Fenzig's Fortune_A Gnome's Tale

by Jean Rabe

  “Wh-Wh-What do you want stolen?” Fenzig stammered.

  “Three gems,” the king replied. “Three beautiful emeralds all the same size. Nothing too complex and nothing difficult to carry.”

  “Who do I have to steal them from?”

  “The Duke of K’Nosha. Duke Rehmir.”

  “The Duke? His manor is not just a few miles from here. It’s close to a hundred miles. And that’s not going to be easy. He controls a lot of land and an army. Why, if he caught me . . . .”

  “He’d kill you. Of course, if you don’t try, I’ll kill you,” King Erlgrane said evenly. “In any event, it should be easier than stealing from me, and you thought you could do that. Your answer, thief?”

  Dozens of questions continued to swirl in Fenzig’s head, but he was afraid to ask them. Why didn’t the king just ask the duke for the gems? Or buy them?

  “Do you know where he keeps them?” Fenzig finally risked. “Are they well guarded?”

  “My friends tell me Duke Rehmir keeps them in his study, on the mantel of his fireplace where he can easily admire them. I would assume he has guards. After all, the gems are quite valuable.”

  “And that’s why you want them? Because they’re valuable?” Fenzig hadn’t meant to ask those questions aloud, and the king’s perturbed expression was evidence he should have kept them to himself.

  “I adore gems,” King Erlgrane replied. There was more of an edge to his voice, as if he was losing patience with his prisoner. “They fascinate me.” He waggled his bejeweled fingers for effect.

  I can see that, Fenzig thought. You’re wearing enough gems for a couple dozen people. What do you need with three more? “Why . . . .”

  “I want these particular gems because they are perfect, flawless. They would be the pinnacles of my collection. With them in my possession, I would be able to bargain with Duke Rehmir for something I want even more than the emeralds. And I will have the emeralds, thief. Either you can steal them and live, or I will have you slowly and very painfully drawn and quartered and get some other skilled individual to perform the task. Your answer?”

  “Yes,” Fenzig said quietly. “I’ll steal them for you.”

  King Erlgrane exhaled slowly and allowed himself a broad smile. “Good. Sleep well tonight, Fenzighan Wiznagrik, for you’ll want to get an early start in the morning. A pony will be provided for you, and several days’ worth of food. Beyond that, you’ll have to fend for yourself. I’ll even give you a few enchanted items to help in your endeavor.”

  King Erlgrane looked to the far end of the room, and two guards came forward, flanking a comely human woman who carried a gleaming short sword on a velvet pillow.

  “This weapon is magical,” the king said. “It will aid you in the event the duke’s guards are armored fighting men.”

  “I don’t know how to use a sword,” Fenzig offered. “In fact, I’ve never used any kind of weapon. I’ve never had to fight before, only dreamt about it, and . . . .”

  “Then hopefully you won’t need it.”

  Next, the woman removed a plain silver ring from the pillow. It looked much too big for Fenzig’s small fingers, but when she bent over and placed it on his index finger, it glittered like a firefly and instantly shrank to fit.

  “The enchantment in this ring will bend rays of light around you, rendering you invisible to most eyes. It will work only three times before the magic fades, and it will work for only several minutes at a time. So use it wisely,” the king suggested.

  “And don’t try to use it in this castle as a means of escape.” The voice was the old wizard’s.

  Fenzig hadn’t seen him enter the room, but there he was, standing inches away from the king. The wizard looked more rested, and the black circles beneath his eyes were nearly gone, making the wrinkles even more prominent. He was still stooping, a function of age, not lack of sleep, and he still looked sullen. He was dressed in a heavy black robe that trailed on the floor behind him and contrasted sharply with his beard and what few strands of hair were left on his head.

  “I’m not going to try anything,” Fenzig said. But as soon as I get out of this place I’m going to disappear—turn invisible with this ring—and run so fast no one will catch me, he told himself silently. Why, I’ll go to a new country, sell the sword for some starting money, never steal again, and . . .

  “And I’ll put a stop to any notions you might have about fleeing the moment King Erlgrane lets you out of the castle,” the wizard said.

  The guards clamped their meaty hands on Fenzig’s shoulders, painfully holding him in place. The king and the girl with the pillow slowly backed away, and the wizard began mumbling and edging closer.

  The gnome couldn’t make out exactly what the ancient man was saying, though he could tell there were words of some sort. They sounded almost melodic, despite the wizard’s scratchy voice. As the unknown words grew louder the wizard started wiggling his spider-leg fingers, spinning them in the air like a woman would use knitting needles. His fingernails glowed a pale blue; then the glow intensified and stretched out to engulf the gnome.

  Fenzig felt like his stomach was rising into his throat.

  The glow darkened to a rich sapphire color, and it made the gnome tingle all over as if a hundred mosquitos were nipping at his skin. He felt flushed, but he wasn’t sure if that was a sensation of the magic or because he was so nervous. Maybe something he ate was starting to disagree with him.

  Before he could ponder the situation further, the glow dimmed and fled down his limbs, disappearing all but around his left hand. The glow stayed there, like a glove. Beneath the blue haze he saw a mark appear. He squinted to make it out, and as the image came into focus, the glow vanished entirely.

  A bright blue heart, roughly the size of a grape, remained on the center of the back of his hand, the tip pointed toward his wrist. As he stared at it he could almost swear it was pulsing, as if it were beating. Fenzig’s mouth gaped open as a faint line edged outward from the tip of the heart and grew to touch his wrist.

  “There. The spell is finished,” the wizard announced smugly.

  “W-w-what? What’s finished? W-w-what spell?” Fenzig stammered.

  “The homing spell,” the wizard replied. “Each day that line will grow a little longer, and when it moves over your shoulder and reaches your neck, it will kill you. It’s a simple enchantment, really, but it is very effective.”

  The gnome rubbed furiously at the back of his hand, trying to wipe away the heart. “You said I’d live!” he cried at the king. “You said if I agreed to steal the emeralds, you’d let me live.”

  “Only I can remove the heart,” the wizard continued. “When you bring King Erlgrane’s emeralds here, and he is satisfied they are the correct ones, I will cancel the spell. And then you will most certainly live.”

  Fenzig paled. “How long do I have?”

  The wizard looked at him quizzically.

  “How long do I have before the line reaches my throat?”

  “Two weeks, maybe a little more,” he replied. “But maybe a little less. Magic is often not precise, and I’ve never used this spell on a gnome. Of course, two weeks should be plenty of time. Five days there, the same amount back, and a couple of days to steal the emeralds. Plenty of time.”

  “But if it takes longer than that?”

  “It obviously has taken some thieves longer,” King Erlgrane calmly informed him. “You’re not the first thief I’ve sent on this mission. The first was nearly five years ago, after I became interested in the gems—after other avenues of getting what I truly wanted were closed to me. Another thief was sent . . . oh, two or three years ago I think. The affairs of state in the intervening years, and acquiring land to the south . . . . Well, all of that has kept me so preoccupied I hadn’t time to think about the gems.”

  “But now you’re thinking about them again?”

  The king nodded. “Yes, now I am again thinking about them.”

  “The other thi
eves you sent?” Fenzig prompted.

  “Let’s hope you’re more skilled than they. Let’s hope you’re as good as your reputation indicates.”

  Fenzig looked from the wrinkled face of the wizard to the regal face of the king. “I’ll get your emeralds,” he said simply.

  “Good,” the king said. “Guards, take our prisoner back to his cell for the evening. He needs to get some rest. He’s got a big day ahead of him tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll want to start early.”

  Very early, Fenzig thought as he glanced at the pulsing blue heart on the back of his hand. Very, very early.

  4

  Victuals and Ruminations

  Fenzig rode out of Burlengren’s gates just after dawn. He’d been given his choice of ponies from King Erlgrane’s royal stables, and he selected the only white one. It was tall for a pony, nearly fourteen hands high, and the gnome had more than a little difficulty hoisting himself into the saddle. Perhaps the healthiest of the bunch, its coat glistened in the early morning sun, and its eyes were a rich blue and looked to be full of intelligence.

  At first Fenzig considered the beast a fine pick, as it was certainly the handsomest mount available and was undoubtedly worth a handful of gold coins. The latter factor was the true reason he selected the pony. If King Erlgrane allowed him to keep it after all of this was done, he could sell it for a tidy sum.

  But after an hour on the trail to Duke Rehmir’s, Fenzig realized he might have made an error. A common-looking pony, chestnut or dun in color, even black, probably would have been better, for it would not be as likely to be noticed or remembered. There weren’t many white ones, especially one as fine and large as this. The pony would make him stand out in virtually any crowd.

  “Did anyone see who robbed the duke?” Fenzig pictured a guard asking. “Well, sir, I didn’t get a real good look at him, but he was very short, had hairy feet, and he was mounted on the most beautiful white pony. I saw him ride in that direction.”

  Wonderful, Fenzig thought. Thieves need to blend in with a crowd, not stick out like a swollen thumb. If I’d gotten more sleep I would have been thinking straight at the stables and made a different choice. But maybe if I’m lucky I can trade this pony for another before I reach the duke’s estate.

  Still, the pony was good-natured and had a quick gait, and that was some consolation. Speed was important, the gnome mused as he looked at the blue heart on the back of his hand. The line was just over his wrist.

  “Mistake,” Fenzig pronounced. “I’ll call you Mistake, my fine white pony. That’s what my life has been, one big mistake going on for about three days now—ever since I got the brilliant notion to steal from King Erlgrane.”

  He dug his heels into the pony’s sides to urge it to go a little faster, then he leaned forward in the saddle and patted its neck in praise and let his fingers comb through its soft hair. It had a striking wheat-colored mane and tail, the latter of which it constantly swished to chase away the flies, occasionally swatting the gnome as well. The saddlebags across its rump were filled with dried meats and fruits, enough for at least two days and maybe three.

  Enough for a human, Fenzig mentally corrected. Unless I exercise a lot of willpower, it will be all gone by nightfall. And then what will I do? A plump waterskin hung from the saddle’s horn, and a smaller one filled with raspberry juice was draped on a cord around the gnome’s shoulder.

  As a gesture of sympathy, Fenzig had also been given three silver coins from the stable master. “In case the hunting’s not good,” he’d been told.

  Just one of those silver coins, and the crystal salt shaker still hidden in his pocket, could buy a fair amount of vegetables, though nothing fancy and certainly not anything like roast beef or turkey, and any accommodations the remaining coins could purchase would not be especially good—but would certainly be better than a rat-filled cell. He’d had more coins in his pockets when he broke into the king’s tower. In any event, the three coins made Fenzig feel not quite broke. He would have felt a lot better, however, if he didn’t have to steal three particular emeralds from Duke Rehmir just to stay alive.

  The miles seemed to melt beneath the pony’s hooves, and Fenzig wondered if he truly was making good time. It was far past breakfast and within a few hours of lunch, so he stopped and let the pony rest and graze, and he prudently picked through his rations. He was careful not to eat too much, despite his argumentative stomach. When he was finished, he fished a carefully folded parchment from one of the bags and spread it on the ground. His finger traced the road out of Burlengren.

  Though Fenzig had an extensive vocabulary, he couldn’t read a single word scrawled on the map. He had never taken well to formal schooling, as he’d put more effort into stealing from the teacher than in learning from her. As a consequence, he’d been thrown out of school–two years past on his thirteenth birthday–and had never learned to read. Still, he could interpret signs well enough. A tankard over a word or two symbolized a tavern, a horse painted on a plank indicated a stable, and a plate of food on a sign above a doorway meant there were victuals to be had inside.

  He hadn’t, as of yet, needed to know more than that, and he reckoned he could understand this map well enough. The sketch of a castle at the south end, where the road originated, was Burlengren. The gnome town of Graespeck was a little to the northwest, though it wasn’t indicated. There were other side roads, smaller and twisting, that led to villages he wasn’t interested in. The crude drawing of a clump of trees to the northeast, coupled with the skull sketched in the middle of them, indicated what the people of Burlengren referred to as the Haunted Woods.

  There were lots of words on the parchment, but Fenzig shrugged them off. He could see where the road went on its twisty, curvy way around the low hills, and he could see where it passed by K’Nosha, the town adjacent to the duke’s estate. In fact, he probably didn’t need the map at all, as he’d been to K’Nosha a few years ago and had seen Duke Rehmir’s very imposing manor house in the distance. Still, he thought he’d look at the various landmarks as he went so he could tell how much progress he was making.

  And it’s time to make some progress now, he decided. Time and my life are a wasting.

  Shortly after Fenzig resumed his trek, he passed a family heading into Burlengren—two adults and two children crowded into a small wagon. The children pointed at him and laughed.

  “Never seen a gnome before?” he called at them angrily. It wasn’t the first time ignorant human children had poked fun at him.

  “Never such a dirty one,” the little boy called back.

  His sister stuck out her tongue. “And never such a dirty one on such a pretty pony.”

  Oh, no, Fenzig thought, looking down at his chest. My horse is spotless, my gear is clean, and I look like a pig—worse than a pig because of the king’s dungeon.

  He’d been so worried about the king’s mission and the magical heart the wizard had put on him that he’d forgotten all about his state of dress—and his smell.

  “Talk about you standing out, Mistake. Look at me,” Fenzig muttered half under his breath. Then he whistled. “And look at that.”

  His view strayed a couple hundred yards to the right, where a small brick farmhouse and a weather-beaten barn sat off to the side of the road. A thickset woman was hanging laundry on a lengthy piece of clothesline. Several of the garments looked as if they belonged to children, and from this distance, they also looked conveniently Fenzig-sized.

  “I’ll bet I can find something clean to wear there,” he whispered as he urged Mistake closer.

  He hid the pony behind the barn and then dawdled in the late morning shadows until the woman went inside. He didn’t see anyone else, and from the intoxicating scents wafting across the yard, the gnome guessed everyone was inside eating an early lunch.

  Slithering as silently as a cat on the hunt, he hid behind a large oak tree, then rushed to hide behind a barrel, all the while getting nearer to the clothes. He poked his head ou
t and ogled the selection on the line. Greens, grays, browns. Perfect, he thought. I can put together something presentable and that won’t stand out, common colors that won’t catch anyone’s eye.

  Creeping behind some wind-tossed bed sheets, the gnome made his way to an old tree stump that rested directly under the clothesline. He took one more glance at the farmhouse before he hopped up on the stump and started making his selections.

  Better take a couple of changes of clothes, he thought, in case it takes me a few tries to get something that fits.

  His damp merchandise in hand, he jumped off the stump and turned to make his way back to Mistake when an especially pleasing odor caught his attention. He took a last look at the house and his eyes locked onto an apple pie cooling on the windowsill.

  The gnome’s common sense warred with his appetite. He knew he should leave now, before he was discovered. But the pie smelled very good–so very, very good. In the end, his appetite won, and he carefully laid the clothes on the stump and dashed toward the house.

  “Mama! Mama, mama, I’m going out to play.”

  Fenzig heard the child just as he wrapped his small fingers around the rim of the warm pie plate. Then he heard the house’s front door open and little feet beating across the plank porch.

  The child turned the corner and stared at Fenzig. The little boy was cute, and the gnome grinned at him.

  The wide-eyed youngster returned Fenzig’s smile, then called, “Mama, there’s a funny looking little man stealing our pie.”

  So much for cute, Fenzig thought as he whirled on his bare feet and dashed across the yard, pie balanced precariously in both hands.

  “Mama!” the child bellowed loudly. “Maammaa. Maaammmaaa!”

  The gnome was running so fast he almost passed by the stump. He skidded to a brief stop—only long enough to balance the pie on his right palm and to use his left hand to grab the clothes and stuff them under his arm. He resumed his tight hold on the apple masterpiece and took off.