The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks

“Great High Lord!” one moaned pitifully.

“Mighty High Lord!” the other wailed.

Well, there you are, Abernathy thought as the two were brought forward. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, somehow they always do. There was no mistaking these two—the stout, hairy, dirt-encrusted bodies; the bearded, ferret-like faces with pointed ears and wet noses; the peasant-reject clothes topped off with ridiculous leather skullcaps and tiny red feathers. They were as familiar and unwelcome as deep winter cold and sweltering summer heat, unavoidable visitations that came and went more frequently than the weather. They were G’home Gnomes, the most despised people in the entire kingdom of Landover, the lowest of the low, the final step down the evolutionary ladder. They were thieves and pilferers who lived hand-to-mouth and by the deliberate misfortune they brought to others. They were that variety of creature that scavenges what it consumes and thus cleans up what all others leave behind—except, of course, that G’home Gnomes also cleaned up much of that which was not intended to be left behind in the first place. They were particularly fond of pet cats, which was all right with Abernathy, and pet dogs, which was decidedly not.

These two Gnomes, in particular, were a source of unending distress to the members of the court of Ben Holiday. Ever since they had appeared unexpectedly to pledge their fealty to the throne some three years earlier—a decidedly mixed blessing if ever there was one—they had been underfoot. Now here they were again, the same two troublemakers, back for another shot at making Abernathy’s life miserable.

Fillip and Sot cringed when they saw him. They were still whining for Holiday, who at least would tolerate them. Abernathy had no such compunction.

“Where is the High Lord?” Fillip asked immediately.

“Yes, where is the King?” Sot echoed.

“Found them messing about in the King’s bedchamber,” one of the guards advised, giving Fillip a good shake in an effort to still his struggling. The Gnome whimpered. “Thieving, I expect.”

“Never, no never!” Fillip cried.

“Never from the High Lord!” Sot cried.

Abernathy felt a headache coming on. “Set them down,” he ordered with a sigh.

The guards dropped them in a heap. The Gnomes fell to their knees, groveling pitifully.

“Great Court Scribe!”

“Mighty Court Scribe!”

Abernathy rubbed his temples. “Oh, stop it!” He dismissed the guards and motioned the Gnomes to their feet. They rose hesitantly, glancing about with worried looks, thinking perhaps that some terrible fate was about to befall them, thinking perhaps of trying to escape.

Abernathy studied them wearily. “What is it that you want?” he snapped.

The G’home Gnomes exchanged a hurried glance.

“To see the High Lord,” Fillip answered hesitantly.

“To speak with the High Lord,” Sot agreed.

They were terrible at lying, and Abernathy saw at once that they were being evasive. It had been a very long, disappointing day, and he had no time for this.

“Eaten any stray animals lately?” he asked softly, leaning forward so that they could see the faint gleam of his teeth.

“Oh, no, we would never …”

“Only vegetables, I promise …”

“Because every so often I have this craving for roast Gnome,” Abernathy interrupted pointedly. They went as still as stone. “Now give me the truth, or I shall not be responsible for what happens next!”

Fillip swallowed hard. “We want a mind’s eye crystal,” he answered miserably.

Sot nodded. “Everyone has one but us.”

“We just want one.”

“Yes, just one.”

“That is not asking too much.”

“No, not too much.”

Abernathy wanted to throttle them. Was there no end to this nonsense? “Look at me,” he said, a very real edge to his voice. They met his gaze reluctantly. “There are no mind’s eye crystals here. None. Not a one. There never were. If I have anything to say about it, there never will be!” He almost checked himself on that last statement, but then decided he really meant it. He reached out and caught them by their skinny, gnarly arms. “Come here.”

He dragged them over to the parapets, ignoring their moans and cries about being thrown to their doom. “Look out there!” he snapped irritably. “Go on, look!” They looked. “See that man with the bird? Next to Lord Kallendbor? Next to the man in the black cloak?”