Hounded

insane. They weren’t even bothering to hide their large noses and magically groomed mustaches; the shoppers, of course, blithely dismissed these features as prosthetic parts of their costumes.
    If they were here on some sort of vendetta, it would be best for me to stay out of it. But if they were on a suicide mission born of immortal ennui, or something equally dangerous to the people here, then it would behoove me to prevent it. Tempe had proven to be a good hiding place for me for more than ten years, and I didn’t want a few gnomes messing it up by causing a ruckus and drawing attention.
    » Hey. Dude, « one of the bar patrons called. » Is that your dog? « I didn’t reply, just held up the leash. Unfortunately, this was construed as an invitation for further comment. » Well, he’s pretty fucking big, « he said.
    I turned toward the voice. It belonged to a blue-shirted mechanic with the name Jeff embroidered in red on top of a white badge sewn to his pocket. I saw a couple of pens and an air pressure gauge tucked inside a plastic pocket protector.
    » Hi, Jeff. May I borrow one of your pens? « I asked him. He blinked and tried to process how a stranger had known his name. He’d forgotten that it was on his shirt and that people could read it. » And maybe a bar napkin too? «
    » What? Wait, dude. Do I know you? « His expression made it clear that he doubted it, though it wasn’t clear why he thought we must be acquainted before he could loan me a pen. His drinking buddies, picking up on his cues, scowled at me.
    » No, I’m just functionally literate. May I borrow a pen, please? And a napkin. I’ll return the pen shortly, I promise. «
    Jeff wanted to refuse, but I’d said the magic word and he didn’t want to be a dick in front of his friends.
    » Sure, man, whatever. « He plucked a pen out of his pocket and passed it to me over San Felipe’s low fence. He tossed a napkin at me as well.
    » Thanks, « I said. Holding the napkin down flat against the curved railing of the fence, I scrawled a quick message in Old High German. It was my best guess at the language the gnomes used among themselves. It said, » I’d like to talk with you. Follow the dog. « I gave this to Oberon along with some instructions. Take this to one of the gnomes and drop it in front of him. Bark once, wait for him to read it, then lead him back here .
    › Got it. ‹ I unhooked Oberon’s leash and he trotted off, one edge of the napkin held gently between his teeth.
    » Hey, where’s he going? « Jeff asked.
    » Here’s your pen. Thank you. « I awarded him a tight smile. He took his pen and thrust it absently back into his pocket.
    » You know your dog just walked off without his leash? «
    I decided right then that if I owned a car—which I didn’t—I would never take it to Jeff when it needed repair. He’d just tell me it had to be fixed, or that the sky was blue, or something else painfully obvious. But I kept these thoughts off my face and smiled amiably.
    » Oh, he’ll be back, no worries. We’re playing fetch. «
    » What’s he fetching? «
    » One of Santa’s elves. «
    » In his teeth ? « Jeff’s drinking buddies haw-hawed. » Is that legal? «
    » No, that’s not what’s happening. « I searched for a modern phrase to alleviate his mild case of civic concern. » It’s all good, « I explained, then looked away, signaling that I thought our brief conversation (and acquaintance) over. Jeff was willing to let it go, but he couldn’t resist lowering his voice a tad and muttering about me.
    » All kinds of weirdos in this town, « I heard him say. He had no idea what an understatement that was.
    › We’re coming, ‹ Oberon announced.
    In a moment he appeared around the corner, tail wagging. Behind him came a frowning gnome, tense and ready for an ambush. His costume was one of those red military Sergeant Pepper jackets over a linen shirt with a high starched collar. The jacket had white piping across the chest and entirely too many brass buttons. Red knickers gathered at the knee, a yellow stripe blazed up the sides, and yellow stockings fell into some enormous platform shoes that added nearly a foot to the gnome’s height. He’d be just over three feet, I guessed, without those shoes. When his eyes focused on me and flicked down to the tattoos on my right arm, he relaxed. He spoke in Old High German, as I suspected, a tongue I hadn’t spoken in centuries.
    » Here you are, « he said. »