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"It'snotrightyet; themusicistooslow," the gnome mum-
bled almost incomprehensibly fast, as gnomes do. He
yanked out a knob and the music, a dirgelike stew of
whistles, honks, and clanks, slowed down even more
and went flat. Then suddenly it sped up until it was so
high-pitched that dogs in the city howled in pain. The
gnome pushed the knob back in, and the music returned
to its normal blare.
Arms crossed, the gnome stood back and nodded with
satisfaction. His expression suddenly fell. "That'sfixed-
buttheunicornismovingtooslowly. Where'smy wrench;
IknowIleftitrighthere. Someonetookit!" He rummaged
through the pockets inside his long, white coat and pro-
duced the missing instrument, nonplused. He poked it
into the gears blindly, giving another bolt a twist.
As he did, the carousel's wooden statue of a dog-faced
kobold started pumping up and down faster and faster,
moving so violently that the kobold figure's head
smashed through the roof of the carousel, giving its
young dwarf rider the fright of his life and an instant
headache to boot.
The gnome scratched his bald head in puzzlement.
"Thatshouldbetheswitchfortheunicornnotthekobold,"
he murmured, reaching in blindly again and giving an-
other switch a twist. The kobold kept on bashing
through the roof.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Sorry." He released the lever
and the kobold slowed down. The dwarf on its back
swayed dizzily.
"Where'sthatoffswitch? IknowIputonein." Extending
his arm through the grinding gears in a way that made
Woodrow wince, the gnome groped around in the gear
box and pulled things seemingly at random
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