Blood Ties by Peter David

to just hurl insults from hiding instead of . . .” I was going to say “showing yourself” but anticipated another off-color distortion of a harmless sentiment, and so changed it to, “. . . coming out here and accepting my thanks . . . well, let those reasons remain your own. But know this: I am grateful to you, and Ben Finn’s gratitude knows no boundaries. I am eternally in your debt . . .”
    â€œAnd would shoot me given half a chance.”
    â€œNever!” I protested. “I’m not someone who forgets services that other people do for him, especially when those services save my stupid neck. I swear, on my honor, that I would never do you any harm or, by standing aside, allow someone else to do you harm. I take my debts seriously, and I owe you one that can never be repaid.”
    â€œVery pretty words.”
    I wasn’t thinking about their prettiness but just their honesty. “It’s not just words. It’s a solemn oath. I would never hurt you or take any action against you. As long as”—and I laughed—“you didn’t try to kill me, of course.”
    â€œWhy would I kill you? You’re much more entertaining alive. Besides, I don’t have to kill you. Sooner or later, you’ll get yourself killed.”
    â€œLook,” I said, my patience starting to wear thin, “I’ve said my piece. You’ve said yours. You have my gratitude whether you want it or not. Now either show yourself, so I can shake your hand and thank you properly, or continue to hide and toss about insults because . . . I don’t know, because you have some deep-seated need to try to get me angry. I promise you, though, that you’re not going to succeed.”
    â€œI won’t?”
    â€œNo. In fact, I bet we could actually be friends.”
    There was a rustling of trees from overhead, and something suddenly dropped directly in front of me, landing in a crouch. It looked like a gargoyle come to life. Its nose and ears were pointed. It was wearing overlarge shoes, leggings, a loose shirt, and a conical hat perched atop its head. It was hard to tell how tall it was since it was so low to the ground, but I didn’t peg it as being more than three feet high. Still, one couldn’t judge how dangerous something was in Albion simply by its size, or lack thereof. Instantly, I started to reach for my pistol, not knowing what the thing in front of me was and not caring.
    And then I stood there, stunned, my hand hovering over the butt of my pistol, because the thing opened its mouth and the voice of my “savior” emerged from it.
    â€œOh, we could be best friends,” it said, “if I liked people with arses for faces.” Then it nodded toward the pistol I was still reaching for but hadn’t quite gotten around to drawing. “Nice big weapon there. Compensating for something?”
    â€œ You’re what saved me?” I said, incredulous. “What are you?”
    I had thought that it couldn’t have sounded more disdainful before. I was wrong. “Don’t you know anything, aside from how to make yourself an easy target? I’m a gnome, you ignorant twat.”
    â€œA gnome?”
    â€œThat’s right. Repeat it a few times, and maybe it’ll stick. You know: like excrement does to your backside because you never remember to wipe it.”
    I’d heard rumors about the creatures in the same way that everyone hears random stories about things that have gone wrong in the world. From what I’d picked up here and there, supposedly there was some fool in Brightwall who’d had a garden full of gnome statues. Somehow, the stupid things had come to life and spread throughout the entirety of Albion. There were those who claimed that our noble ruler was actually responsible for the mishap in some manner, but I dismissed such suggestions out of hand. Our ruler had many enemies and detractors who seized any