Taking a deep breath, Kevan MacGreene put his hand on the door knob and
opened it. Then he stepped through.
He felt his foot strike the edge of something solid and then he was
falling. He tried to twist and grab, but there was nothing to grab.
Down he went--falling, it seemed, slowly and interminably--until
finally he landed with a thump. Looking around, he realized he was
sitting on the ground of a forest. There was an eerie look to the trees
around him, their limbs twisting skyward, their leaves looking like
green woven silk.
Sitting there on the ground, Kevan MacGreene became aware of the most
startling thing. His hangover was gone as if it had never existed.
That, more than anything, made him decide to believe that he was in the
land of the Little People. He'd had many a hangover, but never had one
vanished so quickly and painlessly.
"It's a pity you wouldn't watch where you're falling," a voice said
peevishly.
Kevan looked around, but saw nothing except the trees. "Where are you?"
he asked cautiously.
"Right here," answered the voice. And it did sound as though it was
right beside him.
"I can't see you," he said.
"Of course, you can't," snapped the voice. "That's because I'm looking
at you. Oh, all right, I'll turn, although I don't know why I should."
Then in front of Kevan's eyes there suddenly appeared a little man, no
more than two feet high. His face, in profile, was sharp and pointed.
"How did you do that?" Kevan asked with interest.
"Do what?"
"You were invisible. Then suddenly you were visible."
"I wasn't anything of the kind," the little man said. "I was merely
looking at you. When I'm looking at you, you can't see me. When you can
see me, I can't see you--but I don't start making nasty cracks about
you being invisible."
"Why?"
"Because I'm good-natured," grumbled the gnome.
"No, I mean why can't I see you if you're looking at me?"
"Because I'm one of the Wanagemeswak of Penobscot," the gnome announced
with pride. "I'm so thin that mortals can only see me when I'm in
profile. So when I turn to look at you, you can't see me. Like this."
The gnome's head slowly turned to face Kevan--and then it vanished.
"Now do you understand?" asked the voice.
Kevan MacGreene blinked his eyes rapidly and then switched his gaze to
one of the more solid-looking trees.
"No," he said, "but don't try to explain it to me again. I'm afraid I'd
only understand less than I do now. But, if you will, you can tell me
how to find the four kings."
"Oh, sure," said the voice. "Just go straight down this path and turn
left at the third snail. You can't miss it after that."
"Thanks," said Kevan, waving one hand toward the spot where he thought
the gnome was. He set out in the direction indicated, keeping a sharp
watch-out for snails.
As Kevan MacGreene walked through the forest, he became aware of
the sounds about him. From every side flooded the songs of birds.
Somewhere ahead of him two squirrels barked indignantly at each
other. He caught sight of huge antlers as a deer crashed through the
underbrush to his right. But having lived all of his life in New York
City, Kevan was not attuned to these new sounds.
"Noisy place," he said to himself. "It's interesting to visit a place
like this, but I'd certainly hate to live here."
After what seemed like a long walk, he sighted his third snail and
turned left. For a moment he considered speaking to the snail,
remembering that in all the stories he'd heard speech was standard
equipment for all forms of life in fairyland, but he refrained because
of the petulant look on the snail's face.
The new path seemed well-worn and he strode along at a fast pace. It
wasn't long before he saw an impressive castle ahead. Long before he
reached it, he could hear the sound of loud and quarrelsome voices
coming from it. He wondered if this was the beginning of the riot he
was to quell and hesitated. But only for a minute.
"I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath, "if any two-foot
fugitive from a Walt Disney movie is going to scare me." He set his jaw
grimly and marched on.
* * * * *
When he entered the castle, Kevan MacGreene found himself in what was
obviously the throne room. There were four elegant thrones, all empty.
From in front of the thrones came the loud voices, even more shrill
now that he was nearer. His eyes became accustomed to the dim light
and Kevan saw four little old men. They were alike as four peas in a
pod. None of them was more than two feet in height, although each wore
a peaked hat which gave the illusion of adding eight or ten inches.
Each of them had a long white beard, almost reaching the floor. At the
moment, four faces were screwed up in rage, while four fists shook
themselves in the air.
"Isn't it a grand brawl?" asked a voice near Kevan. He turned and saw
another gnome, his eyes fixed admiringly on the four old men.
"What's wrong with them?" Kevan asked.
"There's nothing wrong with them," the other said. "'Tis but a bit of
an argument. They're just working themselves up to the interesting
stage."
"What are they arguing about?"
"Sure and it's the same old argument--which of them has the longest
beard. It's been going on ever since Finbheara endorsed Macushla's
Magic Beard Groom, claiming that he had the longest beard in all
Midgard. Iubdan brought suit in the Court of the Leprechauns to prove
Finbheara a liar, but then Geanncanac and Daoine Glas called both of
them liars and so it started."
"Do you think it'll last long?" Kevan asked anxiously.
"Until there's not a hair left on the chin of a one of them," the gnome
said with anticipation. "Then they'll retire for a few hours until
their beards grow back--and they'll be at it again. Isn't it heavenly?"
"I was hoping to ask them where to find someone," Kevan said.
The gnome turned and looked up at Kevan, who in turn noted that since
he could still see the little man he must not be of the Wanagemeswak.
"You're a mortal," said the gnome in tones of accusation.
"Yes," confessed Kevan.
"Then, by the same reasoning," continued the gnome, "it must be that
you were sent here by Brian Shanachie and that it's Alviss you're
looking for. Now, that will be a donnybrook for fair when you find him.
I've a notion to go with you."
"It'll really amount to very little," Kevan said hastily. "I'm sure
you'll find this much more interesting. But you could tell me how to
find Alviss."
The gnome seemed to be debating with himself, but renewed shrieks of
rage from the other side of the throne room drew his gaze back there.
He jerked a thumb in the direction from which Kevan had come. "Across
the way and into the hill," he said.
Kevan MacGreene stepped back outdoors and saw a small brass door set in
the hill. He walked across and entered. As the door swung shut behind
him, he found himself in a tunnel running straight back through the
hill. It was dimly lighted, but Kevan managed to make his way along
it--with some difficulty, however, since he had to walk stooped over to
keep from bumping his head.
After walking for some time, around numerous twists and bends, Kevan
heard the murmur of a voice somewhere ahead. As he proceeded, it became
louder. Finally, he rounded a turn in the tunnel and saw a small,
stocky dwarf busily stirring a huge cauldron with one hand while with
the other he kept throwing various ingredients into the steaming pot.
It was he who muttered and Kevan could now make out the words.
"A pinch of chlorite, a bit of mica, some biotite, spoon of felspar;
a little graphite, and now amphibole, dust with kyanite, and top with
idocrase--"
"What's idocrase?" Kevan asked.
"_Don't do that!_" screamed the little man. He whirled around, molten
rock dripping from the spoon in his hand, to glare at Kevan, his bushy
red beard bristling with anger.
"I merely asked what idocrase is," Kevan said mildly.
"You didn't have to sneak up on me like that. And any fool knows that
idocrase is a hydrous silicate of calcium and aluminum and that you
can't bake a decent gneiss without it." His eyes suddenly narrowed as
he took in Kevan's size. "You're a mortal," he said.
* * * * *
Kevan nodded. The little man reached behind him, grabbed a pickaxe and
came up swinging. Kevan MacGreene leaped to one side only in time.
"Wait a minute," he yelled. "I claim diplomatic immunity."
The dwarf stopped short and glared. "Diplomatic immunity?" he said.
"What's that?"
"It means you're not allowed to attack me," said Kevan. "Brian
Shanachie sent me here on a diplomatic errand."
It was plain that the dwarf saw no reason for restraining his anger,
but he was sufficiently uncertain to hold back. "Brian Shanachie should
mind his own business," he growled.
"Now, I'm looking for Alviss...."
"I'm Alviss."
"Good," Kevan said. He had no idea of how to go about adjusting the
matter which he'd been sent to fix, but he had determined on a firm
course. "Now, what seems to be the matter, Alviss?" he asked briskly.
"Matter?" repeated Alviss, his voice going up a few octaves. For a
moment, it looked as if he might succumb to his rage, but he controlled
it. "I made the finest gneiss that has ever been formed in the entire
history of Midgard. No sooner had it hardened than you mortals came
along and cracked it right down the center."
"But it was an accident," Kevan said. "An atom bomb was being tested
and it was by accident that they happened to set it off over your work.
You see, these atom bomb tests are a part of our national defense
program--"
"So it's defending yourselves you are," Alviss said grimly. "Then you
can just defend yourselves against me."
"I'm sure," Kevan said, "that the Combined Command would have been more
careful but--well, I'm afraid that the truth of the matter is that the
Army doesn't officially believe in gnomes."
"They don't, eh?" said Alviss with a nasty grin. "Then they'll have
nobody to blame but themselves when their fine bombs bounce back in
their laps and when the barrels of their guns turn to rubber and drop
the bullets at their feet."
"You mustn't do that," Kevan said hastily. "The psychiatrists would
only pin a label on it which would destroy the morale of our Army. To
say nothing to what it would do to the WAC and the WAVE. There must be
some other solution."
"No," said Alviss firmly. "My honor is at stake."
"But there must be another way of saving your honor. You look like a
reasonable--er--person, Mr. Alviss. I'm sure that between the two of
us, we can find a way...."
"Well," said Alviss and there was a shrewd look in his eyes, "perhaps,
if you were to bring me Thrud...."
"Thread?" exclaimed Kevan, relief coming with the misunderstanding.
"What kind?"
"Not thread," said Alviss. "Thrud. Do you mean, mortal, that you do not
know the story of Alviss?"
Kevan shook his head.
"What's your name, mortal?"
"Kevan MacGreene."
"'Tis a good name," said the dwarf.
* * * * *
Alviss sat down on the floor and for the first time his face lost its
look of anger. "It was long ago," he said. "More years than you mortals
can reckon. But I was an adventurous lad and one night I crossed the
bridge Bifrost from Midgard to Asgard. Asgard, you understand, is the
land of the old gods, but I was safe there as long as it was dark.
While I was there, I met Thrud, only daughter of Thor, god of the
yeomen and peasants, dispenser of thunder. Aye, she was beautiful--more
beautiful than you'd know, Kevan MacGreene--and I knew she was the lass
for Alviss. It seemed that she felt the same way about me, despite the
fact that she was three times my height. Hand in hand, we went to see
Thor--faith and there's one for whom I would set bear traps every night
if he were my father-in-law."
"I gather that he turned you down?" Kevan said.
"Worse," said Alviss. Rage and sorrow intermingled on his face. "By
the beard of Daoine Glas, he tricked me. He said that Thrud could marry
me and come away if I would answer thirteen questions. Bad cess to him,
I agreed. His twelve questions were to give the names for the world,
the moon, the sun, the clouds, the wind, the calm, the sea, the trees,
the night, fire, wheat and beer in all the worlds of the Aesir, Vanir,
giants, elves and gods."
"What are they?" Kevan asked curiously.
"There is no time to tell you, as you will see. But I was then fresh
from visiting the worlds he'd mentioned and I knew the names well.
We sat there in Thor's palace, Belskirnir, before a great roaring
fire--Thor holding his great head in his hands as he listened, Thrud
sitting beside me and holding my hand--and I recited the names. It was
a long task and I didn't notice that it was daylight as I finished. I
spoke the last name and then demanded Thrud's hand. Thor only grinned
and pointed. I turned to look in the direction he was pointing and the
last thing I saw in Asgard was the sun streaming through the window. As
it touched me, I turned to stone."
Two tears streaked down the dwarf's face and were lost in his red beard.
"Why did you turn to stone?" Kevan asked.
"It was the law of the land--and still is," said Alviss. "If the sun
shines on any of the Little People while in Asgard, they turn to stone.
Thor had tricked me. I would be there still if Hreidmar and Sindri
hadn't come to rescue me. As soon as they carried me back to Midgard,
the spell was gone and I was myself again. But Thrud was lost to me
forever."
"Why didn't you go back some night and get her?" asked Kevan. Being a
practical man, he added, "Or why didn't she run away and join you?"
"You're excessively stupid, even for a mortal," snapped the dwarf.
"Once the spell had been upon me, I would turn to stone should I ever
again set foot in Asgard. And it has been decreed that there are only
three ways in which Thrud may ever leave Asgard. Hand in hand with her
true love, carried over Bifrost by a mortal, or when she goes to Gimli
after Ragnarok."
"Well," said Kevan MacGreene finally, "it's a very touching and
romantic story and I assure you that you have my deepest sympathy--but
I'm afraid I fail to see how it concerns our present problem."
"Do you now?" asked Alviss. He gazed up from beneath his bushy red
eyebrows. "All you have to do, my lad, is go to Asgard and bring Thrud
here to me. If you do that, I'll not make war against the mortals. Fail
and I'll strike immediately."
"Oh, come now," said Kevan. "You can't seriously expect me to go in and
kidnap the girl out from under the nose of her father and I don't know
how many other characters. It's not fair."
"Its fair enough and you'll get no more from me," said Alviss. "Be off
with you--for if you're not back here by the end of the month, I'll
start my war."
"The end of the month? Mortal time or your own?"
"Mine, of course."
"How much time does that give me?" asked Kevan.
The dwarf scratched his head, lost in deep thought. Then he began
chanting to himself:
"Junius, Aprilis, Septemq, Novemq, tricenos
"Unum plus reliqui, Februs tenet octo vicenos
"At si bissextus fuerit superadditur unus--" He rolled his eyes toward
the roof and seemed to be counting. "That'll give you until tomorrow
morning," he finally announced.
"But that's impossible," exclaimed Kevan.
"Not impossible if you stretch your legs instead of standing here
stretching your tongue," said Alviss. "Your only problem with time is
getting from here to Yggdrasil and then from there to here. The time
you spend in Asgard will not count since time there does not exist in
relation to our time."
"Yggdrasil?" repeated Kevan. "Where is that?"
"That's part of your problem," said the dwarf. He turned back and began
stirring his cauldron and it was obvious that he intended to talk no
more. Kevan MacGreene turned and went back through the long, winding
tunnel.