The Timeline of Tauber - Rise of the Commonwealth - 863

Brawdol gave every impression of being asleep. The gnomish town, set where the rivers converged from the Taulada mountain range to the west and Gribblebog to the north, was quiet. Eerily so.

Clara Forthright was more than comfortable with silence, yet even she was disturbed by the lack of sound. The town was known for its beer and baked goods exports. It was said to still do a roaring trade despite the austerity brought about by King Chernitt’s rule. Had even the famous produces of the gnomes ground to a halt? It didn’t seem likely, yet where were the sounds of labour? Where were the lights? The brewery and bakery dominated the townscape, yet their presences were that of vacant behemoths looming over the smaller structures that squatted in their shadows.

Clara was thankful for the lack of activity. The absence of light gave her more shadows to flit between. If she was seen, there would be no disguising the fact that she was human. She wasn’t particularly tall, but even so she would tower over any gnome she came across. No, the lack of activity so late into the night suited her purposes fine, even if it did little to settle the unease that coursed through her.

Her skirts swished briefly as she darted between building lines. The silence really was oppressive. It made her hold her breath in order to preserve it, as if sullying it was some kind of sacrilege.

The sensation washed over her slowly, like when ears populate an absence of sound with tiny noises, buzzes and tinkles that didn’t really exist. Except that what Clara was hearing did exist, of that she was sure. She strained her hearing and continued deeper into the settlement, stopping every now and again to check her bearings. Gradually the noises increased, still indistinct but definitely real. They led her to a dwelling that finally displayed signs of life, with the round doorway outlined in a dim light.

Dwelling was actually too small a word. Whilst it was the same height as the structures that surrounded it, this particular building sprawled across a vast area and was clearly some sort of communal hall, perfectly suited to host all of the gnomes who were conspicuously absent from everywhere else in Brawdol. Closer inspection of the windows revealed that they had been covered over to prevent light escaping. Whoever was within did not want their presence there known and this only served to deepen Clara’s curiosity.

She crossed the final gap between building lines and leaned against the timbers of the wall. It took several moments for her breath to settle, for her heart to stop beating in her ears, so she could hear what was being said.

“…need to follow in Old Jack’s example and show Chernitt we’re not scared.” This voice was deep, like a baritone, rich and reassuring.

“And where is Old Jack now?” This voice was brighter, more akin to a soprano. “In some cell in Moonreach, if he’s lucky! What good would it do if we all ended up there?”

“He can’t arrest all of us,” said baritone.

“He could,” said a third, with a tone somewhere in the middle of the first two, closer to a tenor. “And besides, what has it actually achieved?”

“We’re talking about it,” said baritone. “We weren’t before.”

“So the plan,” said soprano, “is to emulate Old Jack and get ourselves arrested and just hope that when the cells are full Chernitt will change his tactics?”

“Like I said,” said baritone, “he can’t arrest all of us.”

“You’re forgetting gnomish nature,” said tenor. “There won’t be enough of us willing to be incarcerated. A lot of us have families to care for. They’ll lock up those willing to put themselves out there and not even blink.”

“And it still won’t change anything,” said soprano. “These acts of defiance mean nothing to the nobility.”

“So you suggest we do nothing?” said baritone.

There were angry murmurs, indicating the presence of many more people in attendance at this clandestine affair. Clara moved to the nearest window and tried to find an edge to peer around to get a better assessment of what was going on inside.

So preoccupied was she that she failed to notice the gnome’s approach until he had seized her arm. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too firm, and then she tried to lash out, but he blocked the blow. Another set of hands gripped her free arm.

“No you don’t, miss.” The voice was firm and authoritative. “Have you got her, Caff?”

“I can handle her, Jod.”

Clara was incensed. “You can handle me?” As one of her arms was released, she tried to jerk her other arm free, to no avail. Jod could indeed handle her. “Let go of me!”

A spark, bright in the darkness, preceded the lighting of a lantern. It cast a glow over the scene and, as Clara’s eyes adjusted from her disturbed night vision, she saw that she had been apprehended by two stocky gnomes. Both were clad in workmanlike attire and wore expressions of grim mistrust. This was not the way Clara had wanted to introduce herself.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said the one she surmised was Caff.

“She knows that,” said Jod, before Clara could respond. “She wouldn’t have had to resort to spying if she belonged.”

“I’m not a spy,” said Clara. “I just needed to find out what was going on without being seen.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Yes,” said Jod at last. “That is how I would define spying, though Chernitt must be pretty desperate if he’s relying on the likes of you.”

“Chernitt?” Clara’s indignation was reflected in the volume of her voice. “You think I’m spying for Chernitt?”

Coff shrugged. “You’re human. He’s human. Stands to reason.”

“I am not spying for Chernitt!” said Clara. “I’m not spying for anyone!"

“Except just now,” said Jod, “when you were trying to find out what was going on without being seen.”

“I am not a spy!”

The door to the building opened, spilling light across the ground, and a figure slipped out. It made its way down the building line and into the light cast by Jod’s lantern. It was another gnome, though this one carried himself with an air of confidence that was absent in his fellows.

“We’re supposed to be keeping this as quiet of possible, in case you forgot,” he said, and his voice identified himself as the baritone Clara had heard from within. He looked her up and down. “Who’s this?”

“A spy,” said Coff.

“For Chernitt,” said Jod.

“I am not a spy!” said Clara. The newcomer raised his eyebrows and she took the hint and lowered her voice, though her voice was still edged with an impatience she could not dismiss. “My name is Clara Forthright and I’m here to bring a message from my people.”

“By name and nature I presume,” said the newcomer. Clara frowned in confusion but the gnome did not seem inclined to explain. “Right, come in here. We can’t be blathering out in the open.”

He led the way to the nearest door and opened it, gesturing within. Clara’s guards manoeuvred her through the opening and she had to duck her head to get through the doorway. Within was a quaint, if sparse, abode. The newcomer followed them in, shut the door behind them and drew the curtains.

“I’m Soller Benton,” he said, after he was satisfied that he had blocked as much light from escaping to the outside world as possible. He cocked his head and regarded her. “So, if you’re not here to spy, what message does Chernitt have for us?”

“For the last time,” said Clara, “I have nothing to do with the King.”

Soller frowned. “You don’t?”

“Other than to oppose him? No!”

Soller’s frown deepened. “But you’re human.”

“And we’re all the same, are we? The King’s a human so all humans must be like him? Just throw around stereotypes, why don’t you! I suppose all gnomes like teacakes, do they?”

Soller took some time to consider the question before finally shrugging. “I’ve yet to meet one who doesn’t.”

“Alright,” said Clara, “but you take my meaning.”

“I do,” said Soller, “but it brings us no closer to proving your innocence.”

“I am not a spy!”

“Is exactly the thing a spy would say.”

Clara harrumphed in irritation.

“Really?” said Soller. “A few quick jibes and you’ve given up? I thought you Dominion types were made of sterner stuff.”

“I am not aligned with the D-!” Clara noted the slight smirk on the gnome’s face and caught herself mid-tirade. “Listen,” she said, in a much calmer, albeit forced, tone, “there are some humans who are aligned with the Dominion, mainly the majority of the nobles and those hangers-on who think they can get something from them. The rest, which I would say is the majority of us, are suffering just as much as you gnomes.”

“You have no idea how much we suffer.”

“Maybe not,” said Clara, “but clearly you don’t know what’s been happening with the humans, either.”

“Tell me,” said Soller, “if you do indeed represent the majority, why don’t you do something about it?”

Clara shrugged. To her, the answer was obvious. “Power. The nobility control everything. In particular, they control the soldiers.”

If Soller was beginning to believe her, his face betrayed no such sign. “Why send you?”

“Excuse me?”

Soller’s eyes travelled across her. “If I was going to choose a messenger to risk all, you’re not what I would send. You’re hardly dressed for this kind of espionage.”

Clara looked down and could see what the gnome meant. She was clad in robust attire that consisted of a dress, boots and cape. It would be fine for travelling but was hardly practical for any kind of subterfuge.

“So what you’re saying,” she said, “is that my clothing wouldn’t make you think that I was on a mission to seek allies to overthrow the King.”

Soller narrowed his eyes. “I suppose so.”

“And that being dressed otherwise might have aroused more suspicion?”

“I can see your point.”

“Besides,” said Clara, “there are other benefits to my choice of attire. There are some places, even if I was apprehended and challenged, where people simply would not look.”

She reached down into her bosom and was amused to note her gnomish guards blush and look away. Soller showed no such signs of bashfulness and watched solemnly as she withdrew a tightly rolled scroll.

“What is that?”

“A message,” said Clara. “A proposition.”

Soller held out a hand and Clara placed the scroll in it. She watched as Soller carefully unfurled it and began to read. Despite the anxiety gnawing at her at the thought of what the gnome’s reaction might be, Clara knew that it was out of her hands now. She had done her part. She had delivered the message. Hopefully the words it contained would be enough to do the rest.

“I see,” said Soller, when at last he had finished examining the message. “And this is from your leader?”

“Such as we have one,” said Clara. “What he writes, he writes on behalf of us all.”

Soller frowned, his mouth moving in thoughtful musing, as if he were contemplating and digesting what he had just read. “This message speaks of more than just passive resistance.”

“It does.”

“It suggests we go much further than the example Old Jack has given us.”

“No offence,” said Clara, “but I think you’re looking at it wrong. Old Jack wasn’t trying to set an example; he was just a husband and a father trying to protect his family. There was nothing planned in his actions, but there can be in ours.”

Soller scanned the message again. “So I can see. This is calling for violence.”

“Co-ordinated, yes.”

“Guerilla tactics.”

Clara nodded. “We can’t face them in the open field. The Dominion have professional soldiers. They have armour and weapons and training. Those are their strengths. We need to lean into ours.”

“Which are?”

“Numbers,” said Clara, “and the element of surprise. We need to weaken them bit by bit until we can find a way to strike a decisive blow.”

Soller looked genuinely impressed. “You really think we can win this?”

Clara nodded. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Soller’s eyes were shining in the lantern light. A small smile played over his features. Clara recognised the expression well. It was the same one she had no doubt worn when her mind had been opened to the possibilities of a world free from the oppression that King Chernitt and his Dominion imposed.

“We humans can’t do this alone,” said Clara, “and neither can the gnomes. We need to unite to give us the numbers necessary to make them work, to hit the enemy in as many places as possible.”

Soller was nodding to her words and she knew that she had him. Now it was up to him to convince the others.

“I will present this to the meeting,” said Soller. “It is a fascinating concept. A union representing the common people, fighting for the freedom and to the benefit of those common people. I would call it,” and here he gave a dramatic pause and it was as if the universe held its breath awaiting a declaration that would push history in a new direction, “a Commonwealth.”