Human Stories he’d heard beside hearths and over cups of
mulled wine, Kali knew such behavior was typical.
Humans were always engaging in activity that seemed
fruitless, pointless, and overly emotional, making use of
grand gestures and mighty oaths.
The first step, thought Kali, is to make sure the man
Oster is not around when the warrior-woman comes to.
Her last two outings among the living had proved to be
less than peaceful, and based on that sort of previous
behavior, the next occasion boded no better. At least he
should get the man away and talk to the woman, explain
the situation, and calm her down. If she were half as
reasonable as Oster, all would work out for the best.
Perhaps she had imprisoned him because she liked his
appearance as well as he liked hers, Kali reasoned. Human
Stories made much of the fact that humans were very poor
at expressing themselves, particularly to those they liked.
When Kali walked into the room, he noticed Oster
holding the woman’s wrist, as though that would indicate
anything more than that the body in question had a pulse.
Steeling himself for deception, the gnome walked up to
the foot of the bed and grabbed the woman’s exposed big
toe. Scowling as he imagined wise humans would scowl,
Kali gave a grumbling sigh.
Oster looked up at the gnome at the foot of the bed.
“Not good,” said Kali.
“Not good?” said Oster.
“Complications,” said Kali. “Straining of the
impervious maximus. Omar’s syndrome. Liberal
contusions. It may be a while.”
Oster rose to his full height and stamped his foot.
“Then I shall remain and help!”
Kali was prepared for the human to issue a mighty oath
on the matter, but when none was forthcoming, he
scowled deeper and thought quickly. “I’m … ah … going to
need some supplies. You may help best – if you are up to it
– by going to fetch them.”
“Anything to aid, little healer.”
Kali went to his desk and drew out a parchment and
pen. He listed five things at random: hen’s teeth, black
roses, rubbing alcohol, toad eyes, and feldspar chips. He
gave the list to Oster. “These will aid,” said the gnome.
“You can gather some gear from the storage area and set
off. You may need several days to gather the items, but
take your time.”
“Can I have a guide to help?”
Kali thought of Archie. “I can arrange something.
Now come. The woman . . . er, Columbine . . . needs
peace and quiet as well as those items.”
The man went back to rummage in the storage area
and Kali wrote a note to Archie, explaining the situation
and the need to take the man on the longest possible
course to get these items. He was going to post it
normally, but checked himself, noting that the gnomish
postal service would just as likely deliver it to Oster or
back to himself, since their names were mentioned. He
ended up delivering it himself.
Archie and Oster left the next morning, and the
woman-warrior awoke that evening, feverish and angry.
Kali was entertaining another colleague, Etonamemdosari
(Eton), a weaponsmith, who was working on a sword that
could be used directly as a plowshare, when the woman
stumbled into the room. The pair of gnomes looked up
from their mulled wine. (They were trading Human
Stories).
Awake, the woman was less lovely than asleep, for her
waking thoughts and memories pinched her face into a
tightly-muscled scowl that would scare the cat, had Kali
had any cats. (He did not, for they made him sneeze, but
HAD he a cat, said cat would be considering changing his
lodgings after looking at the woman).
“My weapons,” she said in a voice that would frighten
a watchdog. (See the above note on cats, for they apply in
this case to dogs as well).
“Er . . . Have some wine?” asked Kali.
“Roast the wine!” bellowed the woman, crossing the
room in a single stride and thumping the table with both
fists. “Where are my weapons? Where is my armor?
Where is my dragon?”
“Dragon?” said Kali, hoping to sound much more