Do you fight because you have a chance of winning?

Or do you fight because the cause is worthy of your blood, sweat and tears?

As usual, Wendell was the talk of Trench Wars and the media circuit. A shooting comet, the stations called him. Blazing high in the sky one minute and burning out the next. Armored Ensemble did in fact, finish Darcy as Wendell had predicted, knocking the reining champion from his perch. But the games were also over for Gnolaum, and along with it, the total of his earnings.

“I did strongly caution you not to bet it all, Wendell.”

“I know,” he sighed, “I know you did.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly, “I should have listened.”

Philburt Bellows handed him a cup of tea. He sat down in the opposite chair situated in front of the fireplace. “I’m very sorry. That was a great deal of money.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Wendell admitted, “I care about the people I just let down, because of my foolishness. I took risks instead of taking what I had and helping those still trapped in the warehouse.”

Adjusting his glasses, “Oh, there not trapped, Wendell. I have one of my managers watching over them for now. They’ll have food and provisions taken to them for as long as needed. May even have some jobs available in a week or two.” He took a sip of the tea and watched Wendell staring into the fire. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But I was so close!” Looking at the tea cup, he set it aside. “Can’t you do something for them? I told you what it’s like down there, trapped in the furnaces. There are little children down there—they need to get out! If they can’t have a decent place here in Clockworks—then help me get them off the Island altogether.” His face brightened, “To the free zones!”

“Ah. Now that would be more difficult than you think. Incredibly expensive, too. It’s my policy to do all I can to protect my investments…and not throw good money after bad.”

“But you have money!” Wendell retorted. He face flushed with anger. “You’re the richest gnome in Clockworks…and we’re talking about people. Living, breathing beings…which are more important than credits. Isn’t that what you’ve said?” Sinking back into the chair, he stared back coldly, “You invest in people, if I remember right.”

Bellows sat quietly, listening and drinking his tea.

“You’re not going to help me, are you?” Wendell brooded.

“It’s…not that simple.”

Wendell laughed, “You mean the people aren’t worth opening your bank account, like you profess to.” Leaning forward, “Look—i know I’m out of the Trench Wars, but I did what you asked. I created drama, AND I have a large fan base we can woo for whatever purposes you need. Just get off your soapbox and help me!”

Bellows pleasant, calm expression melted away. In it’s place formed a cold, calculating stare, with a set jaw. Taking the glasses from his face, he folded them carefully and slid them into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Knowing who you are, young man, leads me to believe that you had good parents. People who taught you morals, decency and I would think, respect.” Standing up, he leaned over and took both saucers from the small end table. “But listening to you breaks my heart—because right now the only thing you really need is a firm slap across the face.”

Wendell shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Bellows walked to his large desk and set the saucers down. “Before I have my butler throw your ungrateful carcass out, I want to show you something.” He walked to the door of the library, opened it and waited.

Wendell gulped. He knew this wasn’t a request.

Slowly rising from his chair, he shuffled across the room. Bellows stopped him at the door.

Leaning in close enough to feel his hot breath, the gnome whispered. “If you ever reveal any hint of what I’m about to show you, I don’t care if you are the Gnolaum, Wendell. I will use every means at my disposal to destroy you.” The faint hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Do we have an understanding?”

Wendell gulped and nodded.

“Follow me.”

They left the library and walked out into the main corridor. The gargantuan front doors to the mansion stood out in the warehouse-sized entryway, as did the lavish use of wood in every detail around them.

“What do you see, Wendell?”

You have got to be kidding me. He snorted, “Money. A lot of it.”

Bellows nodded, “I’d have to agree with you. I bought this place as I was climbing the latter of society and making more profit than I could possibly count. Bought it to build a world for my family. I had a lovely wife and beautiful children.” He smiled brightly, recalling the memories, “A place where little feet could run, we could be close to our religious leaders and I could weave comfort around my darling wife for the rest of our lives.”

“Great,” Wendell almost whispered, “good for you.”

The sarcasm wiped the smile from his face. “On an outing with my family, I wanted to show my children the source of their blessings. I took them to one of my first factories…and the most profitable one.” His speech slowed, as did his pace. “During the tour, I was called into a meeting to resolve some issues with the planning commission. My wife and children continued the tour with the factory foreman.” He stopped and reached out to touch one of the fifty foot wooden beams that looked more like a tree, growing up to the ceiling.

His fingers caressed the artisan knots and grooves that resembled bark. “There was an explosion…in the far end of the factory. One of the boilers.” He looked over at Wendell, his eyes red, yet unblinking. “The accident not only took my loved ones…it also changed the lives of sixty two other families that day.”

Wendell’s arms unfolded and slid to his sides.

Walking back to the hall they just came from, Philburt lifted a large key from his shirt. It was fastened to a slim chain around his neck. “Though I miss their faces every moment I live—I would not change the events of that day. Not knowing what I know now.” Sliding the key into the large door, he turned the lock and then the knob.

The giant slab of wood, carved to resemble a portrait of a mountain range, swung open. It contained…nothing.

Wendell walked past the gnome, confused and intrigued. Unlike the main hall, the chamber was still large, but it was stripped bare. Dust and dirt covered the floor, pipes protruded from the walls and remnants of wood slats still clung by glue to the underlying brick and steel. The fixtures had been stripped, wires hanging freely from ceiling and sockets. Not a stitch of furniture existed from one end of the room to the other.

He scratched his head, “I…don’t understand.”

Bellows smiled sadly, “No, you don’t. But you will, soon enough.”

Closing the door behind them, he proceeded to open each and every door along the hall, except one…and each room revealed the same story. They were bare and gutted of everything useful except the raw materials holding up the ceiling.

“I realized that day that people were more important than things, Wendell, but at the same time, they were impressionable. Too much so. Passing judgements, like you just did—using nothing more than their assumptions to base them upon.” He unlocked the last door—one with a carving of a mountain cave, penetrating eyes at its center. “So I learned to use perception to my advantage.”

Swinging the door open, they walked in on the old butler, sitting on one of two small beds. It was a humble room—laid out like a studio apartment. Along one wall were cabinets, a stove and a refrigerator. In the center of the room, a round table with two chairs. The beds were situated along one wall, and in the corner, an open door leading to a bathroom.

“Yes Wendell,” Bellows volunteered, “this is where I live.” He nodded at the butler, who smiled and nodded back. “As I care for others, this goodly gnome cares for me.” With that, he pulled the door closed and guided Wendell back to the library.

All the while, Wendell’s face contorted, not sure what to make of what he’d just seen. So he is rich…or is he just bluffing? Are the factories real? Is he playing folks so he can live here? No,…that just doesn’t make any sense.

“Why?” Wendell finally blurted out, not quite sure what to say or to ask.

“If you mean why do I live this way, it’s because I can’t live the way I did,. Not knowing how my fellow brothers and sisters are struggling around me.” He walked over to the desk and lifted the pot of tea. It was still warm. “If you’re asking why the charade, well…it’s because I can persuade wealthy people to do good things when they believe I am doing the same.” He smiled to himself, “So I sold all I owned personally except the essentials…and left my favorite room in the house. This library. Filled with fact, fiction and hundreds of selections picked out specifically by my wife.”

“But it’s a lie,’ Wendell choked. “Isn’t it?”

“Not in the least,” he motioned to the leather chairs again. “I am as wealthy as people perceive. More so if you place value upon the mortal soul.” Wendell looked at him shocked and he laughed, “Oh, I don’t mean owning souls…I mean saving them. Giving hope where there is none.” He leaned forward and poked Wendell in the arm, “Just like you’ve done with the muddles.”

This is too much. Wendell ran his fingers through his hair. For some reason, there was a comfort in believing someone had power and resources to make the mundane parts of life easier to deal with. Now he saw that life wasn’t that simple…OR easy.

“Nothing has changed,” Bellows finally said aloud, noticing Wendell’s stress. “I keep this home for appearances. For conducting business. All my resources are in use at any given moment…to maximize the potential of each and every credit. My empire, as you might call it, is constantly growing. If I don’t personally need the money, I don’t keep it. I invest it in others.”

“So,” Wendell leaned forward in the chair—the guilt of his previous comments weighing on him, “you would have helped me…if the resources were there?”

Bellows smiled, “To a degree, yes. But I have mouths to feed, Wendell. I won’t let them down if I have a choice in the matter. But if I had anything to spare, I would place it in your hands to support such a worthy cause.”

Well that sounds better. Doesn’t help me much, but at least I know he’s actually on my side. “Then why show me all this?”

Bellows smiled, “I have always believed in the Gnolaum. Oh, I’m not a church-goer like so many, but there has to be something more than this. There has to,” he sank back into the seat, “be a reason to hope.” He studied Wendell then, looking him up and down. “You know,” he added, “I have exposed my greatest secret to someone other than my trusted servant. I’m wondering if…,” but he stopped. Waving his hand, he looked away, “I’m sorry, that would be rude.”

“What?” Wendell replied, “To know that it’s more than just my word that I’m who I say I am?”

Bellows didn’t make eye contact, “In my mind it would help me solidify a whole foundation of beliefs…just knowing the prophesies were indeed true.”

It didn’t sound like a bad request. There was no fear, no real hesitation, other than being put on the spot. They were alone and Bellows had exposed himself. Is this such a big deal then? Wendell wondered.

Raising his shirt, he tapped the center of his chest and whispered, “ Silmä inakmään.” The library filled with a soft light, as the Ithari  appeared in the center of Wendell’s chest, reflecting and amplifying the light from the burning fire. He looked at the wealthy gnome, “I can’t honestly say I know if I’m this Gnolaum everyone talks about, but,” he looked down at the perfect diamond in his chest, “I am the host of the Ithari.”

Philburt’s hands shook as he rose from the chair, his eyes fixated on the gem. Wendell watched tears form and run silently over the wrinkles of his eyes and down his cheeks. He stopped at arms length and met the hero’s gaze. In the faintest whisper, he asked, “May I?”

Wendell nodded.

Quivering fingers touched the warm surface of the gem, then retracted as if the contact burned him.

“It is true,” he whispered to himself. “There is hope.”

Wendell spoke the words of magic once again and let the mägoweave shirt cover his nakedness.

Bellows blinked several time, as if waking from a dream. “Thank you, Wendell. You have no idea what you have just done for me.”

“I…haven’t done anything.”

The gnome took a handkerchief and wiped his eyes, “Ah, but you have. This is about holding to a purpose and sticking to that purpose. I have worked most of my life to affect change. Not just because I can make a difference, but because a difference should be made. I believe my duty is to do what can be done.” He shrugged, “But the road has been long and lonely without those I love.” Pointing at Wendell’s chest, “Now I have a renewed determination to see that change happen.”

“Still doesn’t help me much,” he complained. “I blew my chances at the title. Which doesn’t help you much, either.”

“Maybe not, Wendell—but my experience tells me that opportunity aways presents itself to those prepared to put everything on the line for a worthy cause.”

He wouldn’t have thought much of the statement, except for the fact that a smile appeared on Bellows’ face. An unusually broad smile…that stayed there.

Like a shadow, the butler appeared in the doorway.

Bellows reached out and shook Wendell’s hand firmly. “Don’t stop fighting,” he whispered, “for you never know when a little luck might be thrown your way.”