The Search for Magic Part 8

Rolling Ram, for opening fortress gates. Complete plan, bill of materials.

Automated Siege Engine for demolis.h.i.+ng cities. Complete plans, bill of materials. Addional plans for strike-while-launching fire arrows, no extra charge. for demolis.h.i.+ng cities. Complete plans, bill of materials. Addional plans for strike-while-launching fire arrows, no extra charge.

Sorter clutched the foolscap in his fist and wailed, "I warned him of the dangers of that section!"

Stacker rubbed his tired eyes. "Well, he didn't listen. What are you going to do now?"

"What a good librarian does," Sorter said firmly.

"File a report?" Stacker said, sneering. "Two things every gnome thinks he can do: draw plans and file a report."

"And manage a library," Sorter said with diginity. "And no, I'm not filing a report. I'm going to go recover those books."

He should have definitely read more about kender.

Sorter packed quickly, throwing everything into a bundle-cloth. He put in a change of clothes, a compa.s.s, a lamp, food for three days, water for six, a seed planter and a cloud-seeder for after that, and a wonderful multi-purpose machine that was designed to part oceans and make crop circles.

After he tried to lift it, he began to unpack, leaving only a change of clothes, a day's food and water, and some parchment and pens. He tied up the bundle and left Mount Nevermind quietly. In a few hours, the Great Repository would open for the day, and Blast-master would realize that Sorter was gone.

Sorter shook his head. Stacker and his crew had many months of work to do before the library could re-open. For a while, at least, no one would miss Sorter at all.

Sorter had no sooner left Mount Nevermind than he found himself at the first fork in the road beyond the mountains. He looked about, confused. He knew little geography and even less about the inhabitants of these strange lands. He knew that the island of Sancrist was not large, but at the moment, it seemed as immense as all of Ansalon with a few other unknown continents thrown in. He knew that one of these roads was an important trade route, leading through several small villages and finally into the great city of Gunthar. He knew that the other road was inconsequential and led into a swamp, but which was which?

Peering down the right-hand fork, Sorter thought he could see a wisp of smoke in the distance.

That decided him. If Franni had gone that way, he might be in need of help. Sorter tightened the knots on his sack, grasped his walking stick, and strode determinedly toward the smoke.

By the time he arrived at the village of Gormar, the wisp of smoke was a thick, dark, black cloud. A bucket brigade of men and women extended from a nearby stream to the center of town, where flames shot from the roof of a huge warehouse. Smoke poured from the front double doors and an upper window with a hoist above it. Men and women dashed through the doors of the warehouse, emptied their buckets, and dashed back out, coughing.

Just behind the bucket-wielding adults stood a knot of dirty children dressed in tattered clothes. The adults looked harried and worried. The children looked extemely happy as they toasted bread and cheese over the conflagration and watched gleefully as the fire consumed the building.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Sorter asked the children.

"School?" said one. "What's that?"

"We don't go to school," said another. "The adults made us work there." He pointed to the blazing building. "That is-they used to."

The children laughed and munched toasted cheese.

"Guess we won't be working there anymore," said another. "Maybe we'll have time to play."

"Play," said a small child. "What's that?"

Sorter naturally wanted to do his part to help the poor people of Gormar. Sitting down on a rock, he pulled a sc.r.a.p of parchment from his bundle and began designing a bucket conveyor with a flow-and-direction control trough at the upper end. .

He worked feverishly and was able to complete the entire schematic by late afternoon. He hastened over to an old man, who was standing beside a vast expanse of smoldering ashes, chewing his beard. The children were long gone. They had gone off to play.

Sorter handed the man the schematic drawing. "This will save your building," he said earnestly.

The man blinked at the drawings, then blinked at Sorter. "Oh." Rolling the plans up, he tucked them under one arm. "Thanks," he said with a nasty tone.

"What was in the building?" Sorter asked.

"Trade goods. Cloth, furs, some jewelry and worked metals. The metal and jewelry, at least, will be likely unharmed. And I suppose the children won't grow too spoiled by their time off from work."

"I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time," Sorter agreed. He felt about children the way he felt about Franni. "Ten years from now, they'll remember this day as something special, roasting cheese and dancing by firelight."

"I suppose." The old man chewed on his beard again. "I am Elder Ammion. I lead the village of Gormar. Who are you?"

"I am Sorter." To clear up any confusion, he added, "A gnome."

Elder Ammion eyed him suspiciously. "You are the second stranger to stop here this day. And the coming of the first was not a sign of good fortune."

"Was he a kender?" Sorter burst out.

Ammion raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. A friend of yours?" He gestured to a young man and woman who both wore swords. Fingering their weapons, they walked up to stand beside the elder.

"I barely knew him," Sorter replied.

The two holding the swords put them away.

"I'm following him," Sorter continued. "It's my duty."

"Someone should," Elder Ammion agreed, glancing back at the ashes of warehouse. "What else has he done?"

Sorter raised his index finger in the air for emphasis. "By accident, and I'm sure through no fault of his own, Franni-this kender-departed from Mount Nevermind carrying on his person instructions for building some of the most dangerous machines that gnomes have ever designed."

He paused for emphasis, then went on solemnly, "Can you imagine the disaster that could befall a kender in possession of the Fire-Breathing Calliope? Can you understand how important it is that we come between him and danger?"

Elder Ammion, chewing on his beard even more slowly, looked at Sorter in a sort of pitying way. "Tell me, gnome, what do you know about kender?"

"Not much, really. Just what they look like." Sorter added earnestly, "But I've met this kender, and he is friendly, he loves books, and I'd hate to see him come to any harm because of the gnomes." He added, sadly, "Because of me. It was my fault, you see."

"Then you must leave here at once if you're going to catch him." Ammion led Sorter out to the road. The elder had a thoughtful expression on his face. "This road leads to the village of Dormar, our rival- That is to say, our sister village. If you find your kender before you reach Dormar, be sure to take him to Dormar. It's a trading town, like ourselves." He stared hard at the gnome. "Trade compet.i.tion is fierce. Yes, I would think Dormar would be a good place for a kender to stop and rest."

Sorter was touched by the human's concern for the kender.

The third-to-last thing Elder Ammion said, as Sorter was starting off, was, "Will you be coming back this way?"

Sorter looked at the twisting road ahead. "I hope to."

The second-to-last thing Elder Ammion said was, "And will you be bringing your kender back with you?"

"Oh, no." Sorter shook his head vigorously. "Only the books he mistakenly took with him. The village of Gormar is obviously much too dangerous a place for a kender."

The last thing Elder Ammion said was, "In that case, I bid you safe journey. Travel far, good gnome. Really Really far." far."

The village of Dormar was a day's journey away, but the trip took Sorter far longer, due to the poor conditions of the highway. The road was extremely muddy. Entire parts of it had been washed out. Sorter walked carefully, leaping over the gullies, slogging through the mud, and climbing around the potholes. Finally, he left the road and walked alongside it. The gra.s.s and brush were soaking wet, but at least they didn't stick to his boots.

The village of Dormar looked odd to him upon arrival. It was all roofs with no houses. When he got closer, he realized that there were houses, but they had all been covered with mud.

Upon entering the mud-clogged village, Sorter noticed children having a wonderful time, stomping in the puddles, wrestling in the mud, sailing small stick-boats in the streams of water that ran down the streets. He smiled, and stopped a moment to help a child create a three-masted schooner that sailed upstream until it grounded itself on a cobblestone.

Next Sorter noticed a group of adults moving through the village. The men had sopping wet hair and clothes and were covered in mud. They carried shovels, rakes, and threshers and looked extremely menacing.

Leading them was an old man, who chewed menacingly on his beard. Glaring at Sorter, the man stopped and brought his troops to a halt behind him.

"I am Elder Bammion. Who are you, and what brings you to Dormar?"

"My name is Sorter," said Sorter. "I'm looking for a kender."

"So are we!" the men growled.

"He was here, then?" Sorter looked around, appalled. He couldn't believe the kender's bad luck in village-visiting. "Did he survive?"

"We haven't found him yet," said one of the men darkly, "if that's what you mean."

Elder Bammion looked uphill, where Sorter could see what remained of a dam. "I suspect he was on high ground when it happened."

"That's a relief," Sorter said. He explained briefly about the missing books. "So I must find him before he hurts himself. Can you imagine how dangerous it would be for him to be roaming around with a Perambulating Hole-Puncher?"

The men stared at Sorter in a silence he took to be fraught with concern for the kender.

"And what will you do with him when you find him?" asked the Elder. "Will you be bringing him back here?"

"Thanks for your care and generosity," Sorter said politely, "but clearly, the village of Dormar is much too dangerous a place for the little fellow." He gestured at the wreckage of a warehouse. "What was this place anyway?"

"Our goods warehouse. Cloth, fur, jewelry, metals . . . The jewels can be washed, but I fear the metals will rust and the cloth is ruined. And the children are now without any place to work."

"But now they can play," said Sorter.

The elder grunted.

"What was in here? Trade goods?" Sorter asked.

"Exactly. We are on a trade route." The elder's eyes narrowed as he chewed his beard. "And trade is very compet.i.tive."

Sorter nodded. "So Elder Ammion said."

Elder Bammion stiffened. "Ammion from Gormar sent you?" He gestured. The men with the farm implements moved closer. "He didn't happen to send the kender, too, did he?"

"Oh, no," Sorter said. "But he did say that if I saw the kender, I was to bring him here to this lovely village. And he wished me a safe journey, and a long one."

"Did he now?" The Elder seemed thoughtful. "Then we can do no less. Take our blessing, and food for the journey. Do not stop until you have reached the next village on the road. The village of Mormar. If you find your kender friend, I trust he will be comfortable in Mormar. I can't help but feel our corn-pet.i.t- I mean, our sister village would benefit by his presence."

Sorter, touched, shook the elder's hand. "You say compet.i.tion is fierce, but you can't keep yourself from thinking of others."

"I can't," the elder admitted, chewing on his beard. "It is a habit born of trading."

Noon of the third day found Sorter walking down a non-muddy road with no more damage to it than wheel ruts. The gnome was highly gratified to arrive in the village of Mormar without seeing any signs of disaster. The dam on the hill above the city looked strong. No buildings were going up in flames. The marketplace was free of firefighting equipment and sandbags. The central warehouse stood as solid as if it had been erected yesterday. Through its windows, Sorter could see bundles and crates piled from the floor to the ceiling.

Ragged children worked carrying bundles and crates from the market into the warehouse.

"h.e.l.lo," said Sorter, thinking that he'd never seen children look so very tired or unhappy.

One of the children, a girl with golden hair, wearily dropped her wooden box before she spoke to him.

"Are you people?" she asked.

Sorter smiled and bowed to her. "I'm people, but not mankind. Have you seen a gnome before?"

She stared at him wide-eyed. "An inventor! This is wonderful-" She stopped and looked back at a frowning adult. "I'm sorry. I have to stay in line." She hoisted the wooden box over her small shoulders that bent beneath the weight.

"Wait!" Sorter said. "What's your name?"

"Lila. I'm sorry, but I can't wait." The child turned and shuffled into the warehouse.

Sorter peered through the window, watching her as Lila climbed carefully to the top of a stack of crates. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

"May I ask your business here?" said an old man, chewing his beard.

"I'm looking for a kender named Franni," said Sorter.

"And what would your business be with a kender?" asked the elder.

"I just want to make sure that he is safe."

"Safety is our first priority. After profit." The old man bowed. "I am Elder Cammion."

Sorter looked at him curiously. "Do you come from a large family?"

"Large," he said, nodding, "and, like trade, compet.i.tive. Are you a friend of the kender?"

A number of humans carrying sickles and scythes came up behind Elder Cammion.

"I'm an acquaintance," Sorter said, "but I'm working in his best interest. Is he safe here?"

"Oh, yes." Elder Cammion said. "We act in his best interest because he acts in ours. He has offered us the help of wonderful technology."