out of halls — which meant escape was going to be complicated, if not virtually impossible. But it wasn’t the distance that slowed their pace…it was the photographing.

Their Centurion escorts guided them through four different checkpoints where each gnome had to be photographed. When Freak questioned it, one guard said it was for facial-recognition software — constantly running while anyone was in the building.

“So,” Freak chirped up, “has anyone… I don’t know… broken into the Citadel?”

None of them took the hysterical laughter as a good sign.

They’d been waiting in the elevator for almost ten minutes. The lift rang out with a delicate bell at each floor they passed. Completely and utterly annoying.

“So what are we going to do when we get there?” Freak panicked. “We don’t know how many guards, where they are, if they have…” He gulped. “…weapons.”

The wizard kept rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the rolling numbers as the bell numbed his mind. “Got it covered.”

“But—” Freak moaned.

“Covered.”

“I think we—” Nibbles started.

“Covered.”

Tumbler frowned. “Wait a—”

“Covered.”

“If you have everything covered,” Lili cut in, “then why did you need everyone to come along?”

Chuck looked at her as if she were insane. “You don’t think I’m going to do any heavy lifting, do you?” He frowned. “I’m fragile.”

The elevator dinged. The doors slid silently open to a panoramic view of a luxurious penthouse.

…and guns pointed at them.

“Show me the food,” barked the one with the off-blue tie.

“I believe,” Chuck corrected him, “it’s ‘Show me the money.’”

“OUT!” snapped the one with the blue tie.

Hands held high, they all filed out. Tumbler banged the cart along with his bad hip.

Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.”

“Why all the yelling?” called a young voice from the kitchen. A moment later, a boy peered around the corner. “What’s the—hey, who ordered—”

“The extras?” Chuck cut in, stepping away from the guards and lowering his hands. “Compliments from Master Cho. He sends his regards.” Hopeful, he flicked his eyebrows up and down. “We brought enough food for everyone, as ordered—including the Party-Platter-Explosions for the security detail.”

“For us?” exclaimed the one with the off-blue tie. He grinned at his partner. “Kip actually thought about…us?”

Both guns lowered.

“It is kinda sweet,” replied the one with the blue tie. “I thought he only liked to put food coloring in our laundry.”

“Well you guys are always there,” Kip shrugged, stepping closer, eyes locked on the wizard. “And I felt like I owe you. For all the lousy things I’ve done to make your job harder.” He laughed softly. “Besides, I put it on my dad’s account, so why not shoot for the stars, eh?”

No one laughed.

“Right,” Kip said, motioning toward the kitchen. “You want to set up the spread, then?”

“That’s what I brought them for,” Chuck beamed.

A young girl wandered out from the hall and froze. “Who are all—”

“I ordered food, Buffy,” Kip said quickly. He looked back to the wizard. “They brought enough for us and the security guys.”

“And Dax,” whispered the wizard.

Both youths smirked in acknowledgement.

“I’ll go grab Dad. He’s really hungry too.”

Chuck’s eyes went wide. “Oh no—we don’t want to disturb him!”

Her smile grew. “Oh, he’ll want something to eat.” She vanished down the hall.

Kip grinned and opened the small bag. “Trust us.”

Within minutes, the food was displayed across the kitchen bar. The portable dolly folded out into a tiered stand, layered with the delectables of the Party-Platter-Explosions. Chips and dip and stir-fry and BBQ. The two guards grabbed plates and loaded them up. With no threat to worry about, they wandered into a corner to munch away.

Buffy pushed a wheelchair into the kitchen. “Gentlegnomes,” she said, adding a nod to Lili and Nibbles, “and ladies. May I introduce my father — President Stump.” The overweight gnome looked overly pale, his flesh an off-green tone. Sweat beaded along his cheeks and forehead, his thinning hair oily and caked to his scalp.

“He doesn’t look so good,” whispered Nibbles. She took a step back.

“No,” Chuck added, lower now. “He doesn’t.” He knelt in front of the wheelchair.

“They’ve drugged him,” Kip whispered. “To keep him quiet.”

Telly snorted. “Well that don’t make any sense at all. Bad people turning on bad people?”

“My father isn’t bad,” Buffy challenged. She glared at the mechanic. “He’s been drugged because he tried to defend Dax.”

“Defend?” muttered Tumbler.

The two guards slumped to the floor.

“Right!” Chuck popped to his feet. “We’ll get to the bottom of this in just a second.” He tapped Telly in the chest. “You — move those two into a back room.” He glanced at Kip. “Any other security in the penthouse?”

Kip shook his head. “The rest of the detail is with Ian TwoFold — my father’s…”

“Lapdog. I know him,” the wizard grunted. “Still don’t know how you can breed a beaver with a gnome.” The twins laughed. “Where’s my monkey?”

“Excuse me?” Kip said.

Chuck sighed. “Dax. My elf. Where is he?”

“I’ll take you to him,” Buffy volunteered. “They moved him to his own room after my father tried to sneak him out of here.”

As they moved around the wheelchair, a pale hand reached up and gripped the wizard’s wrist.

“He…said you’d come for him,” the president wheezed.

“Take me to him,” Chuck said firmly, pulling his wrist free. “Now.”

Down the hallway, at the back end of the apartment, was the lone guest room. The stench assaulted the mägo’s senses as the door creaked open. Dax lay in the center of the bed, a halo of gray and brown seeping into the white sheets. Tubes protruded from his arms, connected to purple sacks hanging on metal hooks.

“What is all this?” Chuck snarled. He strode to the far side of the bed and gripped the dangling tubes.

“Don’t!” Buffy cried. “If you disturb the medication, they’ll shoot him.”

Gnarled fingers uncurled.

Buffy stepped closer, sleeve over her mouth. “They warned my brother and me — if we tampered with anything in here, they’d put a bullet in his head.” She looked at the wizard, pleading. “We didn’t want to see him hurt.”

Chuck’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “And…thank you.”

“He’s nice.”

The wizard looked at her, caught off guard. “Not something I thought I’d hear about a criminal.”

“He’s no criminal.” With a finger, she traced the muscles on the back of Dax’s hand. “I got to talk to him a few times…when they let him wake up.” Her smile turned inward. “He was always more concerned about me getting in trouble for talking to him than for himself.” Her eyes watered as she looked up. “Nice.”

In a flurry, Chuck dashed to the door and jiggled the knob. He leaned down, tapped the metal plate holding it in place. “Bah!” he grunted. “Nothing.” He flung the door open and ran to the next.

Curious, Buffy followed. “What are you doing?”

He tapped the next plate and frowned. He dashed to the next room. “Looking for a door.”

She crinkled her lips. “Uhhh…they’re all doors, mister.”

“My name, young lady,” he said with another tap and grunt, “is Morphiophelius. You,” he paused to flash a dashing grin, “may call me Chuck.” Another tap — then a whispered curse. “And no, these are most certainly not doors.” He skidded to a halt. “Well, alright — they are doors, of course…just not the one I’m looking for. Right. That sounds correct.”

Buffy hopped backward to stay out of his way. “But if you know what door you’re looking for, why don’t you simply go to it directly?”

He straightened, aghast. “My dear child, I’ll have none of that philosophical mumbo-jumbo in this conversation, if you please!” He threw his head to one shoulder, popping his neck. “Go to it directly! Pshaw. You cannot go to something that has yet to be placed, child. I simply know where it might be at any given time. Hence — why I’m looking.” He held out his hands in a TA-DA pose. “Understand?”

Buffy stared at him and silently chewed on her bottom lip.

He sighed. “Oh for…just leave the inter-dimensional carpentry to the mägo, alright?”

“Chuck!” Lili shouted from the kitchen. “Quickly!!”

She was kneeling by Stump’s side. The president wheezed and coughed — but stayed focused on her.

Chuck rushed back. “What is it?”

“We have to leave. Now.”

“Not without the monkey.”

“You…won’t…make it,” Stump coughed. “Ian has…Dax tagged.” He tapped his forearm weakly. “Tracker.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” the wizard cursed.

“And they’ll…kill the…children.” Bloodshot eyes peered up at the wizard. “Take…them…with you,” he rasped. “I gave…Wendell my word.” He swallowed hard, cold hand clawing at Buffy’s fingers. “They’re all I…have.”

“We’ve talked about this late at night,” Kip cut in, keeping a supportive hand on his father’s shoulder. “Ian thought we were saying our prayers together. The only way to get Dax free is from the outside. You’ll have a hundred alarms go off before you hit the lobby — plus a thousand armed soldiers.”

“It’s impossible,” Tumbler breathed.

“We have to get out of here!” Freak cried. “Before this Ian guy gets back!”

Chuck ran around the counter and across the entryway.

“Are you listening!?” Freak shouted.

“Empty the cart,” Chuck snapped. He grabbed the next doorknob and tapped it, rattled it — nothing. He spun back to his group. “Why are you all standing around!? MOVE! NOW! Get those kids in the cart, lock it up — GET IN THE ELEVATOR!”

Lili moved calmly across the floor and rested a gentle hand on his back.

Without a word, his forehead touched the door and he silently wept.

“We’ll come back,” she whispered.

“No, we won’t,” he sniffed. “They have our faces. We don’t get a second chance this time.”

“You’ll find a way,” she breathed. “Though the winds howl and the world rails against you, love always provides wings for her own. Nothing can stop her children…not even death.”

He turned suddenly and stared at Lili, blinking away tears as he searched her face.

Warm brown eyes smiled back — steady, holding him. “I remember you now,” she said softly.

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a moan. “You were so little. So hurt.”

She brushed one of his wild eyebrows back against his forehead. “But you were right, wanderer. You were right then, and you are right…”

“WINGS!” he burst out, spittle flying. Embarrassed, he wiped Lili’s cheek with his smock sleeve. “Sorry — so sorry about that!” He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the elevator. “Everyone in!”

Buffy blew her father a kiss as Telly pushed her head down into the cart. He clamped the lid shut. Pulling the Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Food-Barn cloth over the top, he shoved it into the elevator.

Chuck gasped and yanked a small device from his pocket. Darting across the floor, he slid up to Stump and leaned over the president. “Almost forgot! Could you…yes, place your thumbprint righhhhht there. Perfect.” The device beeped. “Thank YOU!”

Lili couldn’t help but giggle as the wizard bounced back and into the elevator, his entire face a beacon of glee. They all stood solemnly as Chuck hit the button to go down.

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” Tumbler muttered under his breath.

“I just can’t believe we’re kidnapping the President’s kids!” Freak wheezed.

“Personally,” Nibbles mumbled, “I can’t believe the President is such a nice guy.”

All Chuck could manage was, “WINGS!”

President Stump watched the doors close on his children. Steel doors that shut out his old life…and opened whatever came next.

…and he smiled.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Höbin sneaks into the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a crate. Wendell delivers a revolutionary speech to thousands of gnomes, gets shot, and escapes through the sewers with Otger. He knows exactly where he’s headed…the one place in Clockworks City no one would think to look.

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Chapter 86

“Come ON!” Höbin grunted.

Numbers ticked across the screen, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had taken so long to pick the lock on the Guild files. It made him even more curious about what the FAF was hiding from its own staff—the professionals charged with collecting, organizing, and presenting facts, figures, and lore to the rest of the gnome race.

BEEEEP!

“Finally,” he hissed, yanking the cables free.

Behind him, a wall monitor murmured updates about Wendell’s latest escapade. The media kept spinning it until it sounded like Wendell had hired an assassin to kill a Centurion. It sickened the fishis—bold lies, open corruption. You just couldn’t trust a word over the airwaves anymore.

With the city boiling tonight, gnomes would be drifting back into the building to get the drop on other divisions of the government faction.

That included the news media.

“Time’s tickin’, old man,” Höbin muttered. There wasn’t time to do the research properly.

That meant a download.

He pulled a drawer open and stared down at rows of hard drives—organized, labeled, and backed up for years. Which one did he need?

With a flick of a lever, he slid a cable from his forearm—his own custom creation, kept secret through his final years at the Foundation. The administration would’ve never approved the hacked database software he’d obtained.

It was a crime.

He smirked. “Not like they can exile me.”

He picked two drives, plugged in the cables protruding from his arm, and initiated his crack program. Custom code he’d built years ago—part secret agent, part plague. Once deployed, the virus would worm through every corner of the enclosed network, leaving subtle back doors for his remote systems to find later. If he didn’t get what he needed tonight, he’d still be able to tap the database again.

Small blue lights blinked inside the drawer.

Connection confirmed.

He was in.

“That’s my girl,” he said, patting his forearm like it had feelings. Now he just had to wait while the program did her job…

…and pray no one found him before—

His head snapped up, eye wide.

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” he hissed. “You prep and work out the minutest detail to get in here, Höbin Luckyfeller—” He let his forehead drop, thunking against the drawer’s edge— “but never once thought about how you’d get your crusty old butt out!”

His long, exasperated groan echoed through the darkened office.

There’s no way I could have found my way back here on my own, I admitted. But that was the whole point of bringing Otger.

He knew these tunnels the way I knew the layout of my own bedroom back home — every turn automatic, every branch in the passage recognized without a second glance. For hours we walked with few stops, navigating mazes of cement tubes and metal hatchways, pushing through sludge and worse, until the tunnels widened and the smell shifted from sewer to something older. Drier.

We were close.

And then there they were — looming out of the dark like something from a fever dream, jutting from mountains of dry, stale garbage — the huge metal doors of the Clockworks furnaces. The heavy steel design made the surface look like a giant smile pressed into the chamber wall.

A creepy smile.

A familiar one.

I exhaled slowly. This was the place. The one spot in all of Clockworks City where the government wasn’t looking, because as far as they were concerned, nothing worth finding lived down here. Just garbage and the people they’d decided were the same thing.

Which made it perfect.

“Can you get them open?”

Otger crinkled his nose. “Uhhh…maybe?”

“Is that a statement, or a question?”

Another pause. “Yes?”

I laughed. “Either you can…or we just had a lovely walk for nothing, because I certainly can’t get us in.”

Otger bit his bottom lip. “Don’t you have super strength, or something like that?”

“What?” I barked a laugh.

“Well, you’re the Gnolaum, aren’t you?” He eyed me sheepishly.

“What does that have to do with anything? This isn’t a comic book.”

“Comic book?”

I sighed. “Never mind. No, I don’t have super strength or anything else super. Except maybe my appetite. I’m starving.”

Otger sighed. “Me too.” With a grunt and the crunch of compressing garbage, he climbed the dried pile of junk next to the doors. Cans and glass, cardboard and wire-frames of who-knows-what flew over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging!”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I can see that, Otger. Why are you digging?”

A second later he lifted a cable. “To find this.” Tugging and yanking, he loosened a portion of the black snake from its den. “Help me find the controls. It should…be on the end of this. I’ll see if the doors can be hot-wired.”

“Now that’s an idea.”

The cable was nearly as thick as my wrist. With a few more yanks, we uncovered a long black box with two dozen buttons across its surface. We both reeled back as a sour smell rolled out with it. Caked in crusted bumps and something blue and furry, the box was wet and hot from being buried under the mound of garbage.

I coughed. “Is that mold, or what?”

Otger nodded. “Looks like it’s been under that pile for a while. The vehicles use a remote, so they wouldn’t need this box.” He leaned closer, sniffed the fuzz, scratched a piece off with a nail…

…and put it in his mouth.

“Don’t—” I gasped, but it was too late. I’d forgotten who I was with.

“Yup,” Otger said, chewing calmly, “fruit mold.” He broke off a chunk and popped the whole thing into his mouth. After a second, he glanced up. “Sorry, that was rude. Do you want some?”

I waved him off. “I’m good. Enjoy.”

The control box was as long as Otger’s chest. The buttons were all intact, each glowing a soft orange.

“Drat.”

“What’s the matter?”

Otger lifted the opposite end of the box and pointed to a small hole with a rubber plug. “Admin key. We need one to make the buttons active.”

“So…”

“We can’t open the doors.”

I kicked a can into the air. “Seriously? All this way and we can’t—”

Otger cocked his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?” I dropped beside him. “Unless what? We like unless.”

“Well…” He flipped the box over and scraped the mold off to reveal a set of numbers engraved into the metal. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

I nodded like I understood. “Right. A 34C… yeah. Of course.”

“Which means it doesn’t have a secondary bolt mechanism.”

My smile sat there, useless. “You know I have no clue what you’re talking about, right?”

Otger laughed. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

“You said that already.”

“That means it’s not a 34C-TT-890c24 model.”

My smile died.

Otger grinned wide, patting the box. “Difference is, if there’s a power outage or a short in the system, the locking mechanism is designed to open the doors—to let the workers out.”

“Oh!” I blurted. “Good news. Right?”

He nodded. “Definitely. All we have to do is short out the main motor.” He pointed to a human-sized box jutting from the wall. “Once that motor stops working, it should send a signal to the main panel and trigger the doors to open.”

“Way to go, Einstein!” I cheered, ruffling his hair.

Otger froze. He looked up, slightly hurt. “But…I’m Otger.”

I beamed. “That’s a compliment, buddy. Back home, it’s what you say when someone figures out something amazing. It means you’re really smart.”

He thought about it, then looked up at me and beamed back.

“So,” I said, “how do we short the motor out?”

“Well, we have to find a way to get the cover off.”

“Okay.”

“Then we need to pull this box apart and get to the raw cables.” He flipped the device over and found a set of clamps. “These get damaged easily, so they’re made to be replaced easily. This won’t be a problem.”

“Fantastic. Then what?”

“Uh.”

“What.”

He scratched behind his neck. “Well…” His eyes drifted to the motor. “Then we need to put the cables into the motor.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Otger gulped. “Could be. Never…actually done this before.” He forced a smile. “But it should work.”

I stared at the control box. “That has electricity running through it?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

He shrugged. “Enough to control giant doors, so…yeah. Probably.”

“And we have to take the live wires and—”

Otger tensed. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

I took a deep breath and let it out in one go. “Oy.”

“Yeah.”

“So we can do this… but we’re likely to get fried.”

“Well, not exactly.”

I frowned down at him. “Would you please be exact, Otger?”

He went sheepish. “There shouldn’t be much of a problem, so long as the cable is applied directly to the circuit board above the motor.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad. You know where it is, then? The place to fry?”

Otger nodded. “But I can’t reach it.”

My stomach sank. Of course. “I have to do it.”

“Sorry.” Then, softer: “We can start walking back now, if you want?”

I stared up at the furnace doors and couldn’t stop seeing Simon behind them. All these people. Good people. Trapped down here with no way out.

Someone needed to do something for them.

Someone needed to make the effort to change what was wrong around here.

That was exactly why we came.

I stood. “Show me what I have to do.”

The control box cover came off easy enough. The motor cover did not.

It took over an hour to find a scrap of metal strong enough to use as a screwdriver. One by one, we fought the rusted bolts. After another two hours—drenched in sweat and sporting more than a few cuts—the engine was finally exposed.

Gears spun rapidly in their cage, purring like a metal cat. A smaller box welded to the top held the wires and circuits.

I gripped the cable tight and swallowed. Why do I always end up doing the crazy stuff around here?

But I knew the answer.

I glanced down at my own chest. You have my back if anything goes wrong, right?

I shook my head. Stupid question.

Sparks popped from the end of the cable. Suddenly, this plan didn’t feel nearly as brilliant.

“So I jam the end of this,” I lifted the cable slightly, “into the wires on top?”

Otger bolted for the nearest pile of garbage, one hand raised, thumb up.

Lovely vote of confidence, buddy.

I squinted, drew a deep breath, and raised the cable over my head. Might as well make this quick.

Lowering it toward the wires, I thought, Here goes noth—

A fountain of sparks arched high overhead.

I was out cold before my body hit the far wall.

“Because I want to get a jump start on these other idiots, that’s why,” the gnome snapped. “There has to be some lead out there on the Gnolaum!” He looked at the fat gnome with disgust. “Besides—look at you, Mr. Hypocrite. Why are you here, Jake?”

“Because I’ve already had too many sick days, Lewis. If I don’t get these shipments out tonight, other people can’t do their jobs. People depend on me.”

“Whatever, snot wipe.”

Both gnomes skidded to a halt.

“Why are all the lights on?” Jake frowned. But that wasn’t the only odd thing. The monitors were programmed to mute during the night hours—and yet several of the wall-mounted screens were spewing news feeds loud and clear. Some of the neat desk formations were off, too.

Two desks in particular were askew, rotated at odd angles. Between them sat a small pile of boxes…all stacked on one large metal crate.

“How the TGII am I supposed to know why the lights are on?” Lewis scoffed. “I’m not normally here, like the rest of you morons from the mail room.” He knocked a set of papers off a desk as he passed and laughed. Strutting away, he called over his shoulder, “Nighty-night, loser.”

Jake stood there, fuming—and stung. “Why do they always have to be such jerks?” he muttered. He never understood the ingratitude of some employees. Nothing would get done around the FAF without the loyal, efficient workers in the mail room. They were the lifeblood of the organization outside the fishis themselves.

Kneeling, he collected the research papers and aligned them. “We collect and verify, copy and deliver everything of importance in here,” he reminded himself. It was exciting—being trusted to transport new discoveries, important theories, and making sure the greatest minds of Clockworks could exchange physical data freely. So what if only a handful of the six thousand employees knew his name? It was a start. The government wouldn’t let him go to University. He wasn’t smart enough, they said. But he knew numbers. He understood the delivery grid.

“I might not be smart enough to be a fishis,” he said under his breath, “but I can become the best router in the mail room.” He gritted his teeth. “Someday I’ll become the Route Director. You’ll see.” Then, softer: “I’m not a loser.”

Jake stood, wiping his nose across his sleeve. With great care not to wrinkle the documents, he set the papers back on the desk. June Campbell’s desk. Mechanical statistics and manufacturing history. He knew every desk’s name—even if he’d never met a face. June was important, sending and receiving a great deal of mail to field workers and correspondents. Jake shifted the papers with his fingertips, making sure they were offset from the corner by two inches and aligned with the outbox tray.

“Now why are you sitting here like an eyesore?” he asked the huge crate. The stamps on the side said it was outgoing, but it hadn’t been delivered to the sorting room. Odd—something that important just squatting between desks. He circled the package, searching for a note or directions. When he lifted the smaller packages on top, he found a handwritten sheet.

Detailed directions. In red ink.

“Red ink,” he cooed reverently.

His eyes scanned each line with professional precision.

Jake’s face exploded in glee.

“LEWWWWWIS!”

“What!?” the young fishis barked from down the hall.

Huffing, Jake rounded the corner, pushing the giant crate into the office and waving the paper. “I…have…something for…you.”

“Then put it on my desk and go away.”

“No, I mean—” Jake shook his head. “Something for you to deliver.” He nodded toward the crate.

Lewis looked up from his desk, irritated. “Has the sugar from your obscenely huge doughnut consumption gone to your brain instead of your belly, tard-boy?”

Jake’s face hardened. “Don’t call me that.”

Lewis flared. “What do you WANT?”

Jake stepped in and dropped the paper on the keyboard. “Read it,” he said coldly.

Snarling like a bear woken from hibernation, Lewis snatched it up and scanned. The lines in his face smoothed out immediately. “Is this for real? A set of listening and photo devices? An actual tip and sighting of the Gnolaum?”

Jake nodded.

“Sweet!” Lewis sprang to his feet. “I’ll take it off your hands, dweeb, and—”

A palm shot up, stopping him short and knocking him back into his chair.

“NOT so fast.” Jake’s expression shifted from wounded to sharp. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t go after all.” He let a small, satisfied smile curl up. “You’ve been mean to me.” He corrected himself, voice tightening. “No—that’s not right. You’re always mean to me, Lewis. I’ve done nothing but help you, serve you, even make you a priority around here—hoping you’d put in a good word for me eventually. I never asked for favors. Just a kind recommendation like others write for the lower positions. But you’re nothing but a bully.”

Lewis started laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Jake slammed his fist on the table. Lewis laughed harder. “You blamed me for things I’m still paying for! You wrote my name on disgusting notes and planted them in places I can’t go—and now I’m not allowed to deliver to the executives! Just because you have power around here—” The anger drained from his face into something colder. “You lied about me, Lewis. I’ve never told a lie or done anything dishonest since the day I was hired, but you changed all that.”

Lewis shrugged. “Yeah? So?”

Jake’s mouth softened into a coy smile. “You’re not the one with power. I’m responsible for the mail. I’m responsible for the deliveries—and I’ve never let the FAF down.”

“Whoop-dee-DO,” Lewis scoffed. “You’re going to do what? Deny me stamps?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll hand this crate over to McCoy instead.”

Lewis choked, nearly tipping out of his chair. “What!?”

Folding his arms, Jake nodded once. “At least he talks politely…and brings me doughnuts.”

Lewis popped up fast, smile glued on awkwardly, gripping the paper tight. “Now look, buddy—there’s no need to act hasty. I’ve been a little harsh, I realize that now, but I was just conditioning you.”

“Conditioni—”

“—to make sure you were ready to go into the field as a fishis.”

Jake’s eyes went wide. His arms slowly unfolded. “A fishis? Me?”

Lewis pounced on the opening. “Of course! Dude, are you kidding me? With your attention to detail and spotless paperwork?” He waved a hand. “I know I made everyone believe the copier fire was your fault, but hey—that was a test. To see how you’d handle scrutiny. Cross-examinations.”

“They docked me eighteen hundred credits.”

“The pressure of the field can get pretty intense,” Lewis said quickly. “Not everyone’s cut out for this kind of work.”

Jake searched his face—too bright, too eager. He blinked hard. “But…you think I am?”

“Absolutely!” Lewis slid around his desk and shuffled toward the giant crate. “And as soon as I get back from this assignment—” he nodded, “with your permission, of course—I’m going to write my personal recommendation for you! I mean, why wait any longer? Right?” He laid a hand on the metal package like it was holy.

Jake had to lean against the desk. His life’s ambitions…his fondest dreams. Was this really happening? His mother was going to be so proud.

“You start filling out your application,” Lewis said, trying to remember, “Mr. Blake…”

“Blick.”

“Blick! Of course—Mr. Blick, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited for you…”

Jake glanced up at the wall clock. “You’d better hurry. You’ll need time to get to the site and set up before the Gnolaum appears.”

Lewis’s voice went eager. “You’re letting me take it, then?”

Jake nodded. He took the papers and signed his name beside the official stamp at the bottom. Then he pulled his route-key from his pocket—a small device that time-stamped paperwork—and pressed the end over his signature.

“You can take van #202,” Jake said. “Just need your thumbprint.”

Lewis shoved his left thumb into the route-key.

Jake smiled. “Done. It’s all yours.”

Morty sighed. “Now that is a great cup of tea.”

It felt good to have the front door back on the warehouse. Even torched and half-ruined, it was still his home—and with that door missing, he’d felt overexposed. Like it was an invitation for idiots to wander in and “inspect” his life.

He took another sip—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

—and spilled it all over his beard.

“What the…” he growled, shoving his chair back.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Alright,” he called. “ALRIGHT!”

With a grunt and a tug, Morty yanked the newly welded door open.

“Here,” Höbin snapped, shoving a bag into the tinkerer’s arms. “Hold this!”

“Höbin—you made it back!” Morty beamed. “I just made some Arlong Tea, would you—”

“Hold that thought!” Höbin barked—and sprinted off into the darkness.

“Where are you going?”

“Be right back!” he shouted, the tap-tap-tap of his metal leg echoing down the street.

Morty blinked after him. “Morty Teedlebaum,” he muttered, “you have undoubtedly the strangest associations in Clockworks City.”

He shook his head and chuckled. It had been a good day—highly productive, breakthroughs at every turn. There wasn’t a thing in this city that could—

The night air exploded into flame.

From around the corner, a small mushroom cloud of orange and red billowed between buildings. Smoke followed. Then the shockwave slapped the street like an angry hand.

Morty’s mouth fell open.

He watched the flames climb—until the tap-tap-tap of Höbin’s metal leg returned, fast.

The historian shoved Morty inside and slammed the roughly-fit door shut. He bolted it, just to be sure.

“Yes,” Höbin said, wearing a broad, happy grin.

Morty blinked, then looked past him at the door. “Yes…what?”

“I’d love some Arlong Tea.”

“Right,” Morty said dully. He handed the bag back and wandered toward the kitchen like a gnome in a trance.

Höbin plopped the bag onto the table and pulled up a second chair. “You put a door back on. Good idea. Don’t want just anyone walking along being able to—”

“What just exploded?” Morty asked, setting a chipped cup on the counter.

“Oh, just a FAF delivery van. #202, I believe. Don’t worry—there wasn’t anyone in it.”

Morty froze. “So you stole a Fishis Archive Foundation vehicle.”

Höbin looked up, offended. “I would never!” Then he grinned. “I was the cargo, that’s all.”

Morty poured tea with hands that didn’t quite trust themselves. “Cargo?”

Unzipping the bag, Höbin pulled out loose files—then dumped a small clatter of electronic keys, security tags, and other odd personal items onto the table. “Silly me. I made it into the FAF, got into the restricted database, even uploaded my own program for future use. Problem was… I hadn’t thought about getting out.” He chuckled, examining a level-three access card with Lewis’s picture on it. “So I decided to create an outgoing delivery.”

Morty stared at the charred, grimy gnome. “But you only had the one air canister… how could you—”

“Drilled holes in the bottom of the crate,” Höbin said, casual as a grocery list. “I was making all this too complicated.” He set the card down and picked up the key ring. “When I saw all the hyper activity around Wendell, I left an urgent package—which was me—attached to a bogus tip. Labeled the crate fragile equipment. Put an address around the corner and down the street. Said there’d been a sighting of the Gnolaum hiding in the warehouse district.”

Morty shook his head slowly. “That’s crazy.”

“Oh, I know. But the FAF is a curious crowd. I should know.” Höbin sipped his tea like he hadn’t just rearranged reality. “My best hope was someone finding me in the morning… or, at best, someone from the mail room doing night deliveries.” He smiled. “Looks like I hit the jackpot.”

Morty nodded at the pile. “What’s all the stuff?”

Höbin’s smirk sharpened. “The personal belongings of Lewis Robert Natonek.”

Morty choked on his tea. “T-the research and report Natonek?”

“Yup.”

“The…girls and the…” Morty couldn’t quite finish.

“The same.”

Morty shuddered. He wasn’t a history buff, but even he knew that name. Famous for attention, not integrity. “The gnome is an embarrassment to your noble profession.”

“Thank you.”

“Why haven’t they thrown him out of the FAF?” Morty’s eyes landed on the keys again. “Wait—and what are you doing with his personal belongings?”

Höbin looked up with a grin that sent a cold little spike down Morty’s spine. “Throwing him out of the FAF.”

They stared at each other. Morty folded first.

“Okay. Tell me.”

Höbin leaned forward. “No one’s been able to pin him to anything worth firing him over. He’s always alone… or he’s covered his tracks too well. He doesn’t take risks unless he knows anyone willing and able to point fingers will…disappear.”

Morty nodded once. “Right. We already established he’s a butt.”

“Well,” Höbin said, too calmly, “he happened to threaten a kind young kid from the mail room. After this fictional assignment was over, he planned on ruining the simple existence of a good person. So I decided to make sure it didn’t happen.”

A tiny lever slid in his cybernetic arm. A mini flap popped open. With careful fingernails, Höbin pried out a data chip. “I recorded the entire conversation. With the kid… and his plotting, backstabbing words while he thought he was alone in the van.” He held the chip up like a jewel. “I’ll mail this to my contact inside the FAF. Mr. Natonek can change his name to mud. The administration will take his credentials, prosecute him, and send him home with the Centurions.”

Morty sat back and exhaled. “Wow, Höbin. I know you’ve done incredible things in your career—and I know you’re a protective father, but…” He trailed off.

Höbin set the keys down, then picked up Lewis’s travel license. The vulgar smile on the ID glowered back at him.

“But?” Höbin prompted.

“I didn’t think you were vindictive.”

Höbin flinched like he’d been struck. He set the ID down gently. “I’m not,” he said, quieter.

“Then why go to such lengths that you’d blow up a company vehicle and—” Morty pointed at the ID pile, “—I’m assuming—blame it all on Natonek?”

Höbin sat up straight and tapped the table once with his metal hand. “Two reasons.” His jaw tightened. “One—because that gnome hasn’t only tarnished a profession I love dearly… he’s used the trust of the public to manipulate them for his own selfish desires.”

His fingers curled into a slow fist.

Morty took a careful sip. “And two?”

The glare beneath those wild eyebrows wasn’t anger anymore. It was recognition. Old wounds. Cold resolve. The blue eye caught the light of the single bulb.

“I started my career in the mail room.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck and Lili secure Tumblers help to gather the whole TNT crew. Chuck uses cold hard credits to secure the agreement.

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Chapter 85

“But I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Like they care.”

“But I’m fat. I have a delicate constitution. I’m not made for running and fighting—that’s why I applied for a security guard position.”

“Well, now you’re a manhunter like the rest of us. So finish checking in these crates, put them in the office, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“What if we just… I don’t know…forget to show up?”

“Look, they haven’t caught him yet, and they’ve had nearly a thousand Centurions out looking for the Gnolaum. All they want is another group of eyes.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Not really, but it sounds good and I want you to stop whining. Meet you in the lobby—so hurry it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he complained.

No one was left on the collection floor of the Fishis Archive Foundation, which seemed odd. The Centurion pushed the freight cart along the hallway, staring at all the vacant desks he passed.

Not a soul.

It was…eerie.

The writers and researchers had all gone to see what excitement they could find. The city was buzzing with whispers of another address from the Gnolaum—the being of prophecy that popped up at random locations around the city, shouting his proclamations and then vanishing before the authorities could capture him.

The hundred or more monitors, hanging from walls and ceilings, silently displayed stories from all over Clockworks.

Riots, vandalism, and now ongoing demonstrations throughout the lower manufacturing districts. These were the after effects of the Gnolaum’s words.

People were angry.

Frustrated.

Fed up.

The Government and Church refused to address the citizens of Clockworks. They refused to counter what was being said, which fed the frenzy. Long-range shots of Wendell’s face were now plastered all over the walls.

…which made the renta-centurion curious.

The Gnolaum looked passionate.

Convinced.

In just forty-eight hours, he’d become the poster child for the curious and rebellious. The Gnolaum…whether he was official or not…was now the center of attention.

The FAF was abuzz all day—articles being crafted and cross-referenced by historians, desperate to build a name for themselves. The problem was being able to connect their limited knowledge with something more substantial. No one really knew anything about this human male…and no one could get such information. Affidavits, recorded rumors and speculation…even official requests to the Temple of Nothing for prophetic clarification lay scattered across desktops.

Any snippet that a gnome could grab referring to the human Wendell P. Dipmier was being collected, organized, and catalogued.

But it was all junk.

That was what was being whispered by the water coolers. It didn’t discourage the FAF fishes—it fascinated and motivated them.

All other projects had been frozen until further notice.

The Centurion pushed the cart along until a particular photo caught his notice. It was one of Wendell, laughing while being surrounded by gnomes that looked poor…almost destitute. Dressed in tattered rags, they huddled around him in droves. Yet every one of them looked happy to be near the human.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” the guard muttered, “He looks perfectly harmless.”

Well, it wasn’t for a Centurion to second-guess or question orders. It didn’t matter if people were innocent or guilty—that was for other, smarter people to decide. Grunting, he shoved the cart around the corner and parked it in front of the library doors. He patted the largest crate in frustration.

“As much as I want to stay with you and watch Clockwork Idol tonight…” he sighed.

Clicking off the overhead lights, the chubby gnome shuffled down the hall. A moment later, he vanished into the elevator.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. The muffled sound hummed lightly through the office.

A screw in the corner of the largest crate turned. Twisting up and up, it finally wobbled and fell onto the floor.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Out came a second, third…and with the fourth, the side wall collapsed onto the carpet.

Covered in sweat and gasping for air, Höbin rolled out onto the floor. With trembling fingers, he pulled the air mask from his face. For several minutes, he fought to stay conscious. The moisture on his face dripped down his cheeks and collected in his beard. Nostrils flared as he gulped air greedily. That had been far too close for comfort.

Then again…he made it.

Rolling onto his side, he turned the knob where his left ear used to be—his cybernetic eye adjusting for the darkness. No heat signatures. He’d taken the risk, made a calculated guess, and he was right. Wendell’s presence was too incredible for anyone to pass up—and the competitiveness of those seeking a fishes position drove everyone from the building. Even the cleaning crew was gone.

He chuckled out loud. “Well done, you old fart. You actually made it. You’re in.”

Grunting and holding onto the handle of the cart, Höbin pulled his metal leg from the box and dragged himself into an upright position. Opening the hidden compartment, he grabbed the screwdriver and got to work.

“This is not a wise idea,” Deloris said again, “and I don’t care if I sound like a broken record. I care about you, young man, and after yesterday’s attempt on your life, I…”

“You worry too much,” I finished for her. Kneeling down, I gripped her trembling hands in mine and smiled. “It’ll be okay.” I searched her face. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise what you don’t control,” she huffed. “You’ve been going at it for two days without rest,” she pleaded, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s pack up and take this up again in a couple days. Then…”

“Then,” I stopped her, “it may be too late.”

Without another word, I pulled her close and hugged her as workers swarmed around us—nearly fifty of them, gathering props and prepping for the next event. I squeezed tighter. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Deloris sighed and let her head rest against my shoulder. “Please, Wendell.”

Pulling away, I smiled brightly. “Think of it this way—the more I’m in the open, the more the government is looking for me and not my friends. That’s a good thing.”

“I guess so.”

“Ready to roll?” Shamas asked, jumping down from the van. “We’ve got the routes planned, and our eyes say there’s a bigger crowd than there was this afternoon.”

I stood up. “Didn’t think that was possible. It was a huge crowd in front of the loading docks.”

The bodyguard grinned. “Rough count was about thirty-five hundred. I think your idea of planting rumors is working better than we thought. Depending on where we set up, you could have more than five thousand citizens there in person…and who knows how many TV crews.”

“How can you sound and look so calm?” Deloris finally snapped behind me. Her nostrils flared in frustration.

Shamas looked back, shocked. “Me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the bodyguard?” she glared at him. “Wendell’s bodyguard?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Then why aren’t you doing your job?” she growled. “Someone almost killed him—again—and you’re acting as if it never happened. Now he wants to spend more time out in the open? You’ve all lost your mind!”

“He does get that standing ovation from people.”

“That’s not funny, Shamas.”

But I laughed.

“Wasn’t intended to be, Deloris.” His smile never wavered. “Look, I agree with you. I really do, but can I stop him from going out there into the public’s eye? No. Can you? And for your information, I am doing my job. I just learned I have to do it in a way that Wendell doesn’t notice—or he fights me.”

I nodded. “Every step of the way.”

That got her attention. She cocked her head to the side. “You…have something up your sleeve, don’t you?” She studied his face. “Tell me.”

Guiding her toward the closest van, he patted a metal panel sitting in the center of the floor. “Meet Betsy. Scapegoat #3.”

“Common tongue, please.”

Chuckling, he said, “Wendell won’t get out of the line of fire, right? So we told him we’d create some decoys.”

“Right,” she said. “I know all that.”

“But that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot. All the Centurions have to do is cut us off and we’ve been had.” Working his way to the back of the van, Shamas rolled up the service door. “That’s why all the vans come with a magic hat.”

She frowned. “Magic…hat? What are you talking about?”

“If we have to get away in a hurry, all we have to do is get Wendell into one of these vans. Each driver has a layout map of the sewer pipes…” His grin widened. “Including the manholes.”

Deloris caught on, and now she was smiling too. “So if the van gets caught, it’ll be…”

“Empty. And to make sure we don’t lose him in the tunnels, I’ve made sure Otger is with Wendell to and from all events.”

Deloris shook her head and patted the bodyguard lightly on the shoulder. “I take back my doubt. You’re good, Shamas. Very good.” Then, laughing, “In fact, I think you’re my favorite person today.”

He smirked. “I aim to please.”

It was farther up than the G.R.R. had dared to go. The food district—smaller shops and family-owned distribution centers nestled between the upper city and the warehouse districts. It was where factory workers and normals met.

Two worlds. One city.

The numbers far exceeded the prediction. Thousands upon thousands packed the streets. Parents and children, university students, shop owners, government workers—citizens from every walk of life pooled together in a sea of expectation.

Of excitement.

Bodies filled windows and balconies on the surrounding buildings. Eyes searched eagerly for where the Gnolaum might appear first.

Officers kept traffic moving, standing in the streets and waving vehicles on. Gnomes arriving by transport were forced to walk over a mile to join the crowds.

Only media and local businesses were allowed to park nearby.

For two days, speculation had churned. I’d made nearly a dozen speeches. The first few had slipped past the main media outlets, but they caught on soon enough—following the crowds, keeping their ears to the streets. Word was, the Gnolaum had a lot to say about the people of Clockworks.

…and I did.

Not only was I not afraid of their technology, I embraced it.

That got their attention.

Whispers flowed freely through the mass.

“They say he’s completely against the Government.”

“That’s only because they have his friend. But why should he care what happens to a vallen?”

“He supports the workers. I think that’s refreshing. To worry about the little guys. Not that it matters much—but it’s nice to know he has feelings.”

“The Church is completely against all this. What does that mean?”

Not everyone was here for answers. Hundreds of normals stood off to one side—faces drawn, hands clenched into fists.

Lives had been disrupted.

Goods weren’t moving the way they used to.

The great beast that rewarded those willing to work and pay the price had shifted…and not for the better.

Lesser citizens were demanding equal rights.

More freedoms.

It was disgusting.

Unthinkable.

Eyes scanned windows, platforms, and the crowd itself. There were no smiles on those faces. Many hid weapons…sticks, rocks, disposable tools of violence. I could see them flickering in and out of view.

Centurions also noticed.

They said nothing.

“Let’s do this,” I said into my com-link.

“Even with the doors locked and barricaded, you won’t have much time.”

“I understand,” I replied, staring through the curtains. “Deloris?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you. For being here with me. For helping, and…believing in me.” I took a slow breath and slid the window open. “It means a lot.”

“Just be careful,” she said, sober.

“And remember where the vans are,” Shamas chimed in. “If it gets to be too much, get to a van. Understood? We’ll get you out.”

“Got it.” I peered down the street, trying to find the faux delivery vans. A cluster of them had been staged on the far side of the crowd.

“Wow,” I gasped, once in the open.

There were a lot of gnomes out there.

High school debate hadn’t prepared me for this.

Then again, I did get straight F’s.

It wasn’t Trench Stadium. This was different.

These citizens had come to hear me talk.

…or brain me.

I slid the window open the rest of the way, then stepped out onto the fire escape. Looking down between the metal grating, my legs went soft. “Couldn’t we have done this on top of the building?” I gasped, grabbing the railing.

“Then you wouldn’t have an escape route,” Shamas replied evenly. “You’re the one calling the shots, Wendell. I just work my job around your parameters.”

“Right,” I gulped. My fingers inched along the metal until they found the rope tied in a loose knot.

The invisible rope.

I should’ve requested the speech from a coffee shop.

“You have time to call all this off,” Deloris said, hopeful.

“No.” I swallowed hard. “I’m here.” Another gulp. “I’m ready.”

I clenched my eyes shut.

Not everyone will agree.

Not everyone will understand.

That’s ok.

Your job now is to share your heart. Let them decide what to do with it.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “Go.”

“Cueing mic.”

Speakers—hidden on rooftops and in alleyways—popped on. The soft rush of my breathing pulsed across the district. Thousands of eyes snapped around, searching for where the sound came from. Media vans swung their cameras, rolling and panning. Some crews stood on rooftops. Others moved through the crowd with shoulder rigs.

“The world is changing,” I said softly, adjusting the wire looped around my ear. “And not for the better. I don’t need to prove anything—you only have to look around you. Stop listening, for just a moment, to the words of your leaders…and look at their fruits.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Do their deeds match their promises? Think about it. Do your leaders fulfill their pledges? Do they honor their word? What excuses do they make to cover their corruption…or their neglect?”

The murmuring grew.

“Do you see it?” I forced a grin. “Of course you see it. We all see it. The question isn’t whether it exists. The question you have to ask yourself is whether it affects you enough to want to change.”

I whispered, “Silmä inakmään.”

The effect was immediate.

Gnomes looked up and gasped as I flashed into view.

Simple magic.

Clever timing.

I smiled…because smiling was easier than admitting my knees were trying to quit…and gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping me attached to the planet.

“That’s one of the first things I noticed about Clockworks when I arrived. There’s a division among the people of this incredible city.” I nodded, pushing the smile wider. “And I do think this city is incredible. Fascinating and awe-inspiring!”

Some beamed up at me.

“But it’s also ill. From head to foot, Clockworks is saturated with corruption!”

A few fists rose and pumped in agreement.

I needed to clarify it.

“But if you have a good life…” No. “A comfortable life,” better, “then why would you want things to change?” Faces shifted. Some were already chewing on it. “Some are afraid that if opportunities are given to others, their own lives will be lessened. That’s foolish—but others fear something worse. There are those who fear losing control. Losing leverage. Losing the power that drives and forces, manipulates and threatens.”

My voice sharpened.

“Power they never should have had in the first place!”

I raised my chin and tried to meet as many eyes as I could as I scanned the crowd. “You have a Government that turns a blind eye to the pain and suffering of the poor. Your widows. Your orphans. Your elderly! A leadership that hides what it’s done to millions of its citizens—gnomes who labor night and day to keep this civilization afloat.”

It was time to say it.

The truth.

“What’s even worse is that you have citizens among us who hold their brothers and sisters down…”

The crowd went silent.

“For no other reason than their own gain!”

Normals stepped forward, pressing into the crowd.

“Why?” I pleaded. “Why is this the case, when the gnome race is so intelligent—bursting with goodness and creativity? Why should there be deprived people when your place could be among the leaders of this entire world?”

Gasps echoed.

They hadn’t been ready for that.

But it was true.

At least…it was true in my bones.

“I’ll tell you why!” I shouted. “It’s because there are gnomes who think life should be ease. Comfort. That isn’t wrong—but not at the cost of another! Not when you seek it in spite of the suffering around you.”

My voice dropped then. “Not when you use the suffering of others for your own gain.”

“Wendell,” Shamas buzzed in my ear, “you’ve got company already. Centurions are en route. Plainclothes officers entered the building. We shut down the elevators and blocked the stairwell, but that won’t delay them long.”

“Please don’t think I’m against any of you,” I continued, forcing myself to keep going. “I’m not. Since I arrived, it’s been my pleasure…” I hesitated. “No…my honor…to get to know people here. Good, honest, caring citizens who showed me the grace and brilliance of your race. Citizens who represent you with dignity.”

My eyes drifted…angry faces were pushing toward the fire escape.

“But during my adventures as a Trench pilot…”

Cheers burst out. Laughter rolled through the crowd.

I smirked. “Which was, without a doubt, the coolest experience I’ve EVER had in my life.”

More cheers.

“But I was kidnapped.” My brow tightened. “Taken from my friends and thrown into one of your public garbage chutes.”

The laughter thinned, uncertain.

“For those of you who haven’t had the luxury of falling hundreds of stories to your death and living to talk about it—let me enlighten you.” A few uneasy chuckles. “There’s a world below. Right under where you’re standing. A place where gnomes—just like you—have been cast out and forgotten.”

My eyes burned. I blinked hard.

“Like garbage,” I choked out.

Below me, somewhere inside the building, I heard it—doors being kicked, frantic movement, officers hunting for stairs. Shamas had welded the fire escape ladders up.

Smart.

They’d have to come through the apartment door.

I spread my arms wide. “Gnomes are not garbage!” My voice cracked. “Yet I lived for days with men, women…and children…trapped below this city, scratching out a meager existence from the waste you produce. Is this right? To allow this kind of treatment of your citizens? Your neighbors? Your kin?”

Then I drove it deeper.

“But this isn’t only about those left behind…”

I ground my teeth. This hurt to say, because I’d seen it. I felt it and experienced it with so many good gnomes.

“This is about change,” Deloris prompted softly in my ear.

I froze.

Faces stared up at me. Thousands of them.

Lives. Stories. Eyes.

And the weight of it came down hard.

They truly believed I was the Gnolaum.

“The next line is ‘This is about change’,” Deloris said again.

No.

My mind snapped…pulling me back to the furnaces. The late talks. The kids. The hunger. The ones who’d stopped expecting anything to ever get better.

And I’d seen sacrifice, too—Bellows, quietly bleeding untold fortunes to keep people from drowning.

But change wasn’t coming fast enough. Not when boots stayed on necks. Not when leaders used leverage by threatening people I loved.

The door below me shook.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“This is about a revolution,” I said aloud.

The words rang across the district and came back at me from brick and steel.

“WHAT?” Deloris squealed in my ear.

The pressure slid off my shoulders.

I could finally breathe.

…and for some reason, I could stand taller.

“This is about standing up, together, and making yourselves heard. Making yourselves seen. Saying ‘no’ to those who sit high and lay their labors on your backs!”

My voice surged.

“It’s time to stand up and shout that this is no longer acceptable!”

“Wendell, what are you—” Deloris started, but her voice drowned under a roar.

The crowd erupted.

Normals froze. I noticed faces turning pale, fear flashing across them. I’d hit the button. A hot one. Around them, gnomes exploded into motion, a decade of swallowed rage finally finding air. Fists rose by the thousands. Tattered sleeves snapped in the breeze.

And the chant rolled up like thunder.

“GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM!”

“You just flipped our plan on its head!” Deloris shouted, furious. “This isn’t the way—people are going to get hurt!”

“They’re already hurting,” I shot back, watching the faces below. “Do you see them, Deloris? Are you seeing the faces? Grinning, crying, screaming. It’s time for the other half of this city to wake up.”

“They’re in, Wendell!” Shamas yelled. “You need to—”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

The apartment door exploded open.

Officers poured in—weapons up, scanning for me.

My fingers scrabbled along the railing searching for the invisible rope.

I yanked the knot free and took a firm grip, setting one foot against the railing and pulling the rope taut.

My stomach rolled.

The far end was attached to a crane between buildings.

At least…I hoped it was.

“Wendell—jump!” Shamas screamed. “Get to the vans, now!”

“There he is!” a Centurion shouted from inside. “Grab him!”

Gloved hands reached through the shattered window, clawing for my shirt. The smiley face on my chest screamed silently like a maniac.

But no one grabbed me.

The window glass burst outward—then a tiny, red-speckled hole appeared in the center of it.

The closest officer jerked back from the ledge and collapsed.

“ARGH!” I stumbled. My left arm went dead. “Guys…I’ve been hit.”

A beat passed—then the sound arrived.

The crack of a firearm.

Distant.

Clean.

Above us.

Two levels up, a water tower in the distance blew apart—first the shot, then the blast. Fire belched out like a dragon and was immediately smothered as the tower dumped water over the ledge, drowning the flames.

“Wendell!” Shamas screamed. “Go, NOW!”

Throwing myself over the edge, I shrieked like a lunatic, clinging to the rope with my good hand. My body swung out over the crowd in a wild arc.

Below, gnomes couldn’t decide what to watch—the attack, or the screaming Gnolaum-banshee swinging overhead.

“How do I get doooowwwnnn?!” I screeched, feeling my grip slip.

“You have to let go!” Shamas shouted, sprinting across the street toward the vans. “Jump on my mark!”

“Jump?!”

“That’s what I said—ready, set—”

“Wait!” I yelled, watching the vans rush up to meet me.

“JUMP!” Shamas yelled.

It hit me all at once: this plan was never built for a graceful exit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let go.

I flew past gnomes who screamed and scattered…

…and slammed into the side of a van.

Which I bounced off and hit the street.

Hard.

The crowd cheered.

“Owww,” I groaned. The mägoweave saved my back, but it didn’t save my dignity. I pushed myself up, and the cheering got louder.

I raised a weak hand and waved. “Guys, I have a bullet hole through my arm.”

“Get in the van!” Shamas roared, shoving me forward into a van.

Otger slammed the door shut behind me, and we shot off.

Four vans, identical—except for what was inside them.

Otger grinned. “That was a cool landing.”

I gritted my teeth and shoved my sleeve up. Blood clotted around the hole. “Someone tried to kill me. Like…actually, literally kill me this time!”

“What,” Shamas barked into the com-link, “did you think this was some game?”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

“Looks like we have company,” another voice said.

Shamas caught the pursuing vehicles in the mirror—black racers cutting around vendors and statues, lights flashing red and yellow.

“Why don’t they have sirens on?” Shamas snapped.

“No clue, boss,” a driver answered. “What’s the plan?”

“Pea-shell,” Shamas said. “Mix it up before we split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices replied in unison.

Shamas slammed the brakes and fell into line with the other vans. Otger and I rolled around in the cab and banged our knees.

“Sorry,” Shamas said over the speaker. “We’re being pursued already—so we’re creating a diversion. Hang onto something.”

Otger and I stared at the empty cargo box.

Smooth walls. No handles.

“To what?” Otger squeaked.

The four vans wove into a figure-eight pattern as they raced—using signs and posts to break sight-lines and reshuffle positions.

“Coming up on the hard left, boss,” a voice warned.

“Right,” Shamas confirmed. “Flying fish, then split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices answered.

I grabbed Otger’s forearm as we hit the turn.

The three empty vans fell back and split—each taking a different main road. Shamas cut hard right and floored it.

“Two cars in pursuit,” a driver reported.

“Nothing on me,” another said.

“I have the third,” the last replied.

“Good job,” Shamas chuckled. “We’re in the—” He stopped. His face went cold. His fingers toggled the speaker. “Get ready to bail, Otger.”

I shoved myself upright. “What is he talking about?”

Otger crawled to the center of the floor and yanked up a small metal ring. It lifted a larger handle. He gripped it with both hands and pulled. “We’re about to have visitors. This is our way out. We have to run.”

I stared. “You…know about this?”

Otger nodded and pulled again.

The van slowed.

“What’s the matter?”

Otger stood and yanked with everything he had.

Nothing.

“It’s stuck,” he said.

“Here.” I grabbed it and hauled with all my strength.

It didn’t budge.

“Uh oh.”

“You out?” Shamas whispered in my ear.

“Uhhh…not exactly.”

“Well get out—now. We have a roadblock ahead.”

“We can’t. The thingy is jammed.”

The mic crackled with what I assumed were creative insults involving animal parts. The van rolled to a stop.

“Then stay quiet,” Shamas whispered. “I’ll—”

He cut off as shouting approached the back of the van. The mic crackled again—so loud I yanked my earbud out.

Otger stared at me, sweat beading on his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“Company,” I whispered, lifting a finger to my lips. The voices moved closer—slow, deliberate. I pulled Otger toward the rear doors and crouched with him. “When that door opens, clamp your eyes shut. Head down. Okay?”

Otger nodded, trembling.

I forced my breathing slow.

The latch rattled. Mutters shifted outside the door.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I rolled my shoulders and brought the words to mind.

Come on.

Come and get me.

The door jerked up.

Six plainclothes officers stood spread across the pavement, weapons trained on me. Shamas was nowhere in sight.

“Get out!” the lead Centurion barked.

I grinned. My mind fixed on sunlight—staring into it, letting it flood my vision.

“VÄLO!” I bellowed.

Light exploded from the van.

Weapons clattered. Gnomes screamed, slapped hands over their eyes, stumbled into one another.

“Come on!” I grabbed Otger and jumped down, hauling him into a sprint.

“Wait!” Otger cried, pointing. “We need to go that way—put me down!”

I glanced over my shoulder and caught Shamas dropping a sucker punch on the lead officer before sprinting off himself.

“There!” Otger pointed at a manhole near a clothing shop.

Gnomes stared as we dashed over and I heaved the plate up.

Otger and I dropped into the manhole.

“Ungh!” I gagged. “What is that sme—”

Otger shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Fine. Lead on.”

The tunnels were wide enough to move, but not enough for me to stand.

I hunched for an hour.

Then two.

My back screamed, but I refused to lean against the walls or sit in what I was pretty sure was the greatest horror my nose had ever known.

At the end of the second hour, I stopped.

“How can you keep going through this?” I coughed, lifting my mägoweave shirt over my mouth and nose. The smiley face on my chest had turned from bright yellow to sickly green—bags forming under his eyes. Otger looked weirdly…fine. “Doesn’t this make you want to blow chunks?”

Otger shrugged. “I lived in tunnels and sewers to make a living.” He frowned like he was actually considering it. “I guess you get used to it.”

“Wow,” I gagged. “Revolting…but wow.”

A series of ladders appeared ahead, bolted into the cement wall. We climbed until Otger held up a hand.

“Hear that?” he said.

We listened.

Above us, through the manhole cover, I caught engine noise and arguing—orders barked, complaints snapped back, then more orders.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Back at the warehouse.” Otger’s ears twitched. “I think the Centurions found our base.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I slumped against the wall, too tired to care. I’d deviated from the G.R.R. speech. Had I pushed the authorities far enough that they were retaliating?

I wasn’t sure, but what I said had to be said.

Would Bellows and the G.R.R. have countered the rot eventually?

“We can’t go up,” Otger whispered. “They’re searching the warehouses for you.”

“What about—” I started, but he pressed a finger to his lips.

“They’re not arresting anyone,” he whispered. “Too many workers are standing up to the authorities.” He smirked at me. “I think the Centurions are nervous. They’re just looking for you.”

Good news.

So why did my stomach still feel like ice?

“So where do we go?” I whispered. “We’ll have to lay low.”

I stared into the dark.

It wasn’t safe to drag trouble back to Morty’s.

Not yet.

I couldn’t go to the G.R.R. base.

Not Bellows’ place.

There was one place left.

…one place no one would think to search.

I looked at Otger and grinned. “I know a place we’ll be safe.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With the Government announcing the planned execution of Dax, Wendell was about to cut all ties and focus on his friends rescue. That is, until he discovered his influence on the heart of the city.

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Chapter 84

“Don’t look at me like that. You agreed to help me first.”

“I did help you.”

“The deal was to get the monkey back…I was very specific. Or did you forget that essential part of the agreement?”

“No, I didn’t forget that part, but…”

“Well this is the next phase of that strategy, child, so stop fidgeting. Smile. Put all your worries and concerns behind you for now. I need that smile.” He rapped her on the forehead with a knuckle. “No, not like that. You look constipated when you do that. I want the smile that makes all these male gnomes go weak in the knees.”

“You’re pushing it, no matter what our agreement may be.”

“Oh please. If anyone so much as hints at being improper, I’ll turn them into a toad and squash them under foot!”

She relaxed. “Really?”

“Well, no. I don’t know how to turn gnomes into toads.”

Lili sighed.

“Oh for goodness sakes, child, all I’m asking you to do is smile. Distract. Help me get what’s needed without having to resort to violence. Besides, you really do look adorable as a gnome.” Chuck adjusted his top hat and gave her a grandfatherly wink.

The elevator slowed, the groan of the cables vibrating through the swinging metal cage. The floor swayed under their feet. Lili gasped and gripped the handrail. “W-what am I supposed to say to him? He’s…” She hesitated.

Lifting the cage door, the wizard held out a hand. “He’s what?”

Gratefully, she accepted and staggered into the hallway. Straightening her business suit, she fixed her massive tuft of hair, letting the soft curls fall over her shoulders. “Mature.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Does it matter what I was going to say? I’m trying to be respectful and polite.”

“You were going to say old.”

She bit her lip to keep from retorting.

Shaking his head, “Old is relative anyway…and remember, if anyone asks, you’re mine.”

“What do you mean I’m yours?”

“Grandchild. You’re my grandchild.” He scoffed. “Silly child. Come on.” He glanced at a scrap of paper. “342C.”

The building was a retirement community for older gnomes, which seemed to be a term used for substandard housing slapped together for seniors. The elderly that no one cared about any longer. Just outside the dark and dirty tram station, this decaying building looked as old as its occupants. Heavy rust covered most doorways, knobs stuck or were missing altogether, and Out of Order signs seemed to be as common as the rats. Piles of garbage lay in clusters along the hallways, and one gnome, wrapped in newspaper, snored peacefully as they passed. Lili wrinkled her nose, the acidic, pungent smell of mold and urine lingered in the air.

“How do people live like this?” she gasped, trying to speak without taking her hand from her nose. “It’s revolting!”

“Not everyone has a choice, dear. For some, this is the best they have available. Better to be here than out in the cold or under some freeway.” He grinned as 342C appeared. Folding the paper, he slid it into his vest pocket. Adjusting his jacket, Chuck briskly rapped on the door. “Which is why Wendell needs to step it up a notch. Gather the people. Start a revolution!”

They could hear the footsteps shuffling across the floor. Heavy. Tired. There was a tiny thud. A small window in the upper center of the door opened, a single eye appearing, then a muffled voice said, “Whaddya want?”

“We’d like to talk to you, Tumbler,” Chuck said evenly. “We have a…”

“I don’t give a rat-spit what ya got. Go away!” The eye vanished and the small window slammed shut.

A hungry-looking rodent, foraging for food, took notice of the two standing in the hallway. It stood up on its back legs, staring at Lili. She grabbed the wizard’s arm. “Why didn’t we go to Freak and Socket first?”

The wizard tugged at his beard, eyes locked on the door. “Because there’s no guarantee this old bird would agree. I don’t want to go through the effort to persuade the rest of them, only to be stuck in this hallway. On the other hand, if we use all our powers of persuasion on Tumbler, the rest of the crew is in the bag. He’ll help us. That is, if we can win him over.”

It made sense. The old welder was a blunt, but honest member of the TNT crew. The father figure of the team. Over the past month, Lili had watched members, including Freak himself, come to Tumbler when they needed counsel. When they needed encouragement or a new perspective on any issue. He was the heart of the best Trench pit team in Clockworks City.

But he was also the most stubborn.

Lili leaned against the door, placing her tan forehead against the cold metal surface. “Tumbler? Please let us come in.” She glanced back at the rat, which was still staring at her. “We really need to talk with you.”

“I ain’t interested, so git!” the voice yelled back. “We don’t need yer lying kind around here. We’ve got the government for that crap!”

She placed her hand near her cheek, fingernails tapping against the surface. “I’m sorry we lied to you, Tumbler. You’re mad. I…” She paused. “I would be too. But we never meant any harm. It’s really not Wendell’s fault.”

“Not his fault?” Tumbler boomed. “This is all about him, how can it not be his fault?!” Footsteps came back to the door. “They hauled me off like some…some…common street thug, and accused me o’betraying my own people! ME! When I served my country!” His voice trembled and Lili couldn’t tell if it was anger or sorrow. “Said I was a traitor and a disgrace of a gnome…not worth spit.” Tumbler’s head thumped against the other side of the door, his voice barely above a whisper. “They called me a traitor.”

There was a long pause.

Lili clenched her eyes tight.

“I may not be worth much,” he choked, “But I always thought it was a sight more than spit.”

Her hand spread out across the surface of the door. “I’m so sorry. We’re all so sorry.” But her words were empty and she knew it. They had come here with the intention of changing the very fabric of this society. It was plain in her voice. She needed to say something she believed herself. So Lili said the only thing she could think of. “Wendell never meant to harm you…or anyone for that matter. That’s why he was…”

The door latch clicked.

With a creak and a moan, the thick slab of metal pulled back to reveal a solemn looking gnome in faded and stained overalls. Tumbler’s face had the remains of a wide bruise across one cheek, while one of his eyes was still swollen shut. He looked down at his own shoes, as if he were ashamed. It was then that Lili noticed his bandaged hand.

Lili raised a hand and placed it over her mouth. “Did they…beat you, Tumbler?”

“Come in or stay in the hall, I don’t care, but I’m shuttin’ the door.”

Both she and Chuck stepped past the welder and into the tiny studio apartment. Machine parts were stacked neatly along the floorboards, a current project spread out across a small round table in the corner. Tumbler shut and locked the door, then shuffled back to the table, switching on a mini television, which perched on a nearby foldable tray. Without looking up, the old gnome grabbed a pair of pliers and went back to work. “Say what ya gotta say, so I can kick you out.”

Chuck found himself drawn to the welder’s creations. Scraps fastened together to make chairs, tables, even a foot rest. The apartment wasn’t dirty, or even cluttered for that matter. It was just crowded. Spiders made from an old toaster sat along one counter, while industrial cables were splayed out along one wall, mimicking creatures of the sea. The wizard smiled to himself. Tumbler wasn’t just good. He was talented and clever.

Lili sat in the second seat at the table, ignoring the creations around her. She watched the welder in silence, as his nimble hands, wrinkled as they were, connected piece after tiny piece to what was looking like an animal of some sort.

“You have the touch,” Chuck said aloud. “I’ll give you that.” He reached up and brushed his hand against the hanging lamp that looked remarkably like a jellyfish. “Spent time in open waters?”

“Coast guard,” Tumbler grunted without looking up.

But there was more. Some of the metal sculptures were used as planters. Ferns grew in every corner and hung on walls instead of pictures.

Pictures.

Chuck spun around on the balls of his feet, a quick whipping motion. There was not a single picture on the walls. Only a single frame, centered on a TV tray, surrounded by plants and oil cans converted to hold flowers.

Lili leaned forward. “Tumbler, we really…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” Chuck blurted out.

Lili looked up at him, confused.

“To love so deep that you think you’ll never breathe again. Never be whole, because the one thing in your world, the sweetest part, the part that made everything else possible, is suddenly…gone.”

Hands shaking, the welder looked up. His face flushed.

Gently lifting the frame from the mini garden on the tray, Chuck studied the photograph. Tumbler looked like he was in his mid twenties. Tough, cigar-smoking rugged, his arm around a young gnome who kissed him tenderly on the cheek. They stood on the deck of an old barge. The wizard squinted. The Dreamboat. Curious name for a vessel, but there was no denying the two looked blissfully happy.

“She’s lovely.”

Tumbler set the pliers down and rose abruptly from his chair. “Put it back,” he said sternly, then meaner, “Now.”

Chuck mimicked the smile Tumbler wore in the picture. “What happened to change you from this,” he caressed the frame with a finger, then turned to look the gnome square in the face, “into a sour, old, crusty fart?”

Snatching the picture, Tumbler shoved the wizard away from the tray. “I said put it down!” he snarled.

The smile never left Chuck’s face. “What happened to her?” he said softly, his tone kind.

Gentle hands replaced the frame between the green and yellow flowers. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised at what I understand.”

Tumbler’s shoulders dropped as the gnome gave a heavy sigh. It was several moments before he even turned around. When he did, the moisture on his face was as plain as his overalls, tears streaking down his cheeks. “She drowned,” he choked out. Gritting his teeth, he turned away and wiped his eyes.

Lili looked away.

“Saved up, working every job I could get so we could buy that boat. All I wanted to do was live on the water. Get out of these city walls and give my girl something better. Show her a bigger world. But…” he looked back at the photograph, his voice turning bitter, “my closest friend decided she was too good for me. So he sabotaged the boat while I was away. Welded the main doors shut, so I couldn’t salvage anything, then sank it altogether.” His chest heaved, eyes clenched tight, hands curled into fists.

Lili raised her hand to cover her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Maggie was asleep in the cabin.”

Chuck’s smile faded. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is to lose someone you…”

“Who do you think you are?” Tumbler cut him off. He spun around, staring at the wizard coldly. “Walking into my home and trying to play mind games with me? I may not be some educated normal, but I ain’t completely stupid. You’re trying ta play me.” He laughed to choke back the tears. “It ain’t gonna work!” He stepped forward, snarling into the wizard’s face. “I think you better leave now…before I help you leave.”

“I was going to play you,” Chuck said calmly. He held his ground, meeting the welder’s gaze. “Until I saw someone I could relate to. After a lifetime of sorrow, I saw a gnome whose sorrow could match my own.”

Tumbler blinked. “W-what are you talking about?”

“My wife was murdered. A long, long time ago. By my closest friend. It wasn’t by drowning.” He shook his head once, slow. “I walked into the room and he was holding her beautiful head in his hands,” he swallowed roughly, lips trembling, “unconscious, like it meant something.” His voice thinned. “…and he slit her neck from ear to ear.”

Lili gasped aloud. Tumbler, however, stood dumbfounded.

“I lost both my wife and my infant son that day.” Chuck slid around the gnome and took a seat on the other side of the room.

The welder stood in shock, watching the wizard for long moments before answering. He glanced between them, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

“I want your help in two matters.”

“Which are?”

“First and foremost, to help me convince and gather the TNT crew to come work for me.”

Tumbler glanced at Lili warily. “And the second?”

Chuck smiled. “Help me rescue Dax from the government so we can leave Clockworks and go home.”

Tumbler folded his arms. “And why would I agree to such nonsense?”

The wizard let his head fall slightly forward, just enough to cast shadows over his eyes. “Because like me, you’re still here, fighting and kicking back because that’s what our girls expect of us. Helping others is what they taught us to do, by example. Isn’t it? It was what made Maggie special.”

The old gnome looked away, clenching his eyes tight. Nostrils flaring, his words seeped out in a whisper. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Chuck looked over at a stunned Lili and winked. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

The chop shop where Telly rented a room wasn’t very far from Tumbler’s apartment. It was, however, in a rougher part of the neighborhood. Lili found herself walking faster so she could stay within arm’s length of the wizard. Each block corner they passed was met with wolf calls and dirty, grinning faces. Even with trousers and a jacket, she felt exposed.

Chuck patted her hand reassuringly and urged her forward.

“He’s up here,” Tumbler said plainly, grabbing hold of the rusty metal railing. The stairs wrapped around the outside of the automotive garage, which leaned to one side and looked like the roof was about to collapse in on itself.

Lili tested the second step with her foot. It creaked and moaned back at her. Apprehensively, she said, “I’m not sure this is safe.”

Tumbler snorted as he tromped up the stairs. “Of course not…that’s why he got the place so cheap! Now get yer cans up here—I ain’t doing this alone.” He rapped on the single metal door.

“Yeah?” shouted a nasal tone.

“It’s me,” Tumbler barked back.

The door opened to a bare-chested Telly, drying his hair with a towel. Lili’s eyebrows bounced upward. Even as a gnome, it was hard not to stare at the mechanic’s lean, muscular shoulders, arms, and chest. Seeing Lili’s wide brown eyes, he almost fell over in embarrassment. Grasping the towel to his chest, Telly bolted to the bedroom with a “DOH!”

“Come in,” Tumbler grunted.

Though bigger than the welder’s dwelling, the apartment was in far worse shape. Cluttered like only an unkempt bachelor knows how—clothes, magazines, dishes, and leftover food squatted on top of furniture, under furniture, and in furniture. Lili decided to stand.

“Whaddya want?” Telly called out from behind the bedroom door. “And whatcha doing bringin’ a girl here?!”

“They want our help,” Tumbler yelled back.

“I don’t wanna help ’em. I got a record now! Did you know that, Tumbler? Because o’ them!” There was a pause. “My mom’s gonna be disappointed in me now,” another pause, “’cause her son’s a convict!”

The old gnome sighed. “You ain’t no convict, kid. Dense and slow, maybe—but yer one of the honest ones, so kick it out of yer mind. It couldn’t be helped…what happened.” He glanced at Chuck, who was lifting a rag from a pizza box with a pencil. “It was beyond anyone’s control, and it don’t change who you really are.”

“Yes it does!” Telly appeared in the doorway. He hovered for a moment, glancing nervously at Lili, unsure if he should enter or retreat. “I can’t get a job now. Not at any of the local shops, anyway, ’cause they said they won’t hire a human sympathizer.”

Tumbler frowned. “Well that ain’t right.”

“I know!” Telly complained. “I don’t know what a ‘sympathizer’ is, but it doesn’t sound good.” He smirked. “So I punched ’em in the nose.”

Chuck covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Grabbing the young gnome by the elbow, Tumbler pulled him to a corner of the room. Leaning in, he said, “They need our help, kiddo.”

Pulling away, “I don’t care.”

“Sure you do. You’re a decent kid with a giant heart. You always care.”

Telly planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Not this time I don’t. I went to jail when I did nothing wrong.” He glanced over at Lili, but quickly looked away. “The Centurions shouldn’t be allowed to do that! All they did was ask me questions I didn’t know how to answer. Then they accuse me of being a liar! Stupid cops. How can I lie when I don’t even know the answers?”

Tumbler grinned and patted him on the arm. “You’re right. Good folks are being treated pretty bad by the government. They don’t listen to the people anymore…and they should. But why would they? No one stands up to ’em. No one’s saying what’s right and wrong, now are they?”

Telly’s forehead crinkled forward. “No, I guess there isn’t.”

“There’s no one to change the way things are done,” he paused, “well…”

The tall gnome frowned. “What?”

“The Gnolaum could.”

“Yeah, but…,” Telly’s frown deepened, “heeeeeyyyy.”

Tumbler shrugged. “That is what he’s here for, ya know. To change our society—for the better.”

Shaking his head, “Nope. Don’t care. Don’t want my mom to be more disappointed than she’s gonna be now.”

“Ya don’t want to be a hero, huh?” Tumbler asked, feigning shock.

A large hand reached out and gripped one of Tumbler’s suspender straps. “Hero?”

“Sure. These two are askin’ for help to get Dax out of the clinch he’s in.”

Telly smiled, lowering his voice. “They’re gonna kill that troll, I hear.”

“He is NOT A TROLL!” Chuck burst out. He shot both gnomes a warning glance from across the room.

“Right,” exclaimed the mechanic, gulping nervously. He glanced over at Lili again, this time letting his attention linger a moment longer. An awkward grin surfaced across his face. “Not a troll,” he said almost to himself, “got it.” But he shook his head almost immediately. “No! Blast it, Tumbler, no! This ain’t right. They ain’t right!” He glared back at the wizard. “There ain’t nothing you could say to make me change my mind, and that’s final. You hear me?”

Tumbler nodded once. “Then I won’t try usin’ words on ya.” He looked at Chuck, then winked at Lili. “Give the poor boy a smile, will ya, dear? Let him know we ain’t got no hard feelings.”

Taking a step forward, Lili laced her slender fingers in front of her and looked up into the mechanic’s face. Her deep brown eyes reflected the light seeping through clouded windows. Long black lashes fluttered as her full, soft lips parted in a sparkling white smile.

Telly’s knees buckled before Tumbler could steady him. Falling backward, he hit his head on the coffee table as he collapsed, unconscious, onto the floor.

Lili rolled her eyes.

Nibbles dabbed the cloth around the base of the large knot on Telly’s forehead. “That’s all she did. Smile at you?”

The mechanic scoffed. “You had to be there.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Nib.” He paused, glancing behind them. Lili was in a whispered argument with Chuck in the kitchen area. “She’s gotta be the prettiest thing in the whole world.” He flinched. “OW.”

“Sorry.”

“No yer not,” Telly grunted. “You can’t be jealous when ya never pay no attention to me anyhow. I’ve been here for years. Just never sat in a wheelchair.”

Tumbler slugged him in the shoulder. “Watch it. Nat’s been good to us. Always has. So don’t fault the girl for liking a decent gnome—whether it’s you or not.”

“Sorry, Nib.”

She grinned, leaned forward, and kissed Telly on the forehead. “Well, I’m sorry if I ever hurt your feelings, but I do love you. You’re family. Isn’t that a good thing?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, it’s good. But you will let me know if Wheels doesn’t cut it, right?” He flinched again. “Ow. Alright, alright. I get it.”

“I’m just angry that Alhannah didn’t tell me sooner.” Nibbles watched Chuck lean closer to Lili, clearly upset, but the girl turned a shoulder. “And you think they can be trusted, Tumbler?”

The old gnome sighed. “I don’t much care anymore, to tell ya the truth.”

Both Nibbles and Telly turned their attention to the welder. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

“Because I don’t see that it matters. The city’s gone to crap—we can’t get decent jobs because of false accusations and twisted perspectives. If you ask me, the whole blasted system is ready for an overhaul…” His head tilted slightly to one side. “Which is what I’m seeing.” Nudging Telly over, the old gnome sat next to him on the coffee table. “For just once I’d like to do something I actually believe in, instead of always doin’ what others think I should be doin’!”

“Like breaking out a…” Nibbles started to say, but Telly slapped his hand over her mouth.

“Don’t say ‘troll’,” he whispered just above a breath. Without moving his head, his eyes shifted to the kitchen area.

Chuck was staring right at him.

Gulping, he lifted his hand from Nibbles’ mouth. “He ain’t a troll.”

The wizard grinned and went back to his own conversation.

“Fine. So he’s not a troll.” Nibbles crossed her arms. “That doesn’t make breaking into the Citadel any less crazy.” She shook her head. “Or stupid.”

“But what if it’s the right thing to do?” Tumbler reached out and grabbed their hands, squeezing them tight. “There’s not one of you I don’t look at like my kids. You’re right about us being family, Nib, so listen to me. Listen to the old gnome of the bunch who’s lived a life o’ regret.” Gritting his teeth, he forced out a smile instead of tears. “Let’s do the right thing, ’cause it’s worth doing—not because it’s easy.”

She squeezed back. “But who says this is the right thing to do?”

Thumping the center of his chest with two fingers, “My heart does. That’s what that old coot got me to do—listen to my own heart. It’s been wrapped in dust and cobwebs for so long, I forgot what it was like.” He swallowed. “There’s not a single reason why I should doubt what they’re telling us.”

“Sure there is,” Telly argued. “The Centurions told me all sorts ’o charges they had against Wendell and Dax.”

“But have you seen these two—or Alhannah for that matter—hurt another soul? Did you see ’em use, abuse, or manipulate anyone…other than tryin’ to keep their identities a secret?”

For several moments they sat in silence.

“But the media,” Telly started to say.

“Is a bunch of diseased rat feces!” the old gnome snapped. “And you know it, too!! You can’t get an honest word outta that lot, so you might as well stick yer head between the mattresses and leave it there.” He took a breath. “Those kids have tried to make things better for all of us from day one. Nothing about that has changed. Steel and Stone fights for the people of this city.” Standing up, he squeezed Telly’s shoulder. “I aim to help ’em, too.”

“And they’re alright with this?”

“They will be. They’re good kids with good heads on their shoulders. If they don’t understand it yet, they will.”

“And you?”

“I’m in. TGII help me, but I’m in.”

Chuck grinned to himself. “Welcome aboard.”

Tumbler snorted. “You just let me do the talkin’…and promise me I can blow something up that belongs to the government.”

“Done.”

They all stopped in front of The Freakshop. Located in a semi-high traffic area of the warehouse district, it was nestled between a parts shop and the local metal fabricator. The street seemed unusually deserted at this time of day. Transports that normally lined up around the corner for quality oil changes, tune-ups, and modifications were nowhere to be found. The side shop, built for government contract work on transports and S.L.A.G.s, was closed. In fact, the small warehouse was locked up completely. The giant sign, displaying the owner with his wife, Socket, had been vandalized.

The sign read: No matter what you want done with your machine, we won’t think you’re crazy! From the simple to the unique, you’re important to us! Yet, across their happy, eager faces, were spray-painted words: Traitor. Troll Lover. The brick building had been bombarded with food, paint, oil, even feces. Flies and other insects swarmed about the broken windows and a torched driveway.

“Yeah,” Tumbler snarled, staring at the destruction and abuse, “leave the talkin’ ta me.”

There was a notice taped to the locked front door. Chuck popped his reading glasses on and leaned closer.

“Looks like the bank called in their loan. The whole business is going to auction in a week.”

Tumbler kicked a paint can out into the road. Pedestrians jumped aside.

“Who’s out there?” called a nervous voice from the alleyway.

Telly walked further down between the buildings. “It’s us, Craig! Me and Tumbler and Nibbles, and…” He paused. “Some friends.”

Peeking around the corner, the chubby mechanic squinted, his head bobbing up and down slowly. “Telly? Oh—sorry, I…I don’t have my goggles on. Can’t see any of you. Come around back, quickly, before anyone sees you!”

Ushering them down the alley, they followed Freak into the basement apartment and shoved the heavy door shut.

“What are they doing here!?” Socket snapped as she entered the dimly lit room. Baring teeth and raising her hand in a fist, she marched toward Chuck. “You have no right to destroy our lives and then step into our home!” she cried. “You arrogant pieces of—”

Tumbler stepped in between the wizard and Socket, grabbing her arms. “Woah, child. Slow down. Don’t say nothin’ you’re gonna regret in a few minutes.” She yanked her wrists free. “These two didn’t do a thing to you.”

“Guilt by association,” she spat.

“That’s funny,” Nibbles smirked. “You’re starting to sound like the corporate suits who said the same thing about us.”

Socket pointed at the door. “Don’t let it kick you on the way out.”

“Enough!” Freak bellowed. His wide chest heaved. “This is my home—at least it is until next week… and half these folks are our friends, Sophia.” Then calmer, “Is anyone thirsty? Hungry?”

“We’re fine, Craig,” Tumbler said softly. “We came to ask for your help.”

Socket laughed and plopped down in a chair on the far side of the kitchen table. “That’s rich. They destroyed all we had!”

Tumbler looked at her coldly. “I can see what’s destroyed, Sophia, but it ain’t got nothin’ ta do with them. You want the ones responsible for your sign? Look for the ones with the paint cans. Your business? Try the bank.”

Freak reached out and laid a hand on the old gnome’s forearm. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Craig. I really am. But we’ve all been hit by this—not just you.” Tumbler jabbed a finger toward Chuck and Lili. “These folks didn’t do it.” His attention snapped back to Socket, eyes narrowing. “And neither did Wendell or Dax.”

“Now you’re just talkin’ stupid,” she breathed.

“Is he?” Telly jumped in, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “’Cause that’s what I thought too, Socket. That all my troubles were because of what Wendell and Dax did or didn’t do—what they were…who they were.” He shrugged. “But was that the real problem? Or was it the way people reacted to them?”

Tumbler sat down next to Freak. “Listen, kid—did these folks ever break their word to you? Even once? Did they pay you on time?”

“That could’ve been a setup,” Socket scoffed. “They were playing us.”

Lili started to step forward, but Chuck grabbed her arm and held her back.

Nibbles slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Really? How about when we watched our own people—unprovoked—throw Wendell helplessly into a garbage chute? Watched a murder attempt with our own eyes. And what did he do when he got back? Did he rant? Seek revenge?”

“He played by the rules and still won,” Tumbler finished. “Played by our rules, mind you. And why?” He gave Freak a soft jab in the arm. “Alhannah told us what the goal was. There was no deception, no secret there. We had the purpose of the Gnolaum starin’ us in the face the entire time—to call out the crap goin’ on in this city.” His gaze shifted to Socket, hardening. “Which started with us. Nat gave us the job so we could piggyback on that boy’s success and make names for ourselves.”

“Or did you happen to forget that part?” Nibbles sneered at Socket.

Freak listened patiently, then scratched his chin with oil-stained fingers. “I don’t blame them, Tumbler.” He looked up, squinting in Chuck’s general direction. “Really, I don’t. I just believed too much…that’s all. And TGII dealt me a harsh blow.” He exhaled. “We’re out of time, out of money, and out of contracts.” He sighed. “I have six days left here, then I’ll be on the streets. Don’t have the ability to help you, even if I wanted to.”

Chuck took a single step forward, his face solemn. “What if you did?”

Everyone in the room paused. Eyes stared back at him, confused.

“What if I did…what?” Freak shifted in his chair.

The idea formed as the wizard strode forward and abruptly knelt on the floor in front of the mechanic. “What if you had the time… the money… and the contracts?”

“Well…I…”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Socket grumbled. “We’re being forced to start a whole new life now, because of you.” She turned and sneered back at Nibbles. “Even if they ain’t at fault.”

Freak sighed heavily. “She’s right. This is a blow I don’t know how to recover from. Running a shop and crew is all I’ve ever known how to do.” His jaw tightened. “But if there’s no work and no one trusts you… you’d best throw yourself in the garbage.”

Tumbler nudged him. “Now don’t talk like that. You’re made o’ sterner stuff.”

“Then what would it take?” Chuck asked plainly.

“To join with you?!” Socket laughed.

“To join me and work with me…for the people of this city and possibly against the government, yes.”

Then it was Freak who laughed out loud. “I don’t think you could afford it!”

Both sides of the wizard’s mustache lifted high in a smile. “Try me.”

Socket slapped her hand down onto the table. “A new warehouse. Not rented—given to us. Something bigger than this place, so we can run three or more crews… and a guaranteed contract for the next three years to not only replace, but double the total we just lost!”

Freak shook his head and smiled at the wizard. “See? You’d have to do the impossible.”

“And,” Socket blurted out, her grin taunting Chuck, “a million credits.” She paused. “Tax free.”

Tumbler stood up and walked toward the door. Nibbles shook her head and joined him, while Telly simply sighed. Lili followed their lead.

“Done,” said Chuck.

Socket glared at him, not catching the joke.

“Only make it two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits… and you have a deal.”

Telly looked over at Lili, confused. “Isn’t he supposed to negotiate less?”

Chuck reached over and lifted Freak’s chin, closing the chubby gnome’s open mouth. Socket was frozen at the table, eyes locked on the wizard as he winked back at her.

“Impossible is my specialty.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck decides he’s had enough and puts a plan into play to steal Wendell back from the Government Faction. The mägo didn’t anticipate that his plan would make matters worse for Dax..

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Chapter 83

“What in the name of TGII were you doing in a metal shipping container? You could have died!”

Höbin propped his metal leg up onto a chair, sweat still trickling from his rose-colored forehead. “Should have thought that one through a bit more, I’ll admit.” The metal of his cybernetic limb squeaked as he loosened the knee bolts. “I was trying to get my old, withered butt back here, that’s what.”

Morty watched the historian open a side panel and remove a hidden tool kit from the artificial thigh. Taking a miniature screwdriver in his flesh hand, he began working to remove the kneecap. The top plate lifted off, a deft hand catching the small screws and placing them inside the curved dish. Morty always admired the tinkerers who designed the appendages that riddled the city. Cybernetics enabled gnomes a more normal life after horrific accidents. He stared at the brilliant gears and wires, providing Höbin with mobility. “Why didn’t you use one of those porting thingies you talk about and just come right here?”

Höbin shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. It’s a very powerful magic charm, but limited. Each time you use it, you set the next focus point where you can appear.”

“But you spent so much time here, you…”

“I was brought here by Dax. I never used my port key to get here, Morty. When I used my key to flash back to the Black Market, I locked my next port location onto the parking garage at the Trench Wars stadium. If I used that key to come back, I’d appear in the exact spot I left from. Completely exposed to people, cameras…maybe even Centurions.”

“Oh,” Morty swallowed. That made sense. “So…how did you get back here then? You didn’t mail the crate from the Black Market, obviously.”

The cyborg chuckled. “No, I have another key that I use strictly as a back up. When you travel as much as I do, setting landing spots can become a liability. I keep it set to the Clockworks docks. When I got here, I talked with an old friend, Eugene Bubyl, captain of the DS Crankshaft and asked him to mail me to you.”

Morty shook his head, “Amazing. Completely crazy, but still amazing.”

Höbin grinned as he worked. “Thanks.”

“How…is Alhannah?”

The deft hand froze. “She’s stable,” he said softly, “…for now.”

Morty wasn’t sure what to ask, but he’d grown to like the gnome warrior and his heart ached for her safety. “Do you know what’s wrong.”

Shaking his head, “I would have been back sooner, but I couldn’t leave her without making sure she was at least comfortable.” With a set of thick tweezers, he lifted a bent gear out from between a maze of wires and let it drop onto the chair. “She has all the symptoms of a complex poisoning, but her blood work was clean. I performed every test I had available to me—even using complex charms. Couldn’t figure anything more than she’s starving.” He lifted a replacement gear from a small compartment in his thigh and inserted the part into his knee.

“Starving? I’ve watched that girl eat—how could she me starving?”

“Curious, right? But her metabolism is moving so fast, she can’t keep enough nourishment in her. So I’ve placed her on healing charms and a special broth with dragon fat in it.”

Morty gulped. “Dragon fat? As in…”

“Flying, angry, fire-breathing serpents. Dragons.”

“How do you get…I mean, they don’t seem to be a fat creature. Not that I’ve actually seen one. Not personally, anyway.”

Höbin flipped the kneecap over and started inserting the screws. “Well I have, and they don’t have much fat on them. But dragons can go months without food, even up to a year when the season are lean. The cells in their bodies, and most specifically in the cell walls of their stomachs, allow them to capture every single nutrient in what they eat, breathe and drink…and store it unlike any other living creature. So we take the stomach, along with strips of fatty meat and boil them.”

“You boil a dragons stomach?”

Again he nodded, tightening the last screw onto the leg. “We melt the fat from the flesh, in a pot of pure spring water. Once it’s simmered for a few hours, you remove the actual meat and let the broth cool. The result is a cloudy looking gel. Usually smells a bit gamey with a dash of engine degreaser. Frankly I prefer to use the raw bile, myself.”

“Bile.”

“Amazing stuff! Find that if you take just a drop, put it in a gallon of purified water, place it in an agitator and dilute it one part per thousand, it becomes a perfect medicine for stomach rot.”

Morty cringed. “And you actually use these things?”

He looked up and smirked, “So do you. Where do you think the pharmacists got the ‘rare chemicals’ to formulate antacid pills?” he laughed. “A single cup of that gel can sustain a grown human male for more than a month. The only thing one needs is water—the rest is in the concoction.”

“Wow. And you were able to get some for Alhannah?” It was then that the tinkerer realized how personal he’d been during the entire conversation. “I’m sorry, this really isn’t any of my business. You just have a most remarkable daughter and I’m quite fond of her. The way she watches over others.”

Höbin cleared his throat, his good eye tearing up. “She get’s that from her mother.”

Morty was always amazed at the things people used in this world. There was so much more to life than Clockworks and machines. The walls of the city, which kept the other races out, were also the very walls that blinded the gnomes and isolated them from bigger and better experiences. “So where is she now?” Morty asked.

The historian pulled his leg from the chair and stood up. Slowly he put more pressure on the limb—then squatted up and down. He nodded in satisfaction. “I left her with the gypsies. They’ll watch over her until I can get back. Also called in some…,” he shuddered openly, “favors. So she’ll have as much dragons fat as needed.” He looked the tinkerer square in the face. “The Demoni Vankil is the priority.”

Even now the thought of finding any item in a sea of gnomes seemed like an impossibility at best. But what made matters worse—no one knew what the seal even looked like. They were in the dark, without a map.

“We didn’t get very far in our searches before. Well, not as far as I would have hoped,” Höbin clarified, “but I have some ideas of where to go from here. That’s why I needed to get back as fast as I could.” He gave Morty a sly grin, “And where I’ll need your help.” He glanced back at the crate. “Now that I know this works.”

“Woah, Woah, WOAH. You’re not suggesting that you get back IN that thing, are…,” but he sighed. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“What for? You’re here now. The library is all yours, Chuck put a spell on the rooms so we can hide here. The whole place looks like an abandoned arsonist hit and run.”

“That’ll come in handy.” Höbin looked about truly for the first time. “What did happen?”

“Centurions,” Morty said coldly. “Stole my invention. Torched the place. Arrested Wendell, Dax and all the others. Interrogated them.”

Höbin grit his teeth. “I couldn’t get to Wendell at the stadium.”

“Oh, don’t worry--Wendell and the others were pardoned…”

“Fantastic!”

“But no one’s seen or heard anything about Dax.”

Höbin flipped the forearm panel up and typed on the mini screen. “The government won’t want him in view of the public. Probably cause a panic. They’ll likely have him stashed away until they figure out what to do with him. In the meantime, I’ll need information that can’t be found in your library here…or on my FAF database program. I have to search hard copies.”

“Hence, your gnome packaging plan?”

The historian snorted, “Exactly.”

“Can’t you call in a favor with someone? Get the information brought to you somehow?” He nervously looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be listening to them from the shadows. “Everyone is so on edge, Höbin. I don’t think it’s wise to push any more government buttons.”

“Awww,” Höbin grinned, “where’s the fun in that? Beside, Morty—only I know what to look for. The information could be in a multitude of places. There are some patterns I’m testing…but I have to cross reference my hunches with guild records and files within the patten office. Those are records they don’t allow to leave the central building.”

“If they’re so protected, how do you expect to get in and search them?You’re a wanted gnome!”

The smile creeped out from under the giant mustache. “I have a connection in the FAF. You’ll have to send me there, COD.”

Morty looked at the crate pieces nervously. “In that thing?”

“No,” scratching his chin, “we’re gonna need something a bit smaller. Don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“Smaller?! Like what…a coffin?”

Höbin snorted. “You really should watch your blood pressure. You look a bit uptight.”

“I’m not the one getting in a box!”

“Exactly…so relax. It’ll be ok. The risk is worth it, Morty.” Patting the tinkerer on the shoulder, “It’s not just the fate of our people that rests on us finding this seal…it’s the fate of the world. Don’t worry about me.” He pondered a moment. “Why don’t you focus on making a replica of your invention? Break the hold the government has over our energy supply? It might even do more than that. The right prompts could inspire citizens to invent all sorts of alternative ways of living! Before you know it, we could have a free nation and a free people.” He gasped quietly. “Wow. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

The thought caused Morty to hesitate. Calm down, even. “You’re starting to sound like Wendell,” he said, not entirely sarcastic.

“Well,” Höbin shrugged, “that young man is wiser than he gets credit for. We’d do well to help ourselves more. He doesn’t even live here and he wants to help us find a brighter future. Amazing.”