Chapter 3: Portal Problems The gnome, despite its diminutive stature and prior existence as a mere lawn ornament, stood its ground. The tiny sword, probably meant for slicing miniature cucumbers in a gnome-sized salad, looked ridiculous, yet the determination in its beady eyes was surprisingly… inspiring. “Buttonsby,” it repeated, and it still sounded strange to hear a garden gnome talk, “We have to save him! Fitzwilliam, I mean!” He blinked again. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe the glowing dagger was messing with his head. Or maybe, just maybe, this was just Tuesday in the wonderfully weird world of wizardry. “Right,” Bartholomew said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Right, we do. But… how?” He gestured around the wrecked study. “I mean, do *you* know where that… that thing went?” The gnome puffed out its chest, which wasn’t easy considering its limited lung capacity. “I… I have a feeling. A gnome feeling! We gnomes are very good at sensing magical disturbances in the earth. And… well, this was a pretty big disturbance, even for us.” Bartholomew had no idea if gnomes actually had some sort of magical earth-sensing ability, but he was willing to take the gnome’s word for it. He didn’t exactly have a lot of other options at the moment. “Okay, Gnome,” he said, deciding that “Gnome” was as good a name as any for a talking garden gnome. “Lead the way. But… maybe put the sword down? You’re kind of making me nervous.” The Gnome hesitated, then reluctantly lowered the miniature sword. “Very well. But I shall be ready to strike at a moment’s notice! One never knows what dangers lurk in the… other dimension.” Bartholomew sighed. This was going to be a long day. He glanced back at Fitzwilliam’s journal. The Giggle Caves. That was the only concrete clue he had. But… maybe there was something else in the journal that could help. Something that could pinpoint where the portal had spat Fitzwilliam out. “Wait here,” he told the Gnome, and started flipping through the journal again, ignoring the feeling that he should probably be rushing off to save his mentor. He was pretty sure Fitzwilliam would rather he be thorough than reckless. Though, knowing Fitzwilliam, he’d probably complain either way. He scanned the pages, his eyes darting over diagrams and notes. Most of it was completely beyond him, but he was looking for something specific: a tracking spell. Fitzwilliam had always been meticulous about recording his spells, even the dangerous ones. After a few minutes of frantic searching, he found it. Tucked away on a page filled with notes about interdimensional travel was a simple tracking spell, designed to locate someone who had recently passed through a portal. It was labeled, in Fitzwilliam’s neat handwriting: “Dimensional Tracer – Use with Extreme Caution!” Bartholomew swallowed hard. “Extreme caution” didn’t sound promising. But he didn’t see any other options. “Alright, Gnome,” he said, grabbing his wand from the floor. “I’m going to try something. But… stand back. This could get messy.” The Gnome nodded, its eyes wide with anticipation. “I am ready for anything!” Bartholomew opened the journal to the page with the tracking spell and began to read aloud, stumbling over the unfamiliar incantations. The words felt strange on his tongue, like he was trying to speak a language he didn’t fully understand. As he spoke, the air around him began to shimmer. The Sentient Shanker in his hand pulsed with energy, as if feeding off the magic he was channeling. He could feel the dagger’s influence growing stronger, its desires becoming more insistent. It wanted… something. He still wasn’t sure what. He finished the incantation, feeling a surge of power coursing through his veins. He pointed his wand at the spot where the portal had been, focusing all his energy on the image of Fitzwilliam’s grumpy face. Nothing happened. Bartholomew frowned. Had he done something wrong? He checked the journal again, making sure he hadn’t missed any steps. He was about to try again when the air around him began to crackle with energy. Small sparks flew from his wand, and the room filled with a strange, buzzing sound. Suddenly, with a series of loud pops, tiny portals began to open up around the room. They were small, no bigger than dinner plates, and they swirled with the same chaotic energy as the larger portal that had swallowed Fitzwilliam. Bartholomew stared in disbelief. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The spell was supposed to track Fitzwilliam, not create a bunch of miniature interdimensional doorways! Before he could react, the portals began to spew out random objects. A rubber chicken flew out of one portal, flapping its wings uselessly before landing with a soft thud on the floor. A bucket filled with flopping, gasping fish emerged from another, splashing water everywhere. And from a third portal came… a pair of socks. But these weren’t just any socks. They were sentient socks. And they were arguing. “I told you, it was laundry day!” one sock shrieked, its woolly form shaking with indignation. “But I wasn’t ready!” the other sock retorted. “I was still drying from that swamp adventure!” Bartholomew watched in horror as the miniature portals continued to vomit forth random objects. A potted plant, a stack of dirty dishes, a half-eaten sandwich – it was like the study was being invaded by the contents of a very disorganized parallel universe. He realized what had happened. The tracking spell hadn’t just failed; it had backfired spectacularly. Instead of locating Fitzwilliam, he’d opened up a series of tiny tears in the fabric of reality, creating a chaotic mess of interdimensional proportions. And then, to make matters even worse, one of the portals sucked in the Gnome. “Aaaah!” the Gnome screamed as it was pulled towards the swirling vortex. Its tiny sword went flying, clattering against the floor. “Gnome!” Bartholomew yelled, lunging forward to try and grab it. But it was too late. The Gnome disappeared into the portal with a final, desperate squeak. Bartholomew stared at the empty space where the Gnome had been, his heart sinking. He’d made things even worse. Not only had he failed to find Fitzwilliam, but he’d also lost his only companion. He looked around at the chaos he had unleashed. The rubber chicken was pecking at the bucket of fish. The sentient socks were still arguing about laundry day. And the miniature portals were still spewing out random objects, each one more bizarre than the last. He couldn’t stay here. He had to do something. He had to rescue the Gnome. And he had to find Fitzwilliam. He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was probably making a terrible mistake. But he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. He grabbed the Sentient Shanker, its green glow pulsing with increasing intensity. He could feel its influence urging him forward, pushing him towards the portals. It knew where it wanted to go. And it wanted him to follow. He looked at the largest remaining portal, its swirling colors beckoning him forward. It was a chaotic vortex of unknown dangers. But it was also his only hope. Without a second thought, Bartholomew closed his eyes and dove headfirst into the portal. He tumbled through a chaotic vortex of colors and strange sounds. The world around him twisted and warped, reality itself bending to the will of the interdimensional energy. He felt like he was being tossed around in a washing machine filled with rainbows and nightmares. He couldn’t tell which way was up, or which way was down. He was completely disoriented, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer strangeness of it all. He could hear voices, whispers and shouts that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. He could smell strange, alien scents – a mixture of ozone, burnt toast, and something that smelled vaguely like… bubblegum? He felt like he was falling forever, hurtling through a never-ending tunnel of pure chaos. He had no idea where he was going, or what he would find on the other side. He didn’t even know if there *was* another side. All he knew was that he had to keep going. He had to find Fitzwilliam. He had to rescue the Gnome. And he had to stop the Sentient Shanker from… whatever it was planning to do. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He clutched the dagger tighter, feeling its warmth against his skin. He was ready. Or at least, he hoped he was. He continued to tumble, spin and feel the constant pull of whatever force propelled him forward, waiting for the moment that everything stopped and he could figure out where he was, and what to do next. He was scared and excited all at the same time, knowing that whatever awaited him would be something he had never experienced before, and maybe something he could never even imagine. He just hoped that whatever it was, he could handle it, and that he could save his friends. He could feel the power of the Sentient Shanker growing, as if it was feeding on the energy of the portal. He wondered if it was getting stronger, if it was becoming more dangerous. He knew that he had to be careful, that he couldn't let the dagger control him. But he also knew that he needed it, that it was his only hope of finding Fitzwilliam and the Gnome. He was trapped between two worlds, between two forces, unsure of who he was or what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to keep going, that he couldn't give up. He had to trust his instincts, trust the dagger, and trust that somehow, everything would work out in the end. He closed his eyes again, trying to block out the chaos around him. He focused on the image of Fitzwilliam's face, on the sound of the Gnome's squeaky voice. He held onto those images, those sounds, as if they were the only things keeping him grounded. He was falling, falling, falling, into the unknown…