Fenzig's Fortune_A Gnome's Tale

by Jean Rabe

  The driver’s expression softened. “I’m not planning on going into K’Nosha. It’s a big city, and I’m not fond of those. I prefer small, friendly villages. I was just going to stop at some of the farms nearby, sell some of my wares. Maybe I’ll stop at the village a few miles south of K’Nosha.”

  “Could I get a ride part of the way?”

  The driver sighed.

  “It would get me closer to my aunt. She’s a real sweet lady.”

  The driver sighed again and nodded, leaned out of the wagon, and extended a gloved hand to help the gnome up. “All right. I don’t suppose you’ll take up much space.”

  As Fenzig climbed in, he spotted words painted on the wagon’s side. In bright purple, yellow, blue, and green paint, they covered nearly every inch of the wagon’s side and proclaimed:

  Carmen the Magnificent

  Healer of Ills

  Dispenser of Pills

  Scriber of Wills

  and Provider of Thrills

  In smaller dark blue letters were the words:

  Hair-Growth Tonic, Vitamins, Skin Creams, Foot Powders, Digestive Aids, Insect Repellents, Hair Detanglers, Wart Eliminators, Snake-Bite Oils, Bunion Erasers, Wrinkle Dissolvers, Hair-Removal Lotions, Toothache Tablets, Cold Tonics, Sore-Throat Soothers, Love Potions, Hangnail Detachers, Tension Relievers, Perfumes, Flu Remedies, and Scented Mustache Wax.

  Additional words revealed that:

  Carmen is an excellent calligrapher and will gladly pen bills and wills, decrees and degrees, letters for lovers, petitions to politicians, and more—all for a truly very modest fee. The best showman in the land, Carmen gives free performances daily at dusk. Your one-stop shop to cure what ails you and to be heartily entertained!

  Fenzig wondered how Carmen was able to fit all that on the wagon, though the gnome supposed anyone who claimed to be an excellent calligrapher could do almost anything with words.

  Words? Wait a minute, Fenzig’s mind screamed. I can’t read! Well, I can’t read anything other than my own name. How can I read what’s on the wagon?

  The gnome took a perch next to the driver and craned his neck around to study the side of the wagon more closely. His leaning and twisting almost made him fall off the bench seat.

  “How—” Fenzig started as he caught himself.

  “How is it that the sign on my wagon is written in your gnomish tongue?” Carmen asked.

  Gnome? Fenzig thought. I don’t think I could tell the difference between human and gnome words. It all looks like chicken-scratches to me—except for the words on the wagon. “Yes,” he answered out loud. “How is it that the words are written in gnome? Especially when you’ve never had a gnome for a customer.”

  “I used several jars of a special magical paint that I bought in some old town a few years ago. The words always appear in the viewer’s native language. Supposedly, even illiterate scoundrels who never got an education and can’t read a single syllable can understand my sign. It sort of mentally tells them my message. Clever, huh? And best of all, the paint will never wear off. So if I want to change occupations or paint my wagon a different color, I’ll have to find some more of the magical paint—a lot more. I don’t think I have more than a beakerful of the purple color left. By the way, I’m Carmen the Magnificent, Sage Supreme of the High Reaches, Wordsmith Extraordinaire of the World, and Maestro of Mirage for the entire northern part of the continent. Who are you?”

  “Fenzig,” the gnome replied.

  “Your name’s small because you’re small?”

  “No. I’m not small for a gnome. Not at all. Fenzig’s just a short version of Fenzighan. Kinda like Rob is short for Robert or Carm would be short for Carmen.”

  “Oh. So Fenzig the what?”

  “Just Fenzig. We don’t bother with titles.”

  “Oh,” the peddler said again. “I see.” The words sounded tinged with disappointment, as if Carmen were expecting some grand appellation to spew from the gnome’s lips. “Well, we’ve got to get moving, eh? Never can tell if there are dissatisfied customers on your tail.” Carmen rose slightly from his seat, glanced around the corner of the wagon and back down the road, then flicked the reins and urged the horses into a quick gait.

  The gnome ogled his unusual-looking benefactor. Carmen was small for a human, not much more than five feet and a few inches tall.

  Perhaps he’s got a big name to make up for it, Fenzig thought. He lets all his titles puff out his chest for him.

  Carmen was on the slight side, though his voluminous clothing made him look a little bigger. He was dressed in bright red pants, of a design like a pirate would wear. Snug around the waist and tied just above the ankles, they billowed in satiny folds around his legs. His leather boots were dyed green and sported brass bells and buckles that tinkled and sparkled respectively. A black sash trimmed in violet and gold thread was tied around his waist, and a flashy gold and coral medallion swung from his neck. A puffy-sleeved, ruffled shirt that was striped orange, yellow, and lime green nearly made the gnome dizzy just looking at it and competed with everything else the human was wearing.

  Carmen wore a thigh-length cloak of bright turquoise, lined in a light gray silk that looked like liquid silver. Atop his head was a broad-brimmed black hat with a long maroon feather stuck in the band. His long hair was styled loose about his shoulders. It was a pale blond, almost white, the same color as his thin, drooping mustache that hung a few inches below his chin. It looked to Fenzig as if Carmen didn’t bother to use any of his scented waxes on it.

  “Like my outfit?” Carmen quipped. “I noticed you giving me the once-over. I had it specially made. You can’t find clothes like this just anywhere.”

  “It’s very, very . . .” Fenzig found himself at an unaccustomed loss for words.

  “It’s very noticeable,” Carmen finished. “I like to stand out in a crowd, attract attention—be the center of attention in fact. Look larger than I actually am. That’s important in my business. Looking large and attracting a crowd.”

  Not in mine, the gnome thought. He’d just gone from losing a beautiful pony that he thought was a might too noticeable to being perched on a wagon that might blind anyone looking at it for too long.

  Stand out in a crowd? Fenzig pondered. No. Carmen wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. He’d definitely draw one—a pretty big one.

  “It’s very nice,” the gnome said. “My own clothes are in rather bad shape. The bandits were none too kind.”

  “Well, we can fix that. Climb back into the wagon. Third shelf on the right. You’ll find a little wicker basket filled with needles and thread. You can mend your shirt in no time and patch the rip in those breeches. There’re also a couple of jugs of water back there. The brown jugs. You can wash up a little bit. You wouldn’t want to be seen in my company looking like you do now, would you?” As Carmen said the last, he pointed up and down at the gnome.

  Fenzig nodded, and Carmen drew back a curtain behind the bench. It opened to the inside of the wagon, and the gnome dutifully clambered back and headed toward the jugs. The inside was warm and stuffy, and it smelled like dozens of different things: spices, flowers, cedar, and more. First the gnome quenched his thirst, then he started to scrub off the grime, all the while whiffing in the wonderful aromas.

  Wonder if he’s got any food in here? I think I smelled apricots, Fenzig thought. Of course he has to have food in here; it’s just a matter of finding it.

  He glanced about the cramped surroundings as he continued to clean up. There were shelves to his left and right, and the wicker basket was easy to spot. Everything else on the shelves consisted of various-sized glass bottles and vials and ceramic jars and bowls—all labeled and nicely lettered and filled with a rainbow-colored assortment of liquids and powders. But Carmen hadn’t used magic paint or enchanted ink on the containers, so Fenzig couldn’t make out a word to identify any of it. There were crates piled here and there, and very little room to move between them—even for someone the gnome�
��s size.

  Good thing Carmen is on the thin side, the gnome mused, or he wouldn’t be able to get to his wares. Wonder where the food is? Maybe in one of the crates. I don’t think I want to take my chances with eating anything in one of those bowls.

  “Find the sewing basket?” Carmen was peering into the wagon, while still guiding the wagon.

  “Found it,” Fenzig announced, temporarily abandoning his idea for a food hunt. He stretched on his toes and grabbed the basket, then made his way back to the wagon seat. The gnome could tell that Carmen had slowed the horses’ pace. Probably no sight of dissatisfied customers, he guessed.

  “Thanks for your hospitality,” the gnome said. “I really was down on my luck.” He took off his shirt and inspected the tears. The breeze tickled his bare skin as he set to work. Fenzig wasn’t very proficient with a needle and thread, and he stuck himself three times before Carmen “tsk tsk-ed” and passed him the reins.

  “I hope you know how to drive a team better than you can sew,” the human said glumly. “What’s that?” Carmen was pointing at the blue heart and line on Fenzig’s left hand. It was closing in on three inches past his wrist.

  “A tattoo,” the gnome said quickly.

  “Looks like a homing spell,” Carmen stated.

  “A what?” Fenzig feigned surprise.

  “A homing spell, an enchantment that keeps a person on a leash, so to speak. It’s a nasty spell and often a deadly one, usually used on people bound to a task.”

  “Good thing this is just a tattoo,” Fenzig replied. No need to tell a stranger about my predicament, he thought. My situation is none of his business. “Got it in Burlengren. I thought my aunt might like it.”

  “Most people wear their hearts on their sleeves, not on their hands,” Carmen joked.

  Fenzig was glad the peddler was rather fast with a needle and thread. Within minutes the gnome had his stolen shirt back on and was pulling down the sleeve to cover up as much of the “tattoo” as possible. “Do you know much about magic?” the gnome asked as he passed the reins to Carmen and took off his breeches. He accepted the reins again as the peddler went to work on the ripped pant leg. “Magic and spells and such have always fascinated me. You have magical paint and love potions. Anything else?” Anything that might get rid of this homing spell? he added to himself.

  “No. I’m not one to put much faith in magic,” Carmen replied. “One of my sisters, on the other hand, claims to be a fledgling wizard.”

  “Does she live around here?”

  “I don’t know,” the human answered distantly. “I don’t see her all that often. She’s not looked on with favor by our family and friends. Instead of concentrating on spellcraft, she concentrates on stealing. She’s nothing more than a common thief. My family has no use for thieves. And not a lot of use for peddlers.” The last he added quietly.

  “And I suppose you don’t like thieves either.”

  “Thieves should be hanged,” Carmen said. “Or worse.”

  The next several hours were passed in silence. The countryside looked idyllic. Oaks and maples grew near the road and provided a wind block for a great field of wheat that swayed like a dancer in the soft breeze. The robins and blackbirds perched on the highest branches sang melodious songs. The sun started its path toward the horizon, and the gnome’s stomach softly growled. Fenzig snuck an occasional peek at the line on his arm and each time noticed it was a smidgen longer than it had been when he looked at it before. He wondered how far away the village Carmen had mentioned was. He hoped K’Nosha wasn’t much beyond that. As the miles continued to pass, and Carmen and he took turns handling the reins, the gnome started scheming.

  It’s too bad Carmen’s not going all the way into K’Nosha, Fenzig thought. Despite the his malice toward thieves, he’s an all right sort. I don’t want to steal from people I like. And I don’t really want to steal from Carmen. But he’s not going all the way to K’Nosha, so I guess I’m just going to have to steal his wagon. What choice do I have? I might not find another ride in time.

  There’re plenty of large bowls and jars back there, he thought. We’ll have to stop someplace for the night, and when Carmen’s busy with something I can hit him over the head with a heavy bowl and knock him out. Then I’ll tie him up with his clothes and steal his wagon and horses. I’ll stick him behind a tree, where it will be more difficult for someone to spot him from the road. He’ll be able to work himself free—eventually. Or he’ll be rescued—eventually. He just won’t be able to catch up with me until I’ve made off with Duke Rehmir’s emeralds and am safely back at King Erlgrane’s palace.

  Fenzig’s plot included selling the horses and wagon, probably in the small village just south of K’Nosha. He didn’t want to take the gaudy thing into town. With the money, he’d buy plenty of food, another change of clothes, and a nondescript pony. Then he’d ride to the duke’s, steal the emeralds, and make it back to King Erlgrane’s before the blue line ended his life.

  Perfect, the gnome thought. Things will work out after all.

  “You know,” Carmen said, finally breaking the silence, “I’m glad I found you along the road. You’re good company, and an honest man—not at all like my sister and some of the other folks I’ve run into. I was a little leery of letting you have a ride. You can never be too careful picking up strangers. You might offer them friendship, while they’ll offer you a dagger in the back. You just never know what they’ll try to do.”

  Fenzig nodded and smiled weakly.

  “Hungry?” Carmen asked. “It’ll be sunset soon, so we might as well set up camp for the night. I’ve got a good-sized tent back there that I’m willing to share. And I’ve got some dried venison and lots of vegetables. I make a pretty mean stew.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Fenzig replied. “It’s been a long while since I’ve eaten.”

  The gnome continued to scheme as a few more miles drifted by, his plans churning more rapidly with the thought of getting something to eat. Finally Carmen guided the wagon and horses next to a large willow tree a little way off the road. The tent was pitched while the stew simmered over a small fire, and Fenzig’s mouth watered in anticipation. I’ll wait until after dinner before I knock him out, the gnome decided. No use expending energy on tying someone up on an empty stomach.

  Carmen dipped a ladle into the steaming mass of meat and carrots and fixed the gnome a big bowlful. It was accompanied by sweet, hot herbal tea. This is heavenly, Fenzig thought as he dug in. This is simply delicious. Very tasty. And I am so very tired.

  His eyelids drooped shut, and he was aware of nothing else until he awoke to a breakfast of bacon and eggs. The tent was already packed, and Carmen passed him a plate.

  “Hungry?” the human asked again.

  The baffled gnome accepted the plate and quickly downed the eggs and bacon. They were filling and warm and were followed by three biscuits generously topped with raspberry jam.

  7

  The Road to K’Nosha

  “What happened?” Fenzig didn’t bother to hide his puzzlement.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “What happened? I just ate supper and now I just finished breakfast—both of which were delicious, thank you. Where did the time go?” He furtively glanced at his arm. The blue line that extended from the heart on the back of his hand was halfway up to his elbow. He shuddered and pushed his sleeve down to his wrist, registering with satisfaction that the peddler hadn’t noticed.

  “Well, you ate an awful lot of my stew last night, drank a few cups of herbal tea, and drifted off to sleep. I put you in the tent with me. I didn’t want you sleeping out in the open in case it rained. Couldn’t have you catching a cold on top of everything else that’s happened to you—the bandits and all.” Carmen’s tone was cheerful. “I guess I should have warned you that my tea is very relaxing. It can put you right to sleep if you’re not careful.”

  Fenzig nodded glumly. He noticed Carmen had changed into a new set of clothes that we
re even more garish than what he’d had on yesterday. Bright pink warred with purple and fought with green, vermillion, and ocher. His cloak had a rainbow design of dark blue, lemon yellow, violet, and olive, and his high leather boots were glistening black trimmed in scarlet with green clovers painted on the cuffs. The gnome blinked and looked at the ground.

  “Still hungry?”

  “I’m always still hungry. It goes with being a gnome,” Fenzig replied as he accepted the second plate filled with three more biscuits. The jam was sweet, and it quickly found its way to his stomach to join the rest of breakfast.

  The peddler passed him the last biscuit on the cookplate, scraped the last of the jam onto it, and smiled.

  “You’re not like other people,” Fenzig said between bites.

  Carmen looked at him quizzically.

  “Well, I mean not like other humans. You’re being nice to me. Awfully nice. A lot of humans, they don’t seem to care for gnomes. Call us wee-ones.”

  “I think you’re kinda cute. Are female gnomes as cute as you?”

  The gnome scowled. “Yeah, cute.”

  “Wee-ones doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds cute, too.”

  “Cute.” He shuddered. ”No? Not bad? But they usually follow it up with wee-brains or endless-stomachs or some such other insult. We tend to stick to ourselves ‘cause we don’t quite fit in with you humans.”