with folded white paper. I snatched it and unfolded it. Barely big enough to fit in my palm, it held a crudely drawn picture.
Some of it I got right away. I knew Ufran’s symbol, the star with the smiley face in its center, so I recognized it hanging in the sky. The gnomes standing on a hill, bowing down to it, I recognized from the pinecone-shaped tufts at the ends of their tails. Though I didn’t quite get why an arrow had been drawn pointing to one in particular. Then I realized he was wearing the distinctive asparagus-carved headdress of the shaman. But I didn’t understand the word that had been written above his head.
The artist had also drawn another group of crowned figures standing in front of a closed gate at the foot of a second hill. They all pointed their scepters to a grass tree from which protruded the trunk of another tree, one that looked to have burned in a recent brushfire. Of everything, the crowns made the least sense to me. As far as I knew, gnomes governed by smackdown. Nobody dared to call themselves royalty, much less wear head jewelry, for fear they’d be drummed out of the tribe for putting on airs the next time they lost a battle.
Though I didn’t understand the entire message, that’s definitely what it was. And I suddenly knew that was how I could communicate my previous idea to Cassandra without letting Brude know! “Bergman, I need to borrow a pen.”
He dug one out of his ever-present pocket guard and handed it over. I sat on the floor.
She read it twice, nodded, and pocketed it. I signaled for Bergman to hang the amulet back around the guard’s neck. I expected him to get all icky-poo on me. He did it without complaining, but he did wipe his hands down the sides of his pants several times after.
Vayl returned, explaining that he’d explored the tunnel far enough to discover it led to the industrial center of the warren, where they heated the water they used to power the warren, and where they’d built the artificially lit farms they called gnoves.
“Let us take the alternate route,” he suggested. “I believe Ruvin’s family waits at the end of it.”
“Along with the rest of the town,” I said.
“Just so,” said Vayl. “Which is why you must all stay directly behind me. I will be able to camouflage our approach.”
“Except for the scent of Febreze?” Cassandra suggested.
Vayl considered her comment. Then he said, “The guard was expecting trouble. These creatures will not be. You would be amazed at what busy, self-absorbed people never see or choose to ignore.” She watched us both for a second. “I suppose, knowing how successful you two have been at this kind of work, I’ll have to take your word on that.”
I sent Astral ahead to warn us if anyone was coming, and we continued into the second tunnel. This one had been built much taller. As they often did, the gnomes had probably squatted in tunnels built by bigger creatures, bringing in more and more families, steadfastly refusing to leave until the original owners were forced to find more peaceful lodgings elsewhere. Those
Which was what got Vayl and me started playing our Who Was Here First? game.
“I like the Lofhs for this warren,” I said from over Bergman and Cassandra’s shoulders. Jack glanced up at my comment like he’d met a few of the tall, shy, wallpainters. “I read that a tribe immigrated to Sydney back in the 1800s. Maybe a few came south.”
Vayl ran his fingers across the well-worked stone as we walked toward a dawning light. Astral had already shown me it belonged to a flickering set of wall lamps that gave the warren a haunted-house atmosphere. “My guess is that these tunnels were built by the Rikk’n. I remember hearing that they had built several underground towns in the region before gnomes discovered they preferred talking to fighting and crowded them out.”
Bergman said, “You know, if my mom knew these
“Astral’s at the end of the tunnel,” I said. “She’s registering some manufactured light. Enough, at least, to keep the Ufranites from constantly bumping into each other.” Always the scientist, Bergman said, “I’m guessing the ones who run the gnoves wouldn’t appreciate going from pitch dark to fake sun day after day. Same with those who venture outside.”
“I agree,” said Vayl. “Perhaps your theory will help us in the future,” he added tactfully. “But now we need to know what Astral is seeing.”
I said, “It looks like a town square. The floor is flat and the ceiling’s so high it doesn’t even register.
Kiosks have been carved out of the rock, one right after another, from the entrance right around the curve of the room. Gnomes are lined up at them, trading coins for food and stuff that glows and… yeah, I think I see a T- shirt booth. Most of the Ufranites are gathered in the center of the area, which is almost parklike. Hell, they even have a bandstand with potted trees in the back. Anyway, I see blankets on the floor with plates, silverware, and tubs of food set out on them. Families are sitting, talking to each other and their neighbors. Lots of smiles and giggles. I’d say maybe eighty gnomes have collected, including fifteen to twenty kids.” I bit my lip. “You don’t suppose they’re getting ready to eat Ruvin’s family tonight?”
Vayl’s pinched nostrils told me he’d considered it. “Do you see any cooking implements? Perhaps a large fire or a cauldron?”
I stared hard into Astral’s projection. “No. Just that overgrown gazebo everybody’s sitting around. It’s holding a three-piece band with a drum and a couple of stringed gourds. I wouldn’t call what they’re doing to those instruments playing, though.” Gnome music sounded like a constipated guy trying—and failing—to clear his obstruction.
Cassandra had been crouching beside Jack, petting him to keep him calm as she leaned against the tunnel wall. Now she held up a hand, her distant expression on the one I usually dreaded. But maybe this time her vision had nothing to do with the death of one of my relatives.
“The shaman is coming,” she whispered. She glanced up at us, her focus still far away. “He’s like a huge ball of
