Free King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth) by Michael G. Coney Page A

eyes in your specifications,” insisted Pan.
    “Why would I need to tell you about eyes? Every animal has eyes. There are some things we take for granted. How in hell can these moles see without eyes?”
    “Perhaps they make a noise and receive the echo back, like moondogs,” Fang suggested.
    “Moondogs have big ears.” The Miggot regarded the two moles in growing anger. “These things have no ears. They’re little better than lumps of meat with claws.” He stepped close to Pan, seized his ragged smock, and tried to stare furiously into the elf’s eyes. Pan, however, overtopped him by several inches and was able to gaze loftily over his head.
    “Let me run through your original request.” Pan was enjoying the argument. For once he felt he was on firm ground. “You asked for a creature that would live underground, skilled in digging tunnels. You said it would make life much easier because suitable burrows for use as gnomish dwellings were always in short supply.”
    “In Bodmin,” Bart could not resist saying, “we live above the ground in stone huts. It’s healthy. It’s clean.”
    “My cousin Hal lives in a stone hut,” said the Miggot in tones of the utmost contempt, “and he certainly doesn’t keep himself clean.”
    “In pursuance of my duty, I planted a telepathic scenario in the Sharan’s mind,” continued Pan, ignoring the interruption. “I gave her to understand she would soon be living on a world where the air was poisonous. The only salvation for her children lay underground, where oxygen-producing fungi grew. So she produced the most suitable children for that environment. Eyes and ears would be a disadvantage, because there’snothing down there to see or hear. But I’ll warrant the moles have an excellent sense of smell, to sniff out their food.”
    “What do they find to eat down there?” asked Fang.
    “Insects.”
    “You mean … flesh? But isn’t that against the Examples? We can’t create flesh-eaters, can we? Surely the moles ought to eat grass, like rabbits do.”
    “They’re not going to find much grass underground, are they?” Pan regarded Fang impatiently. “And anyway, we have a precedent. Many generations ago, we created the shytes.” He pointed out a group of untidy black birds waiting hopefully at the entrance to the cave. “They’re flesh-eaters to a bird.”
    “The shytes were designed to keep the forest clean,” said the Miggot. “They feed on carrion. They do not eat live flesh. Fang is right. The moles contravene the Examples. You have twisted my specifications, Pan. This is a matter of the utmost gravity.”
    As though alarmed by the Miggot’s condemnation, the moles detached themselves from the teats and began to dig. The soil was light and sandy, and in no time they had disappeared.
    “Stop them!” shouted the Miggot.
    “Too late,” said Pan. “They’ll be all right. They’re supreme in their environment.”
    “They’re the only animals
in
their environment, you fool. Now I’d like to get them back into ours. How can we put them to work if we can’t find them?” asked the Miggot, practical concerns overriding his conscientious objection to the creatures.
    “You must follow them down their holes and lure them out with kindness. Kindness is in your nature, Miggot; you people are always telling me that. Gnomes are kind and good.”
    “We could tie thongs to their hind legs,” suggested Bart, “and drag them out whenever we wanted. And we could train them to digwhere we needed, by chivvying them a bit.”
    “Chivvying them?” The other gnomes regarded him in mild alarm.
    “A good poke up the backside with a sharp stick will work wonders.”
    This evoked an image so similar to the gnomes’ traditional fear of being roasted on skewers that the subject had to be changed at once. The gnomes hurried out of the cave, leaving the offensive words echoing behind. For once, the sight of the Gooligog emerging from the trees was welcome. He