The universe always provides a way for conflicts to be resolved and challenges to be overcome—no matter how great, no matter the odds against you.

The key is to stick to your current course until the way presents itself.

The moment Ian Twofold and his government hounds walked out the front door, the warehouse was locked tight. Every room was meticulously scanned for listening devices and video feeds. Ian had been too comfortable and far too knowledgable about them, especially Morty and Deloris’ involvement in the G.R.R.. Yet Cryo’s scans came up negative. In anger and frustration, Nat insisted on double and triple scans—and even checked Cryo’s calibrations to make sure its operating system had not been tampered with.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” he finally concluded, and immediately started searching for any hint of new spy technology online. Nothing came up. No matter how they pieced the information together—Ian’s knowledge stumped them.

“It shouldn’t be a great mystery,” said Lili from the corner of the room. Sitting with a blanked across her shoulders, she hunched over one of Höbin’s genealogical reference books. The jumbo volume of blue weathered leather teetered on the arm of the recliner. She stared up blankly at Wendell, and then those gathered around the breakfast table, as if they’d missed the obvious. “Ian wouldn’t need a listening device to know that we were here with Morty.”

“Yes, he would,” the tinkerer objected, “we’ve been secretive about this location at every step possible. We’ve hidden the S.L.A.G. transport, even…”

“Had interviews with reporters in your own kitchen,” she concluded.

Dax shook his head, “But Rishima interviewed Alhannah. Morty wasn’t even in the room, kid.”

She smiled sweetly, “Until he wandered in to grab and escort Chuck out of the room. Remember that night, when he’d lost his patience? He wandered in here, scowling and complaining out loud. Didn’t you interrupt the last part of the interview, Morty?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another bite of her toast and looked back at her book.

Nibbles laughed out loud. “For someone who says she’s uncomfortable with technology, she sure observes and remembers a lot.”

Deloris set her coffee cup down, “Alright, let’s say that’s true. So they know we’re here and they show up. That still doesn’t explain how he knew about me, or our affiliation with the resistance?”

Lili smiled to herself, but didn’t look up, “That could be a bluff. Wendell said Bellows supports all the factions, right? So the question is, would that include the G.R.R.? If so, Ian told us that the government watches where his money goes. I think he’s baiting you.”

It was one bit of information no one had any real answers to. The entire team ate in silence. One by one, they excused themselves and retired to their rooms, until only Deloris and Chuck remained with Wendell, who was perched on the couch.

Wendell had refused to even sit at the table during dinner. In fact, he couldn’t seem look anyone in the face since Ian forced him to agree to help the government. Dax had to prod him to eat, and when he finally did, it was sitting cross legged in front of the coffee table, his back to everyone else.

I made a deal with the devil. At the first sign of trouble here, where I’m supposed to be some champion of the people, I fold and give in to evil.

He shoved his plate further away from him and sank back into the couch. His stomach was in knots and his whole being wanted to flee. To run away. Not to hide—he was past that. No, he just wanted to run. To exhaust himself and make himself forget. To change his focus.

He hopped up from the couch and made it to the door before Deloris stopped him.

“Thank you, Wendell.”

His hand reached out and gripped the door frame. Her words were unexpected, and his legs almost fell out from under him. He lifted his chin to look back at her, uncertain. “For what?”

She patted his forearm and leaned over to give him a motherly kiss on the forehead. “For protecting me.”

His breathing quickened and he bit his lip, trying to control his desire to bolt.

“I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under,” she said softly, “but I know you care about other people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, how you truly care and worry about those around you.” Wendell lowered his eyes, but Deloris lifted his chin higher. “You…are a good person. Look at me, Wendell. It’s true and everyone here knows it.” Pulling him close, she hugged him tight, “You saved me. And I’m grateful.”

Chuck stood nearby, watching. He remained silent until Deloris left the room.

“She’s right, son. You are a good persons.”

“Stop it.”

“What? A woman can say it, but I can’t? I know you better than she does.” He tapped his temple, “I’ve been seeing you up here for years.”

Wendell smirked, “That doesn’t mean you know me, Chuck—it just means you’re mentally unstable.”

“Har, har,” the wizard replied, jabbing Wendell with his staff. “You think what you like, but we’ll figure something out. We just need to proceed as if that political fart residue never showed up in the first place.”

Wendell looked up at Chuck aghast. “You’ve got a mouth tonight.”

Grumbling, “Well I don’t like politicians. They always smile when they’re doing the nasty to people and they make up their own rules to keep from getting caught or stopped. Need to slip on banana peels down a well, the lot of them.”

“Ouch,” Wendell frowned. “Harsh.”

Chuck waved a hand, “I’m done. Don’t mind me. Let’s concentrate on one challenge at a time.”

****

With the wave of a hand and a “silmä inakmään,” the door to Chucks library reappeared.

Wendell looked surprised.

“What?” the wizard chuckled, “You think that only works on the Ithari and spoons?”

“I…never thought about it, actually.” Without thinking, Wendell ran his hand over the metal frame as if to reassure himself it was solid. “I guess I need to rethink how these spells can be used.”

“That you do, son. That you do indeed.”

Höbin had wasted little time making himself at home and Wendell quickly realized there were distinct advantages to being employed by a wizard who could pull who-knows-what out of his hat or sleeve. Nestled in the corner of the room, near Chucks desk and under the espresso machine, were two large barrels. A large mug sat on the edge of the desk, black residue along the rim.

“Is that…?”

Chuck shut the door and promptly locked it. He gave Wendell a sheepish grin, “Sometimes you need more of a kick to get the work flowing…if you know what I mean?” He held a finger up to his lips, “Best not let the monkey know we brought any of the black stuff with us.”

The gnome historian was hunched over Chucks desk, three candles atop black holders in the shape of hands positioned around him. Höbin poured over several small books and what looked to be a tiny laptop. Lili was back at her own desk, this time writing furiously with quill and ink—the huge green volume still in front of her.

“Anything new, Höbin?” Chuck asked, leading Wendell to the chairs in front of the fire.

“I think so,” said the fishis without looking up. “These guild records have been most helpful. The challenge I’m having is substantiating personal claims of greatness within the community, since every tinkerer says they are, in fact, the best.” He paused, looking up to adjust his bifocals. Smiling brightly, “Oh, hello Wendell! Good to see you, my boy. How are you faring in our great city thus far?”

Sitting down, Wendell stretched his legs. “Good. I think. I mean, I won my first Trench fight and made it to the second tier, but I seemed to have made a lot of people upset at me.”

Höbin sat back and stretched his own arms…adding a long yawn. “Have you now? Good for you!”

“Good?”

Smiling, “Gnomes are an emotional and critical group of creatures. You can’t do anything around here without making someone mad. With so many complex minds and strong opinions, you can’t expect to agree on anything across the board. So many experiences, so many points of view—so don’t bother trying.” He tapped his nose a few times, “Just remember you can’t fix stupid. Keep doing what you’re meant to do and all will work out just fine in the end.”

“Or the end will come and it won’t matter anyway,” muttered Chuck, then added a smug grin, “because it’ll be over.”

“Exactly!” Höbin blurted out. “Take this puzzle, for example. Chuck was sent here to give the seal to the greatest of all tinkerers, right?”

“That’s what I said,” the wizard snorted.

“The only problem is, gnomes like to claim fame. It’s in our nature. Most of us measure our personal value in how other people perceive us. One of what I consider our strengths, in turn, becomes one of our greatest weaknesses.”

Wendell shook his head, bewildered, “I’m not following.”

Höbin held up one of the small books in front of him. A black volume with a red spine and a long crimson ribbon hanging from between its pages. “This ledger is a copy of a scroll nearly three hundred years old. That means this document is about the right age of when Chuck claims he was approached by the Hero, which was, if I’m right, two hundred and thirty six years ago.”

“That’s what I said,” Chuck snorted again.

“This book holds the names of all the best tinkerers of that age. Which, according to their own records, was all of them.” Wendell’s face contorted, trying to comprehend the implications, which made the historian chuckle. “Each guild wants to be considered the most valuable among our people, Wendell. But the catch is, they measure the value of the guild…by the number of famous members of the guild. Make sense?”

“So the guild claiming the most members…”

“Even if they weren’t truly top of their class,” Höbin added.

“…means they’d be considered the best guild in the city?”

Höbin grinned and nodded, “Exactly. Which means my task now is to take the names from the guild and match them to city records.”

“How does that help? It all sounds like a lot of complicated ego-stroking to me.”

Lili popped her head up from her book, “May I answer that, Mr. Luckyfeller?”

The historian eased back into his chair and pulled out his long stem pipe. “By all means.”

Walking around to the other side of the desk, she handed Wendell the paper she’d been working on. It contained a long list of names, at least two hundred if he had to guess.

“Clockworks official records only record actual achievements which improve the lives of its citizens. The good thing is, the records give credit to anyone who contributes. So what we’re doing now is making a list of anyone mentioned in a guild ledger that is also mentioned in the city records. Most names mentioned in the guilds don’t exist in city records. So it’s likely a bluff to get guild ranking and it saves us time.”

Wendell handed the list back, “How do you find out who was actually the greatest tinkerer of all?”

Höbin struck a match and sucked the flame down into his pipe. “By looking at his or her actual contributions to Clockworks.”

Wendell considered this for several minutes, staring into the flames of the hearth. Chuck drifted off to sleep and started snoring, until Wendell blurted out, “That’s no guarantee that you’ll be right about who the tinkerer is.” He looked over at Höbin, who stared back through the rising smoke of his pipe. “And there’s no guarantee that finding someone back then will lead you to the person who has the seal now, does it.”

Höbin blew a perfect smoke ring. “No, it doesn’t.”

Wendell said nothing.

“Have some faith,” Lili said. “You’ve been led up to this point, haven’t you?”

The blunt view made Wendell laugh. “Yeah, in a looping pretzel kind of way.”

She crinkled her nose, “A…pretzel?”

“Never mind.”

Chuck snorted in his sleep, “Mmmmmm. Pretzels…mustard…pizza.”

Laughing, Wendell nudged the wizard with his foot.

“SNOCKHOCKEY!” Chuck blurted out and flipped over the arm of the chair. With a crack he hit the floor and laid there, unmoving.

“You ok?!” Wendell gasped, jumping to the wizards side. “I’m so sorry Chuck, I didn’t mean to startle you like that—y-you were snoring and…”

The wizard blinked several times, “Wha-? Oh, I’m fine, son. Just fine.” He smacked his lips together a few times, “Though I sure have a hankering for a salty pretzel about now.”

****

Wendell hardly slept that night, strange dreams of being trapped in a mud pit haunted him. He was spat from a large hole in the side of a mountain, all banged up and sore. When he stood up and looked around in the dim light, his nostrils were saturated with the scent of feces and waste, mold and death. He wasn’t alone, either. Gnomes in rags crawled about, digging through the muck, looking for what, he could only imagine.

What made it all worse, were the children. Tiny, innocent gnome children, sobbing and crying with bloated bellies, starving and crying out.

He awoke in a pool of sweat.

During breakfast, the team gathered around the kitchen table and couch, awaiting the new fight list. The room vibrated with music as WHRN announced the second tier of Trench Wars. Before the pot of coffee was drained, the rounds had been organized and assigned. Dax would go first against Hook and Betty 4.0, Alhannah fighting in the second round against Beatdown and Skyline. Wendell would be fighting last again, against Armored Ensemble and Alpha Fighter.

“We also have two official offers for side fights, if we’re interested,” Nat said out loud. “Though I have other inquiries, asking if we’d be open to side offers.”

Alhannah downed the last of her coffee. “Who offered?”

“It’s the Rydell Corporation, sponsoring. They have a couple buildings and a section that’s being demolished. The first offer is for Dax to fight versus Beatdown in a hand to hand match. They don’t want S.L.A.G. weapons, they want grappling to bring the building down. It’ll be covered by some of the local stations, so we’d get some great publicity as well. The other offer is for you and Wendell versus the Boom-Boom Brothers.”

Wendell frowned, almost laughing out loud, “The who?”

Alhannah walked to the sink and set her dishes in, “They were the two pilots that got bumped when Brothers Trench accepted my team offer. They’d already qualified, but you and Dax took their spots. Maybe they want some payback, I don’t know. They’re almost as new as you are to the games. Rich kids.”

“Lovely.”

Nat flipped up the lid to his laptop, “Do we want either?”

“What’s the pay?”

“20K credits for a loss, 80K for a win.”

Alhannah glanced over he shoulder, shocked. “That’s a huge purse.”

Nat nodded, “And that’s for Dax’s gig. If you and Wendell fight, they’ll pay 65K for a loss and 190K for a win.”

Freak pushed out from the table and gave his suspenders a snap. “Well I say butt grease and gear nuts. We could get rich just entertaining the side crowds!” He shook his coffee mug at Alhannah. “If you take those bouts, we’ll keep you primed for the games. That’s enough credits for any repairs I can think of—unless you totally botch the fights.” He adjusted the goggles over his eyes, “Even losin’, we can fix your S.L.A.G.’s within two days for the semi’s.”

Dax rapped his knuckles on the table, “Then sign me up.”

Wendell grinned at Alhannah and nodded as well. “Me too.”

Freak clapped his stained hands and rubbed them together vigorously. “Bout time we earn our keep! Break out the steel and torches ladies, we got some work to do!”