Judge a religion by its principles, not practitioners.

Nets have a habit of catching all sorts of crap and crazy.

“Did you leave any trace?”

“No Father. We stopped and secured the area, but there was a significant amount of damage. Repair crews will be there for days. I made sure there weren’t any camera’s in that location of the tunnels, so no one knows we were there.”

“What caused the explosion?”

“Not certain. The section wasn’t near volatile containers or machinery—so it can’t be a malfunction. It had to be set on purpose. A bomb.”

“Rebells?”

“That would be my guess.”

“And the rest of the gnomes?”

“No one was hurt. They’re being processed now. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days to get them cleaned up well enough to join the last batch. These ones are pretty grungy.”

“Wonderful. I knew you were the one to entrust with these important missions of faith.” Pause, “Now, what about the human?”

“The Gnol…”

“Don’t call him that, Captain!”

“I’m sorry father. Forgive me. Habit, nothing more.”

“I understand. We must be careful. Thoughts become words, words become actions.”

“Yes father. I…uh, made sure the ‘human’ was taken directly to the cells below. Thought you might like him in the main interrogation chamber. Away from anyone else. Well…except…”

“Don’t worry about them. They are of no consequence and will soon be joining the offerings to secure our safety.” Tapping a finger to chin, “Did he have any weapons? Objects of any kind upon his person?”

“No father, only this.”

“A letter?”

“Yes sir. Only a blank piece of paper. Ran a spectrum of lights over it—but it doesn’t have invisible ink. No markings at all.”

“A bit odd, don’t you think, Captain?”

“Very odd. But I’m not the one that should be thinking about these things. I leave that to those with greater minds.”

“As you should. And you’ve kept your men clear of the area?”

“Completely. The monks have done all the hands-on work from the point of our arrival.”

“We don’t want anyone second guessing, now do we? It could weaken beliefs, give the enemy a chance to destroy our carefully built spiritual ecosystem. Do we want that to happen? Any chance of that happening?”

“Absolutely not, father.”

“Of course not. Excellent. You’ve done well, Captain. Very well, in fact. TGII will reward you for your faithfulness in the next life. I have seen a tremendous mansion in the afterlife.”

“Thank you, father!” Pausing, “Oh, there is one small issue I need to deal with—but it…requires your insight.”

“That is?”

“One of the captives was, in truth, one of my own men. The one I told you about? The Gnolaum switched places with him…and I was forced to leave him behind.”

Another pause. “What’s your point, Captain?”

“It…well…”

“Spit it out.”

“Yes father. He seems to have had a change of heart.”

“Has he now? And what kind of change would that be?”

Pause. “He’s convinced that we’re making a mistake. That these infidels are, in truth, innocent gnome citizens and not infidels at all.”

“I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Yes father. So what would be your counsel? He’s a good soldier and I’d like to get him the help he needs.”

“Their is only one thing you can do with those corrupted by the ways of infidels, Captain. Process him with the others.”

“…Yes sir.”

“Do you have a problem with that, Captain?”

“No, father,” he said firmly, “I serve the Church.”

“As you should. You are a good and faithful disciple. It would be heart wrenching to see you swayed by this evil that has befallen us. Now make sure the human is placed in the Chamber of Truth, then go home. See Belinda and kids.”

“Judy.”

“That’s right. Go home and see Judy and the children. Remind yourself what you’re doing all this for, Captain. It’s to protect the things you love.”

“Don’t you mean the people you love, father?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do.”

****

It was the scraping in his ears that first caught Wendell’s attention. It was immediately accompanied by a nauseating, cold, swaying motion, which made his stomach churn.

Ughhhhh.

His eyes fluttered open to reveal…nothing. Dark and drafty, only the faintest grey outlines displayed any hint at his surroundings. Every muscle ached…and for just a moment, he wished he’d kicked the Centurions instead of using magic. Wendell sniffed and immediately coughed. The scent in the chill air was earthy—like dirt. No. It was older. Like his grandmothers forgotten potting shed. He blinked again, hoping his eyes would adjust. Wendell could still feel the ache through his spine and back muscles. That was one heck of a jolt those midgets gave me! Ungh. His skull complained with every motion.

Oooooooo, I’m going to be sick. Even though he could feel the warmth fed to him through the mägoweave, he felt chilled to the bone. Ow. Ow. Ow, he flinched. Tiny points of pain pricked Wendell along his neck and spine. Man I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck! He could tell that Ithari was working on him, but his limbs still felt numb—which seemed almost…odd. Particularly through his forearms. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but couldn’t tell if they were responding or not, they were so cold. All he could feel was an odd, dull pressure around his wrists.

Leaning back, the scraping sound grew louder.

“Shhhh,” mumbled a strained voice.

“W-who’s there?” Wendell squeaked out.

“Shhh,” came a second voice from behind him, “Some of us are trying to sleep. Do you mind?”

“Oh,” Wendell stammered, “Uh…I’m sorry.” But he immediately snorted, “No, wait. I’m not sorry—where am I?”

“You’re in the dark,” replied the voice. It was followed by its own snort, “And they said he was smart.”

“Oh leave the child alone, he’s not hurting anything.”

“I have a hard enough time trying to get any sleep around here,” the second voice grumbled, “You may appreciate our generous accommodations, but I do not. Therefore, shut up.”

“Time to get up…already?”

“No,” answered the first, “Snappy-pants is just angry that…”

“Argh,” Wendell grunted aloud, now ignoring them all. Tugging his forearms back, sharp pains shot through his wrists. It felt like sharp blades, slicing through his flesh. Wendell flinched, but his arms were held fast. Hey…“What’s going on?”

“Oh I wouldn’t bother fighting the chains,” the first voice said soberly, “won’t do you much good. The shackles are meant to keep you uncomfortable. They weaken you by keeping your body cold.” Then in a loud whisper, “The key is to sit still and relax. The effects of the metal fade if you’re compliant.”

Leaning forward, Wendell squinted, trying to make out the curved pieces of metal biting into this flesh. The voice was right. Chains stretched across the stone, ending at his forearms. Oh come on—I’m shackled? Dropped from High-Tech right to No-Tech? Seriously?

“Doesn’t anyone care that I’m trying to get sleep around here?” grumbled the second voice.

“No,” said the first and third voices in unison.”

It’s going to be ok. Relax, Wendell. You’ve been in bad situations since you got here. This isn’t a problem, it’s just a new challenge. Chains. It’s nothing. He nodded to himself. Just a challenge. Something simple to figure out. You have tools now. The gnomes know who you are—you don’t have to hide anymore. Use what you have. What you know. Be what you are. He nodded again, resolute. Stop hiding it.

In a voice just above a whisper, Wendell said, “Välo.”

All around him, a soft, white light came to life. Moment after moment, like an approaching dawn, the light continued to grow.

“Oooooo,” cooed the third voice, “he’s one of us!”

“I’m gonna come over there and punch you right in the head if you don’t shut up,” warned the second voice.

“Yeah,” scoffed the first, “let’s see you try. Why don’t you close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

The light flooded the chamber, revealing Wendell’s full surroundings. I was right, he hated to admit…I’m in a dungeon. Stone walls and floors, with no window to be found. Huge pillars rose high above him, supporting what looked to be ancient architecture. Statues of gnomes wrapped around the pillars. Curious things. Stone shaped to look like the tiny race, working in pairs. A stout gnome on the bottom, chipping away with hammer and chisel, while a second, balancing on the firsts shoulders, worked the stone higher up. The detail of the facial expressions was lifelike, hair and protruding tongues adding to the flow of the action. Oddly out of place,  too--especially when Wendell knew he was surrounded by a technologically advanced civilization. Reminds me of Til-Thorin. Well, alright—the being locked up part of Til-Thorin.

Straw lay scattered across the floor, piled high within the corners, small clumps bunched near his knees at the base of the altar. A musty scent of urine lingered in the air. It wasn’t noticeable at first, the chill helping to mask its presence. Wendell wrinkled his nose. Smells like someone needs to call maid service! The only exception to his stone environment was the large wooden door set squarely in the wall in front of him. Well…and then there were his own metal shackles.

Wendell’s chest heaved as he started to laugh. For all the stress and strain, for all the events that when awry, he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t a loud or boisterous laugh—but his shoulders lightly bounced and a few snorts escaped his lips. I’m not even supposed to be here, he thought comically. Abandoned, chased, blamed, accused, hated…this is all so…NOT what this is supposed to be! He laughed again to himself as he shook his head. Is this what happens when you try to help people? When you try to be the person you’ve been asked to be? You get blamed and…he struggled for the right word…crapped on anyway? It was a disturbing thought.

No. This is not ok. He tugged against the chains. I am not going to sit here, while my friends are who-knows-where and suffer…who-knows-what…at the hands of a looney midget with a power complex!

Concentrating, Wendell imagined the light collecting into a single spot above his head. Hold that thought. Focus on it. Ignoring the chill running through his arms and legs—he pictured the light rising a few feet above him. Higher. That’s it. Holding a snapshot of the thought, he whispered, “Teho.”

Immediately the light followed the path he’d imagined within his mind. Like liquid rolling across a counter, it collected a few feet above his head, slowly growing in intensity. With it out of his direct line of sight, it became easier to see his surroundings clearly. This included his unusual roommates.

Three gnomes sat against the walls, gaping at the light over Wendell’s head. Two of the dirty faces beamed with delight, while the third looked overly annoyed and turned his head into a ragged sleeve.

“Bravo!” cheered one, clapping. The giant mustache, so long it was braided at each end, rose high, to reveal an open grin of delight. “Well done!”

“Shhhh!” grunted the gnome next to him. Dirty hands pulled the sailors cap down over his eyes and he turned in towards the wall.

“So it is true,” the third commented sadly. The gnome sat alone, chained to the opposite wall. “Noah captured the Gnolaum?” he glanced over at his fellow gnomes and shook his head, “This isn’t good.”

Wendell blinked once. Then again.

Oh crap. He tugged again on the chains that bound him.

…but they were firmly attached to either side of a wide, stone alter.

****

“You sure you’re going to be alright?”

Nathan Taylor wasn’t actually sure anymore, but he nodded anyway. He’d been alone before, of course, but never when so much seemed to rest on his shoulders. Alone. The battery assisted chair was low on juice and stalled on the small lip of the door jam. Shamas gave it a small nudge, helping it over.

Nat smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

“I can help you if you need me to,” the bodyguard added, seeing the solemn look on the programmers face, “my computer skills are a bit weak, but I’m a quick learner.” He gave the empty street a once over. He knew they were safe—but he did it out of habit. The shops had all closed years ago. It was only the occasional tumbling scrap of paper and the faded signs overhead that reminded him that this had once been a bustling commercial community. A place booming with business and opportunity. It was all dust and garbage now. A shame, really. Then again, it was also perfect for a G.R.R. cell location. “There seems to be little need for my skills of late,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “Everyone runs off and does what they want, no matter how hard I try to stop them.”

The comment made Nat crack a smile. “Bellows will need you. This surge of anger among the populace has to be focused and controlled. If it isn’t, a lot of folks are going to get hurt. You’re skills are more vital than you think.”

“I’m a bodyguard, not a group therapist.”

“You’re someone who understands the nature of others. You know how people react, move, plot. You also understand the mob mentality, Shamas. If nothing else, you could assist as a first rate counselor, so don’t sell yourself short.”

“Hmph,” Shamas grunted, “You suddenly sound like a natural leader yourself. Maybe Deloris was right—Motherboard might not be the only one who can pull this off.” He gave the cripple a light jab in the shoulder.

Nat just frowned. “Motherboard,” he sighed, “Right.”

“Something wrong?”

Shaking his head, “No. I’m alright. Just…tired I guess.”

“Get some rest.”

“I plan on it. Thanks.”

With a final wave, the door slowly creaked to a close behind him. He turned the wheelchair around and locked it. The final latch on his life, trapping himself inside. That’s what it felt like. No matter how hard he worked, or how hard he tried, Nathan couldn’t get ahead. He didn’t know how. Motherboard was the face of the G.R.R., even though Nathan Taylor had been there from the very beginning. One line of code at a time, he’d locked himself away, hiding from the world.

The world he had always wanted to change.

“Now I’m all alone again,” he whispered aloud, “Just like in the beginning.” Deloris was gone. Slid the key to this building across the desk before handing in her resignation. She’d stopped here first and gathered all her physical belongings. It was a life she just didn’t want anymore. She wanted to be with her husband and to support him in his dreams as he had spent a lifetime supporting her.

Not that Nat could blame her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He envied Deloris. She finally knew what she wanted more than anything else. Morty was brilliant and he obviously loved his wife…and she, him.

“What else could a decent person want?” he sighed.

At least he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

Unlocking and lifting the dashboard up from the custom wheelchair, Nat stretched his arms…and stood up.

“Ohhhhh,” he yawned loudly, leaning to the side. With a grunt, he threw an arm high over his head, stretching. “I forget how good that feels!” Hips popped as did his spine. Sitting in one place, day after day, only stretching while alone in bathrooms or in his locked bedroom wasn’t easy. He twisted and turned, pushed and stretched, trying to shake off the pain in his muscles. Even his bones felt weak from sitting for so long.

The elevator bell dinged.

Nearly falling over his own feet, Nat threw himself back into his chair and slammed the dashboard back down into place. Just in time to see Chuck stumble out through the doors. He spun around, trying to gather the long strands of his beard from the gaps in the sliding doors.

“Blasted facial hair!”

“Chuck!”

“Woo-HAW!” the wizard gasped, throwing himself back against the opposite wall. Slapping his palm over his chest, he gripped his robe tightly, heaving. “Are you trying to KILL me boy?” he yelled, “Why would you spook an old man like that?!” He blinked twice, his chest rising and falling heavily with each gasp of breath.

“What are you doing here?” Nat exclaimed, “No one’s supposed to be here anymore. I got word you made an attempt to get into the Citadel…” he gave the wizard a look of disdain, “along with a charge of kidnapping? Seriously Chuck? Kidnapping?”

Brushing himself off, the wizard straightened his hat. “Oh no, we got in just fine—there was no attempt involved. We asked nicely, they let us pass, and…” Then, shaking his finger, “You need to go shopping, boy,…there’s no food in this place. Can’t properly entertain if you don’t have any food around.”

“Chuck.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here?” he asked again, ignoring the wizards off topic remarks. Then, “Wait. How did you even get in here? Deloris and I have the only keys.”

“Please,” he scoffed, “I’m a wizard. You don’t think I can’t wave my hand and…”

Nat frowned.

“Oh alright,” Chuck huffed, “your girlfriend turned out to be an exceptional lock pick.”

Nathan’s eyes popped open wide, “My…girlfriend?”

Walking around the back of the wheelchair, Chuck grabbed the handles abruptly and pushed Nat into the elevator. “You know—the cute one who’s always eating.”

****

It was difficult to get comfortable, no matter how he shifted his weight. His knees weren’t just numb from kneeling, they felt weak and heavy. Maybe that’s their intent, Wendell complained, trying to shift his his hips and take some of the strain off his thighs and back. Bring the tall human down to their size.

He glanced at the chained gnomes, immediately regretting it. For the past hour the three had hardly said a word. The simply…stared. Three sets of huge, round eyes, staring through the shadows at him. The feeling was a bit too familiar and it made Wendell shutter more than once. Why are they just sitting there and…

“You know,” said the third, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, “I didn’t think the Gnolaum would be a human.” He glance at his fellow gnome captives, thick eyebrows bobbing about. “Seriously disappointing.”

“Well what did you think he would be?” asked the first. “A giant? An kutollum? Or maybe a sorcerer from Mäväro?”

Shrugging, “I don’t know. Did he have to be a ‘he’ at all? Why couldn’t it be a female? Ooooo,” he grinned, “a evolu female. No. Wait. A leggy evolu female. That would have been nice.”

“What?” snorted the second, now wanting in on the conversation. He sat up abruptly from his prone position. “A female? That doesn’t make sense whatsoever.”

Adjusting his thick-lens glasses on the end of a hawklike nose, “Oh I don’t know…who said it had to make sense? How does us being in this cell make sense? Or that the leader of our church has gone funny…,” he paused, then shook his index finger, “without any ha, ha part of the funny, mind you! None of this makes any sense.”

“Downright stupid, you are,” snapped the second, shaking his head.

“Don’t be so rude, Vin,” said the first. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Well I’m just saying,” said the third, completely ignoring Vin’s derogatory remark, “that a pretty lady with a good heart would do far more good in the world than a male. That’s all I’m saying. She’d be nice to look at…and smell a might better than the lot of us. Maybe the whole world wouldn’t be at war right now if we all had something pretty to look at?” He nodded triumphantly, “Did you think of that? No-you-did-not.”

Wendell couldn’t help but grin. Thoughts of Lady Tamorah popped into his head. She was certainly beautiful, and…couldn’t argue that such beauty could turn heads—but he’d never get close enough to vouch for how she smelled. Wait a minute. The whole world is at war?

“He has a point,” agreed the first.

“Thank you, Tabbermain,” said the third.

“You are most welcome. The thought of smelling a pretty elf sounds nice.”

“Shut up!” snapped Vin, “You’ve both lost it. The Gnolaum’s alway been a male…and here you are, talkin’ ‘bout sniffin’ girls like they were flowers. You’ve popped your brain-pans!”

“Well, he may be a human,” the third continued, ignoring Vin’s comment, “but it’s better than a vallen or a therrin, don’t you think? Or…” he shuttered so hard the shackle on his ankle rattled, “could you imagine a Täuku Gnolaum?” He winced, “Ew.”

“Vallen? Therrin? Täuku!? The Gnolaum’s a hero, not a villainous, flesh-eating monster.”

“You do know I’m right here,” Wendell cut in, frowning at each of them in turn. “I can hear you.”

The room fell silent. None of the confined prisoners looked him in the face.

What an odd bunch. All three looked exceptionally old. Older than Morty or Höbin, he guessed—each with wild tufts of white facial hair for eyebrows, mustaches and beards. Unlike himself, the gnomes were only shackled by a single leg. Wonder what they’re in here for?

“My name’s Wendell,” he tried with an uncertain grin. Then he added, “Wendell P. Dipmier.”

Nothing. Each gnome completely averted their gaze from Wendell’s general direction.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked awkwardly.

But the three gnomes didn’t get a chance to answer. The sudden sound of a key being inserted into the door startled them all.

The two prisoners sitting together, Vin and Tabbermain, grasped onto one another like little frightened children. They shivered and stared at the door, while the tiny gnome on his own, frantically scooped up the straw around him. The echo of his single chain rang out as he quickly heaped a pile onto his legs and chest.

Taking a hint, Wendell whispered, “Läkätä,” and the light instantly vanished, plunging them into darkness.

“Yup,” the third whispered to himself from under the straw, “he’s one of us.”

“Shut UP,” snapped Vin, before burying his face into Tabbermain’s shoulder.

The sound of the dungeon door opening raked at Wendell’s spine. Like fingernails down a chalkboard, the slab of wood scrapped across the uneven floor. Like a creeping dawn, the dull light seeped into the room. Torches, held high, bounced lightly along. One by one—small hands, protruding from robes, holding the flames aloft, entered the room. Each figure had a hood drawn over their head, without faces for Wendell to see clearly.

“You’re awake,” said the closest robe. Calm and deliberate, the tone had a slight nasal quality to it.

Wendell squinted, trying to see up into the hood, but the torch was held high, casting deep shadows. The glow completely hid the gnomes face. The folds of the heavy robe dragged along the floor as the figure approached, revealing brown sandaled feet and fat, stubby toes.

The voice did sound a bit familiar. No reason why I shouldn’t make a guess. Not like I’m going anywhere, at least not anytime soon. There was only one person Wendell could think of, who would be responsible for him being here. Responsible for the problems he’d experienced, both inside the Trench Wars and out.

“Father Noah, I’m guessing,” he said aloud.

The figure hesitated for a moment, the hood tilting ever-so-slightly. “Very good, Mr. Dipmier,” Noah replied. “We’ve never officially met, but I won’t bother offering you my hand, if you don’t mind.”

Wendell snorted to himself. Don’t want to be contaminated by the human, huh? There wasn’t any need for deception on the gnomes part. Noah didn’t like him. Wendell knew it. He could hear it in the gnome’s tone, but more importantly, he was in a dungeon…in chains. “I don’t bite, you know,” he countered. “Besides, you’re the one who had me tasered and brought here…not the other way around. Remember? Or do you treat all your guests in such a rough manner?” He grinned smugly, “Centurions or not, I know they work for you and not the government. I met President Shrub. Good guy. So, who should really feel uncomfortable? Not you. You’re holding all the cards.” For now.

Pulling the hood back over his shoulders, Noah stood there and smiled. Not of triumph or revenge, not even of mockery…but of knowledge. The monk looked calm. Almost too calm.

It wasn’t until that split second that Wendell remembered. He wasn’t alone when he’d been captured. The entire furnace area had been flushed out. All the people rounded up. To make matters worse, Simon and Enid were still missing. His face flushed in anger. “What did you do with the muddles?” he growled threateningly. Chains rattled as he pulled. Behind the lip of the altar, two animated eyes glared up and over the lip of stone from Wendell’s shirt.

Behind Noah, four robed figures stepped forward. Each carried a torch in one hand…and what looked to be a club in the other.

“Isn’t that a derogatory term for the homeless, Mr. Dipmier?” he grinned sarcastically, “And you believe yourself to be a champion of the people. Shame, shame. But we’ll get to them soon enough. There are always certain precautions one must take when dealing with an enemy.” Noah stared down at Wendell cooly, the flickering light enhancing the dark rings under his eyes. “You never know how they might react under the most innocent of situations.”

Wendell raised a numb arm, lightly shaking his wrist. The chain rattled. “You mean, like, try to get out of shackles?”

Noah chuckled, “That and…revenge for past offenses.”

Wendell scoffed, “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to be violent or get revenge for being kidnapped. Been there, done that. This doesn’t even make my top five worse moment list.”

Casually sitting on the edge of the altar, Noah grinned. “I plan on changing that soon enough.”

That’s it Wendell, be a retard and tick off the midget with the key to your freedom! He frowned. “Do you mean getting to know me, or…are you referring to my worst moment list?”

The smile grew. “Yes.”

Wendell’s head flopped forward with a heavy sigh. Great.

****

“I might as well light up the sign out front for business and add ‘G.R.R. Cell’ to the bottom of it!” Nat growled. He spun his manual wheelchair around, nearly crushing the wizards toes. Glancing over at the teenagers, who were riffling through his pile of electronics on a side table, he barked, “Don’t touch anything!”

Buffy flinched and dropped the circuit board.

Freak, Tumbler and Telly were seated on the sofa in front of the television. Lili was nestled into one of the leather chairs, her arms around her knees. Nibbles, however, batted her eyes at the computer genius, then slid a stool up next to his main console.

He gulped and tugged the collar of his shirt.

“Are you seriously part of the G.R.R.?” Kip asked bluntly, obviously excited.

Nat mumbled something incoherent under his breath and then, “Yes, I really am part of the…,” he whipped back to Chuck, “Why did you bring them here?! Don’t you realize how badly you’ve jeopardized the entire G.R.R. network? Now we can be accused of kidnapping!”

“Not really,” chimed Kip, “We’re both 18. Legal adults.” He shrugged, “I won’t be pressing charges.” He looked to his sister, “You?”

“Don’t look at me,” Buffy sighed, “I don’t want to go back to living 24/7 under a microscope. Besides, we don’t get to do anything without Twoface giving his approval. I hate that.”

“Exactly,” grinned her brother “In fact, I just might sign up to be a terrorist myself.”

“Terrorist!?” gasped Nat, looking rapidly between both youth. “W-we are NOT terrorists!”

“The cops say you are,” Kip smirked. “It’s also on the web,” he glanced over and winked at his sister, “…and you know if it’s on the web, it’s gotta be true.”

“ARRRGHHH!” Nat bellowed.

“Goodness!” Chuck snorted, spinning the wheelchair around and away from the teens, “Calm yourself, boy, before you blow a brain cell and fall over. So they have a misconception about what you do. Kids make up their own minds, so show them what you do and stop fretting about it! Good news is, we didn’t kidnap anyone.”

Buffy plopped down onto the couch next to the TNT crew and snatched up the remote with a bored sigh.

Nat was already shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter what we think, Chuck—the government will say differently. They also own the media. They’ll put a spin on this situation and call us…”

“Hey, look!” Buffy squealed, pointing at the flatscreen, “We’re on TV!”

Sure enough, WHRN’s anchor desk displayed pictures of the twins grinning back at viewers, a large headline overhead which read: Widower Shrub In Mourning—Twins Kidnapped in Attempted Government Coup. The announcer looked into the camera gravely, “As the city continued to rage with violent outbreaks from factory workers, a renegade G.R.R. terrorist cell infiltrated the heart of our government. Six Centurion soldiers and two secret servicemen were brutally slaughtered within the Citadel as the Shrub twins were forcefully abducted from the loving embrace of our illustrious president. WHRN has been informed that advanced technology was employed to bypass the advanced security systems in place, including the distortion of camera footage. Authorities are working around the clock to follow potential leads and ensure the safe return of the Shrub children. In the meantime, Ian Twofold, the president’s personal assistant, had this to say about the tragic event…”

The scene changed to the presidents personal media room within his suite. The albino wiped his eyes with a snow white handkerchief and then handed it to one of six gnomes in black suits and mirrored sunglasses behind him.

“It is a sign of dark times when a group, forever claiming to be champions of freedom for our beloved people, rears up and attacks, not only our beloved leader…but his defenseless children.” Pausing, Ian reached up and slowly pulled his sunglasses from his face—revealing red, swollen eyes. “This has devastated our beloved President…as it would any loving father!” Sniffing, “And he has fallen horribly ill, overcome with grief as officers combing this city, searching desperately for his children.” Looking into the camera directly, the sadness turned to a viscous sneer, “Whoever you are—you vipers, we will find you! Mark my words, you foul excuse for gnomes—I love those two children like my own…and I swear those who are responsible will taste the full wrath of the law!”

With a squeak, Buffy clicked off the television and dropped the remote like it was infected.

“Love those two children?” gagged Kip.

“Ewww,” shuttered Buffy. She pulled her legs up off the floor and curled into a ball, “That’s just…gross!”

“Six Centurion soldiers brutally slaughtered?” gasped Chuck.

“Don’t forget the secret servicemen,” moaned Tumbler.

The wizard looked around the room, befuddled. “We didn’t hurt a fly!”

“Wow,” whispered Telly.

“We are so screwed,” whimpered Freak, dropping his face into his own palms. “If I get out of this alive, the wife’s gonna kill me.”

“…terrorists,” sighed Nat.

“So look at the good news!” chimed Nibbles. She sat with her arms folded, swiveling softly on the stool, blowing bubbles.

Everyone stared back.

“Oh come on,” she teased, “didn’t anyone notice what they did?”

“You better enlighten us,” said Lili.

Popping her bubble, she grinned wide. “They don’t have any pictures of us? Come on! How many times were we scanned walking through that place?”

“Half a dozen?” replied Telly.

“If not more,” she countered, “so doesn’t it seem strange to any of you that this Ian guy doesn’t spit out that he knows who we are?” She blew a quick bubble and popped it between her molars, “Sounds to me like they don’t want us to be found out—at least not yet.”

Nat stared at the black TV screen. “Maybe they don’t know where we are after all…or…”

“They don’t actually care,” Lili finished.

“Does that mean Twoface is…,” Buffy choked, looking to her brother for comfort, “going to hurt our dad?”

Kip reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Not if we can help it, my dear.” Grasping the back of Nathan’s wheelchair firmly, Chuck spun him around. Glaring, “Which comes down to you.”

“Me? Why does any of this come down to me? I’m not the one breaking into government buildings and stealing children.”

The wizard flicked the programmer sharply in the forehead with a boney finger.

“Ow.”

“None of your lip, young man, or next time I’ll use the cane.”

“Sorry.”

“We need you’re creepy blue friend out here.”

Nat frowned then, “He is not creepy, so stop saying that.”

Chuck shrugged, “Your blue friend, then.”

“What do you want Cryo for?”

“Cryo 64 online!” boomed a jovial, a slightly giddy voice. The small projector overhead buzzed along the ceiling, throwing its beam over the main console. A big blue face grinned down at Nat and the wizard. “What’s uuuuuuup!?”

“I didn’t call you,” Nat said sharply without looking up. His eyes remained fixed on Chuck.

“I did,” replied the wizard.

“SwEET!” piped Cryo, “I love to be of service!”

“Uhhh,” stammered Nibbles, “what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a him,” corrected Nat, “not an ‘it’,…and he’s broken.”

“No I’m not,” said Cryo, “I feel absolutely fanTAStic.”

“Shut down,” Nat ordered.

“Belay that command,” Chuck said cooly, standing upright. Smiling brightly at the hovering face, he said aloud, “Cryo—we are in desperate need of your help.” He glanced momentarily at Nat, then shifted back, “And only YOU can do it. Our very lives may depend on your success. Are you up to a challenge?”

“Up to it? OH yeah, baby—throw it my way! I’ll knock it out of the park…slam dunk it…slap it silly and eat it for breakfast.”

Buffy giggled, “I like him—he’s funny.”

“And you are aDORable!” Cryo replied with a wink.

“Ok, this is gettin’ more disturbing by the moment,” grumbled Tumbler.

“For once,” Telly added, “I’m with you.”

Cryo grinned back at both of them through blue teeth.

Chuck stepped between them, pointing at the digital apparition. “We need you to dig deep into the Citadel. Trace any communications, both public and private, concerning Dax. We ticked off the folks in charge. At best, we made them nervous—and I don’t want them deciding to kill the monkey before we can get to him!” One of his eyebrows raised high on his forehead, “Think you can keep track where the gnomes take him…and make sure we know what happens as it happens?”

“Not a problem!” Cryo64 blipped. For a split second, the face faded, the black gaps representing eyes, closed. “He’s in the Presidential suite.”

“You found him…already?” the wizard asked, impressed.

“I certainly did, gramps,” Cryo beamed.

“Uhhh…Good,” replied Chuck.

“He’s still there,” Cryo chimed.

“Alright,” Chuck nodded.

“Yup, still there.”

“Fine.”

“Still there.”

“Cryo!” the wizard snapped.

“Yes? Oh, Dax is still there, by the way.”

Gritting his teeth, “Let me make a correction. Tell us WHEN they move him and we’ll go from there. Alright?”

“You GOT it, buddy.” The blue face stopped talking and simply…smiled.

Chuck turned back to Nat and sneered, “Yes he is creepy.”

Before the gnome could reply, “Now we come down to you.” The wizard pulled a small device from the sleeve of his robe and handed it to Nathan.

Nat inspected the device in his palm. “How on…,” he looked up, “How did you get this?”

Shrugging, “I have my connections.” Then, in a softer tone, “The the President’s fingerprint is on that device. I want you to use it reverse the credits I paid in fines. Put them on a credit stick and make them untraceable. I want them portable, so whomever uses them, can do so anonymously.”

Nat nodded, still staring at the device. “I can do that.”

“Next, I want you to create a document with a time stamp. Use the Presidents signature, absolving all of us from being prosecuted.” Leaning forward, he flipped the gnome around and pushed his face uncomfortably close, so their big noses touched. “And most importantly, I want you to hack into every media station in Clockworks. I don’t care how and I don’t care about the damage—just get control of the media.”

“Why?” Nat scoffed.

Standing upright, the sides of Chucks mustache lifted in a grin. “Because I need you as a last resort backup.”

There was a tug on the wizards sleeve.

“Yes? What is it, my dear?”

Lili fidgeted in place, “What about Wendell?”

“Wendell?”

“How do we know he’s still ok? We haven’t heard from him in days and no one’s talking about him. We’ve been so focused on Dax and the uproar in the city—it’s like Wendell’s been forgotten.”

Chuck did a double take. “That seems a tad odd, my dear, coming from you of all people.” Seeing her concern, he lifted her hand gently and patted it. “I know this might sound harsh, dear one, but that boy is clever and resilient. Not to mention protected by the power of the Ithari. He’ll be just fine. Our priority is to get Dax back. He needs our help right now, not Wendell.” He smiled brightly, “Our hero is probably kicking back with his friends down below, chatting away.”

****

No matter how many candles were lit, the chamber retained its cold grip on Wendell. As time wore on, he shivered violently, then uncontrollably. Why isn’t this mägoweave working? Even during the magical storm he’d experienced on his way to Til-Thorin, the magical cloth had protected him from the sleet and bone-numbing pain. But he couldn’t feel his hands at all now. More than once, he found his teeth chattering and he had to clench his jaw tight to control them. The good news was, he didn’t feel the slightest pain. That was…so long as he didn’t move. The bad news was, if Wendell did move, it felt as if his muscles were being torn from his shoulder sockets. If his discomfort mattered to anyone else in the room, no one showed it.

The monks worked diligently in silence to create a wide circle around the altar using various sized candles of golden wax. Noah stood back as bodies ushered through the doorway and nimble hands organized the wicks in arched patterns. Holy candles, Noah shared aloud, but something wasn’t right. The three old gnomes chained to the walls cowered from the circle of light and soon an odd smell filled the room. The smoke rose into the air, taking over the dank, musty scent—replacing it with a bitter odor that burned Wendell’s nose.

The light also played with ones perceptions, casting multiple shadows of Noah upon the walls as he paced about.

“Thank you, brother,” Noah said softly, taking a wooden box from a monk. “That will be all.” He gently placed the container on the stone alter between Wendell and himself. The box was covered in strange symbols, carved into the deep blue-stained wood, dozens of knots protruding from holes around its rim.

With a silent nod, the monk retreated hastily—taking all but two of the guards with him. The large door scrapped across the floor, closing with a loud WUMP!

For long moments, all that could be heard was the rattling of the chains as Wendell fidgeted. This is not good, Wendell. Not good at all. His pulse raced as unsettling memories came back to him. World History class and thoughts of the Spanish Inquisition. Unspeakable torture flooded his mind. Ohhhhhh, he fidgeted, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering, You’re stuck in a dungeon with a psychotic midget, Wendell. I bet Dorthy and Oz didn’t have to deal with garbage like this… He tugged again, What could Noah possibly want with me? So I spoke out against the leaders…so what? I encouraged gnomes to stand up for themselves…but torture? Come on! Ok, my revolution comment may have been over the top, but… He sighed at his own stupidity. It sounded like such a good idea at the time.

“I hope you realize, Mr. Dipmier,” Noah broke the silence, “that you’ve been causing a great deal of stress for me…and this magnificant city.”

Yup, he’s pissed about the speech. Gulping, “Right…about that. You see, I was just trying…”

“I agree with you,” Noah cut him off.

Wendell frowned, “Uhhh…,you…huh?”

Noah placed his hands within the folds of his robes and showed Wendell a kind, genuine smile. “I said I agree with you.”

Wendell’s brows crinkled forward and remained stuck there. It didn’t make sense that Noah would agree with anything he had to say. This turn of attitude made him feel ill at ease.  Riiiiiight. He’s holding something back.

“There is a need for a revolution in this great city…as well as a purging of evil influences among our people. And I’m just the right person to make that happen.”

…aaaand there’s the psycho.

With slow and lingering movements, Noah kept his direct attention focused on Wendell. “The general people of Clockworks City are sheep, Mr. Dipmier. Good people who are, in reality, mere animals too stupid to make proper decisions for themselves.” His fingers curled around the far edges of the blue box—worn and weathered from time and use. He pulled the container closer to him, hugging it against his pear-shaped belly. “They need a firm hand. A brighter mind to guide them. Someone to navigate them away from evil influences that would disturb their peace and interrupt their duty to their community.”

“And that person, I take it,” Wendell cut in, refusing to hide his sarcasm, “is supposed to be you?” The sound of the wood scraping across the stone made his cringe.

Noah’s expression softened so much, he almost looked kind. Almost.“Exactly. Which is why my position and responsibilities are so important.” Deft hands started untying the series of knots binding the lid. One by one the circular pieces of rope came undone. “My holy and sacred duty is to make sure the flock is not polluted by the actions or beliefs of heretics, enemies of TGII and, of course, charlatans.”

The top of the container slid off at the last knot came undone.

Noah lifted out a whip.