Gremlins, Go Home!

3

“Lugh!” yelped Baneen. “You overgrown, great—”

Lugh spun around to face the smaller gremlin, and Baneen’s tone changed abruptly, sweetly, “—man of wisdom that you are, now. Surely yourself has figured out that the lad must be able to talk with us and see us, if he’s to be the means of aiding our poor friend O’Rigami in his and our time of need.”

Lugh, who looked as if he had just been about to leap at Baneen, settled back, frowning, and stroked his chin whiskers.

“Oh?” he said thoughtfully. “O’Rigami, is it now?”

“Who else, and what else would it be? Ah, I see it’s yourself has it all figured out already. Here we are, out of the goodness of our green gremlin hearts—”

Mr. Sheperton snorted.

“—the goodness of our hearts, I was saying,” Baneen went on blandly, “about to help this lad in his troubles. What more likely, I can see you’re thinking, than he’d wish to do us a small favor in return? Sure, and it’d be no more than a second’s effort for a bright lad such as himself who’s not bothered by cold iron and all the hard things men put about to bar out the likes of us.”

“Ah. Hmm…” Lugh turned back to scowl thoughtfully at Rolf.

“Come, Lugh!” cried Baneen. “Surely you’ve got a smile for the young man, after your fearsome looks of a moment ago.”

“A… smile…” muttered Lugh. He made an effort to smile at Rolf. It was about as effective as if a bulldog had tried to simper.

Mr. Sheperton either cleared his throat or growled. It was hard to tell which. “ ’Ware the gremlin bearing promises,” he muttered. “If the Trojans had listened to that advice, they’d have never let that horse inside their gates…”

“Just a minute,” Rolf said. He sat up and crossed his legs. He was feeling braver now than he had a few minutes before. Not because of Lugh’s smile—a tiger would not have felt much braver after having been smiled at by Lugh—but because something Baneen had said was ringing in his ears. Baneen had hinted that there was something that he, Rolf, could do that not all the gremlins with their obviously magical powers, could do. Rolf wanted to learn just what it was.

“Go on, Baneen,” he said. “The least I can do is listen.”

“Said the fly to the spider,” growled Mr. Sheperton.

“Now, now, it’s no spider I am at all!” Baneen snapped. “A wee wisp of a gremlin, that’s all, far from the golden sands and stinging winds of my native home, helpless on a stranger shore. And so are we all, young Rolf. Indeed, all the gremlins in exile on watery Earth now cast themselves on your mercy. Only you, Rolf Gunnarson, whose name shall ring down the halls of human and gremlin history (if you so choose) can change the course of fate for men and gremlins and bring us safely back to Gremla.”

Rolf’s ears grew uncomfortably warm. The little man’s grandiloquent words were a bit hard to take. He did not appear to be deliberately making fun of Rolf, but Rolf had become sensitive these last couple of years to what people said to him.

“That’s a lot for some stranger to be doing for you, isn’t it?” Rolf asked. “After all, I never even heard of your Gremla. In fact, dressed the way you are and everything you two look to me more like—what’s the word for them?—leprechauns.”

“Well, well, no doubt we do. But what’s the matter to that?” said Baneen. “What’s in a name? Sure, and if some people want to call us leprechauns, there’s no harm done.”

“You mean you really are gremlins, but you were just being called leprechauns?” demanded Rolf. “But how come then you speak with an Irish accent?”

“Irish accent, indeed!” cried Baneen. “Why, it’s a pure and natural gremlin accent you’re hearing from hundreds of thousands of years before Ireland rose from the sea. Is it our fault now that the Irish, folk with the fine, musical ear that they have, happened to pick it up from us? In truth, there’s no such thing as an Irish accent—it’s a gremlin accent you’re hearing from them and us alike.”

“Likely story!” grumphed Mr. Sheperton. “Rolf—”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Rolf, quickly before the dog could get started again. “Baneen, you were saying you need help? What is it? What could I do for you?”

“Ah, it’s free us from this prison world, you can,” Baneen answered. “Set us on our way to home. Oh, to see fair Gremla just once again before… before…”

He broke down and apparently was unable to go on.

“Why, the dissembling jackanapes!” sputtered Mr. Sheperton. “Rolf, don’t be misled and befooled. Like all gremlins, he’s immortal. He could spend the next million years here and still go back to his Gremla, fresh as a daisy.”

“That’s right, now!” said Baneen, weeping openly now and wiping his eyes with his bushy eyebrows. “Reproach me with it, that I’m not mortal. Does that mean that I’ve no feelings?”

“You hear that, Shep?” said Rolf, embarrassed.

“As long as we’re speaking to each other,” the dog replied, with great dignity, “I’d prefer that you addressed me by my proper name: Mr. Sheperton.”

But Rolf was already saying, “Go on, Baneen. Pay no attention to him. What can I do for you? Anything reasonable I’ll be glad to do. Do you need something special so you can get back to Gremla?”

“Well now,” said Baneen, suddenly dry-eyed again. “It’s a mere handful of something or other we’re after needing. Indeed, I don’t even know the names of the little things, myself. But I can take you to one who does. The Grand Engineer he is, for our return to Gremla. His name’s O’Rigami.”

“O’Rigami?” echoed RoIf. The sound of the name was oddly familiar.

“Indeed, that’s his very self,” Baneen said. “He’s that busy a man he can’t be coming here to meet you. But if you’ll permit me to weave a wee bit of a spell so’s you can enter our Gremlin Hollow…”

Baneen’s fingers were already making strange fluttering passes in the air. Mr. Sheperton began something that might have been the growl of a warning, but it was cut off almost immediately.

Rolf found himself wrapped in a pale yellow glow, like a faintly luminous fog, and gently lifted to his feet by unseen hands. He walked—without consciously directing his feet—further down the path where he had fallen. The ground seemed to go down and down; the wind from the nearby ocean was absolutely still and silent. But all around him, just beyond the fringes of his fog-shrouded vision, Rolf could hear tiny buzzings and murmurings, and an occasionally high-pitched squeaky laugh.

Then the fog seemed to lift a bit, and he saw at his feet another gremlin. He was sitting cross-legged on the sand, head bent over his work. His hands were moving rapidly.

Rolf got down on his knees to see what the gremlin was doing. His tiny fingers were moving with furious speed. But as far as Rolf could see there was nothing in the gremlin’s hands. Nothing at all.

The gremlin looked up and saw Rolf watching him. He bowed his head deeply. “Ah, sssooo!” he hissed.

Rolf blinked. This gremlin was as small as Baneen, and even slimmer. He wore a white smock over his green suit and his fingers were extraordinarily long, delicate and supple. They kept moving incredibly fast.

The fog was lifting even more, and beyond the busy gremlin Rolf could see dozens of others swarming about an object that looked—no, it couldn’t be. But it was. A kite. A huge paper kite.

Something was happening to Rolf’s sense of vision, as far as its real size went. Rolf’s eyes and his mind were battling over how large the kite really was. To his eyes, it looked like a regular kite, the kind Rolf himself flew at the beach, but Rolf’s mind kept insisting that the kite was as big as a jet airliner. And indeed, there seemed to be room enough on it for hundreds of gremlins. Maybe thousands. Or even more.

He shook his head, as if to clear it.

“Wercome to my modest assembry center,” said the white-smocked gremlin.

“Eh… hello,” Rolf stammered. “You’re a gremlin too?”

“Of course! Born and bred on Gremra five-point-three thousands of centuries ago. That is, Earth centuries, of course. The year of Gremra is much different from your own.”

“Oh… yeah.” Rolf felt a bit dazed. “But… it’s just that—uh—you don’t seem to talk with the right accent…”

“Hai!” The little gremlin jumped to his feet. “My humbre accent is that of true gremrin attempting to speak your ranguage.”

“It sounds Japanese.”

“Not so! Honorable Japanese race have acquired accent from gremrins riving amongst them.”

“But…” Rolf was getting totally confused. “I thought gremlins all talked with an Irish accent, and the Irish…”

“Beg to differ…”

There was a sudden pop—about as loud as the pop of a cork from a toy gun—and Baneen suddenly appeared beside them.

“Now, now, Rolf me bucko! This is no time to be bothering with trifles of tongue and tone. There’s too much to be done!”

Rolf blinked at him.

“Rolf Gunnarson,” Baneen went on, without even taking a breath, “may I introduce you to the Great Grand Engineer of All Gremla in Exile—O’Rigami.”

O’Rigami hissed and bowed.

Rolf found himself bowing too, even though he was still sitting on his heels on the sand floor of the Gremlin Hollow.

“A small token of my esteem,” O’Rigami said gently. His right hand flickered out. For one astonished moment, Rolf could have sworn that the hand and the arm to which it was attached stretched several feet across the sand to where the other gremlins were working on the kite. Within an eyeblink, O’Rigami’s hand and arm had returned to normal, but now there was a small square of paper in front of him.

The square of paper seemed to disappear as O’Rigami’s amazing fingers quickly folded it into the shape of a beautiful, tiny swan with outstretched wings. The gremlin held it out in his palm, and the miniature paper swan suddenly fluttered its wings and took off. It flew in a circle around Rolf’s head before coming down to land with the lightest of touches on his shoulder.

“A memento in honor of our meeting,” O’Rigami said, bowing again.

“That’s the neatest thing I ever saw!” Rolf said. He picked the swan from his shoulder and held it in his palm. But it wouldn’t fly again; it simply sat there, lovely but unmoving. “How’d you do it?”

“Now that’s a question would take too long to answer,” said Baneen, at his elbow. “But it’s a great and wonderful art, so it is.”

O’Rigami lifted a hand modestly. “Merely the apprication of sound techniques of construction,” he said, “together with the proper magic formuras.”

“It’s O’Rigami,” said Baneen to Rolf, “who is in charge of constructing the craft which will carry us all safely back to Gremla—with the help of your rocket, of course.”

Rolf turned to stare at the gremlin workmen again. “It looks like a kite…”

“And what else would it be, indeed!” said Baneen. “One of the wondrous, great space-going kites of mighty Gremla, such as have explored the very depths of the universe, sailing before the proud winds of Gremlin magic in free space unhampered by any nasty dampness. In such a kite, that very one there, will we return to Gremla—that is, if all goes well—attached to your rocket.”

He coughed self-consciously.

“But it’s pretty big—I mean,” Rolf tried to think of some way of putting it that wouldn’t hurt their feelings. “I don’t think something that size can be attached to the Mars rocket without making it fly crooked—I mean, even if the launch crew didn’t see it attached to the rocket.”

“Of course, now, they won’t be seeing it,” said Baneen severely. “It’ll be invisible. And as for size, that’s no problem either. Haven’t we O’Rigami himself here to fold it so cleverly it’ll seem to be no larger than your hand?”

“Fold?” Rolf stared from Baneen to O’Rigami, who once again politely hissed and bowed. Suddenly Rolf’s mind made the connection it had been trying to make ever since he had heard Baneen first pronounce the other gremlin’s name. “O’Rigami? Of course! Origami— I knew I’d heard about it in school! It’s the Japanese art of folding paper. You mean he’s learned this Japanese way of folding things so well that he…”

O’Rigami shut his eyes and turned his head away.

“Now, now, now!” cried Baneen, each word a note higher than the one before it. “Watch your tongue, lad, before you stumble upon an insult and break everything! Is it likely that a gremlin would be needing to learn anything from humans like yourself, who’ve merely been around for fifty thousand years or so? And O’Rigami himself a respectable half-million in age and more? It was the humans learned a wee bit of the noble art from O’Rigami, himself, to be sure—not the other way around. Indeed, isn’t it named after him?”

“Well…” said Rolf slowly.

“And is it at all a human name it bears? When did you hear the likes of that from the Japanese islands? O’Rigami— why its ring is as pure Gremlin as that of the name of Lugh or Baneen.”

“Ummm…”

“Tush and tush! Of course not,” said Baneen. “Let’s say no more on the subject. Indeed, it would be a proud human who’d dare to pretend to the beginnings of a skill like that of O’Rigami.”

Baneen hooked a finger in the lowest buttonhole of Rolf’s shirt and led him aside. The gremlin lowered his voice, almost whispering in Rolf’s ear.

“A word to the wise—I’d watch your tongue, lad. There’s nothing our Grand Engineer can’t fold if he wishes. Rub him the wrong way and no telling what he’ll do. How would you like Cape Kennedy folded into a flower pot? Or yourself into a postage stamp?”

Rolf’s eyes widened. But before he could think of an answer, there was a shimmer in the air beside Baneen and the figure of a female gremlin with a pert, but sad, face and dressed in flowing green robes with a band of black around her left arm, took shape beside them.

“Ah, zair you are, Baneen,” she said, in a soft, melancholy voice. “Sorrow and loneliness ’ave overwhelm me, waiteeng for you.”

“Er—to be sure, to be sure,” said Baneen. She tucked his right arm in hers and leaned against him. He looked uncomfortable. “But it’s that terrible busy I’ve been, here, trying to work out a way to aid O’Rigami with the help of this lad, here—a human, you notice.”

“I noteeced,” said the female gremlin, now smiling sadly up at Rolf. “Ow are you, ’uman? I ’ope you ’ave not lost too many loved ones to ze Terror?”

“His name’s Rolf,” said Baneen. “La Demoiselle here, lad, is a countess of fair Gremla. Naturally, the recent Revolution has awakened the deepest sympathies of her blue-green gremlin blood on behalf of those unfortunates of noble extraction—”

“Ah, deeply, deeply,” sighed the Countess. “Seventeen times I ’ave cause ze blade of ze guillotine to stick wiz my gremleenish arts. In ozzer ways, also I ’ave also been useful. But ’ow little can any one person do? I am like ze Scarlet Pimpernel, zat noble Englishman—”

“Hear, hear,” gruffed Shep behind them, obviously deeply moved.

“Ah, you too ’ave felt for these unfortunate ones, ’ave you, dog?” inquired La Demoiselle, turning to speak to Shep. Rolf took advantage of the opportunity to whisper puzzledly to Baneen.

“Is that the French Revolution she’s talking about?” the boy asked. “I thought that all happened a couple of hundred years ago.”

“It did,” whispered back Baneen, producing a small green handkerchief and mopping his brow. “But the gremlinish feelings of such as the Countess, once awakened, do not go back to sleep easily. Let that be a lesson to you, lad—well, I must be going—”

“Ah, no you don’t, naughtee one!” said La Demoiselle, turning back to snatch with both hands at Baneen as he faded out completely. “Oh! ’E ’as gone! Forgeeve me, M’sieu Rolf, but I mus’ go find heem.”

She vanished in her turn.

Rolf looked around him, but saw no one but Shep and O’Rigami nearby to explain matters to him.

“But what do you gremlins want me to do?” he asked O’Rigami.

“Ah, sooo,” said O’Rigami, smiling widely. “Need some speciar suppries such as transistors…” He pulled an almost invisibly small scrap of paper from a pocket in his white smock. But the paper grew strangely into a long strip as it touched Rolf’s hand. A list of items was neatly hand-printed on it.

“Transistors and other necessary components,” O’Rigami said. “If you wirr be so kind as to obtain them…”

“But wait a minute,” said Rolf. “Why can’t you get these things for yourselves?”

Baneen reappeared, alone, with a faint pop.

“Cold iron,” said Baneen, simply. “Sure, and the places where the things are kept are full all round with iron this, and iron that. It would be like yourself having to fetch something you badly wanted out of the very center of a fiery furnace.”

“All right, then,” said Rolf, who had been thinking. “But why should I get them for you?”

“Indeed! Indeed!” exploded Shep. “The very idea, trying to put the boy to work for your blackguardly purposes! Naturally, he’s not the sort to fetch and carry for a pack of gremlin scalawags! That’s the spirit, lad. Tell them!”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Rolf. “What I meant—”

“Why now, you were only wondering what shape our gremlin gratitude would take, were you not?” cried Baneen. “To be sure, would we be accepting a favor and thinking of giving nothing in return? No, no, lad—what we have for you is no less than the Great Wish, itself. The same unlimited one wish given to any human clever enough to steal—ah, that is, return the Grand Corkscrew of Gremla, that symbol of kingship itself, should such as a human chance to find it after it had been lost. One wish—for whatever your heart desires!”

There was a sudden silent explosion in the background of Rolf’s mind. All at once he had an image of his father and a lot of other people staring at him in awe after he had just announced that he would clean up all the pollution in the world with one snap of his fingers—and had just done it. But Shep was already growling back at the gremlin.

“What!” Shep was snorting. “He scorns your base attempt at bribery! Do you suppose a lad like this would think for a moment—”

“Just a minute, Shep,” said Rolf hastily. “Baneen, could you make the world free of pollution—I mean, clean up all the pollution and make the environment safe forever, if I helped you?”

“The promise of a Baneen upon it, the moment our kite is safely headed for beautiful Gremla!”

“Do my ears deceive me?” demanded Shep. “Rolf, boy, think before you—”

“Indeed and indeed, the word of a Baneen, himself!” shot out Baneen quickly. “Ah, it’s a bargain, then, and may the memory of it be warm in your heart for years to come. Now, off with you and gain the transistories, or whatever they’re called, by tomorrow noon—”

“Just a second,” said Rolf. “Where am I supposed to get them?”

“Is this,” Shep was asking the sky, in a tragic voice, “the youngster I’ve stuck with through thick and thin? The boy I’ve raised like one of my own—”

“Now, Rolf me lad,” said Baneen, briskly, “surely you know as well as anyone of a certain store not ten blocks from your very home, that has transistories and all such radio things and devices piled like coals in a coalshop, within its walls?”

“Oh,” said Rolf. “Sure. But—wait another minute. These things may be expensive; and my bank account—”

“Rolf, Rolf,” cried Baneen. “Did you think us the sort to ask for the use of the life savings of such a friend as yourself? Ah, never! Not a penny will any of these transistories cost your pocket. Just have yourself at the store this night about ten o’clock and we’ll make it quite simple for you to slip inside and steal each and every one of them!”