Something has changed.
Märta now knows the secret of the garden and knows that Algot and the others set out when darkness falls.
But their nightly missions are becoming bigger and stranger. An old mill comes to life, lights move across the mountain, and signals flash over the sea.
When time begins to run backwards and the elves’ shadows disappear, it becomes clear that something much bigger is about to happen.
Morris, of course, comes along too. And this time, even Märta may need to lend a hand.
A warm and exciting sequel about friendship, courage, and secrets that are becoming harder and harder to keep hidden.
Excerpts from the Book
The Mill That Woke at Night
The next morning, a small folded note lay behind Algot's lantern. Märta had placed it there when she went out with Sigge shortly after sunrise. She had stopped at the gate, bent down as though she were going to remove a leaf from one of the stone boots, and then continued along the road without looking back.
I sat beneath the currant bush and watched the entire maneuver, while Sigge trotted after her wearing the innocent expression dogs use when they know a secret but would rather not be asked any follow-up questions.
Algot had to stand all day with the note behind his lantern, and only when darkness fell and his living form could step out of the stone figure's shadow did he carefully take it out.
Algot read the message twice, then sat on the stone edge beside his own motionless figure.
"She wants to help us," he said.
"It's difficult to interpret it any other way."
"Tilda isn't going to like this."
Algot folded the note and tucked it inside his coat. He looked toward the window, where Märta was still pretending to be completely absorbed in her book.
It was the first time a person had openly shown that she knew the secret without demanding answers, explanations, or proof. She could have gone out to the gate and asked questions, but instead she had left her promise and walked away. It made Algot both relieved and worried. Secrets do not always become easier to carry simply because someone promises to protect them.
Before he could say anything more, three magpies flew over the hedge and landed on the gatepost so close together that they nearly pushed one another off. They all began talking at once about a missing otter pup, an old mill, and a waterwheel that was moving even though the stream was almost dry. Between their overlapping voices, we eventually understood that the young otter, Lillan, had disappeared at dusk and that her tracks led to the mill but not away from it. Several animals had also seen a faint light between the old boards.
Tilda, Vilgot, and Knut arrived through the garden shadows shortly afterward. Tilda read Märta's note without commenting immediately, and when Algot asked what she thought, she replied that an otter pup was waiting for help and the rest could be discussed later.
Even so, it was clear that she did not dismiss Märta entirely. She folded the note neatly before returning it and said that the person at least seemed to understand that the secret did not belong to her.
Vilgot spread a map on the ground. The old mill stood far to the north beside a narrow stream winding through forest and marshland. The building had been empty for many years, and the trees had grown so thick around it that people usually found the place only if they already knew the way.
The journey would take a while, so Vilgot brought the padded travel pouch out of his backpack. I sniffed it and noted that it still smelled faintly of beaver and old river water. Vilgot pointed out that I happily lay in muddy flower beds myself, but I explained that the difference was that I at least chose my dirt carefully.
Then I climbed in before the discussion became longer than the rescue mission.
The magpies flew ahead of us through the night. Along the way, animals passed the message onward and showed us the right direction. A badger waited beside a pile of stones, two deer led us across an open field, and a fox took over for the last stretch along the stream.
As we approached the mill, a long creaking sound came through the trees. The noise rose slowly, faded away, and returned after a while, as though the old building were trying to wake up but had forgotten how.
The mill was squeezed between tall alder trees. The roof leaned, moss covered parts of the walls, and the waterwheel rose above the shallow stream. The water barely reached the lowest paddles, yet the wheel moved a short distance forward, stopped, and then slipped back again.
Behind a crack in the wall, a faint yellow light blinked.
The mother otter stood at the water's edge and hurried forward as soon as she saw us. She explained that Lillan had followed her along the stream but disappeared while the mother was diving for fish. The small paw prints led to the mill, but no one had found tracks continuing away from it.
Several times she had heard a faint squeak beneath the floor, followed by the waterwheel beginning to move and the entire building creaking.
Tilda put a hand on her arm and promised they would find the pup. Then she divided the search. Vilgot and Knut went to the waterwheel, Algot examined the bank and foundation, and Tilda looked for an opening that could be used without bringing the wall down.
I went around the back, where I soon found small wet paw prints in the mud. They continued along the wall and disappeared beneath a loose board. I squeezed under the board and followed a low passage between the stone foundation and the floor beams. The air smelled of dampness, dust, and old flour, but farther in there was the unmistakable scent of otter.
The tracks led to a narrow wooden channel that had once carried water into the mill machinery. Now only a thin stream trickled along the bottom, and I followed it until gears, wooden shafts, and broken parts blocked the way.
Behind the largest wheel, Lillan was trapped between the wall and a wooden arm that had fallen down. She was wet and muddy but appeared unhurt.
When I asked how she had ended up there, she told me she had heard a splashing sound and thought it was a fish. It turned out to be a piece of wood striking the water, and when she tried to turn around, the mechanism moved and the wooden arm fell behind her.
I carefully placed a paw against one of the gears. It shifted slightly, and a deep creak traveled through the entire mill. The wooden arm rose a few inches before dropping back.
That explained why the waterwheel was moving. Every time Lillan tried to get free, she bumped the machinery.
I told her to stay still and went back to the others. Vilgot examined the shaft running from the waterwheel through the wall and explained that the wooden arm might be lifted if the wheel were turned backward. The problem was that a smaller gear would have to be held still at the same time, otherwise the loose parts could be pushed toward Lillan.
Vilgot took out a short iron tool with a curved end. I was to wedge it between the gear teeth and hold it while the gnomes and beavers pulled the waterwheel backward.
He described the force involved as "some," which usually means considerably more than anyone would like, but there was no better plan.
When I crawled back to Lillan, she asked if it was safe.
I told her it was the best solution we had, and unfortunately that was not always the same thing. Then I wedged the iron hook between the gear teeth and put both front paws against the handle. Outside, ropes were tightened around the waterwheel. At first nothing happened, but then the old wood slowly began to give. The wheel moved backward, the gear in front of me jerked, and the hook pressed hard against my paws.
At the same time, the wooden arm behind Lillan rose.
She began crawling forward but stopped when the whole mill creaked. I stretched one paw through the opening and told her to look at me instead of everything that might fall.
She took another step.
Then we heard an engine on the gravel road. A pair of headlights swept between the trees and approached the mill. Someone had probably seen the light or heard the waterwheel creaking from a distance.
Tilda immediately put out the lanterns, but the gnomes could not release the ropes. If they did, the wheel would roll back and the wooden arm would fall in front of Lillan again.
When darkness filled the channel, the otter pup froze, but I told her to keep following my voice.
The car stopped outside and two people got out. They talked about the waterwheel moving despite the almost dry stream and about the light they had seen between the boards.
At the same time, the wooden arm trembled above Lillan's back.
She reached toward my paw. I caught the loose skin at the back of her neck and pulled her through the opening just as the iron hook slipped free. The gears began to turn, and we threw ourselves backward through the channel while the wooden arm crashed down behind us. The entire mechanism spun half a turn before the waterwheel slammed to a stop.
One of Vilgot's lanterns fell from a beam. Its cover opened, and warm yellow light spread through the cracks in the wall.
The people outside shouted that the light was visible again.
Lillan and I reached the opening beneath the board, where her mother was waiting. The pup threw herself at her immediately, and the mother held her close while sniffing over her fur, paws, and ears.
I crawled out afterward and lay flat in the grass. The gnomes hid behind the waterwheel, the beavers sank into the stream, and the magpies became still among the branches.
The people walked around the building with flashlights. The man tried to explain the moving wheel by saying water might have remained in the channel, but the woman pointed out that it had been dry for years.
Then she said that her grandfather used to talk about the mill waking whenever someone became lost near the stream. According to the legend, the wheel began moving by itself and small lights appeared between the boards until the missing person was safe.
[...]
The Night Time Ran Backward
Märta had become part of the group's preparations without anyone ever making a formal decision about it. It began with her protecting Algot's stone figure and continued with small tasks that only a person could carry out without arousing suspicion. Tilda still spoke about caution and rules, but she had stopped questioning whether Märta could be trusted. So when an unexpected message arrived from an old town late one evening, she went directly to the kitchen window and asked Märta to be ready.
The town gnomes had searched alleys, cellars, and beneath the old houses without finding the boy. Some believed the shadows and the disappearance were connected, while others thought the strange movements came from the old mechanism in the clock tower.
Every time the minute hand passed a certain point, blows could be heard from beneath the square and one of the old gates would open or close by itself. Tilda let Edit finish telling the story before turning to Märta. The town was too far away for the group to return quickly if their stone figures were discovered, and there was a risk the journey might continue beyond dawn.
Märta would therefore protect the gate and keep watch over the area, but this time she was given greater responsibility. If the lantern beside Algot's figure glowed red, it would mean the group had become trapped and needed help from outside. Tilda did not yet know what help a person many miles away could provide, but she had learned that Märta often found possibilities the gnomes themselves had missed.
Märta listened without interrupting. When Tilda mentioned the old town, she only asked whether it had a large square with a brick clock tower.
Edit nodded eagerly.
Märta said she had visited the town as a child and remembered an old gate her father had called the Clockmaker's Door. According to him, there had once been passages between the clock tower, the town hall, and several of the houses around the square.
No one knew whether they still existed.
Tilda looked at her with greater interest.
Märta thought for a moment and said there might be plans in the town's digital archive, although they could be incorrectly labeled or incomplete. Tilda gave her a small brass disk engraved with a spiral and explained that it could be placed against Algot's lantern to receive simple signals from their own lights.
It was the first time Märta had been given an object belonging to the gnomes' world.
Vilgot had already begun packing rope, wedges, and tools. Knut wanted to take an alarm clock so they could compare times, but Tilda pointed out that a clock tower running backward was unlikely to become easier to understand because of another clock.
Knut put it at the bottom of Vilgot's backpack anyway.
I saw him do it but chose not to say anything. Sometimes it is useful to let other people's strange decisions explain themselves.
The journey to the town went quickly through the deep shadows beneath bridges and along railway embankments. As we approached the center, the routes became narrower. The buildings stood close together, and the streetlights left few connected areas of darkness.
The town gnomes had therefore arranged a chain of shadows from balconies, drainpipes, parked bicycles, and narrow alleys. We were guided through the streets without people noticing more than a movement at the edge of their vision.
The large square was almost empty when we arrived. The clock tower rose above the old houses, and its illuminated hands were clearly moving in the wrong direction.
Each time the minute hand jerked backward, it cast a long shadow across the building. The shadow then continued across the wall even after the hand had stopped. It slid down toward the square, stretched along the stones, and disappeared beneath a gate.
The leader of the town gnomes met us beside a fountain. His name was Edvin, and he wore a dark brown coat almost the same color as the brick walls.
Around him stood about ten gnomes from different courtyards and parks. Some carried rings of keys at their belts, while others had small pieces of chalk for marking routes beneath the town.
Edvin explained that the shadows had begun moving when the clock first stopped. Shortly afterward, someone saw Hugo crossing the square. When a shadow moved toward the Clockmaker's Door, he followed it.
I went to the gap beneath the Clockmaker's Door. It smelled of dust, old wood, and a person. The scent was faint but clear.
"The boy went through here," I said. "The shadows and the disappearance are connected."
Edvin bent down and examined the ground. In the dust beyond the gap were marks from a pair of shoes.
The boy had not merely stood at the gate. It had been open when he reached it and had closed behind him.
Vilgot studied the tower and the gate. When the minute hand reached eleven minutes before the hour, a dull blow sounded beneath the square. The Clockmaker's Door moved slightly but did not open. At the same time, a similar sound came from a building on the opposite side of the square. There, a narrow door opened a few inches before closing again.
"The doors are connected to the clockwork," Vilgot said. "There must be old rods running beneath the ground."
"Why would a town clock control doors?" Algot asked.
Edvin explained that several hundred years earlier the town had used a system of underground passages. Clockmakers, night watchmen, and the people who maintained the heating in the larger buildings had used them.
The clock had controlled when certain gates were locked or opened. The system was supposed to have been disconnected long ago, but if one old part was still connected to the tower mechanism, the fault might have brought the entire system back to life.
When the hands began moving backward, the doors followed their old movements in reverse order.
Hugo had probably seen a gate open, followed the shadow through it, and become trapped when the clock continued backward.
We waited until the minute hand approached the same position again. Vilgot placed a metal wedge beneath the Clockmaker's Door while Tilda and the town gnomes took hold along the edge.
When the dull blow came, the gate slowly opened. The group pulled it far enough for me and the gnomes to pass through.
Then it slid shut behind us, and the wedge bent almost double.
The passage divided beneath the clock tower. One corridor led toward the town hall, another toward the older houses, and a third disappeared beneath the square.
Rusty rods ran along the walls and moved every time the clock above jerked backward. In several places, our lanterns cast shadows on the walls, but the shadows kept sliding after we stood still.
To people in the streets, it therefore looked as though dark figures were walking backward across the building fronts.
The boy was sitting behind an iron door in a small room where the night watchmen had once stored lamp oil and tools. He was frightened but seemed unhurt.
The door had slammed shut when the clock changed position, and the handle on his side was too high for him to reach properly.
Vilgot examined the locking mechanism. It was controlled by a rod that disappeared through the wall toward the tower.
If the clock continued backward, the door would open again in about twenty minutes, but several other gates might close the route back at the same time.
Tilda wanted to force the door open immediately. Edvin warned that this might jam the entire rod system, but Hugo began shouting that he could hear water.
An old pipe in the room had cracked, and a thin stream was already running across the floor. It was not enough to threaten him immediately, but the drain seemed blocked and the level was rising.
He could see the gnomes clearly. Children sometimes can when they are close enough to our lanterns and have not yet decided that the world must be less strange than it really is.
He looked from Algot to Tilda and then toward me.
"Were those your shadows I followed?"
Hugo took Algot's hand.
It was probably wise not to explain more while water was running into the room and the clockwork continued moving doors around us.
We headed back toward the stairs, but the corridor had changed. A thick iron gate had closed across the way, and the metal rods in the walls were pulled tight.
When Vilgot tried to move the gate, he discovered that the latch was on the other side.
Another blow sounded from the tower, and behind us the door to the lower corridor closed.
The gnomes and Hugo were trapped beneath the town.
Edvin knew an alternative route through an old cellar, but when we reached it, a collapse had filled the passage with brick and earth.
Knut found a narrow opening near the ceiling, but it led only to a ventilation shaft too small for Hugo. I could get through, but even if I reached the outside, I could not open the iron gate alone.
Tilda brought out the small signal disk connected to the one Märta had received. She held it against her lantern and made the light flash red three times.
The signal traveled through the shadow roads back to Algot's stone figure.
If everything worked, Märta would see it.
In the yellow house, she was sitting at the kitchen table in front of the computer. The brass disk lay beside her.
When it began glowing red, she stood immediately and went out to the gate. Algot's lantern flashed three times in the same color.
Märta understood that the group was trapped. The difficult part was understanding where they were and how she could help.
She returned to the computer and continued searching the town archive.
First she found plans of the clock tower from a renovation fifty years earlier. They said nothing about underground gates.
Then she searched for the Clockmaker's Door and found an old photograph from a museum. The caption mentioned a mechanical locking system controlled from an emergency lever at the base of the tower.
The lever was meant to be used if the clockwork jammed and all the doors needed to be opened at the same time.
- Quote paper
- J Mattsson (Author), 2026, The Night the Gnomes Woke Up, Munich, GRIN Verlag, https://www.grin.com/document/1762368
