Teldin stood, watching them go, until there was nothing left to see. Gomja, already shouldering both his own gear and the human’s, was waiting on the shore when the farmer finally, reluctantly, tramped off the pier. From the end of the landing there was only one choice of direction, a weedy track that cut straight through the sparse woods toward the mountainous inland of Sancrist. “Time to leave, Gomja,” Teldin mournfully said.
It was only an overnight hike to reach Mount Never- mind. The trail led first through meadow-patched forest and then gradually into the mountains’ lush foothills. All along the route lay reminders of the gnomes: rusted cogs buried under tree roots, vine-cloaked skeletons of ancient machinery, and, ever in the distance, the cone-shaped peak of Mount Nevermind itself. After a quiet night, marred only by Teldin’s silent fears that the gnomes might refuse him, the pair set off on the final leg of their trek. Gomja, who fully expected to return to space, was positively jaunty as they marched.
It was midafternoon when the road finally crested a rocky ridge and dropped down into the valley that nestled against Nevermind’s slopes. There was no mistaking the gnomes mountain, for the entire region was landscaped on an immense scale that only maniacally industrious hands could have accomplished. The forest ended in a straight, clean line at the rim of the valley. Beyond that unnatural boundary were carefully laid fields that filled the perfectly level valley floor. The road cut straight through these to the massive mountain peak at the far end.
The mountain was the most extraordinary feature, more so than anything Teldin had been led to expect. Captain Luciar had said only, “You will know when you find it.” The peak would have been a perfect cone, shaped by volcanic action eons ago, except that the sides had been sliced into series of terraces, reducing the overall shape of the mountain to a giant staircase reaching up to the clouds. Teldin was dumbfounded by the sheer size of it-an entire mountain, the tallest on all of Sancrist, had been carved into a single massive ziggurat.
“This must be Mount Nevermind, sir,” Gomja offered helpfully, his small eyes open wide with amazement.
“You’re right, Gomja.” The farmer spoke mechanically, for he was too awed to show any other emotion.
Advancing with greater caution, Teldin and Gomja picked their way down the slope. On the valley floor, the road bridged innumerable canals and ditches, part of an intricate irrigation system that radiated from the peak. On the distant terraces, Teldin could see planned waterfalls where aqueducts descended to lower levels and tracks where things were hauled up. A scraggly forest of cranes creaked in the distant wind, filling the valley with the echoing cries of mechanical birds.
The road ended at a pair of bronze doors, larger than any gates Teldin had ever seen. It took the pair almost an hour to reach the massive valves. The bronze was smooth and polished but unadorned, and the evening sun’s glare off the gleaming surface was almost blinding.
“Well, this is it,” Teldin said with grim finality as he pounded against the great gate.
Nothing happened.
Teldin banged again, beating at the door with all his might, but he barely made the metal valves echo. Gomja stepped up and helped him, and the pair thumped the doors for all they were worth. Still nothing happened. Finally, in desperation, Teldin beat the bronze with the butt of his spear. A faint ringing sound echoed from inside.
Before the echoes faded, there was a metallic scrape and the perfectly smooth door was marred by a small peephole that opened high over their heads. A pair of tiny eyes glared down through the opening.
“Youcan’tgetinbybanging. Youhavetousethedooralarm. It’s-’’
“What?” Teldin asked, unprepared for the barrage of gibberish from the muffled voice. It seemed like Common speech, but the words went by so fast.
The little face stopped and scowled. “Whatisthematter? DoyounotunderdstandCommon, whichlam-speaking? ItisCommon, anditisnotmyfaultifyouareoutsiderswhodonot. knowthatyouhavetopressthedoor-alarm”
“What?” Teldin pleaded, “Slow down!”
There was a loud sigh from overhead, then the little, bearded face began again, saying every word with exaggerated precision. “I said, you can’t get in by banging, because you have to use the door alarm, which is that little button alongside the door, and if you push it, the door might be opened if the Doormaker’s Guild says it’s all right, which it might-”
Teldin suspected that the gnome might go on talking forever, so he reached out and pressed the small, black button alongside the door. The gnome’s declaration, which definitely was still going on, was interrupted by a blaring claxon. Teldin, his finger still on the button, leaped back in terror at the thundering noise, and Gomja tensed, his huge body striking a fighting pose. Only the gnome seemed unfazed by the racket. “There, that is much better, because now I, as a member of the Doormaker’s Guild, may open the gate and . .
The little, talking face disappeared from the window. From inside came a series of rattles, groans, clanks, whistles, and wheezes. With a rattling hiss and a fitful cloud of steam that leaked from the hinges, the doors slowly swung inward. A little brown-skinned man, slightly smaller than a dwarf, stood in the center of the doorway. He wore simple tradesman’s clothes, a once-white, loose shirt and coarse pants covered with a stout leather apron. Quills, small tools, and rolled up sheets of paper poked out of every pocket and even stuck out from the wild tangles of his hair and beard.
“WhyhaveyoucometothewonderfulGreatHugeTall Mound-MadeofSeveralDifferentStrataofRock-”
What?” Teldin demanded for the third time. His spear, still in hand, swung ominously up as his exasperation increased. Gomja laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Calm, sir. It’s the way gnomes speak. I’ve heard them like this before.” Teldin took a deep breath and nodded understandingly.
“-WhichOccasionallyCometotheSurfaceandFlowDownthe-SideoftheGreatHugeTallMoundthatOurAncestorsLearned-fromtheHumansWasReallyCalledMountNevermind,” finished the doorkeeper, apparently all in one huge breath. The gnome stood there panting and waiting for a response.
“Think carefully before you answer,” Teldin whispered to himself, sensing that the wrong word probably would set the doorkeeper off on an unending string of gibberish. The farmer quickly cast a cautionary look to Gomja. as if to warn the giff to keep silent while Teldin thought. Finally, he composed an answer. “I come because I was given a magical cloak and now I can’t take it off. If the gnomes can remove it, I would be glad to leave it with them and go back home to Kalaman. Please speak slowly when you answer." Teldin braced himself for the reply.
“I always speak slowly. That is why I am the doorkeeper,” the gnome answered indignantly, his words picking up pace as he went along. Teldin held up a hand, and the gnome restrained himself. Perhaps to keep his furious mind occupied, the gnome pulled out parchment, quill, and ink from his voluminous pockets, sat in the middle of the roadway, and prepared to take notes. “Strange cloak, eh? If you want the cloak examined for weave, you’ll have to go to the Weaver’s Guild, but if the color is important, that is a problem for the Dyer’s Guild. On the other hand, if the thread is important, that would be the Weaver’s Guild again, but since you said you cannot take it off, the Jeweler’s Guild might have to be called in to look at the clasp, unless it is magical, in which case-”
“Magical, as I said before,” Teldin interrupted, seizing on something he understood in the gnome’s stream of speech.
The gnome stopped, scowled, made a note on his sheet, and looked up at Teldin again. “Magical examinations are on the fifteenth floor, but before you can go I need to know if the cloak is only apparently magical, magically powered by an outside source, or-