legs in the air and arms flailing.
The gnome scrambled up and offered her a hand.
“Awfully sorry; it was my fault, after all I was busy
thinking, there must be a defect in the – ”
“It was my fault really,” she began. “I’m sorry – ”
Then she realized that he hadn’t stopped talking.
” – a little borrowed hydraulic gear would make it
more efficient yet, if it didn’t make it top-heavy – and a
spring with a trigger-catch might store the energy – ”
“Stop.”
He did.
“Now,” Mara said, “what are you talking about?”
“I was just telling you,” the gnome said impatiently,
“about the idea I had when I watched you trying to sneak
down here – ”
“You saw me coming?” She sagged slightly.
” – and I thought, if people are going to jump through the
air, which I hadn’t considered – until I saw you; you were
obvious – we need precautions because of the
gnomeflingers.” His eyes, a light violet, all but glowed.
“We all need bumpers. Yes. Being-bumpers, employing
my sensors. Large, high-tension fenders suspended from
our shoulders to absorb the shock. They’d have metal
frames, cloth padding on the outside – ”
“They sound awfully heavy,” Mara objected. She was
quite young, and slightly built, compared to the gnome.
“Then we’d add wheels to it,” he continued without
pausing, “And a spring-loaded axle for each wheel, and a
governor to keep the axles balanced – ”
“Who could move with all that on?”
” – and a motor to move the whole thing,” the gnome
finished firmly. “How do you expect to walk anywhere, if
you don’t use a motor? Youngsters these days.” He rolled
his eyes, but smiled at her. “Excuse me.” Pulling a bulky
pen from a loop on his belt, he tucked his chin and began
drawing frantic, jagged lines across his shirt – a shirt that
was already covered with sketches of wooden frames,
toothed and worm gears, and interlocking systems of
pulleys. One design started on his belly and moved
through conduits and guy ropes all down his left sleeve.
The gnome looked up and saw Mara staring at him.
“Well, I can’t always find a sheet of paper when a thought
strikes,” he said with some asperity.
“Is each shirt a different project?”
“Of course not. In fact, some designs are on five or six
different shirts. I keep hoping,” he said wistfully, “that
some day I’ll be able to cross-index them, but every time I
even get close, I need to do laundry. And here you are.”
He peered at her. “Speaking of you, are you someone I
should know?”
“Everyone should,” Mara said proudly, standing very
straight.
“Everyone doesn’t,” the gnome said thoughtfully,
“because I don’t. Who are you?”
“I am known,” she said with a bow and flourish, “as
Mara the Wild.” She did a standing flip. “Also Mara the
Clever.” She tapped the gnome’s pockets significantly.
“Also,” she said in a loud whisper, “Mara the Queen of
Thieves.”
The gnome blinked. “Goodness,” he said
disapprovingly, “have you stolen much?”
“Not – much,” the Queen of Thieves admitted. She
scuffed her toe on the tunnel floor. “Not anything, in fact.”
This was why, after announcing her current planned heist
to her family, she was also known as Mara the
Dangerously Stupid.
She looked defiantly at the gnome. “But I’m sure that
I could steal something if it was really important. I am
also,” she said demurely, “a woman of dazzling beauty,
whom all men worship and crave.” She coyly brushed at
her short-cropped dark hair.
The gnome only looked at her.
“Okay,” Mara said grudgingly, “so I won’t be a
woman of dazzling beauty for a couple of years. It’s going
to happen, I promise.”
“I hope,” he said seriously, “that you can accept all
that worship and craving without becoming overly vain.”
Mara smiled and, in the absence of a mirror, admired
her slender shadow against the rock wall. “I’m sure I’ll
manage perfectly. Anyway, what’s your name?”
The gnome immediately went on at some length,
pausing for breath in what were clearly accustomed
places.
“I only asked your name,” Mara broke in finally.