Chapter Nine
Wherein the Gnomes Begin
Their First Day as Partners
Grimbledung snored loudly. He was propped between two crates, a bag of rags for a pillow. It was dry and clean- he was having the best night’s sleep in years. He was awoken by the clanging and banging of pots. Angrily he sat up from his glorious slumber. Eyes red from sleep and building anger, he swung his feet off the bed and slapped them on the floor. It was then that the smells washed over him. Coffee? Eggs? Sizzling Elf Toes?! Pure bliss (except for the toes) wafted up on the morning air. He stumbled over nose first towards the sound of the ironware. “Gads! That smells great!” He said.
The largest of the pots clattered its lid in a simple ‘Thanks’. In doing so it let out a cloud of steam which filled the corner with the smell of honey soaked grits. Grimbledung shuddered with pleasure and began a frantic search for a plate, bowl, or hunk of wood to hold the feast long enough to devour it. “Plates! Plates!” He begged the cookware, which only clattered in response.
Even Dummy joined in the crisis, waving its arms frantically.
Drimblerod entered from the back room. “Morning all!” He called.
The pots clattered in response.
The jousting dummy, still unsure of its future, saluted furiously. “The privy’s free if you want to use it while I get the plates” he said to Grimbledung.
“Privy? You don’t use your box for that?” Grimbledung asked, pointing at the Abyssmal Box.
Drimblerod blanched. “I get the occasional strongly worded postcard for the odd wand, magical blasts, and random thoughts. Anything more...” He considered his words, “Substantial and I’d probably get a summons.”
“Fair enough. I’ll tend to the morning ablutions and be back in a flash.” Grimbledung’s stomach growled loudly, “Or possibly faster.” He trotted out to the rear of the shop and out a small back door.
Grimbledung looked left and right in the alley. Last night in the darkness and rain, he had not given it much attention. Now, with daylight and fair weather he examined closely what could become his own escape from dire circumstances. ‘It is always better to be safe ‘cause of proper planning, than sorry on the end of a rope’ as his father used to tell him. Grimbledung lived according to (and on two occasions because of) that simple lesson. It was, as with most alleys, cluttered with boxes and overflowing bins. ‘Cover’ as Grimbledung liked to call it. The way to the right, from where he came last night, joined a large busy intersection from an odd angle that was difficult to see from three of the four other roads. ‘Concealment’. Sometime in the very near future, he would have to see where the left went. A growling from his stomach reminded him of more pressing matters. Looking around his immediate surroundings, he spotted a small shack with a universally understood half-moon burned into the door. Grabbing a parchment from a nearby bin, he took a couple of deep breaths, held it, and ventured in.
“Think he’s going to work out?” Drimblerod asked Dummy.
It shrugged then raised its arms in front of itself, mitten hands curled claw-like.
“Yes, he does have a temper” agreed Drimblerod, “If I can keep him trained on the window-lickers to keep them at bay, we’ll double our profits.”
Dummy nodded even though it had no idea what profits or window-lickers were. A happy Master might keep him around longer. Dummy’s plan was a simple one; always agree.
“Do you even know what I’m talking about?” Drimblerod asked it.
Dummy held up two thumbs in approval.
Drimblerod shook his head, “I think I’ll start talking to the rat,” he said as he opened a cupboard. He retrieved two wooden plates and clay cups. “Rat!” He called to the front of the store, “Are you going to eat?” Just in case, he took down a saucer and extra cup.
Rat shuffled under the curtain, “I’ll eat if there’s any to spare. I’ve gotten pretty good at rummaging if not.”
“There’s plenty, Rat,” assured Drimblerod. “Coffee?”
“At my age and in my condition, my heart might explode.” Rat sniffed the air, “Pour me a cup.” He moved beside the small table, jumped onto it, and sat on his haunches. “That’s dark roasted Gnollish Coffee, isn’t it?” He asked.
Drimblerod nodded.
“I thought that was embargoed since the Great Gnoll Invasion of 648.”
“It was. Or, still is, really. I trade the Gremlins for it,” explained Drimblerod.
“You deal with Gremlins? Isn’t that dangerous? I hear they just muck things up out of sheer spite.”
Drimblerod put a cup of steaming coffee in front of Rat. “That’s how it used to be. But there’s not much of a living in just breaking things. Besides, because of that reputation, whenever anyone saw a Gremlin, they incinerated it.”
“So what’s changed?” Asked Rat, He took a tentative sip, coffee dripping from his longer whiskers.
“They got organized.”
“You mean a union?”
Drimblerod shook his head, “Worse. A Syndicate. Now when Gremlins break things, it’s because someone hasn’t paid them not to.”
“And you still deal with them?” Rat shuddered- the coffee had his heart racing. There was a reason it was only available on the black market- it was great stuff!
“It’s a mutually beneficial agreement,” explained Drimblerod, “I have a good reputation in the Gremlin community for helping out a couple of Gremlins who were on the lamb. Now, I supply them with Incinerator Wands, and they supply me with Gnoll Coffee, Elf Toes, and Orc Head Cheese.”
“All for a few Incinerator Wands?”
“Well, that and no questions asked. And if a Grem or two needs to lay low, they stay in the back room. They usually only stay a few days, keep quiet, and don’t eat much. It’s a pretty solid deal.”
“Really? Solid with Gremlins?” Asked Rat not at all completely sure. “That’s not a term one hears often. Or ever, really.”
“I’m an Honorary Grem’,” Drimblerod said, “untouchable by any Gremlin, anywhere.” He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a dark green circle with a small six-toed footprint in blue inside it.
“Wait, did you say Elf Toes?” Rat smacked his lips. “Pickled even?”
Drimblerod heaped eggs on the saucer and added two Elf toes. A very expensive and difficult to get delicacy. Mainly because Elves not only frowned on their appendages being served as snacks, but also because they tended to fight back. In large numbers.
“Gremlins!” Grimbledung came crashing into the room. “You’re infested with Gremlins!”
“Relax” said Rat, “They’re on our side. Have an Elf Toe.” He examined the Elf toe (a pinky toe) for a moment, “Or maybe we’re on their side. Either way, the eating is good.” He nibbled on the end of the toe.
Grimbledung sat down, “We consort with Gremlins? I don’t know if I can stomach that.”
“Elf toe?” Offered Rat.
“I hate the things almost as much as I hate the beasts they are attached to.” Grimbledung scrunched up his face. “Hoity toity, the lot of them.”
“And there are a lot of them,” Rat twitched his whiskers.
“Cup of Gnollish Dark Roast?” Drimblerod asked.
“Cup of ... what did you say?”
“Gnollish Dark Roast” said Drimblerod slowly.
“From the Gremlins?” Grimbledung jabbed a thumb at the back room as Drimblerod placed a cup of the steaming black coffee in front of him. “Much maligned those poor critters,” Grimbledung said as he inhaled the aromatic steam rising from the cup, “a proud and noble race, the Gremlin.” Daintily he picked up the scalding cup and slurped some of the luxurious liquid, “May the gods bless their little hearts.”
“Eggs?”
Grimbledung did not take his eyes off the cup of coffee, “Heartily,” he said.
Drimblerod ladled several heaping spoonsful of eggs onto his new partner’s plate. He added grits just in case.
Grimbledung inhaled deeply over the steaming
pile of eggs, “Gads, it’s a good thing we ran into each other on that field of battle isn’t it?” He picked up some eggs with his fork, “Do you know what happened there?” He closed his eyes with delight as he savored the taste.
“You don’t know? It was all over the parchments,” said Drimblerod as he also began to eat.
Grimbledung shook his head, “Never read the things.” He managed between bites.
Drimblerod took a sip of coffee, “I’ve got the latest copy still. I’ll read it to you.”
“Great,” said Grimbledung as his partner stood and moved beside the caldron to fetch the latest copy of the Daily NESW.
Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes. Page 12
