Unfortunately, as Gnimsh sat down, the chair tilted too far backward, flipping the gnome out on his head. Grumbling, he climbed back in it and pressed a lever. This time, the footrest flew up, striking him in the nose. At the same time, the back came forward and, before long, Tas had to help rescue Gnimsh from the chair, which appeared to be eating him.
“Drat,” said the gnome and, with a wave of his hand, he sent the chair back to wherever it had come from, and sat down, disconsolately, on Tasslehoff’s stool.
Having visited gnomes and seen their inventions before, Tasslehoff mumbled what was proper.
“Quite interesting... truly an advanced design in chairs...
“No, it isn’t,” Gnimsh snapped, much to Tas’s amazement. “It’s a rotten design. Belonged to my wife’s first cousin. I should have known better than to think of it. But”—he sighed “sometimes I get homesick.”
“I know,” Tas said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. “If—if you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing here, if you’re—uh—not dead?”
“Will you tell me what you’re doing here?” Gnimsh countered.
“Of course,” said Tas, then he had a sudden thought. Glancing around warily, he leaned forward. “No one minds, do they?” he asked in a whisper. “That we’re talking, I mean? Maybe we’re not supposed to—”
“Oh, they don’t care,” Gnimsh said scornfully. “As long as we leave them alone, we’re free to go around anywhere. Of course,” he added, “anywhere looks about the same as here, so there’s not much point.”
“I see,” Tas said with interest. “How do you travel?”
“With your mind. Haven’t you figured that out yet? No, probably not.” The gnome snorted. “Kender were never noted for their brains.”
“Gnomes and kender are related,” Tas pointed out in miffed tones.
“So I’ve heard,” Gnimsh replied skeptically, obviously not believing any of it.
Tasslehoff decided, in the interests of maintaining peace, to change the subject. “So, if I want to go somewhere, I just think of that place and I’m there?”
“Within limits, of course,” Gnimsh said. “You can’t, for example, enter any of the holy precincts where the dark clerics go—”
“Oh.” Tas sighed, that having been right up at the top of his list of tourist attractions. Then he cheered up again. “You made that chair come out of nothing and, come to think of it, I made this bed and this stool. If I think of something, will it just appear?”
“Try it,” Gnimsh suggested.
Tas thought of something.
Gnimsh snorted as a hatrack appeared at the end of the bed. “Now that’s handy.”
“I was just practicing,” Tas said in hurt tones.
“You better watch it,” the gnome said, seeing Tas’s face light up. “Sometimes things appear, but not quite the way you expected.”
“Yeah.” Tas suddenly remembered the tree and the dwarf. He shivered. “I guess you’re right. Well, at least we have each other. Someone to talk to. You can’t imagine how boring it was.” The kender settled back on the bed, first imagining—with caution—a pillow. “Well, go ahead. Tell me your story.”
“You start.” Gnimsh glanced at Tas out of the corner of his eye.
“No, you’re my guest.”
“I insist.”
“I insist.”
“You. After all, I’ve been here longer.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do... Go on.”
“But—” Tas suddenly saw this was getting nowhere, and though they apparently had all eternity, he didn’t plan on spending it arguing with a gnome. Besides, there was no real reason why he shouldn’t tell his story. He enjoyed telling stories, anyway. So, leaning back comfortably, he told his tale. Gnimsh listened with interest, though he did rather irritate Tas by constantly interrupting and telling him to “get on with it,” just at the most exciting parts.
Finally, Tas came to his conclusion. “And so here I am. Now yours,” he said, glad to pause for breath.
“Well,” Gnimsh said hesitantly, looking around darkly as though afraid someone might be listening, “it all began years and years ago with my family’s Life Quest. You do know”—he glared at Tas—“what a Life Quest is?”
“Sure,” said Tas glibly. “My friend Gnosh had a Life Quest. Only his was dragon orbs. Each gnome has assigned to him a particular project that he must complete successfully or never get into the Afterlife.” Tas had a sudden thought. “That’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“No.” The gnome shook his wispy-haired head. “My family’s Life Quest was developing an invention that could take us from one dimensional plane of existence to another. And”—Gnimsh heaved a sigh— “mine worked.”
“It worked?” Tas said, sitting up in astonishment.
“Perfectly,” Gnimsh answered with increasing despondency. Tasslehoff was stunned. He’d never before heard of such a thing—a gnomish invention that worked... and perfectly, too! Gnimsh glanced at him. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’m a failure. You don’t know the half of it. You see all of my inventions work. Every one.”
Gnimsh put his head in his hands.
“How—how does that make you a Failure?” Tas asked, confused.
Gnimsh raised his head, staring at him. “Well, what good is inventing something if it works? Where’s the challenge? The need for creativity? For forward thinking? What would become of progress? You know,” he said with deepening gloom, “that if I hadn’t come here, they were getting ready to exile me. They said I was a distinct threat to society. I set scientific exploration back a hundred years.”
Gnimsh’s head drooped. “That’s why I don’t mind being here. Like you, I deserve it. It’s where I’m likely to wind up anyway.”
“Where is your device?” Tas asked in sudden excitement. “Oh, they took it away, of course,” Gnimsh answered, waving his hand.
“Well”—the kender thought—“can’t you imagine one? You imagined up that chair?”
“And you saw what it did!” Gnimsh replied. “Likely I’d end up with my father’s invention. It took him to another plane of existence, all right. The Committee on Exploding Devices is studying it now, in fact, or at least they were when I got stuck here. What are you trying to do? Find a way out of the Abyss?”
“I have to,” Tas said resolutely. “The Queen of Darkness will win the war, otherwise, and it will all be my fault. Plus, I’ve got some friends who are in terrible danger. Well, one of them isn’t exactly a friend, but he is an interesting person and, while he did try to kill me by making me break the magical device, I’m certain it was nothing personal. He had a good reason... .”
Tas stopped.
“That’s it!” he said, springing up off the bed. “That’s it!” he cried in such excitement that a whole forest of hatracks appeared around the bed, much to the gnome’s alarm.
Gnimsh slid off his stool, eyeing Tas warily. “What’s it?” he demanded, bumping into a hatrack.
“Look!” Tas said, fumbling with his pouches. He opened one, then another. “Here it is!” he said, holding a pouch open to show Gnimsh. But, just as the gnome was peering into it, Tas suddenly slammed it shut. “Wait!”
“What?” Gnimsh asked, startled.
“Are they watching?” Tas asked breathlessly. “Will they know?”
“Know what?”
“Just—will they know?”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” Gnimsh answered hesitantly. “I can’t say for sure, since I don’t know what it is they’re not supposed to know. But I do know that they’re all pretty busy, right now, from what I can tell. Waking up evil dragons and that sort of thing. Takes a lot of work.”
“Good,” Tas said grimly, sitting on the bed. “Now, look at this.” He opened his pouch and dumped out the contents. “What does that remind you of?”