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The Inventor's Daughter (by Taraiha)
From WikiWatch
Chapter 1: Friends
Disbank: A huge mega-tropolis sprawling the Cambine River in the Darkcap Mountains. The only city north of the Everwood Range worth visiting.Population: 4,500,000. (1)
As with most gnomish cities, Disbank, (still regarded as ‘teckernikly a town’ by it’s occupants due to its failure to top the five million mark) had begun small. One uneventful and somewhat overcast day, Ongpip Plunkthustle set down his cart and declared to his wife and thirty-one children that ‘Dis bank seem alright fer built a fire on’. After three weeks of ‘Juss putting uppa sant-box fer da kiddies’ and ‘Juss putting uppa glass-box fer grow me daisies’ they had all agreed that it was probably easier to stay put than pack up and move elsewhere.
Given that gnomes on average live between three hundred and three hundred and fifty years and that they are considered fully grown adults (or at least, as tall as they are ever likely to get) at thirty years, it is hardly surprising that in little over half a century ‘Disbank’ was already on its way to becoming the large, thriving and wealthy town it is today.
The town prospered, largely due to the inventiveness of its inhabitants. In human circles gnomes were known as ‘the little people with big ideas’. Whilst Dwarven societies regarded them less as cute and more like a necessary evil, they were nonetheless gracious in recognising gnomish achievements.
Dwarves took credit (and rightly so) for being able to hew great stones from the rock and build gargantuan cathedrals inside the very mountains themselves. Humans tilled the land and raised animals, learning to bring water to their parched pastures. The elves, at one with the forest, sought the solitude of the trees and sang the stories of the ages to the stars.
And the gnomes? The gnomes invented. When the dwarves built walls, the gnomes invented plumb-lines and spirit levels. When the human cattle became sick, the gnomes invented cures from the local plants (and on certain months of the year threw in a hefty discount on crop sprays for getting rid of blackfly). They even taught the elves a thing or two about A-frame construction and the practical uses of dead bolts.
You see, the gnomes had three characteristics generic to their race; short stature, large feet and curiousity. Never was there a gnome who was afraid to say ‘What if…?’ Professor Thistlebug Tangletots, a Deep Thinker of the times before Ongpip’s Caravan, had postulated the idea that this was possibly due to an equally generic trait he called ‘Bone-Idleness’. His counterpart, the Great Professor Dunkwink Merryplank had argued that just because one had a talent for finding an easier way of doing things did not make one inherently lazy, merely wise. Very soon, every self-respecting gnome who preferred to be known as Genius rather than Lazy Slob had bought his book. (2)
Taraiha yawned, sighed and rubbed her eyes, becoming suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was already 3 inches into the large volume that was sprawled across the table in front of her. She rose, a little stiffly, to look out of the window at the Big Sundial.
“I’s best be gettin home. Is nerly teatime.” She muttered to herself.
A fierce-looking, bespectacled gnome glared across the room at its only other occupant and motioned her to silence with a small, bony finger. Taraiha, trying to look apologetic and defiant at the same time, carefully placed a name marker in the book, closed it with an echoing thud, then packed her quills, ink bottles and notebooks into her satchel a little less noiselessly than she could have.
As she walked past Missus Slatt, who was still glaring at her, she said cheerily (and a little too loudly) “Be back tamorra!” and left, grinning and waving before Missus Slatt could explain to her, at great length and not for the first time, about the ‘Strikly NO Spikkin’ rule.
She was less than twenty minutes walk from her home when she spotted her friend Dopplin. He was scuttling towards her armed with several bulging sacks and a small box which he promptly dropped whilst trying to wave, sending needles and gut-thread tumbling across the track.
“’Boo T!!!!!!!!” he saluted her.
She grinned. “Dopplin! Boo yerself!”
“I’s see yous bin booklearnin again.” He threw his friend a lop-sided grin.
“I has” she nodded, placing the last of the bobbins into the box and snapping the lid shut. “What yous bin upta?” She raised an eyebrow, inspecting the rags poking out of the top of the nearest sack.
“I’s bin upta see Ole Missus Cogwhistle” replied Dopplin, his face beaming with pride. “Hers gonna teach me broidery and sewin an stuffs. Mek purdy dresses an stuffs.”
Taraiha looked suitably impressed. “Ooh… Dat good! I cannit do broidery. Me fingas is too chubby.”
Dopplin inspected the digits being waggled in front of him and nodded solemnly.
“Yup,” he nodded. “Is fiddly bissness. But Ole Misssus Cogwhistle say I’s good attit.” He gave another lop-sided grin.
Taraiha took up pace next to her friend, smiling to herself as they headed towards East Town in companionable silence. She was pleased Dopplin had learned a new skill. He had never taken to reading or making potions like Taraiha had and wasn’t the kind of gnome you would trust with magic or who had bright ideas. At least, no bright ideas that other gnomes hadn’t had first, fully investigated and decided against because of the cost of insurance. Apart from excelling in athletics, he had always been a little on the goofy side and laughed at by most of his family, who saw him as clumsy and less intelligent than most.
But as Taraiha had often told him, he wasn’t less intelligent, he just knew different things. He just had to find out what they were. Dopplin, who had always looked up to his book-learned cousin, had taken her advice and after trying his somewhat clumsy hands at various things had apparently found someone who thought he had enough potential at their trade to try to teach it to him. Taraiha was genuinely pleased for him. If there was one thing she had learned from books it was that everyone was good at something and it wasn’t always just being useless at everything.
Dopplin broke the silence. “So what yous bin readerisin taday den?”
Taraiha grimaced and put on a mock-posh accent. “Disbank; A Small Potted History of a Large Town by the Rightly Honoured and Acclaimed Mista R D Plank Esquire.”
Dopplin blinked.
“Is not verra innerestin.” She shook her head. “Is a big book writabout Disbank by summon who obferissly never bin ere an dunna really know what hims spikkin bout.”
Dopplin blinked again. Why yous readerisin it then?”
Another grimace. “Me Daddy fink I spentin too much time readerisin on stuffs bout places I’s never gonna go and learnin langitches I’s never gonna spik.” Taraiha sighed heavily and Dopplin thought he detected a twinge of sadness in his friend’s voice. “Hims thinkin I’s gonna stay here ferevva.”
They walked the rest of the way without speaking and stopped when they reached the gate of Dopplin’s hut.
“Taraiha?”
“What?” she said absentmindedly, tucking the box of threads into the top of a sack.
“Is yous leavin?”
Taraiha seemed to awaken from a day dream and gave him a curious look.
“Not taday” she said.
Dopplin thought for a moment then continued.
“Taraiha?”
“What?”
“When yous goes off aventurisin, can I’s come?”
For a second she felt teary as she saw the look of hope in his eyes. Then she grinned and started running off up the track toward her own hut, purple pigtails flapping wildly in the breeze.
“O course!” she shouted back over her shoulder.
(1) (“Give or tek”, as Briar Findleshanks, Chief Town Historian, had told the Calarithyn Legislator every Counting Day for the last one hundred and four years).
(2) It was rumoured that he made so much money from sales that he retired almost immediately afterwards and spent the rest of his days learning to sail his boat around the seas of the Middleterrainian. It is also rumoured that this not-so-small-fortune was bequeathed to the gnomish people at large (in numbers if not in height) upon his death. It is believed that the money was used to found such noble institutions as the Crimblecrack Laboratory in the Eastern Plains.
Chapter 2: Meet the Parents
She threw her satchel onto the table and ran to the stove, pushing her mother out of the way to breathe deeply from the large crock-pot.
“Mmm! Goat Stew!” She grinned at her mother as Trishia Lightwuluf flapped a dishrag at her.
“Now, now! Off wit yous! Go trubble yous Daddy, I’s bizzy ere!” Her mother gave a mock frown and bustled off to the pantry.
Quick as a flash, Taraiha grabbed a spoon to sample the wares. Before it reached her mouth it was flicked from her hand by the rag.
“Stopdat! Wait fer dinna!” Her mother stood, hands on hips, feet set apart, ready to take on her eldest daughter. Kender-born Trishia had a fierceness about her that few would tangle with. Few that is, except her eldest and cheekiest daughter. Taraiha giggled and threw her arms round her mother.
“Mommy, not be maddit da Taraiha. Is juss looks so yummy!”
Trishia relaxed and hugged her daughter back. “Yes, yes, now go way leave I workify in peace.”
Taraiha grinned and headed toward the backdoor. “I be out da shed wit Daddy den” she said as she made her way through the door to the yard.
Trinkletunk Lightwuluf the Third, Gnome, Inventor and Genius, spent most of his days, (and nights, much to the dismay of his long-suffering wife) in a large shed at the back of the house. Scattered around the wood-built structure were piles large and small metal objects that resembled the scrap-heaps of the Dwarves. There were also various bits of off-cut wood, rags, oil cans, buckets of water and the occasional notebook that had accidentally found its way outside, one of which Taraiha was currently rescuing in order to return it to it’s owner.
There were strange whirring and popping noises coming from inside the hut and the occasional mumble.
“Danfangled sonovva…. gah… blasted cogwhinkler…. oh now…. Dammit!”
Taraiha pushed the door open as far as the assortment of papers and books piled behind it would allow and was met by a gale of steam that escaped from a large tube and made its way to freedom through the door just above her head. She poked her head around the door for a better view and sighed when she saw the piles of paperwork.
“Yous really oughta get onna dey filin cabernet fings from Wimpleplanks Daddy.” Unable to even begin to tidy up she threw the newly retrieved tome onto the pile with the others with a sigh.
“Wha..?” Her father looked up, surprised to see her, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Taraiha! Oh my dear… come lookit what yous ole Daddy doned taday!” He puffed his chest out and ushered her towards a large contraption that took up most of one side of the shed. He shooed a black tom-cat off the bench and indicated to Taraiha to sit in the chair.
Taraiha gazed at the mangled mess of planks, wires, metal piping and occasional puffs of strange coloured smoke.
“Ooh” she gasped, hoping that this would prompt her father to tell her what it was supposed to be.
“You likes yes?” Trinkletunk grinned at her, nodding his head vigorously in the way only excited Gnomes can do. “Is a Great Invenshin innit!”
Taraiha nodded, trying to look as excited as her father. “Oh yes! Gnomie likes verra much! Is bootiful!”
There was a pause as they both contemplated the strange object before them. Taraiha wracked her brain to find a way of finding out what it was supposed to be without upsetting her father’s delicate Inventor’s Ego.
“What yous gonna call it Daddy?” she ventured.
“Well, da workin title…” Trinkletank coughed slightly, “not really da kinda name yous call fings in polite societies,” he winked at his daughter and she giggled, “but I wer finkin mebbes I callit a ‘Majikul Box’.” Again he puffed his chest out as if this explained everything.
Taraiha, looking dutifully impressed but still none the wiser, gingerly touched a large panel near the front. “Yous gonna show gnomie howwit workify den Daddy?”
Trinkletunk beamed. He loved nothing more than to show off his inventions, especially to an appreciative audience.
“Well…” he bustled around her flipping switched and cranking levers, “is not quite finisheded yet, but is gonna be a majikul way o storing all dem books yous likes so much. Yous put yous books in ere…” He grabbed the recently retrieved notebook from the pile and dropped it into a funnel next to him. There was a weird whirring noise as parts of the machine began to move. Realising that her proximity to it was probably dangerous, Taraiha shrank back into her chair and watched as whistles and lights began to whiz into life. Another belch of steam left the pipe at the top, hung around menacingly for a moment, and then made its way out of the window.
The noises stopped and the machine settled down into a gentle hum.
“So… wher da book goned Daddy?”
“Aha! Wait til yous see!” He pulled back a small curtain at the front of the machine to reveal a glass panel. Behind it, the notebook sat on a pair of small mechanical arms. “Now watch!” He flipped another switch and the arms sprang into life, moving the book nearer the panel and opening it up at the first page.
Taraiha gasped. “Oh! What it do next?” Her father’s excitement was beginning to catch on.
Another switch was flipped and a lever pulled. The arms sprang into motion again, this time turning a page.
“Yous reads da book onda screen an when yous finished da page yous does dis…” more flipping and pulling of levers and the arms turned another page.
Trinkletank stood back and admired his work as his daughter dutifully read a page, flipped the switch and pulled the lever, just as he had shown her and the pages turned again.
She sat back in her chair and grinned at him. “Dis gots potenshill Daddy” she nodded encouragingly. “Annit workify pefikt too” she added.
“Ah… but wait! There’s more!” Trinkletank pointed up into the roof.
Strung across the rafters was what looked like a washing line with pieces of paper pegged to it. The line wound around the room a couple of times, went out the back window, came back in the front window and rejoined the loop just to her right.
“Dems not Mommy’s clothes pegs issem?” His daughter asked suspiciously.
Trinkletank coughed. “Well, yes, but I’s’ll getter some more,” he shrugged and went back to gazing at his handy work. “Dis I gotsa name fer alreddy.”
Taraiha waited for the reveal moment.
“Dis I gonna call De Mail” he announced triumphantly.
“Da Mail? But we’s gots da mail alreddy. Mista Cartlebonk bringit evvy mornin.” Taraiha looked confusedly at her father.
He waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. “No, no, no. DE mail, not DA mail. Is more quickerer! Lookit!”
He pegged another piece of paper to the string and flipped a lever near the bottom of the machine. The machine moved again, moving the string in a circular motion and Taraiha watched the piece of paper as it made its way around the room and out of the window.
“Imajin! If der wer onna dese in evvy house. Evvy buddy be ablea contact evvy buddy straight ways. It be likea meedeyit messegerisin sissem. Much more quickerer den sentin a note wit da posty man, quickerer den yous coult get der by cart.” Trinkletank waved his arms expansively. “Evenshimilly, ders’d be one atween da cities” he came up close to Taraiha and looked her in the eyes. “Yous’d be ablea sent yous Aunty Meadipal a De Mail on yous burpday fankhers fer hers luvvy presint an hers gettit da same day!”
Taraiha raised an eyebrow. Of all people who would send a lovely present to her on her birthday her Aunty Meadipal, who’s taste was weird at best, was the least likely; and the person least likely to thank her for it was her niece. Still, she couldn’t deny her father might have something here.
“So, ders’d be onna dese masheens in evvybuddies housie. An dems all haff dese lil string fings and evvybuddy ablea sent notes ta evvybuddy?” She tried to work out the logistics in her head.
Her father nodded, still obviously excited. “O course, I’s gotta work out some figgas, like how much string we gonna need an da wear an tear costs onna clothed pegs, buttit gonna be Big, yous wait an see! One day, evvybuddy gonna haff onna dese in der shed!” His eyes gleamed with another reveal. “An I gonna call da whole sissem….” He paused for dramatic effect. “Da Intyweb!”
It took Taraiha a moment to catch on. Then her mind painted a picture of millions of yards of string hanging all over the city like a spider web and she nodded, smiling.
“Yous right Daddy, is gonna be dead Big.” She nodded and got out of the chair to hug him. Trinkletank grinned so widely you could have seen his teeth from the other end of the street.
“I knewwit! I knewwit! I showed it ta Ole Gumshimple smornin an hims din’t like it one bit! But I knewwit! Yous youngsters gonna luvvit! Is gonna be da Way o da Foochur fer yous!” He bustled around his shed again, searching for papers, pulling a pipe from under the workbench, grabbing a tape measure from his pocket.
“Now, the gongwangle needa be… hmm… dat not gonna work wittouta…” he wandered out the back door of the shed, still muttering to himself and began rummaging around in a pile of spare parts.
Taraiha shrugged and left him to his work, returning to the kitchen to see if dinner was any closer to being ready. The smell of gimbleberry pie wafted towards her and she grinned; her favourite. She hoped there would be lots of hot, thick custard to go with it.
Her mother looked up as Taraiha passed through the kitchen, grabbed her satchel and headed for the stairs at the back of the house. “What yous Daddy upta taday?” She looked at Taraiha with the kind of weary but bemused expression she had learned from 92 years of being married to The City’s Greatest Inventor.
“Mekkin a verra verra big bookstand” she called back as she wandered up towards her bedroom.
