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.
Chapter 87
It’s human nature to view life from our own reality. This causes serious problems when a rescue mission is being led by the senile or insane.
“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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