“What in Nisse Cul Tairna is going on out here!” shouted a grouchy voice.
Myth and I quietened our merriment immediately. We glanced at the owner of the grouchy voice. A dwarf was standing just outside a vardo. Shaving cream covered his cheeks and chin. A razor was in his hand.
“Oh,” I said. “Pardon us. We were just having a bit of fun. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The dwarf grunted.
“Are you Ori?” I asked him.
“How do you know my name?”
“Eye-Gouger sent us to find you,” I said. “He—Hey! I thought you were the beardless dwarf.”
“I am the beardless dwarf,” replied Ori.
“Then why are you shaving?”
“So I can remain beardless.”
“That’s cheating!” I shouted.
Ori shrugged and said, “That’s show business.”
“But… But…,” I stammered.
“Look, lady,” said Ori. “All dwarfs have beards, even females. It’s in our genetics. The people who come to Knee-Biter’s Fair want to be entertained. They want a spectacle. A bearded dwarf isn’t a spectacle. But a beardless dwarf… Well now, that’s a freak of nature. And freaks are worth gawking at. People will pay plenty to see something that shouldn’t—and doesn’t—exist.”
“You’re lying to them,” I said.
“They’re lying to themselves. And that lie makes them happy. ‘Oh gods,’ they say after they’ve seen me. ‘At least I’m not a beardless dwarf.’ Meanwhile, I’m laughing at them because they’ve just paid good money to see a beardless dwarf who isn’t beardless.”
“That’s brilliant!” exclaimed Myth.
“Myth,” I said, punching her arm gently. “Don’t encourage him to lie to people.”
“What’s the harm?” said Myth. “What does it matter if the beardless dwarf has to shave in order to become beardless? People still get to see what they paid to see. They’re not being lied to exactly. They’re just… allowing themselves to be misled in a harmless manner. And it doesn’t seem as if Ori minds when people gawk at his beardless face. So…”
Myth shrugged.
Before I could argue, Ori said, “Aye. The tall gal is right, little Miss. No harm, no foul.”
Myth snickered. “He was talking to you,” she said to me, “when he said, ‘little Miss.’ ”
I punched her arm gently again.
“Alright. Alright,” said Ori, tersely. “Stop acting like a couple of girls enjoying a playdate. Just tell me why Eye-Gouger sent you to find me.”
We told Ori about Ronnie Bridge—how he was inciting the people of Narrows to drive off the traivellin fowk. I made sure to emphasize that there were lots of pitchforks in the City Proper at present.
Ori sighed when we finished. “Idiots and pitchforks are a bad combination. Okay. Knee-Biter needs to hear about this. Come on, then. I’ll take you to him.”
“Um,” I uttered. “Don’t you want to wipe the shaving cream off your face first?”
“No time for that,” said Ori. “I’ll shave later. Let’s go.”
Ori led us through the fairground. Myth decided to make the most of this opportunity and learn about dwarfs as we walked.
“Why did you leave your, um, Research Mine, is it?” she asked Ori.
Ori sighed. “I got chucked out of Svoldkilde—exiled for stealing another dwarf’s research.”
“You were innocent, I presume. Falsely accused and convicted,” said Myth, cynically.
“Nope. I stole that research right enough. Didn’t steal it in order to claim it as my own, though. Nah, it was just a bit of sabotage to slow down the competition. That sort of thing happens all the time in the Research Mines. I was unfortunate enough to get caught. Research theft is a serious crime, even more serious than killing a rival researcher is. So they booted me out.
“It didn’t take me long to realize that living with humans was worse than living with a debilitating disease. Then along came Knee-Biter. The old buzzard’s eyes gleamed when he saw me. He asked me if I wanted a job. Sure, I replied. So he handed me a razor and the beardless dwarf was born. It’s not a bad life. The traivellin fowk look out for their own. Still, I miss the old Research Mine… Ah well.”
Glancing at me, Myth said, “What would a dwarf do to someone who stole their research? Would the thief just be thrown out of the Research Mine, like you were? Or could something worse happen to them? Like say… would the offended dwarf drench the thief with acid?”
“Acid!” said Ori. “Well, if the thief was lucky, then yes. But the offended dwarf would have to be in a good mood for the thief to receive such a lenient punishment. Everyone knew I was just committing a bit of sabotage, so I got off easy. I remember hearing about this one dwarf… Can’t remember his name. He stole a bunch of research over a period of a few years. The fool published it as his own work. The other dwarves caught him eventually. They cut off all his fingers. Then they forced him to eat the lot of them, bones and all. Poor sod wasn’t even allowed any mustard to help with the taste.”
Myth stuck her tongue out at me. She was looking incredibly smug, I might add.
Pointing at her, I mouthed the words, “I am going to slap you so hard.”
Just then, we happened upon the Twirly-Go-Round. Seeing the ride caused me to forget about Myth’s childish smugness. There would be plenty of time for me to slap her later. But only playfully, of course, not to hurt her...
You need to realize, Mister, that Myth and I already understood one another. We teased each other so much because we appreciated that it was all in fun. Not once did I think that Myth was trying to upset me. And she felt the same about me. I figured I had better tell you that now, rather than repeatedly saying we were only teasing one another. Now, back to the Twirly-Go-Round…
“You know,” I said, “I’ve always wondered how the traivellin fowk make the Twirly-Go-Round spin about.”
Ori groaned. “Based upon my dealings with you thus far, I deduce that you will persist in pestering me until I tell you how it works. So, let’s skip the back and forth twaddle and proceed with the explanation.”
“You’re a quick learner,” I said.
“Right,” said Ori, “so the short explanation is that we use ogre power.”
He pointed to the Twirly-Go-Round.
“Now for the long explanation,” he said. “The Twirly-Go-Round is basically a circular disc. As you can see, there’s seating for passengers on the upper side of the disc. The disc rests upon a wooden platform. It, too, is shaped as a circle, but it has a slightly greater circumference than the disc has. What you don’t see is that an iron track runs along the circumference of the platform, up where it joins with the disc. You cannot see this because the track is on the platform’s interior side.”
Ori pointed to a doorway cut into the Twirly-Go-Rounds’ platform.
“If I opened this door and took you beneath the ride, then you would see this track. I’m not going to do that, so don’t ask. Now, on the bottom side of the disc is a bunch of wheels. Lo and behold, the wheels fit inside the track, allowing the disc to spin. There are also two handrails attached to the underside of the disc. Which you would see if I took you beneath the ride. Which I won’t be doing. Two ogres, one per handrail, hold onto the rails and run in a circle for five minutes at a time. This spins the disc around, allowing the passengers to scream and generally have a good time.”
“Those poor ogres!” I cried. “How can you treat them like that?”
“Have you ever met an ogre, lady?” said Ori.
“No,” I admitted.
“They like that sort of thing. They’re good people, but they’re not all there anymore. The ogres witnessed too many of their kinsfolk being slaughtered. Seeing that screwed up their heads. Ogres power all the rides at the Fair. They’d do it for free, too—just for kicks. Knee-Biter wouldn’t go for that, though. The ogres are traivellin fowk now, and Knee-Biter won’t take advantage of one of his own. What species a person is doesn’t matter to him. It all comes down to doing right by the traivellin fowk. And to rooking the flatties, of course.”
“Rooking the flatties!” I shouted.
“Aye,” said Ori. “Old Knee-Biter lives by a simple motto: We’re going to rook the flatties, but we’ll make them smile when we do. He only talks gibberish to flatties. It makes it easier to put one over on them. That’s why you need me to interpret what he says.”