They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1)

by Robert P. Wills

  “Where it isn’t raining?” Asked RatShambler.

  Grimbledung hopped up on the wagon, “Let’s go- I’m getting soaked!”

  RatShambler looked over his shoulder and began to walk slowly up the street, “You’re getting wet? I don’t know how I can live with myself with such knowledge.” His pace did not quicken.

  A full five minutes later, the wagon pulled into the back of the shop. Grimbledung was sitting, completely dejected- he wasn’t even trying to drive the cart and was merely along for the ride.

  “What took so long?” Asked Drimblerod, “It’s not even a minute walk from the front to the back.”

  Grimbledung merely pointed at RatShambler, “Maybe I can use your Mechanimator Wand to get a saw horse to pull me around?”

  RatShambler snorted in reply.

  “Let’s get your stuff off the wagon and your beast unhitched,” suggested Drimblerod.

  “Too easy” said Grimbledung as he hopped off the wagon, a clattering of a sack of pots in one hand, his gold Pixie Stick in the other. He gestured at RatShambler who promptly flashed back to just Rat. “Done.”

  “You travel light, I see,” remarked Drimblerod, “We’ll get a bed put together and after we get some cans, we’ll get those wands sorted as well.” This brought muffled clapping from the living area.”

  “Please, please tell me you have a stove or a fireplace that I can nap in front of,” pleaded Rat. He was still soaking wet- the enchantment didn’t change that. Actually, there was a large puddle of water where Rat was standing since his fur didn’t hold the same amount of water as a full grown Shambler.

  “Of course,” replied Drimblerod, completely nonplussed with holding a conversation with a rat. These were hard times, but also strange ones as well. “Head to the front of the store and it’s on the right. There’s a nice Red-Tailed Shambler fur throw in front of it.”

  Without a word, Rat ambled out from the rear room, heading to the first warm nap he had had in six years.

  Drimblerod watched him go with interest. “A rat and a shambler?”

  “It’s a long story,” remarked Grimbledung.

  “I’d love to hear it someday,” said Drimblerod. “But first let me show you the operations up front.”

  As they moved past the dummy, it waved and clapped.

  When Grimbledung dropped his stuffed-with-wands sack on its stand, it almost fell over as it bounced for joy.

  “That is one odd dummy” said Grimbledung. As he came to the front of the store, he spotted Rat lying on its back, all four paws sticking up as if it were finally, mercifully, dead. Grimbledung leaned in close and heard a raspy snore. Satisfied, he returned to the counter. “OK, give me the tour,” he said.

  “I put the flashy ones in the widow,” began Drimblerod as he moved to the window, “Something to draw pedestrians in. Anything unusual or colorful goes there. On the wall racks” he said moving there, “go the nonlethal wands. Things that won’t kill us if some harebrained window-licker waves it around. Behind the counter,” he pointed, “go the really expensive ones. The ones you do not hand to someone unless you’ve got your wand out.”

  “Got it,” Grimbledung said. “So- that leaves the window-licker problem?

  “Those people come in, wander the store, pick up everything, including the ones under the glass. After an hour, they just leave. The problem is that while they are in here, they chat up the other customers and distract them from buying something as well.

  “Why don’t you just blast them out of existence?” Suggested Grimbledung, “Or bewitch them into buying a wand?”

  “Because, as you said, having a Constable on the payroll hurts profits. And once a lawman is on the take, they never come off.” Drimblerod scowled, “Blasting a couple of my chronic window-lickers out of existence would make my century. Besides, the last thing you want to do is deal with the Constable on a regular basis.”

  “Wait, you mean the same ones come back day after day? Don’t these folks work?”

  “Times are tough. They have nowhere else to go and browsing is free.” Drimblerod shrugged, “It’s like a disease. Usually old people get it, but young ones do as well.”

  “So, I get to insult the same people every day and they will come back again and again?”

  “At least until you finally drive them off.”

  “I’d do that for free!” Grimbledung rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Drimblerod raised an eyebrow at him.

  “It’s just an expression! Don’t get your hopes up.” Grimbledung shook a finger at him. “I still expect some of the profits you know.” He sniffed. “And if I could get them up.” He sniffed again. “Then that’s more coinage in my pockets. Is… is that stew I smell?” He asked.

  “It is!” Said Drimblerod, “I’d started it before you arrived. I say we eat.”

  “Stew! Hot stew!” drooled Grimbledung.

  “Stew?” Asked Rat suddenly wide awake, “I’m all for stew!”

  “Asleep for the business, awake for the food.” Grimbledung said. “As usual.”

  “So then why are you surprised?” Rat asked. He gestured with a claw. “Lead the way Drimblerod; belly-filling awaits.”

  With Drimblerod in the lead, the three of them moved to the middle part of the store for their first evening meal together.

  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 grow
ling 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 tossed in.

  “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 spoonful’s 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.

  The Daily NESW was a clockwise parchment dealing with news from the North, East, South, and West, with its chief rival being the NWSE Daily Parchment. There were those that read the new upstart parchment – the Daily NEWS – but since that didn’t even make sense direction-wise, those people were considered unstable and not very trustable.

  Drimblerod cleared his throat, “This particular battle had begun like no other war in local memory; with a parade. It was an especially cool morning when, a clanging of bells and beating of drums broke the morning calm. The soldiers marched by thirty-five abreast, smiling and waving as they went; bells a- clanging, drums a-beating. The melody was horrible but the soldiers were all in step. Leading the parade’s front-most contingent, which as the twelve behind it was fifty soldiers deep, was a grizzled warrior waving a double-bladed axe like a baton.

  “ ‘Are and Are’ was his reply to the mayor that had come out to meet the Army to ask (nervously) why they were there. ‘We’ve had a long campaign and the men could use a little Are and Are. Battles win wars you know, and you can’t win those with worn out troops.’

  “ ‘Fine, fine. Quite nice’, replied the mayor in typical politician speak, ‘so where do you plan on taking this Are and Are?’ With only a slight pause he added hopefully ‘Up the road perhaps?’

  “Perhaps not, apparently. It seemed the mayor’s town was the first stop in a tour of local towns, villages, and castles in The Region. ‘Trickle-down economics.’ That’s what the warrior called over his shoulder as the procession continued its march, ‘That’s the road to prosperity!’ ”

  “Neat!” Interrupted Grimbledung as he scooped some grits into his mouth. “I love parades!”

  Drimblerod peered over the top of the parchment at the Gnome. “Yes.” He squinted as a warning then continued, “As the mayor looked forward to the thousands of prosperous villagers, or more precisely, prosperous registered villager voters. A warm glow filled his innards. Lining the pockets of constituents with other people’s money seemed like
a win-win situation. Until.

  “Until an evening two nights later when the mayor sat upright in his bed and bellowed ‘Reservations!’ That had been nagging him since his brief conversation with the Grizzled Warrior, the mayor explained to his very startled, newly awoken wife. It had seemed peculiar at the time that none of the soldiers had even tried to make reservations before they arrived, but well lined constituent’s pockets had pushed the thought right out of his mind. Even the hasty bivouac and foundry set up by the river had not pushed it forward. ‘First thing in the morning’, he told his wife, he would speak to that warrior about their ill-planned trip. ‘No reservations? Bad form, that.’

  “By nine o’clock that same morning, the Army controlled the entire city. Thanks to a well-planned (and adhered to) operation called ‘Kill Everyone’ with a follow-on operation called ‘Take Everything’, it was nearly a month and a half before a lone survivor was able to get word out that even though ‘R and R’ usually stood for ‘Rest and Relaxation’, in the case of this Army, it stood for ‘Rampage and Ravage’. The locals were not pleased at all with this subtle, yet noteworthy, difference. The local politicians, sensing the displeasure of their remaining constituency did what all politicians did; they immediately formed a committee and two focus groups. Three months later, the remaining two Kingdom’s armies in The Region had massed in a last ditch effort to stop the Invaders as they were now being called -appropriately so.”

  “Is this story almost done?”

  Drimblerod squinted at Rat this time and pressed on-

  “For weeks the battle raged day and night, rain or shine. Hundreds upon hundreds of foot soldiers lost their lives as prim and proper officers looked on. ‘Cannon fodder’ they called them. The men thought it was a badge of courage since neither army had cannons and therefore had no idea what one was. Sure, saltpeter was present around lunch and dinner time (disguised as ordinary table salt) for years in the military. Potassium nitrate or pot ash was used to cure many an ailment, and coal was made every spring to be burned the following winter. Unfortunately, not one person had considered combining these common elements to be used as a means of propulsion for large stones or balls of iron. Whether the term came from the East where such a concoction had been used for decades or officers just liked the sound of it rolling off their tongues, ‘Cannon Fodder’ was what they called the hapless men who died first.