On the Developmental Stages of the Gremlin

Few of the Principal Peoples possess a life history so thoroughly misrepresented as that of the Gremlin. Most popular descriptions begin with the adult: small, energetic, mechanically inclined, socially integrated among other races, and generally disinclined to spend unnecessary time in the company of his own kind. The reader is then informed, usually as an amusing curiosity, that Gremlins hatch from eggs in great numbers and immediately disperse. This is comparable to describing childbirth as an amusing curiosity involving towels.

Gremlin development is best divided into four broad stages: the embryonic period within the egg; the hatchling or dispersal stage; a prolonged juvenile period of increasingly social independence; and adulthood, beginning with reproductive maturity. These divisions are not merely conveniences imposed by naturalists. Gremlin behaviour changes so dramatically between them that an observer unfamiliar with the species might reasonably mistake individuals of different ages for animals possessing entirely different temperaments.

The egg itself is leathery rather than brittle-shelled, approximately the size of a large melon, and extraordinarily resistant to impact. A single female may deposit several dozen in one clutch, the precise number varying considerably with age, nutrition, and circumstance. Clutches of fewer than twenty are unusual; those exceeding fifty have been reliably documented. The eggs are generally concealed in warm, protected locations with access to food and numerous avenues of escape. This last requirement is essential.

Gremlin embryos develop rapidly in the final weeks before hatching. The hatchling emerges fully sighted, with functional hearing, erupted teeth, well-developed limbs, and sufficient coordination to run within minutes. There is no prolonged period of helpless infancy comparable to that of Humans, Elves, Dwarves, or Aesir. Nature has instead arranged matters so that several dozen hungry, frightened, heavily armed infants become independently mobile at nearly the same moment.

I first witnessed a hatching in the cellar of a boarding house in Varrowgate. The clutch had been discovered behind an obsolete furnace after the proprietor complained of scratching noises beneath the coal bins. The mother was unknown and, consistent with ordinary Gremlin reproductive behaviour, nowhere nearby. A municipal naturalist intended to observe the hatch and had invited me because I happened to be lecturing in the city, and he assured me that the cellar had been prepared. It had not. To be fair, I do not know how one prepares a room for forty-three Gremlins arriving simultaneously.

The first egg opened quietly. A narrow split appeared along one side, followed by a small grey-green hand, then a head, and finally an animal no larger than a rabbit which immediately bit the municipal naturalist on the thumb. He swore. The hatchling ran beneath a cabinet, a second egg opened, then four, then, apparently by some signal I could not detect, nearly all of them. For perhaps three seconds the cellar remained comprehensible; after that it ceased to be a room and became an event.

Hatchlings poured from the clutch in every direction. They climbed shelving, overturned a box of tools, disappeared into pipes, fought over fragments of eggshell, attacked one another for possession of a potato, abandoned the potato upon discovering a sack of flour, and then collectively converted the flour into an atmospheric phenomenon. One climbed the naturalist’s trousers while another attempted to enter my medical case. Two became locked together by the jaws and rolled beneath the furnace, and a third seized my pencil and fled with it.

I was briefly concerned for the weaker hatchlings until I discovered that what I had taken for weakness in one individual was apparently tactical patience. It remained motionless beneath a chair until two larger siblings fought over a piece of dried meat, whereupon it darted between them, took the meat, and vanished into a wall. This occurred less than ten minutes after it had emerged from an egg.

The violence is genuine and should not be softened for the comfort of the reader. Hatchlings bite, claw, shove, steal, and sometimes seriously injure one another, and mortality during dispersal is substantial under poor conditions. Yet the violence is neither hatred nor evidence of some innate Gremlin cruelty. The hatchlings possess no established relationships to one another, no parental protection, enormous immediate metabolic demands, and an overwhelming behavioural drive to obtain nourishment and separate themselves from competitors as rapidly as possible.

The evolutionary logic is unpleasant but straightforward. A clutch produces more young than a parent could plausibly provision, so by emerging capable of immediate independent survival and strongly motivated to disperse, the hatchlings rapidly distribute themselves across available habitat rather than remaining concentrated around a single exhausted food source.

In cities this produces consequences which evolution could not possibly have anticipated. The Varrowgate clutch discovered chimneys. Within half an hour, Gremlin hatchlings had entered three adjoining houses, a bakery, a laundry, and what subsequent investigation revealed to be the private washroom of a very senior magistrate. I did not witness the latter incident, and I regret this.

By evening, fewer than half the clutch remained within the original building. Municipal workers attempted to collect them for placement in temporary care, which was only partially successful because the hatchlings regarded capture as predation and responded accordingly. One officer was bitten seven times. Another discovered that a Gremlin capable of fitting through a drainpipe is correspondingly difficult to arrest.

The initial frenzy begins diminishing rapidly once the young have secured food and individual shelter. Over the following days, territorial aggression declines from its extraordinary post-hatching peak, and within weeks juveniles become considerably more tolerant of the presence of other species, though they remain wary of other Gremlins. This distinction is striking. A juvenile Gremlin may willingly accept food, warmth, and companionship from a Human household while responding to another Gremlin of similar age with immediate suspicion.

This is the period during which most Gremlins enter the social environment that will shape their later lives. Some are taken into households. Others establish themselves around workshops, kitchens, warehouses, farms, railway yards, ships, or other places where food and tolerable shelter can be found. Historically, a substantial portion simply attached themselves to whatever community happened to occupy the territory into which they dispersed.

The phrase “raised by Humans,” frequently applied to urban Gremlins, is therefore misleading. A Gremlin juvenile does not require raising in the ordinary sense for very long. What he requires is socialisation, and there is an important difference.

Juveniles learn language with remarkable speed. They learn social rules somewhat less reliably, though whether this represents limited ability or limited enthusiasm remains disputed. They form attachments readily to members of other races and may become intensely loyal to particular households, employers, teachers, or companions. Apprenticeship is especially common and suits Gremlin development unusually well: the juvenile gains food, protection, instruction, and social identity while the adult gains an assistant who can enter spaces ordinarily accessible only by dismantling the machinery.

By adolescence, the characteristic aversion to other Gremlins has settled into its mature form. This should not be exaggerated into hatred. Most Gremlins can conduct business with one another, cooperate temporarily, and maintain acquaintanceships when circumstance demands it. They simply show little inclination toward the permanent communal associations found among the other Principal Races. Put fifty Humans together and eventually they will construct a village. Put fifty Dwarves together and they will establish a council before finishing the buildings. Put fifty Gremlins together and within a month forty-seven will have discovered excellent reasons to live somewhere else.

Reproductive maturity arrives comparatively early, consistent with a natural lifespan of only approximately five decades. During mating periods the ordinary avoidance between Gremlins diminishes sharply, and courtship may be intense, competitive, and remarkably brief. Pair bonds sometimes form but ordinarily do not persist through the production or hatching of a clutch. The biological cycle therefore begins again without anything corresponding neatly to the parental family.

This has led generations of observers to describe Gremlin society as deficient in family feeling. It is nothing of the sort, and the error arises from confusing kinship with affection. An adult Gremlin may have no idea where his biological mother is, no interest in identifying his siblings, and no concept of ancestry extending beyond information required for medical purposes. The same individual may spend thirty years living with a Dwarven family, regard their children as his own relatives, care for an elderly Human mentor, and leave every possession he owns to an Aesir business partner. Gremlins are not without families. They simply assemble them afterwards.

I should conclude with an observation from the Varrowgate clutch. Approximately nineteen years after the hatching, I was approached following a lecture by a Gremlin machinist who asked whether I remembered losing a pencil in a cellar. I did. He handed me a pencil which was not mine, and I told him so. He said, “Probably not,” then laughed and walked away. I remain uncertain whether he had actually been one of the hatchlings. With Gremlins, uncertainty of this sort is often the closest one comes to genealogy.