by James Bailey
A Gnomish Solution
by
James Bailey
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
A Gnomish Solution
Copyright 2011 by James Bailey
[email protected]
*****
“Oi Foggle, where do you think you're going? Get over here!” Bellowed Innkeeper Durban, his one eye glaring balefully at the gnome as he attempted to back out of the door to the dwarf's Inn. Durban's Inn was the only Inn in Stolten, a small town near the dwarven capital of Nordrelm and a popular stopping point for travellers to the city. Durban himself was a middle aged dwarf, with long braided brown hair and an eye patch. His eye being lost in a battle against the orcs years ago. Durban looked as angry now as the day he lost his eye.
“What have ye done? Aye? I paid you and your idiot gnomes to keep my drinks cool behind the bar, look what ye done to them!”
The dwarf reached behind the large wooden bar, heaved out a barrel of mead, levered open the top and tipped it upside down.
“Frozen solid!” Shouted the dwarf shaking the barrel up and down, a few frozen chunks of mead dropping to the bar.
“Um, well, um, we may have perhaps, overshot the mark somewhat,” said Foggle, looking at the ground while shuffling his feet. Foggle was one of the many gnomish inventors from the nearby gnomish village.
“Somewhat! The dwarf pulled out a flagon of ale from the Gnomish Fridogomatic and pitched it at the wall. The wooden cup shattered on impact causing a cylindrical pillar of frozen ale to fall to the floor.
“How am I supposed to serve frozen drink! People don't come to my bar for a lolly pop, they want a drink!” Shouted Durban.
“Well, um, I am sure you can come up with some method of advertising while we correct the problem. Perhaps you would be interested in our Gnomish Microwizard, it will heat your beverages right up in an instant!” Foggle saw Durban's eyes widen with rage and hurriedly turned to leave the bar, seeking his escape until Durban swiftly roared at him to halt.
“STOP! No more of your contraptions, my fire will do nicely enough to thaw out what you have already frozen. Bah, should have known better than to trust my money with creatures that believe any simple job is better done with mechanical contraptions and the threat of explosion” The Dwarf grumbled to himself.
Foggle rose up in consternation, barely reaching the height of the dwarf's chin. “Excuse me, but our mechanical contraptions are of the highest quality and there is a very low risk of explosion with all our merchandise.” Foggle corrected, a stern expression on his face as his race's famed engineering ability was derided.
“What exactly do you consider a low risk of explosion then?” asked the dwarf with feigned casualness.
“Oh about fifty percent in the first year” replied the gnome with a satisfied expression
Sighing Durban picked up the broom he kept to the side of the bar and began sweeping up the pieces of flagon and ice from where the frozen mead hit the wall. There were no patrons at the Inn at this early hour of the day, Durban generally did not bother opening until midday. Despite this it did not seem to stop Foggle's fellow gnomish tinkerers from barging in to either sell him improvements or try to fix the one's he had been either too drunk or too nice to say no too.
“Um, have you heard the latest news?” Asked Foggle, attempted to divert the subject from the frozen brew and any other touchy subjects.
“What news?” Asked Durban, disinterestedly still sweeping, half expecting the gnome to start babbling about some new gnomish invention that was sure to leave another half mile crater somewhere nearby.
“The Elves to the North are joining the fight against the orcs! Isn't that great!” Foggle exclaimed, his face lighting up with a broad grin, thinking this might brighten Durban's mood.
“Elves? Those pansy, stuck up, little, pointy eared creatures? For crying out loud what am I going to have to do now, put in some fancy tables and chairs and start serving wine and chilled grape juice? Bah, I don't even know why we even bother with them, they have never liked us and we have never liked them.”
Foggle's eyes lit up. “Wine! Of course, I can start building an automated grape crusher and fermenter! Well I think I will have to start work on a prototype to send to the elves to test out. What a wonderful opportunity!” A look of delight took over the Foggle's face as he thought of the new market this fresh alliance would bring.
Durban stopped and stared at the gnome, visions of elves getting covered in half smashed grapes as Foggle's contraption blew up in their face came to him. A smile crept over his face for the first time that morning.
“Good idea, get right on that.” Durban encouraged.
A smile beamed on the Foggles face as he saw he had started to turn Durban's mood around at last.
Suddenly the doors to the Inn crashed open and a gnome walked in, covered in blood and feathers with a half cooked chicken in his hands.
“Foggle, the automated chicken rotisserie has a minor glitch, but the chicken is mostly cooked though would you like to see? ” The gnome started to walk towards Foggle, chicken held out in front of him as blood and feathers started to fall to the floor. Durban's bad mood returned in an instant.
“OUT! Get out and clean yourself up before you come in here.” Durban bellowed moving to poke the gnome in the stomach with the end of his broom handle as the gnome hurried out of the bar.
“Oh dear, I had such hopes for that project,” said Foggle morosely.
Durban turned to Foggle a furious expression on his face. “All day, every day I have to put up with this. For crying out loud I am going to have a word with that guard Rognar, this will be the last morning I will put up with some gnome barging in here covered in blood or oil and messing up my Inn. How many times has it been this week now! Going to be one of those days gnome, mark my words!”
With this Durban stormed out to the storeroom to inspect his latest batch of brew, Foggle following him after pausing a moment to look at the door. Plans for a timed locking mechanism for different times of the day popped into his head but he knew better than to suggest this as a solution to Durban right now.
Durban opened the door to his storeroom, his nostrils immediately assaulted by the scent of yeast and alcohol from the fermenting brew. Rows of barrels lined the room, markings on the top indicating the type of brew in each barrel and the date the brew was made. Faintly the sounds of bubbles breaking on the surface of the brew could be heard as the yeast fermented. Durban slowly went to the first barrel, putting his ear to it listening to the bubbles, making sure his latest batch was coming along nicely, tapping softly down the sides to break up any yeast stuck to the sides.
Foggle crept into the room, his natural urge to try and improve taking over his survival instinct. “Um, have you given any thought to my offer to streamline your brewing and bottling process.” Foggle reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded up blueprint. Unfolding it, were the plans to an enormous machine resembling an over sized boiler with dozens of pipes and chimneys pouring off of it to smaller boilers.
Durban did not even look up from his barrel.
“No.” Durban said flatly.
“But I have made some significant improvements to the last prototype I showed you. If you would just have a look...” Foggle persisted.
“What happened to the last prototype?” Durban asked in a monotone.
“A minor malfunction”
“How big a crater did it leave?” Durban said in the same monotone.
“36.7 feet in diameter believe.” Foggle said thinking to himself for a moment to remember the number.
“Definitely no then.” Durban stated definitively as he continued inspecting along the row of barrels.
A voice c
alled out from the main bar. “Durban you in here somewhere?” Durban recognised the voice of Rognar Thunderbrew. “We have a big problem.”
“Bah. I'll show him a big problem.” Durban muttered to himself, staggering to his feet. Sighing he called back. “Coming! Wanted a word with you anyway about those blasted gnomes.” Durban stomped out of the storeroom, Foggle in tow.
Rognar stood in the centre of the front bar a worried expression on his face. Of a similar age to Durban, Rognar was of average height for a dwarf but of above average girth. Clearly Rognar had been partaking of more than one too many Durban's famous boar steaks, with more than one too many ales to wash it down. Wearing a heavy coat made of boar skin, a large battleaxe was strapped to his back, a battleaxe had spent more time getting polished than bashing enemies.
Durban strode into the bar determinedly. “Before you start Rognar let me say my peace. Stop letting every wretched gnome into