by Jean Rabe
Balancing himself precariously on the back of his pony, the gnome leaned over and yanked loose one of the men’s gags.
“Cut us free!” the man demanded angrily. “Just look what that peddler did to us! Cut us loose right now!”
“My, my,” Fenzig replied rather testily. “I don’t see that you’re in any position to be making demands of me, thank you.”
“All right. Please cut us loose!” the man pleaded. The gnome suspected the man’s irate tone was caused in part from having a rash that he couldn’t scratch, what with his hands being bound at his sides by the rope that tied him and his friend to the tree.
“If I cut you loose will you go after the peddler again?”
“Yes! We’ll help you. We’ll help you tear that peddler limb from limb. We’ll rip out his hair. We’ll tear his clothes into little pieces. I can see you’re a victim, too.” The man had noticed Fenzig’s red fingers and toes and was staring at his face. “Hair tonic, right? Or did he get you with the wrinkle-be-gone?”
Both. “I’m a victim most certainly,” the gnome agreed, “but I don’t want your help tracking Carmen. How long ago did he do this to you?”
“About an hour, two at the most. Now cut us loose.”
“Sorry. Maybe on the way back.”
Fenzig dug his heels into his pony’s sides, urging it into a steady gallop and resolutely blocking out the curses of the men he’d left behind. One or two hours—I’m getting close, he thought. I might still have a chance. I just hope Carmen or Carmella or the pair of them haven’t fenced those emeralds someplace. I would have fenced them by now if I knew they were this hot. The gnome continued talking to himself for well over an hour until he saw another village ahead and a throng of people gathered. He kicked the pony once more and sped toward the group that could only have a garishly attired peddler at the center.
“And here is my favorite—Carmen the Magnificent’s Wart Remover. Guaranteed to eliminate all your warts in just one day.”
The peddler looked truly flamboyant, Fenzig had to admit. Carmen, or Carmella, was dressed in a red satin shirt with billowy sleeves that sported white satin ruffles. The pants were lime green and voluminous, billowing like a ship’s sail about his legs. He wasn’t wearing a cape today. Instead, he wore a purple scarf that was covered with beads and sequins. It fluttered in the breeze, and the decorations sparkled in the noontime sun. A dark green floppy hat festooned with a half-dozen orange feathers topped his head and shadowed most of his face, and his long blond hair hung loose about his shoulders.
Fenzig got off his pony, tied it to a post, and moved in closer, noting that Carmen the peddler had about the same build as Carmella the thief. The gnome was careful not to get too near. He didn’t want to tip off Carmen or Carmella or anyone else who might be working for him or her.
“Give me some of that cold syrup you were talking about. I’ve got a bad case of the sniffles!”
“Right away, beautiful lady,” Carmen said as he exchanged a bottle of pink liquid for a gold coin. “And how about you, ma’am? I’ll bet you’ve been fretting over those few gray hairs that have been appearing. Try my exclusive Gray Away and you won’t be fretting anymore.”
“Ooh!” came a delighted squeal. “Gray Away sounds like just what I need. How did you know I was worried about my hair?”
Fenzig admired the way the peddler worked the crowd. Carmen knew what they wanted because he could read their minds with that necklace. He knew the things to say to get them to buy. He catered to them and complimented them and bilked them out of their hard-earned gold.
“And here’s my newest remedy—Carmen the Magnificent’s Cure-All. It will rid you of the gout, chase away the toughest flu bug, eradicate the mumps, and abolish bad breath.”
The gnome was squeezed by the press of people trying to get closer to purchase Carmen’s latest concoction. His small ears were filled with cries of “I’ve got to have some of that,” “Oh, please sell me a bottle,” and “I’ll take two.” After suffering a couple of unintentional jabs to his ribs, Fenzig dropped to his hands and knees and crawled between the humans’ legs. He skittered to the front of the crowd, then made a dash for the back of the flashy wagon. He was stretching up to reach a handhold to help him inside, when he heard a wail that sent shivers down his spine.
“This cold syrup tastes terrible. And it’s giving me a nosebleed! This isn’t a cure. This is a curse.”
“Ma’am,” Carmen called quickly. “You’re supposed to drink that before going to bed. That’s why it’s not working properly.”
“If I drank it before I went to bed, you’d be long gone, and I couldn’t get my money back. You’re a swindler!”
“Yeah! This sore throat tonic isn’t working, either!”
“Good folks,” Carmen pleaded, “you’ve got to give my medicine a little time to work. It needs a few hours to get into your systems and work its wonders.”
“Wonders? It’s a wonder you’ve got the nerve to sell this stuff.”
Fenzig grinned widely—and leaned away from the wagon, looking around the side just in time to see a large, ripe tomato being launched by a tall farmhand. The tomato flew unerringly through the air and landed solidly with a squishy splat against the peddler’s chest. Not that anyone would notice it, given how bright a red the shirt already was, the gnome mused. A few more tomatoes followed, as did potatoes, onions, rocks, and anything else the townsfolk had handy to throw. Some struck the peddler, the horses, and the side of the wagon. Others struck the customers up front.
Carmen tried his best to dodge and dip and jump about to avoid being pelted too severely. “This is uncalled for!” the peddler bellowed. “I came to offer you my best wares and you offer me taunts and vegetables! I’m leaving!”
“Good riddance, thief!”
“Get out of here, you stinking con artist!”
“Hey! Give us our money back!”
“Yeah, we want our coins!”
“After him!”
Fenzig gripped the handhold tight with his right hand as he felt the wagon lurch. With his left he reached for the knob on the back of the wagon, intending to open the door and climb in. But the wagon lurched again, and the gnome had to use both hands just to hang on. Carmen was obviously trying to move the horses through the crowd, though he wasn’t having much success. The wagon pitched once more, then stopped, and the gnome heard the peddler yell at someone to let his horses go.
“You’re not going anywhere!” someone called. Fenzig imagined the person was big, judging by the booming voice. “You’re going to jail!”
“Yes! Take him to jail.”
No! I can’t let that happen, Fenzig thought. If Carmen—or Carmella—cools his—or her—heels in jail, they’ll keep the wagon and what’s in it, too. Then I won’t be able to get the gems or take Carmella to Duke Rehmir’s. I’ve got to do something. With that, Fenzig concentrated on his ring, felt himself instantly chilled, and became invisible. He leapt off the back of the wagon and started weaving his way through the throng of people pressing ever closer to the peddler. The horses were getting nervous and snorting loudly. But the people didn’t seem to care.
“Ouch!” Fenzig yelled as a boot heel ground into the top of his foot. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Watch where you’re walking!” Came an angry retort. “Get him!” the man with the hard boots added. “Jail’s too good for the slimy peddler. Let’s hang him!”
The people couldn’t see Fenzig, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t bump into him, jostle him, and drop rotten vegetables on his invisible head. The gnome muttered a string of curses, which mingled with those being spewed by everyone else in the crowd, and he made his way toward the front of the wagon.
“Argh!” Fenzig spat as he was pressed between the wagon wheel and a burly man. The gnome pounded his fists into the man’s belly, and at last the man backed up, looking for his assailant. The man’s glare was directed at Carmen. That’s it, thought the gnome. K
eep thinking the peddler’s to blame for all your woes and hurts and you won’t think to look for me.
The gnome spied a dropped hoe on the ground in the midst of the crowd’s feet. It gave him an idea. Risking more punishment, he crawled on his hands and knees between several pairs of legs and grasped the wooden haft.
Now we’ll see if you give Carmen some room, Fenzig thought as he snuck toward the front of the crowd and jabbed the hoe handle into the back of the burly man’s calf.
The big man whirled around and glanced at the person behind him. “Watch yourself!” he barked.
“No. You watch yourself!” came the vicious reply. “You’re in my way!”
The gnome ducked and scampered forward just as the burly man landed a punch in the other man’s stomach. At the same time, Fenzig stretched the hoe forward to trip a young woman who was reaching for a piece of Carmen. She fell forward against the wagon wheel, and the man behind her bent to help her up.
“You oaf!” she snarled as she slapped away the gallant gentleman’s hand and kept up her attack by slapping his face. “You tripped me!”
“I did not! I was only trying to help!” The man put his hands on his hips in a pose of indignation, and Fenzig rapped him across the back of the ankles, causing him to pitch backward in surprise—right into the burly man.
The fistfight was growing larger, and Fenzig had to scamper this way and that to avoid being a target. Good thing they can’t see me or I’d . . . “Ooof!” The gnome found himself being ground into the dirt as the fight moved over the top of him. He tried to stand, but found that someone was standing on him. His ribs ached, and he suspected a couple of them were at the very least bruised. “Get off me!” he hollered, then instantly realized how ridiculous he was being. No one could see him. Still, he had the use of his arms, and he started swinging the hoe with them, moving it back and forth, connecting with people’s ankles and feet.
The cacophony of curses, yells, and connecting punches seemed deafening to the squashed gnome. He summoned all his strength in an attempt to do a pushup and dislodge whatever overweight villager was standing on his rump. He heaved and heaved and nothing happened, but then the person moved of his own accord when a shrill whistle cut through the air.
“What is going on here?” a new voice bellowed. It was deep and loud and had the sound of authority to it. “Break it up! Break it up!”
The yelling started dying down, and Fenzig took the opportunity to scramble close to the wagon. Maybe I’ll just settle for the emeralds and not the lady thief and hope the duke understands, the gnome thought as he clambered onto the back of the wagon. This time he had little trouble with the back latch. Maybe I can find the gems inside—provided Carmen hasn’t fenced them—and sneak out before the invisibility wears off. The crowd is welcome to the peddler for all I care. She deserves her fate. I just want the emeralds.
“Who started this fight?” It was the same commanding break-it-up voice he’d heard before, and Fenzig craned his neck so he could see the speaker. The man wore a leather breastplate with some type of badge of office affixed to it. No doubt he was the town constable or some other type of lawman. “What is all this about?”
More cacophony resulted as the townsfolk proceeded to complain loudly and all at the same time about the peddler and his noxious mixtures. The criticisms, charges, grievances, and objections overlapped each other, and the gnome couldn’t stomach listening to all the noise. He ducked inside the wagon and closed the back panel behind him.
“Now, hold it, folks. I’m going to talk to this peddler, and we’ll get this mess sorted out.” The sound of the constable’s voice reached Fenzig even through all the shelves and boxes and vials and crates piled inside the wagon.
“No, you’re not.” This last bit came from Carmen, who hied the horses, which were now free from the press of the crowd.
The wagon lurched forward, and Fenzig fell on his rump, crushing a vial beneath him. The broken glass bit into his tender flesh, adding a new ache to his small body, and he wondered if whatever he was sitting in was going to give him another rash. The horses moved off at a run, and the wagon veered crazily from side to side. Pans, jars, bottles, and more were spilling off of the shelves and flying everywhere—even on Fenzig’s invisible form. The gnome grumbled and pulled himself to his feet. He held onto a shelf, which was nailed to the wagon wall, to steady himself, and he opened the back door of the wagon just a pinch.
A bevy of townsfolk were chasing the wagon, though they had no real prayer of catching it because they were on foot. Then a figure on horseback caught Fenzig’s eye. He was urging his mount around the crowd, shouting for the people to move. There were three more riders close behind him.
They do have a prayer of catching up, Fenzig thought. In fact, it’s almost certain they will.
Thinking quickly, the still-invisible gnome groped around for unbroken bottles. He pulled the back panel of the wagon wide open and started flinging out the potions, aiming at the ground around the horses’ hooves.
When the first landed and broke, pink smoke belched forth. The horse reared back, nearly tossing its rider to the ground. But he was a good horseman, and in a heartbeat he had the animal under control and had resumed the pursuit. The second bottle landed with a thud, the glass seemingly unbreakable, and the third and the fourth had little effect on the men or their mounts.
“Try the bottles with the blue liquid in them.”
The gnome swore under his breath at the sound of Carmen’s voice. The peddler must have used his necklace to discover he had company in the wagon.
“The blue liquid and the green liquid. They don’t mix well. Throw them together, and you’d better hurry! They’re gaining on us!”
Fenzig took Carmen’s advice and gathered a handful of bottles that had blue or green liquid in them. He heaved them out the back of the wagon and watched in amazement as they broke on impact and discharged great puffs of colorful smoke and arcing streaks of sparks. The reaction looked like a miniature fireworks display and served to spook the horses. The men—including the town constable—were thrown to the ground. Their flailing limbs were barely visible amid the puffs of smoke.
“Did you get them?” Carmen called.
Yes, I got them.
“Good,” the peddler replied. “Now why don’t you come up front, and you and I can have a little chat?” The peddler hied the horses again and got them to go faster yet.
The gnome knew Carmen had to put more distance between himself and the angry villagers. The men would eventually get up, dust themselves off, retrieve their horses, and come after the peddler again. He halfway wished he hadn’t thrown the blue and green liquid at them. If they’d caught Carmen, the gnome might have been able to explain about the emeralds, been allowed to take them, and go on his way.
“Now, now, now,” Carmen lectured. “That’s no way to think. Join me up here. The view’s much better.”
Fenzig grumbled and picked his way between the broken bits of glass and ceramic. Is it always like this? he thought, no longer bothering to talk. If Carmen could read his mind so easily, let him. Do you always leave disgruntled customers behind—ones who would like to throw you in jail for eternity?
“No,” Carmen called back. “It’s not always like that. I think my last batch of stuff had a few spoiled ingredients. Some people who used the lotions broke out in rashes. That usually doesn’t happen. My elixirs simply do nothing. They’re like sugar water. They generally taste good going down, but they neither hurt nor help you. Except for my hand cream, which is truly exceptional. I think I’m going to have to look at my recipes again.”
You mean you have all of these nonsensical concoctions written down?
“Of course. I have to mix some things together to produce the colors and thicknesses. People don’t want to buy clear liquid. It looks too much like water. But offer them something kelly green or dark purple, something that smells like ferns caught in a spring rain, and they’ll shell out a few
gold coins. People want something wildly exotic that offers the promise of a miracle cure. You know, something that . . .”
The peddler’s last sentence ended with a clang. He rocked forward in his seat, and the gnome grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him from plummeting from the wagon. Propping the peddler against the seat, Fenzig dropped the metal skillet he’d used to hit Carmen in the head and grabbed a length of twine. Climbing onto the driver’s bench, he grabbed the reins and held them in his teeth. He made no move to slow the horses, as he was still worried about their pursuers. Balancing on the seat and keeping one eye trained on the horses’ route, he deftly twisted the twine about Carmen’s hands and feet. When he was certain the peddler wouldn’t be able to worm his way loose, he yanked the medallion free from Carmen’s neck. The gesture knocked off Carmen’s hat—and his luxurious mane of blond hair went with it. The short-cropped black hair of the jewel thief was left behind.
“Carmella!” Fenzig exclaimed, dropping the necklace over his own head. The gnome wasn’t surprised, though he hadn’t been sure if Carmella was a female masquerading as the male peddler Carmen, or if Carmen was a male masquerading as the female thief Carmella. The former of those suspicions was correct.
I see how you do it, he thought as he stuffed the gaudy purple scarf in her mouth to make sure he could ride in silence. I always believed it was best to blend in with the crowd so no one would notice me. On the other hand, you like to stand out in a crowd and get everyone’s attention. But their attention is riveted on a flamboyant salesman who is easy to remember. No one ever sees the female in black who skulks into their homes and robs them. And I’ll bet you use this, he added to himself as he fingered the medallion around his neck. I’ll bet you read their minds to find out who is rich enough to get a visit after Carmen the Magnificent’s magic show is over. I’ll wager you used it on me to learn all about the emeralds and beat me to them.
The gnome carefully turned the horses off the road and behind a copse of trees. He pulled Carmen’s—rather Carmella’s—unconscious body into the wagon, pushing aside a few boxes so he had enough space to stretch her out. Then he went about searching for the emeralds. It took him nearly an hour, but in the end he was successful. Carmella had hidden them at the bottom of a bag of rye flour.
