Each day, when Oster was gone, they would mix plaster and make a mold of some part of the lady — her hand or her arm or foot. The molds would then be filled with hot wax. It took several weeks of work to finally get adequate casts of the hands, and longer for the legs, torso, and face. The poor castings were melted in the hearth, as were a few good molds that had to be jettisoned when Oster returned in triumph too early.
Once, when taking the mold of the woman's head, Kali thought for a moment of covering her fully with plaster, of letting her perish. It would solve the problem, and make everything so much easier. Even if it did break Oster's heart.
But as the thoughts crossed his mind, Kali's hands began to shake, and he had to step outside to compose himself. They were unworthy thoughts, for both a healer and a gnome. Humans may take the easy route, but a little complexity never stopped a gnome. He would proceed as he had planned.
When the model was finished, Kali stored it in a hidden back room next to the Highlord armor. Using the hair of a long-haired fox, Kali fashioned a suitable wig, and Or ganathoran worked on duplicating the looks of a sick but living human being.
As the work completed, Kali placed an order with his fellow gnomes for a stonework mausoleum and a sepulchre. In true gnome fashion, the work took several tries, and resulted in a building whose design would drive mad the best human architects, complete with a long span of glossy black stone leading up to its foot-thick doors. The sepulchre itself was carved of crystal.
Kali's final plan was simple (for a gnome). The mannequin would be placed beneath the crystal in the tomb. Oster would be told that the crystal sepulchre would keep his lady alive in sleep for the rest of her days, for there was no way even Kali could cure her. Oster would be hurt, but it would be a hurt with hope for the future, a lesser hurt than losing one you love (at least, this was Kali's reasoning). The hell-spawn who wanted to throttle him would, at the same time, be placed in the ox-cart, unconscious, and set out without a driver on the road. By the time she awoke, she would be miles from the gnomes' remote home, with a few months missing from her life, and Kali would not be a murderer.
That was the plan, at least, and the leaves were just being to rum their fall colors when all was ready. Kali and Eton lugged the finished mannequin from its secret hiding place one day when Oster had been sent on some quest for Archie. They laid the figure to rest in the tomb and closed the fasteners. Beneath its glass now lay a beautiful princess suitable for use in a Human Story. Her lips were cold and red, and her eyes coated with bluish-tinged blush, never to open.
The entire task took them about two hours. When they returned, they were shocked to discover Oster there waiting for them.
Oster the Clockwork Hero was still in his plate armor, helmet tucked under his arm, pacing in the drawing room. He warmly welcomed Kali and Eton with a broad grin.
Kali coughed and launched into what he hoped was to be his last lie. "Oster, I must tell you terrible news. The condition of Lady Columbine has not remained constant while you were gone. Rather, it has worsened, such that we found it necessary to place her in a magical bier in a stone building on the hill. I'm sorry, but I'd.. " His voice trailed off as he looked into Oster's puzzled eyes.
"What are you talking about?" asked Oster. "She is still resting within." He motioned toward the bedroom door and Kali, for the first time, realized they left the secret closet open in that room. "I have glorious news. While traveling through the hill looking for ingredients, I chanced to rescue a priest — a true priest — one with the skills to heal the sick and cure the diseased. I brought him here to cure Lady Columbine. No slur on your abilities, Kali, my dear friend, but all your potions have been for nought. He's been in there for half an hour, ever since — "
Oster's words were cut short. The door to the bedroom snapped off its gnome-built, reinforced hinges. Through it came hurtling the broken body of the priest. The Dragon Highlord, dressed in full armor, strode into the room. Even with her features masked, Kali could sense that she was smiling. A dog-frightening, bird-throttling, cat-killing smile.
Kali's heart sank. The figurative jig was up, and Kali realized for the first time that he had built his invention of fiction without tightening the smallest bolt, building one lie upon another until he created an edifice of falsehoods, a structure that now swayed in the harsh wind of truth. He thought of the old Human Stories, and wished fervently for an easy fix — a wise old holy man to wander onto the scene and provide the solution to all problems.
And with another start, he realized that this was precisely what HAD almost happened. The holy man lay in a pool of his own blood, paying the price for wandering into the wrong tale.
But, while Kali's mind was stopping and starting, rushing from one revelation to another like a frightened child in an old house, the humans thundered on in the manner that all humans do. The Highlord laughed and leapt forward, lunging with a straight sword blow toward Oster's chest. The Clockwork Hero brought his own blade up quickly and parried the lunge, tossing his helmet at the Highlord. She dodged, but the bronze helm grazed her head, disorienting her for a moment. Oster used the moment to draw back into the room, waving to Kali and Eton to move away.
Kali and Eton scurried to the fireplace, which was graced by a number of Eton's new plow-share-shovels. These fireplace tools had a graceful sweep of metal welded to the base, making them useless for scooping ashes, but excellent for small gardening tasks and fair for bashing. The pair edged around the perimeter of the battle. Kali had heard that kender could merge into the stone itself and move without leaving a shadow. He desperately wished for that ability now.
Oster's attention was riveted on the dark-armored form before him. Kali expected the Highlord to taunt, laugh, snarl, and behave in the way of all good bad people when confronted with virtue, but the Highlord kept her input to a few growls of the mid-gear type. She lunged forward in a flurry of blows, lunges, and backswings. Oster parried them easily, and drove her back with a swing to the mid-section, a swipe to the head. What he lacked in form, he made up in force, and the Highlord was staggered when one of Oster's strong lunges caught her in the left arm.
They fought for a minute, two minutes, an eternity of three. The Highlord never lost track of the two gnomes (learning from her experience), and avoided all their attempts to get behind her. The two main combatants made quick work of most of Kali's living room furniture — every breakable was introduced to the dangers of being inadvertently close to clashing steel. The Highlord would charge, locking steel with Oster. The pair would stagger against each other in a few deadly dance steps, then one or the other would be flung backward, usually just far enough to reduce some other furnishing to its component parts. Lunge, the clash of locked blades, the stagger, the destruction of a chair. Lunge, lock, stagger, writing desk. Lunge, lock, stagger, spoon collection.
Sweat was now running down Oster's face in rivulets, but his eyes burned with fury. The battle had run long now, and Kali knew that all their deaths were long overdue. A bud of insight blossomed within his skull, and he suddenly understood why the Highlord had not made quick work of all of them. While Oster had been in training as the local hero of the gnomes, the Highlord had been under an enforced and extended rest for six months. While the Highlord was sufficiently powerful to make short work of a pair of gnomes, or a surprised cleric expecting a demure young lady, she was having more trouble with someone trained for combat.