Chapter VIII
IN THE FORTRESS OF THE GNOMES
“We’ll start,” the General Gnome announced as they rode through the tall gray metal gates of the Fortress of the Gnomes, “with the Grand VIP Tour.”
“Suits me,” said Snotty. He was impressed by his surroundings, though of course he didn’t show this. The Gnomes of the Fortress cheered his arrival, and the appetizing aroma of the Feast ahead filled the air.
The Fortress itself, a solid mass of concrete and flat gray trim, was a showcase of advanced technology and security. Everywhere, for example, were screens of the largest possible size. Each one showed what was going on somewhere else, whether in the Fortress, or on the Plains outside.
“Handy, those,” the General grunted. He tried, and failed, to keep a note of pride from his voice. “We’ve got everything under control—everything boxed in! Not a leaf falls without us knowing it—not that there are many of those left, now that we’re almost through fixing up the Garden.” The General gave a genial chuckle. “No, Snotty, nothing gets by a Gnome! No Angel, no Fairy Tale creature—certainly no Rebel. Can’t have any of them coming round here, now, can we?”
“I should say not,” Snotty said gruffly. He didn’t know what Rebels the General was talking about, and as for Angels or Fairy Tale Creatures—he didn’t even want to think about it, really. And of course he knew better than to ask.
A waiting Gnome took the reins of his rocking horse, and Snotty and the General Gnome dismounted, continuing the Tour on foot. An entourage of Gnomes followed at a respectful distance.
“As you see, Snotty, Gnome Technology is the finest in all the worlds,” the General said. “It is second to none in its ability to put EACH AND EVERY THING IN ITS VERY OWN BOX!”
Snotty nodded. He could see the truth of this with his own eyes. Everywhere around him were boxes. Security boxes, dispatch boxes, telecommunications boxes, boxes of supplies—stacks and stacks of boxes of all kinds reached up to the top of the Fortress walls. All of this impressed him.
They paused at a smaller set of screens. On them, Gnomes rushed here and there. The Feast was being prepared.
“The Kitchen,” the General said, pointing. “Anything you want them to make, you just let me know.”
Snotty nodded his satisfaction.
“I see all my favorite foods, General,” he said.
“Yes,” the General said. “There’s nothing like a real Feast.” They watched as two Lambs turned a whole sheep on a spit. And Snotty’s mouth watered as the Gnome Pastry Chef gave a last touch to a tall chocolate cake covered with chocolate whipped cream.
“Yum,” Snotty said in spite of himself. He suspected this was not something a Sun God would say. Still, the General didn’t seem to notice.
“Sir, where do you want this Monster, SIR?” bellowed a Gnome. The Dragon stood there, head bowed. The Gnome held it by a silver chain.
Snotty frowned. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with the Dragon.
“Of course, Snotty expects you to tether the Monster in a secure place and await further instructions,” the General barked.
Snotty nodded. “Might come in handy,” he said, trying to look wise.
All the Gnomes beamed at this. “Snotty’s right, as usual,” the General Gnome said. “This Monster will be useful in battle.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Snotty said, his expression lofty and serene. But to himself, he thought, “What battle? Where? With WHAT?”
Rifle fire sounded from the other side of the Fortress wall.
“Target practice, eh?” Snotty said.
“In a way,” the General said, smiling as if Snotty had been very witty. “The firing squad. They’re getting ready for tomorrow.”
Snotty, startled, thought of Snowflake. He wiped a hand across his forehead. It and his cheeks were very hot. But then there was the Great Wall of the Fortress to admire, and the moment passed.
It was a cunning thing, the Great Wall. Woven of jagged metal, it encircled the fort.
“Can’t get through that,” the General Gnome said. “Impenetrable. Im-pen-e-tra-ble!”
“What’s it made of?” Snotty took hold of a bit of the wall, which was formed of silver links so tiny that they appeared as a seamless whole. It was a dangerous looking thing, all right.
“Prejudices,” the General Gnome said.
“What?” Snotty said.
“Stupid views,” the General explained. “Strongly held opinions with little or no basis in fact.” He and Snotty looked up in silence at the Great Wall, admiring the sheer genius of the Gnome invention. “Our architects asked themselves, what’s the one thing that’s impossible to breach? The answer was obvious! Nothing gets past a stupid prejudice.”
“You’re proud of Gnome technology, General.”
“As proud as a Gnome can be.” The General Gnome wiped a tear from his eye. “GT will be the saving of the Plains. Of course,” he continued matter-of-factly, “no progress without struggle! As Mr. Big says, we must destroy the Plains in order to save them.”
Snotty froze. Mr. Big? Was Mr. Big here? No. He couldn’t be. It must be some other Mr. Big.
Agitated, Snotty only half-listened as the General pointed out the other sights. Gnome and boy made their way now through winding corridors. The General wanted to show Snotty to his quarters before the Grand Feast.
So rattled was Snotty that he hardly noticed the grandeur of his Gnome-sized rooms. There were his evening clothes, too, his first set ever, laid out on the satin coverlet of the enormous bed. But instead of savoring the moment, he just threw them on any old which way. He kept thinking: Who was Mr. Big? And what was he doing here?
In Megalopolis, Snotty claimed he worked for Mr. Big. “But of course it’s a lie. There’s no Mr. Big. I made him up,” he thought.
At every moment, though, he felt less and less certain about the truth of this. “Because,” he thought, “somehow I’ve always known that Mr. Big DOES exist, that I DIDN’T invent him.” But how could Snotty know such a ridiculous thing: that Mr. Big both did and didn’t exist? How could these two things be true at the same time?
37Had the Gnomes invented a Mr. Big of their own? Or was Mr. Big here—really here?
“And what does it mean if he IS?” Snotty wondered. He was still wondering when the General came to escort him to the Grand Feast.
The Grand Feast was, of course, in the Grand Hall. (Snotty quickly got used to the fact that, with the Gnomes, everything was Grand.) Hundreds of solemn Gnomes, in full military or evening dress, their decorations blazing in the light of the fluorescent chandeliers above, sat in rows at a series of dark gray metal tables covered with gray plastic cloths and flat gray silver. They drank from pewter goblets. Sheep servants bustled around them, covering every surface with platters of steaming lamb roasted to a gray turn.
“Herrrrmmm... errrrrmmm... eerrrrrrm.” There was a buzz of interest as Snotty entered, and then applause as the General escorted him to the place of honor. When Snotty sat, the entire room leapt to its feet. The General Gnome proposed a toast: “To Snotty!” he cried. And the Gnomes replied in manly chorus: “To Snotty! To Snotty! To Snotty!”
Snotty acknowledged this tribute with an urbane smile. “Er, General,” he said as they began the meal. “Mr. Big. Will he be joining us?”
At this, the General roared with laughter, slapping his knee. He passed on what Snotty had said to the next Gnome, who passed it on to the next, and so on. Soon the entire Hall chuckled at this display of wit. And with that Snotty had to be satisfied. He didn’t dare ask again.
This was the night of Snotty’s triumph. He was toasted, and he toasted in return. It seemed to him that he had never been so witty or so sophisticated. He’d got the knack of holding one hand in his evening jacket pocket with the kind of rakish elegance he had seen on TV. There was much manly banter and he joined right in. “Just as if,” he thought, “I was actually a Man!” He wished with all his heart that Mr. Big could see him now. If Mr. Big existed, of course.
At one point in the evening, Snotty noticed a woman in the room. There was only one. She had not taken part in the toasts, or in the foods of the Feast: at her place was a bit of bread and a cup of water. She got up to excuse herself, and, as she passed, each Gnome leapt up and touched his forehead with a gesture of respect. You could see why. She was modest, but there was something formidable about her, too.
“That’s Justice,” the General Gnome said. “She’s on our side, as you see.”
Snotty looked at her, fascinated. Justice was a tall woman, with everything about her practical and no nonsense, from her gray helmet of hair to her sensible shoes.
“Justice,” he said. “I thought she was blind.”
“She is,” the General said. “Blind as a bat without her glasses.” And Snotty noticed the black-rimmed glasses she wore on the end of her nose.
38He would have asked more, but just then the Bardic Gnome entered, sweeping a low bow to Justice as she, coolly nodding, went out. It was this Gnome’s task to recite the after dinner poems recounting the Noble Deeds of the Gnomes. He wore a gold wreath around his head, and he declaimed his tale in a voice that filled the hall.
“Listen to my tale [the Bardic Gnome began] of the Gnomes of yore. How we came to these Plains and conquered them, for the good of all people, creatures, animals, vegetables and minerals thereon.
“Many, many years ago, our Ancestor Gnomes lived on the Great Lawn in the Sky. They formed the Great Circle, and one day, at the Great Council in the Great Circle, the Great Big Gnome spoke out. He said: ‘This lawn is good. But good is not Great, and we Gnomes are Great. We must not keep our Greatness to ourselves! We must search out new lands to impress with our Greatitude. We must carry our message of Greatness to all! This is our DESTINY!’
“The Ancestor Gnomes agreed with the Great Big Gnome’s sage words. So they prayed to Mr. Big. And Mr. Big, who answers the prayers of all who serve him (may he be praised a Great Many Times), granted their wish. A Great Hole opened up in the Great Lawn, and the Ancestor Gnomes jumped down and down and down into the bowels of the Sky until they came to our Great World.
“This was the Dawn of Time.”
Snotty looked around. Every Gnome was still, except for the moving lips of some, who silently recited along with him the words of the Bardic Gnome.
“Eons passed [the Bardic Gnome went on]. The Gnomes fought for their Great Destiny. You know, oh my Brothers, of the Greatness of Gnomic Deeds!”
“Hear hear!” cried a Gnome with an eye patch. There was a solemn pounding of pewter goblets on gray metal tables in response.
“Acre by acre we conquered the Plains. Closer and closer have we moved to our Great Goal.”
At this, there was a collective intake of Gnome breath. Snotty looked on, eyes shining. The Great Goal! It would be his Great Goal as well!
“Our Great Goal, oh my Gnomic Brothers: to conquer the PEAK OF TRANSCENDENCE!”
“YES!” Snotty shouted, jumping up with his fist in the air.
The Bardic Gnome, flattered by this attention on the Sun God’s part, gave a creaky bow and went on. He told of Great Battles with the creatures that fled from the Plains to the fastness of the Mountains of Resistance. “Those foul mountains that ring the Great Peak! They hide those base Rebels, those who hate our Freedoms and our Gnomic Destiny!”
“Let’s GET ’EM!” Snotty yelled.
“Hear hear!” another Gnome shouted. “Hear hear!” the Gnomes shouted all around.
The Bardic Gnome told now of those Gnomes of yore who found the one secret way to the Peak undefended by the Rebels. “The Pretty Pass! That fatal snowy way! Remember, oh Gnomes, the many thousands of our people frozen alive as they came to the Pretty Pass. Thousands of Gnomes bonded to its rocks forever in the frozen air!”
“That’s bad,” Snotty said and frowned.
“But the SUN GOD has been foretold!” the Bardic Gnome boomed. All eyes turned to Snotty, whose face glowed hot and red. “He it is who will THAW the Pretty Pass, gateway to the Peak of Transcendence, and enable us to conquer the Great Peak. This was promised by Gnomic Prophets since before the Dawn of Time!”
Snotty ducked his head. He felt very hot. Was it possible he was going to do all that? “Well, why not?” he thought. “I’ve done all right at everything else I’ve tried. Why not at being a Sun God, too?” So he sat straight up and raised another defiant fist in the air.
The Great Hall erupted. The Gnomes were on their feet now, tears in their eyes, stomping and yelling, cheering the Sun God who would lead them to Victory.
It was the Apotheosis of Snotty. The high point of his life. “This,” he thought earnestly to himself as he acknowledged the accolades of the masses, “is what I was born for.”
He took bow after bow until his head spun.
“If only,” he thought, coming up for air, “If only I could feel it. I mean, that I am the Sun God.” He took a drink from his goblet and felt he almost had the Greatness of it in his grasp. He hadn’t thought about Snowflake all night, not once, not at all. He had made his way to the top. Nothing could stop him now.
The Gnomes cheered and cheered. “Hooray! Hooray for Snotty! Hooray for Snotty the Sun God!”
His body burned with desire for the Peak and with the Fever of the Plains.
But the funny thing was, except for that, he couldn’t feel a thing.