Fenzig's Fortune_A Gnome's Tale

by Jean Rabe

  Fenzig’s Fortune

  Jean Rabe

  Contents

  1. Treasure Hunter

  2. An Unfortunate Recollection

  3. A Grim Proposition

  4. Victuals and Ruminations

  5. Fenzig’s Mistake

  6. On the Wrong Foot

  7. The Road to K’Nosha

  8. A Gem of a Plan

  9. Another Proposition

  10. Carmen’s Truth

  11. Return to the Duke

  12. Together Again

  13. Into the Lion’s Den

  14. A Cagey Situation

  15. Family Reunion

  16. Graespeck Revisited

  17. An Affair of State

  18. Always a Thief

  19. Entering and Breaking

  20. Carmella’s Magic

  About the Author

  Also by Jean Rabe

  Copyright © 2007 by Jean Rabe

  All rights reserved.

  Cover: Juan Villar Padron

  Interior Design: John G. Hartness

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  First Printing: 2006 in conjunction with Tekno Books and Ed Gorman.

  Boone Street Press edition: 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-7325267-0-9

  Created with Vellum

  This one’s for John Helfers—

  an exceptional editor and author,

  but an even better friend.

  1

  Treasure Hunter

  An unpleasant odor clung to Fenzig’s nostrils, reminding him of his grandfather’s orchard at the end of the growing season, when all the ignored, misshapen apples fell to the ground and started to rot. But this smell was much, much stronger, and he more than didn’t like it.

  He tried to think about fresh-baked bread, which he dearly loved to smell—and eat. Fenzig’s stomach rumbled, he licked his lips, and he breathed deeply—as he would over a table full of warm loaves just pulled from the oven. The faintest wisps of steam would be rising from them, and they would be all shiny from butter his Aunt Ermal always brushed across the tops. There would be an open jar of honey nearby, and perhaps a bowl of mashed strawberries or blackberries, a knife for cutting thick slices, fancy little dessert plates, and a pitcher of cold goat’s milk.

  “Heaven,” Fenzig said, breathing deep again. “Simply h-h-h . . . .” He gagged and sputtered. His imagination was vivid, but it wasn’t quite good enough to cover up the intense stench of this horrid place.

  And it couldn’t even come close to covering up the dirt.

  This cell he’d been tossed in late last night hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long—years he suspected, and a thick layer of grime covered everything. Something greasy coated the stone floor, the walls, and the mound of moldy old straw trying to pass itself off as a bed. In fact, something greasy covered everything.

  Fenzig was quite the fastidious soul, and he couldn’t stomach all the filth surrounding him.

  But more than the dirt and the smell, he didn’t like the darkness. The only light came from a feebly flickering torch outside in the hall. The small barred window high on his cell door didn’t let much in—just enough to create a few shadows out of the blackness. Just enough so he could see the rats.

  Fenzig didn’t like rats. He spotted two on the far side of the small chamber, and that meant the darkest parts of the room undoubtedly hid more. The pair stared at him and wriggled their gleaming noses—the only things, Fenzig suspected, that weren’t dirty in this horrible, horrible place.

  He glared at the rats and stretched his short legs. A gnome, Fenzig was naturally short all over. Still, at three feet two inches he was practically towering for one of his diminutive race. A shock of dirty, sandy brown hair hung over his forehead. His once-light gray trousers and tunic were now a darker shade of gray, and his bare feet were getting colder and dirtier as he padded across the stone floor toward the door—and also got wet as he stepped in something squishy that he was glad he couldn’t see.

  Fenzig, like most gnomes, didn’t bother with shoes. They were too confining and didn’t let the air circulate around his toes. The soles of his wide feet were tough, and the tops were covered with a curly mass of dark brown hair that nearly matched the color of his eyes. He wouldn’t have minded shoes now, however.

  The rats squeaked at him as he came close, but they didn’t run for cover. One defiantly reared up on its hind legs and sniffed the foul air.

  They’re hungry, Fenzig thought. They’re waiting for dinner. My dinner.

  “You can have all of it. Whatever ‘it’ is,” he said glumly, ignoring his growling belly. “I’m hungry, too, but I’m not going to eat the slop they serve here. I’d rather starve first. Yes, indeed. I’d rather starve.”

  The two guards who had thrown the young gnome into the cell very late last night hadn’t bothered to bring him a snack, and he’d refused to eat the small plate of breakfast someone slid under the door this morning. The lukewarm concoction had resembled nothing so much as a greenish brown cowpie, and he didn’t much like eating things he couldn’t quite identify. The meal might have been old eggs or spoiled oatmeal, but he wasn’t about to taste it and find out.

  The guards apparently didn’t serve lunch here, or if they did they’d forgotten him. Or maybe he had slept through it, and the rats had gobbled it down. He suspected in either case he hadn’t missed anything, and he certainly wasn’t about to eat what might pass for dinner, which had to be coming soon—his grumbling stomach told him so.

  “I am going to starve,” he whimpered. Like most gnomes, Fenzig liked eating four or five generous meals a day, and sometimes a few sweets in between. He also liked living in a clean house that was warm and rat-free and pleasantly appointed. Thick cushions on padded chairs with padded hassocks to put his clean, bare feet on.

  “I hate this place,” he hissed. “Yes, indeed. I truly, truly hate this place.”

  “Get used to it, thief!” came a deep voice from beyond the door.

  “You might as well get used to the food, too,” called a second voice, this one high-pitched and angry-sounding. “You’re going to be here for a while. A very long while. After all, you tried to steal from the king. You should be glad you’re still alive. He could have had you killed instead of jailed.”

  The first voice chuckled, the laugh sounding evil to Fenzig. He pictured that guard as an ogre, one with warts and tusks and tangled hair that stuck out from under his armpits.

  “But maybe the king’ll change his mind and order the little thief hanged anyway. No use spending money to feed him for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “Hanged?” This from the higher-pitched guard. This one definitely not an ogre. “That’d be too good for him. Maybe the king’ll have him tortured. Girond the Tormentor hasn’t pulled off any legs for at least a month.”

  The guards laughed together then, loudly and much too long as far as Fenzig was concerned. Thoughts started churning in the gnome’s head. How long will I be here? Forever? Could the king really order me killed? I didn’t hurt anyone. I’ve never ever in my short life hurt anyone. He pursed his lips and suddenly felt much smaller than he really was, and more alone than he’d ever been before. More than hunger started burning in his belly–fear, the deep, intense kind that sent a shiver all the way through him and
caused him to vomit.

  Moments later the guards were chatting softly to themselves about hunting season starting soon. One of them tapped something against the wall, the way a bored man might tap his finger on a desk or against his temple. Fenzig suspected it was the haft of some long weapon being tapped, and his spirits sank even further.

  The gnome craned his neck this way and that, still desperately trying to ignore the rancid smell of this place and trying to glance out the barred window–both attempts were futile. He jumped, his feet slapping the greasy stone floor. He jumped again and slipped, landing on his rump and sending the rats scampering into the darkest shadows. The window was about five feet up on the door. He could climb the wood; Fenzig knew he could climb practically anything. But why look out at the ugly mugs of the king’s guards? Why not wait until they dozed off and then check things out? After all, they had to sleep some time.

  There’s got to be a way out of here. Yes, indeed, there just has to be. I’ll find it. Indeed, I will. After all, despite Fenzig’s state of utter despair, he considered himself resourceful. He’d gotten into the king’s tower–no easy feat. He certainly should be able to get out of the king’s dungeon.

  Yeah, I’d gotten into the tower all right, he recalled. Into the tower and right into trouble and into this very stinky, dirty hole.

  2

  An Unfortunate Recollection

  Fenzig had picked a night when the sky was overcast and the fog that blanketed the ground was thick enough to cloak his presence. Dressed in tight-fitting, shadow-colored clothes, he made his way toward King Erlgrane’s castle. He had smudged soot on his face and hands and on the tops of his toes so he could hide better in the darkness. And he breathed shallowly and stepped carefully so he would make no noise.

  Stopping in the tall bushes at the perimeter of the manicured grounds, he listened to boots crunching across the gravel walkway. When he had memorized the sentries’ dull and predictable routine, he slipped past them and started climbing the north tower’s stone wall.

  To the thief, climbing was virtually as easy as walking. His thin fingers found handholds that most people wouldn’t think to use, wouldn’t likely notice, and he was light enough that he could cling to vines and trellises that would buckle under the weight of human men.

  Fenzig knew to go to this tower because the king’s cleaning girls, whom he’d liberally plied with coins a few days ago in the marketplace, had revealed the location of the treasure vault. The thief, who relished money above all else, never objected to spending a few coins here and there when he was certain it would lead to making a lot more. Besides, the girls were pretty and smiled at Fenzig, chatted pleasantly with him—which was a change, as the humans of Burlengren tended to look askance at gnomes. Too, Fenzig knew from the girls’ worn clothes that it was apparent the king wasn’t paying them much. They were more than delighted by the coins he’d offered them.

  Within moments he reached the top window. Just as the half-full moon edged out from behind a cloud, Fenzig squeezed inside. It was a narrow window, and a tight fit even for his lithe form. Perhaps at one time the window had served as a spot where archers stood and fired out at the enemy, he mused—when the kingdom was at war and the castle was under siege every year. Or perhaps it was merely a slit to allow a little light and fresh air into the fusty old place. The gods knew this place smelled musty enough even with a window.

  The gods also knew, or so the thief believed, that King Erlgrane didn’t need archers standing watch—out of this or any other window. Since the man inherited the land and the title from his childless uncle almost a decade ago, no one had seriously threatened the kingdom. Erlgrane, though not a just or fair ruler by any means, was known to be a shrewd one—negotiating peace with neighboring regions, enlarging his own territory through skillful political deals, and keeping a sizeable military force at the ready—as an implied threat.

  But the kings before Erlgrane, ah, they must have had archers here, Fenzig suspected. He felt the smoothness of the stone just beyond the window, indicating many feet had shuffled about here at one time. He glanced out the slit, noticed the sentries strolling past on the grounds below, imagined, for the briefest of moments, that he had a bow and could expertly pick them off. He allowed himself a faint smile and also imagined, for slightly longer, that he was the king ordering the archers to find their targets and defend him from thieves who might try to steal his treasure—thieves who might possibly be small enough to fit through this window. King Fenzig!

  Enough dreaming, he scolded himself. Time to get to work. Indeed, it is.

  Fenzig silently padded across a thickly-carpeted landing toward a large, locked door—the entrance to the king’s treasure chamber. It was the only door the thief could see, likely the only one on this level. Stairs descended from the landing and led to other rooms below—mysteries that might be unraveled during future expeditions.

  There definitely will be future expeditions. Yes, indeed. Getting in was certainly easy enough. I’ll just have to wait a few months or so before returning, just in case they actually put guards here for a while. Wait ’til the fuss dies down a bit.

  If Fenzig were the foolish, overly greedy sort, he would explore the entire tower tonight. But while the thief took risks, he knew when to be cautious. This one room, this one very special treasure room, would be enough for this trip—he hadn’t brought anyone with him to help carry the loot. There were limits to what he’d be able to haul out of here by himself.

  King Erlgrane hadn’t placed even one guard outside the treasure chamber door. They were stationed downstairs, the cleaning girls had said, where most burglars would be forced to enter. However, the thief noted that as insurance the king had installed half a dozen small bolts and locks on his treasure chamber door. They gleamed dimly in the light of a lantern that hung on the wall halfway down the stairwell. The thief touched the bolt at eye-level. “Why would you need guards anyway when you have these very fine locks?”

  Fenzig knelt almost reverently in front of the door and reached into his pocket to retrieve a worn canvas pouch filled with thin metal picks. The gnome diligently set to work on the bottommost locks and was quite appreciative when one gave him a considerable amount of trouble.

  His skills had not been challenged lately. Indeed, he thought, it’s been a long time since my talents had been put to any kind of a test. It took him several minutes to get the clasp undone, then he moved onto the next bolt, and the next, and the top one that was nearly out of his reach. Finally, his stubby fingers wrapped around the handle.

  The door creaked open, and he carefully inched his way into the room beyond. Light from the lantern spilled faintly into the chamber and danced like a cavorting ghost over mounds of heavily tarnished copper coins. There were a few piles of gold coins, too, and the thief’s eyes locked onto these.

  There were also a half-dozen chests that undoubtedly held gems, jewels, and strings of pearls—the thief was especially fond of the latter, as they could be fenced for considerable money farther to the north. And there were a few fancy jade figurines and beautiful ceramic pots that would also fetch some decent coin. A crystal vase that sparkled merrily in the scant light caught his eye. A nice piece, but a small one.

  A good price for that vase, but not an outstanding one, the gnome thought after a moment.

  All together, it was a respectable display, though he’d certainly expected King Erlgrane of Burlengren to have a bit more loot: some dazzling baubles and gilded statues, heavy mirrors with bejeweled gold frames, dozens upon dozens of ivory belt buckles—as the king was known to collect them—silver candlesticks, brass urns, ornamental daggers, and ancient swords dripping with eldritch enchantments. Treasures like that. Treasures he envisioned a king would own. Treasures that, provided he could carry them, he intended to take away.

  This was a treasure, but not the treasure of a king.

  Puzzled, but still moderately satisfied with what he would net tonight, Fenzig carefully pic
ked his way among the coins, watchful of where he stepped. He, like practically everyone else in the kingdom, knew Erlgrane had an aging wizard under his royal thumb. The thief suspected the wizard had cast various protection spells about the place as an added precaution. The thief was wary of magic and didn’t want to trigger any spells which might alert the guards, or worse—might alert the wizard. They might hold the gnome to the spot, turn him into a tiny lizard. Or . . . the gnome thought a moment . . . or they might make an incredible horde of treasure look like only a modest one! He’d heard that magic could do anything. Perhaps the king’s treasure was far more valuable than it appeared. Why, a clever wizard could hide a fortune beneath an illusion of tarnished copper coins.

  Fenzig knew not to step on any symbols scratched on the floor—he noticed two of these, which might or might not be active spells depending on how old they were. One could never be too careful where one stepped, he told himself. And he knew not to touch anything that glowed. Disturbing either could alert the castle occupants, and the thief wasn’t armed–was never armed, and wasn’t able to physically deal with any sentries. He leaned over a mound of gold coins, pulled a leather sack loose from his belt, and began stuffing it full. The soft clinking of the coins was music.

  Odd, only the coins on top of this pile were gold. The ones underneath were iron, not worth nearly as much as even copper coins. He tested an iron coin with his fingers, then put it to his tongue. Definitely iron, definitely not a spell only making it look like iron.