He winced. “They’re not really made of metal. You know that, right?”

“We know that. I’m not sure they do.”

“Yeah.” He leaned against the wall and thought. I let him.

“All right. There’s one tribe, I’ve done some trading with them.”

“Hah!” I crowed, making a subtle fist-pump gesture. “I knew it.”

“Shut up. I’ve done some trading with them, I said. Not enough to figure out how their brains work and I’d sure as hell never use current on them; it would be bad manners, and I’d never get supplies from them again, anyway.”

“So you can tell me who to talk to?”

“No. But I can talk to them for you.”

Oh hell. “Your wife is going to kill me.”

Lee just laughed. I think he’s used to that reaction.

The metal tunnels were actually long, large metal pipes that had been fitted in shafts decades ago, for some MTA project or another, and then abandoned. No wonder we always ran a deficit, the way they lost materials. You went in through the waterways, everyone knew that, if they knew about gnomes at all, but that’s where things got hazy. For me, anyway. Lee sloshed along in his galoshes like he was going to market. I guess for him, he was.

“Who is that?” The voice came out of the gloom without warning, cranky and suspicious.

“Who the hell do you think it is? Lee held up a hand, and sparks flickered at his fingertips, illuminating the small circle in front of him. A gnome sat on a metal shelf that had been grafted into the tunnel, blinking in the current-light. “Who else has to bend over double in these damn tunnels, and sounds like a fucking moose slogging through this damned sewage?”

It took a minute and then my brain kicked back in. Lee, calm-tempered, soft-spoken Lee, was in trading mode. Was that how gnomes spoke to each other, or how they expected humans to speak, overall?

“Ah. You. Wasn’t expecting you.” The gnome was about knee-high to me, which meant that Lee could have stepped on him and barely noticed.