“After the fifth week, everything seemed to be going great for the Invaders and the fate of The Region seemed sealed, right up to the point when the local Dragon Brigade (Local 1753) showed up. Dragon Brigades are under strict union contract to wait until a particular battle is 4/5 over before arriving. Of course, it is sometimes difficult to tell when a battle is 4/5 over; it is kind of like saying ‘it seems this rainstorm is 4/5 over’ except men are dying while you wait to make your decision. At times, the Dragon Brigade would get it wrong and show up when the battle was 6/5 over, and at that point the officially sanctioned looting had started by the winning side, and dragons weren’t necessarily required to make that happen. Of course, if they showed up at the 3/5 or earlier point in the battle, the tide would still turn in their favor. Unlike a charge of a Light Brigade, a Dragon Brigade charge was always successful- it was the enemy’s duty to Do and Die. No questions asked. However, the danger in this was that it could soon take away from the mystique of the Dragon Brigade.
“This was very dangerous because Generals could then begin to expect Dragon Brigades to be present earlier and earlier in the battle. Soon, they would be expected at the bivouac and drills the week prior to the battle. Scandalous! It would be quite difficult to be a snobby Dragon Brigade rider when one was knees deep in mud on a bivouac with a bunch of Cannon Fodder. For the Dragon Brigade, as with most things, timing was everything. In any case, this battle ended precisely on time- 4/5 of the way though. Local 1753 got their books stamped, and proceeded to drain various local taverns; their version of trickledown economics.
“The battle being won, the locals decided to return to their calm way of life- after all if this massive battle has been lost, whatever Army was behind it would have to realize the folly of their ways and move on to other, more easily vanquished, quarry. Unfortunately for the locals, the invading army was, in a word, ‘not easily deterred and willing to do whatever it took to succeed in whatever task was before them’ (well, in Orcish it’s one word; “chutzpa”). Not that they were Orcs, but the term was appropriate. As such, the loss of their lead contingent was only mentioned once -and only in passing- at the weekly roundtable along with the weekly weather report. That’s chutzpa.”
Now Grimbledung did the squinting as Drimblerod rolled up the parchment, “Now wait a grain of sand. If there were no survivors, how’d the parchment come up with such a detailed story from the battle? And that timeline just doesn’t make sense at all. Something’s fishy.”
“It’s called ‘artistic license’, I’m told.”
Grimbledung thought for a moment. He knew very little about art, and didn’t even realize one needed to be licensed to produce it. Never the less, who was he to argue with licensed artists -journalistic or otherwise? “I suppose so,” he offered.
Drimblerod looked down at his plate, “Hey, my eggs are getting cold. No more interruptions!” He reengaged them with fervor.
Grimbledung followed suit as he too took to eating with the seriousness that Gnomes had when it came to eating.
Once breakfast was done, Rat returned to the front of the stove and fell asleep on his side, distended belly rising and falling with each breath. Grimbledung and Drimblerod went to the front of the shop. “Time to open the shop!” Said Drimblerod as he rubbed his hands together, “Let the coins flow!”
Chapter Ten
Wherein Grimbledung Sells His First Wand (in the shop)
“So what do you want me to do, Drim?”
“Stay out here and mind the shop while I get some cans together for the dummy to start sorting into. If tension continues to build around here with all that talk about an impending invasion, we’re going to be really busy, really soon.”
“I don’t believe all that talk.” He waved a hand dismissively, “After the trouncing the Dragon Brigade gave those mercenaries, there’s no way anyone would dare attack again. No one is that stupid.”
“I would have to agree with you, but if there’s even a chance that there’s going to be a run on wands in this town, we need to make sure we’re fully stocked and ready to sell to every paranoid person with coins to spare.” Drimblerod smiled mischievously, “And if folks start to calm down, we’ll just have to get them back on their edge again.”
“Well, if there’s one thing that Rat says I’m good it, it’s getting people on edge. I’m not even sure what that means.” He furrowed his brow. “The edge of what?”
Drimblerod blinked at his new partner; he wasn’t sure if he was making light of the situation or actually was perplexed. “Why don’t you handle selling wands while I worry about the whole impending invasion thing?”
Grimbledung looked around the store, “Do you have any, maybe, more helpful or detailed directions for me than that?”
“Be nice to people. Let them browse and pick up wands. Make suggestions. If they seem to be just window shopping, try a hard sell. If that doesn’t work...” Drimblerod lowered his voice, “Get rid of them.”
“Got it. That’s it then?”
“No, actually. Don’t let anyone take a wand from under the glass unless you’re holding the Dispel! Wand that’s behind the counter.”
“Got it.” Grimbledung moved to the sign on the window that in big red letters said:
CLOSED!
And doen’t even think abowt
Nocking on the glas!
Go a way
But come back later!
“Got it, Grim? Dispel! Wand behind the counter,” said Drimblerod again.
“Sure thing,” Grimbledung said as he waved his hand over his shoulder. He was craning his neck to try to see people on the street. “Here customer, customer, customer!” He whistled in hopes it would help. As Drimblerod left the front of the Shop, Grimbledung was hopping from foot to foot singing:
Customers we love you!
Customers you’re great.
Please come buy something,
or I’ll blast your head off
He clapped in between iterations of his song. After five minutes (much to the relief of Rat) he stopped singing and sat behind the counter sulking and drumming his fingers. When he spied a passerby in the window, he sat up straight and tried to look business-like. As was often the case, the seventh one actually entered the store.
“Good morning,” said the smallish Human man.
“Good morning to you too!” Replied Grimbledung sitting ramrod straight, “come in and peruse the merchandise!”
“Well, what I really need is a Loo” said the man.
“Lou? Who’s that?” Asked Grimbledung, spine loosening up.
“A John”
“I don’t know anyone named John.” Grimbledung’s shoulders hunched. “Or even Lou John for that matter.”
“Ahhh, I, ahhh” tried the man. “Uhm…”
“I only speak Common, Gnomish, Dwarfish, and a little Elven, and that not by choice.” His fingers stopped drumming on the counter.
“A bathroom?” Tried the man.
“I see.” Grimbledung winked knowingly. “We Gnomes call that ‘a Privy’.”
“Oh, I see. Well then...” Began the man with a relieved smile.
“And do you know why we call it that?” Interrupted Grimbledung as he stood on the stool, hands holding him up as he leaned over the counter.
“Uhmm. No?” Offered the man.
“BECAUSE IT’S PRIVATE!” Yelled Grimbledung. “As in NOT for the likes of you!” Drops of spittle hit the glass counter. Grimbledung’s ears were flat against his head, “UNDERSTAND?” He screamed as he began to clamber off the counter. “Or do you need a more up close and personal explanation!?!”
“Urp!” Said the man as he closed the door and waddled back past the window.
“I guess he doesn’t need a Loo anymore” Grimbledung said to no one in particular.
Drimblerod put the last can- a copper lined affair with a lid- on Dummy’s pedestal. “I think he’s going to work out nicely,” he said to the Dummy, who was hunched over, hands cove
ring its ears (or at least where its ears should have been).
Dummy straightened and twirled one of its mitten hands beside its ear.
“Maybe a little, but I think he’s more bluster than bite.”
Dummy shrugged.
“Mostly harmless” explained Drimblerod.
At that, Dummy raised a thumb. Just then the bell at the front door jingled. Dummy covered its ‘ears’ again.
“Welcome, come in! Peruse the merchandise!” Grimbledung said cheerfully. He had worked half the night on that phrase. He searched and searched his mind for something professional yet friendly to say to customers. At his wagon, a whispered ‘Whaddayawant?’ usually sufficed. He had selected, ‘Check out the merchandise’ but after Rat suggested ‘peruse’- and assured him it was indeed a real word- he decided on ‘Peruse the merchandise’. He had ‘We endeavor to serve’ in reserve just in case two customers came in close together. He had never experienced three customers at once so the thought of that didn’t even occur to him.
“Thanks,” said the lanky youth as he closed the door behind him. He stared at Grimbledung. “New management?” He asked.
Grimbledung shook his head, “No, no. Just expanded management.” He smiled a hopefully welcoming smile and added, “Come in, we endeavor to serve.” Grimbledung scowled to himself; now he was out of phrases.
“Thanks” repeated the youth as he looked at the wands on the wall, “Oh- a levitator! Nice,” he said as he picked it up. “And a Shire Egg Finder! Neat!” He used the levitator wand to pick up the other wand. He held both for a moment then put them both back down. He continued to look at the wands on the wall. Grimbledung began to drum his fingers.
The bell over the door rang as another customer entered, “Welcome, per ... we..” Grimbledung scowled. “Come in,” he finished. It was another human, slightly older than the first but still as lanky. Don’t these humans eat? He thought as he tried to keep an eye on both of them.
The second customer moved straight to the glass counter. “A disruptor,” he commented as he leaned over the glass so close he fogged it up, “and an Assassin’s Wand!” he exclaimed. “Can I hold it?” He asked pointing at the Assassin Wand. “Can I?”
“Sure thing, Pal,” said Grimbledung thumbing the catch of the back of the counter and sliding open the rear door. “We can make you a deal on that, if you like it” he said handing it over. “Even add a wrist sheath to complete the package.”
“A-hah!” Exclaimed the customer as he whirled about and pointed the wand at the back of the first customer. “Boooom!” He said as he pointed it at the still dozing Rat. He pointed it at Grimbledung, “Ka BLAM!” He exclaimed.
Grimbledung’s eyes were now trained on the business end of the wand. The highly dangerous, mostly unstable and barely legal, Assassin Wand. His knees felt loose. So did his bowels. He glanced quickly down and saw the Dispel! Wand hanging on a wooden peg by a worn leather strap. It was well out of reach.
“Bazaaam!” The Human said again as he pointed the wand at the ceiling.
Grimbledung’s bowels sent a request to his brain to vacate the premises. In capital letters.
“Gads!” Scowled Rat as he rolled over, “There’s folk trying to sleep here. Namely folk named me, so keep it down!”
The customer lowered the wand slightly as he turned toward Rat.
“Sorry, I di ...” Was all the man got out before a stool shattered atop his head. Still holding one of the stool’s legs, Grimbledung wacked the man on the wrist, knocking the wand from his hand. The wrist twisted in a way that revealed it was obviously broken. Fortunately, since the man was already unconscious and falling at the time, he did not notice.
The first customer raised an expensive, hard to find Green Pixie Stick (a Forest Pixie dispeller) and opened his mouth as if he were going to ask a question.
“Don’t you even think about it!” Snapped Grimbledung as he pointed the stool leg at him, “If you say anything besides ‘I’ll take it’, I’ll pound you with this!” He shook the leg at the man for emphasis.
The man took a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it to Grimbledung.
He caught it without even taking his eyes off the man. “Well?” He snarled, “I’m sure there someplace you need to be besides here!”
“Gah!” Was all the man managed to get out before scampering out.
Chapter Eleven
Wherein Grimbledung Makes His
First Bribe (in the shop)
Drimblerod came from the rear of the shop to where the Dummy was working- or supposed to be working. Dummy was flailing and pointing to the front of the shop, he would stop and punch one hand into the other, or hit himself in the head. “Settle down. I’ll go see what’s going on,” Drimblerod assured Dummy. He moved quickly to the curtain. “What’s going on?” Asked Drimblerod as he pushed through the curtain. He was greeted by Grimbledung standing over a splayed and very unconscious human. Bits of stool were scattered about and Grimbledung was still holding the wooden leg in one hand, Assassin Wand in the other.
“I made a sale,” offered Grimbledung. He hadn’t moved from his stance.
“You just can’t beat people over the head to sell them a wand.”
“No, not this one,” Grimbledung nudged the man with the stool leg, “the other one.” He pointed at the door with the wand. “That other guy bought a Green Pixie Stick for a silver coin.” He grinned. “He seemed pleased with the purchase too,” he added.
“What’s with this one?” Drimblerod nudged him with his foot. He picked up the man’s arm which covered his face. His hand flopped in unnatural directions. Drimblerod stuck out his tongue, “That’s not good. What? Did you hit him while he was down?”
Grimbledung looked offended, “Not at all! He hadn’t collapsed yet when I hit his wrist.”
Drimblerod raised an eyebrow
“Well, at least not completely anyway. He still might have twitched with this thing in his hand.” Grimbledung waved the Assassin Wand, which crackled ominously.
Assassin Wands were smaller than normal wands; easy to conceal, or after being used, discarded discretely. They were imbued with one or two spells, always offensive, usually lethal. In many townships and municipalities, they were illegal. Fortunately, in Aution, a more devil-may-care attitude was followed. Since no devils had complained about Assassin Wands (because they didn’t use them, and no one would ever consider trying to use one on them) they were fair game within township limits.
“Well, we need to move him,” said Drimblerod, “he’ll spook the other customers. At least he’s not bleeding.” He bent over to look at the man more closely. “Externally anyway.”
“What’ll we do? This guy’s sure to file a complaint about this.” Grimbledung said worriedly. “He got a good look at me too. What I really need now is ...”
“A doctor?” Suggested Drimblerod.
“No,” replied Grimbledung. “An alibi!”
“Relax. Get the dolly from the back. We’ll strap him to it. I’ll roll him down to the doc. He can patch him up, wipe today from his head, and send him on his way.”
“Really? That’s a great doctor!” Grimbledung relaxed and put the wand and hunk of wood on the counter.
“Well, he does owe me a favor or two. It shouldn’t cost more than a silver.”
“But that was my first sale,” whined Grimbledung.
“Now it’s your first bribe,” said Drimblerod, “hand it over.”
Grimbledung took the silver coin from his pouch, kissed it and tossed it to Drimblerod. “I’ll get the dolly” he said sullenly.
After several failed attempts, the two Gnomes were able to balance the man on the dolly long enough to strap him down. “OK. I’ll take care of him, you clean up this mess and mind the shop,” ordered Drimblerod.
“Got it,” assured Grimbledung.
Drimblerod raised an eyebrow at him.
“No, really. I can handle this,” Grimbledung said as he shuffled Drimblerod out the d
oor, dolly and all. “Rolton Chips!” Exclaimed Grimbledung as he gathered the broken stool and fed it into the stove. He moved back behind the counter and caught himself trying to sit down on a no longer in existence stool. “Steaming piles of Rolton chips.” He muttered as he leaned on the counter.
“Oooh, thanks,” said Rat sleepily as he rolled his back to the now crackling fire. “Whack another customer in an hour, will you, Grim.” With that he dozed off.
Grimbledung’s gesture at Rat was wasted. If nothing else, it made Grimbledung feel better.
After a few minutes, a cloaked figure came in quickly and shut the door. “Welcome. Come in and peruse the merchandise,” said Grimbledung, straightening.
The cloaked figure moved quickly to the counter, keeping low as it went.
“Shhh” it rasped, “not so loud.”
“Right” replied Grimbledung in a fake theatrical whisper, “the rat’s sleeping.”
The figure shook its hooded head. “They might hear. Keep it down. And don’t wake the rat,” the figure hissed.
The situation suddenly seemed familiar to Grimbledung. He was back at his wagon on the wrong side of town. He leaned forward, “Of course; no witnesses.”
“Riiiight,” the figure whispered.
Grimbledung leaned over the counter so his feet were barely on the ground and in his best conspirator tone asked, “Whaddayawant?”
“I’m off on a mission. An adventure. I don’t know what I’ll encounter” the figure said. “Death itself,” it suggested.
They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1) Page 6
