Years ago, when visiting Khaz Modan, Lady Katrana Prestor is said to have remarked that “Tinker Town is a community of gnomish efficiency and dwarven charm.”
Ringo Flinthammer stared at the yellowing Operation: Gnomeregan poster and wished that she had been wrong.
“Ragnaros’ fiery crotch! Could you make these bonds any tighter?
“If ye’d like, Ah could leave ye untied, and jus’ shoot out both yer kneecaps.”
“Who in the Twisting Nether are you, anyway? Since when do mountaineers use freezing traps?”
“Jus’ a mountaineer, like all the rest. We’re havin’ a wee bit o’ a fox problem of late. They reckon if we don’t get a handle on it soon, they’ll overrun much of this here territory.”
There was the faintest of whirring sounds and Ringo Flinthammer stumbled forward a half-step again, dazed and unable to move as the smooth river rock bounced off his skull. Once again, his unseen attacker had gotten him, leaving him helpless.
Frostmaw roared in frustration, the big bear whipping his head back and forth, snuffling frantically in an attempt to locate the Dark Iron insurgent.
“Stop!” Ringo’s right hand chopped down into his open palm the moment he could think clearly again. He flipped his right hand over and wriggled his fingers in the air, like a spider knocked onto its back. “Wait! Wait!”
“You were completely out of line, Flinthammer!” Mountaineer Kadrell roared, quickly checking his volume as he realized he was in danger of waking all of Thelsamar. “You had no right to roust all of us out of bed …”
“The explosion woke ye lot as …”
“No one heard any damned explosion,” Kadrell snapped. The bleary-eyed mountaineers standing on the back road leading into Thelsamar all nodded, grumbling. “It was an earthquake or something.”
“Khaz Modan donnae have earthq- …”
“More importantly,” Kadrell continued, “You ignored the chain of command. You should have woken Pebblebitty, who would have woken Rugelfuss. You don’t have the authority to wake mountaineers in the middle of the night and send them on a wild wolpertinger chase.”
Beli Flinthammer groaned and rolled over in bed.
“Mmmmm, what time is it? If ye wanted to play ‘ride the mole machine,’ ye should have said so hours ago, when the kid fell asleep … ”
“What?” Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer snapped, louder than he had meant to. He had been sitting up in bed, alarmed, fumbling for his gun in the dark. “Ah didn’t … that weren’t me …”
He stopped and listened, holding his breath. The animals had heard, or felt, whatever it was, too: Frostmaw, Lucky and Daedalus were all awake, their eyes shining in the starlight, alert and just as puzzled as Ringo was.
So what was it, then? It had felt like the ground had shook, but Loch Modan and the surrounding area was geologically stable: It was unimaginable that an earthquake could occur here. Which meant the only logical conclusion was that …