by Jean Rabe
The orchestra started practicing midmorning. After Fenzig’s second breakfast, he strolled into the smaller of Duke Rehmir’s ballrooms to listen to them. It sounded pleasant enough, especially the flutes. But it was human music, and it therefore lacked all the intricacies, harmonies, and the exacting syncopation of gnome compositions. It just wasn’t very interesting. He’d been told that the orchestra would be performing in the largest ballroom tonight, where the acoustics were better. But they couldn’t practice there now since the room was being decorated. This smaller ballroom would soon be set up with tables, where tonight’s feast would be served. Fenzig idly wondered what was on the menu.
Between breakfasts—Fenzig knew to eat two breakfasts, as lunch would be scant because the cooks would be working on the gala’s feast the rest of the day—the gnome wandered into the largest ballroom. He had to concentrate to keep his mouth from dropping open in awe. The floor was white marble, polished to make it gleam like a jewel, and the pale gray veins in the tiles had been matched to form patterns. The ceiling, two stories above, was covered with magnificent frescos of human women in elaborate gowns. They were dancing, though the gnome did not spot any depicted musicians. The walls were stark white, but thick garlands of scented cloth flowers were being hung between the ornate lanterns that were evenly spaced throughout.
Fenzig thought the walls needed a few paintings here and there, so people didn’t have to crane their necks toward the ceiling to look at art. The gods knew Duke Rehmir had enough paintings everywhere else in his palace, he could have put some here. But, on second thought, maybe the duke didn’t want attention focused on the walls—he probably wanted all eyes on the room’s occupants, especially his daughters.
The raised marble platform at the far end of the room was where the orchestra would sit, the gnome noted. Already, padded chairs were being placed there for the musician’s comfort. More padded chairs were being added along the walls so the guests who were not dancing would have a place to sit.
Wines and finger desserts would be served in here after the meal, a female gnome chef explained. Fenzig made a note to ask her, Grechen, what the different types of dessert would entail. Maybe he could put in a request.
Shortly after noon, and shortly before that same gnome chef had promised him a light lunch, Fenzig made his way to the fourth floor, searching for Carmella. He hadn’t seen her since his first breakfast, needed to know what she was up to. The gnome had done a lot of thinking, mostly about himself and his people from Graespeck, and some about Burlengren. He was going to leave the duke’s estate tonight, after the gala, or leave the very first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t be polite to leave before, he decided. He’d rent a room in K’Nosha—one of the gems the duke gave him earlier would pay for plenty of days of room and board.
He just didn’t fit in here, though the food was just about the best he’d ever eaten. He didn’t care for Duke Rehmir’s newfound interest in expanding his territory by taking over Burlengren. He didn’t care for Carmella’s eldest sister Berthrice. And the few gnome cooks were pleasant enough, but he had nothing in common with them—except food. He simply didn’t fit in—not the first time he was here, and not now.
I’ll stick around K’Nosha just long enough to see how everything works out with Burlengren, long enough to get some gnomish formulas for Carmella, long enough to make sure my people are going to be all right, he thought. Wonder if Carmella’s gonna come with me again? Wonder if . . .
“Are you looking for Carm?” It was Elayne, the sister Fenzig particularly liked.
He grinned at her and nodded, stared at her hair, which cascaded in tight curls all around her shoulders. There were strands of pearls woven here and there, and the gnome considered the entire creation rather nice to look at. She touched a slender hand to her hair.
“I’m getting ready for the party,” she explained. “Carm is, too. They’re trying to fit her with one of my dresses. She’ll be beautiful.”
“So can I see her? We’ve got things to talk about. Important stuff.”
“Can’t it wait a little while?” She smiled sweetly and tilted her head.
“I guess. But just a little while.”
“And can’t we find something a little more . . . dressy . . . for you to wear?”
“Dressy? Gnomes don’t like to be dressy. At least I don’t like to.”
“Appropriate.” She settled on that word instead. “Something more appropriate for you to wear?”
Fenzig fervently shook his head. He wasn’t about to have another of Carmella’s outfits cut and tucked so he could fit into it. Maybe he’d just find a place to wash what he had on, tidy up a bit and . . . .
“I’m certain Carmella would really like it if you dressed up for the party. I could send for something in town. Something in just your size. Green, perhaps. Blue. That’s my favorite color.”
“Maybe something new I guess.”
“Blue, then?”
“Gray.”
“Perfect.”
“And black. I like those colors.”
“Don’t like to stand out, do you?”
Fenzig shook his head.
“Nothing too ostentatious, then, my little friend. I promise. Come along, let me get some measurements, and we’ll have you fixed up in an hour or two.”
The gnome grudgingly complied. Getting fussed over by Elayne was better than wandering around the estate. And it would have to do since he couldn’t talk to Carmella for a little while. . . .
A little while turned out to be at Duke Rehmir’s grand gala. Fenzig was dressed in billowy gray pants that were gathered at his ankles, just above black leather shoes that were a tad tight. It was the first pair of shoes he’d had on in years. His shirt was black silk, and he was forced to admit it felt good against his skin. Beneath its folds he wore his beltpouch, which he refused to leave even in Elayne’s good care. A gnome couldn’t be without his riches close at hand, he argued.
Fenzig was among the first to the dinner table, and was the first to be impressed. There were more pieces of silverware than he could imagine what to do with; three glasses, each of a different size and tinted blue to match the plates in front of him; linen napkins embroidered with the duke’s crest; and scented candles sculpted in the shape of castles.
Carmella arrived just before the wine was poured. At first Fenzig didn’t recognize her. She was dressed in sweeping gown the color of ripe watermelon flesh. Tiny beads edged the sleeves and high neckline and sparkled in the light of the chandeliers, reminding the gnome of the magical fireflies she created with her spells. Her hair was tightly curled, and her head topped with a glistening tiara. It made her look like a princess, which the gnome suspected she would be considered when her father took over Burlengren and Erlgrane’s estate.
She waltzed gracefully into the room, took a seat next to the gnome, and with an elegant gesture opened the napkin onto her lap.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered.
“I feel silly,” she returned. She edged her index finger under her collar. “And I itch. I’m not used to wearing so many clothes.”
You better get used to it, princess, he thought. A king probably has lots of gala affairs.
“I can’t wait until this is over. My sisters, well, just look at them. They probably want this to last forever. They spent all day getting ready and. . . .”
Fenzig pushed her words aside as introductions were made—he futilely tried to attach names to outfits in the event he’d have to talk to these folks later. And he nodded politely to Berthrice, Elayne, and Ruthe, dressed in elaborate dresses of scarlet, dark blue, and ivory respectively. He let the dinner conversation drift about him like buzzing insects as course after delicious course was served, and as his stomach was suitably filled to bursting.
The dance that followed, and that Fenzig observed from his perch on a padded chair at the back of the room, was as impressive as dinner. The gnome had never seen so many expensive dresses and in so many
colors. And he’d never seen so many humans move so precisely.
Duke Rehmir was dancing with a broad-shouldered woman with a hawk nose. She wasn’t near so pretty as the other ladies swirling about the room, and when she laughed, it reminded the gnome of glass breaking. It made him cringe. She wasn’t young—or old—she was somewhere in between. And she was clumsy. The gnome noted that she frequently stepped on the duke’s feet and that her skirt seemed to get tangled in her legs—which made her titter with that glass-breaking laugh. The duke is being especially kind to this particular guest to dance with her, Fenzig thought. He suspected no one else would be so willing.
Carmella had been dancing—for the third time—with a young man named Gregory whom Fenzig was told was a landowner from the Northern Reaches. The gnome wasn’t paying as close of attention to whom were doting upon her sisters. Though he had noted that several different men had been dancing with the charming Elayne.
Duke Rehmir again breezed by with the hawk-nosed woman. He was holding her close, and they were dancing slow—probably so her skirts wouldn’t tangle the legs of other dancers.
Gods, it looks like he likes her, Fenzig thought. He cringed again as he laughter cut above the strains of the orchestra. Maybe the old man was looking for the companionship of a woman closer to his own age. But couldn’t he do better than that? Now that he had all of his daughters back and was facing the almost-assured possibility of becoming a king, maybe he was looking for a queen. He certainly was dancing with that one woman long enough. And close enough. Gods!
“No maybe about it,” one of the gnome cooks whispered when Fenzig left the ballroom for the cozier confines of the kitchen.
“He’s got his eye on a very special one,” explained the cook who had earlier introduced herself as Grechen. “Been courting her since the day after he got his daughters back and Carmella left. She’s rich, just inherited land to the west. She’s nice enough, has a crooked nose, but the duke hasn’t minded. Good of him to overlook her faults.”
Fenzig wrinkled his face. That was the woman. The hawk-nosed one. Yuck.
“On top of everything,” Grechen continued, “it would be a good political match. Very good. Her lands and the duke’s. It would make both of them more powerful.”
He hated talk of politics. Gave him indigestion. Already his stomach was sending up a reminder of what he’d had for an after-dinner treat. Strawberry something.
“I think it was getting his daughters back that changed Duke Rehmir,” she confided as she bustled back and forth preparing trays of tiny deserts. “He’s not depressed any more, hasn’t moped about for a minute. Having them around has given him more energy, a zest for life and for power. A reason to court that woman. I can’t recall her name, Lady Elsbell, Elpeth, something with “El” in it. Anyway, it has given us a lot more work to do. He keeps all of us so busy preparing dinners for important people, fixing lots of late night meals for he and the general—they’re planning to take over Burlengren and Erlgrane’s lands to the south, you know.” This last she whispered. “Then there’s been the elaborate picnics by the pond for he and the lady friend. He’s getting terribly serious about her, and terribly quickly. Probably misses romantic female companionship. And probably thinks he should have himself a wife again—since he’s going to be a king. Cupcake, Fenzig?”
The gnome uncharacteristically declined. “I lost my appetite,” he said sadly. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
18
Always a Thief
“Lost your appetite? Really?” The gnome cook looked offended, as if something she’d laboriously created hadn’t agreed with Fenzig. She wrinkled her brow and poked out her bottom lip. It was definitely one of the better perturbed faces Fenzig had seen one of his people put on.
He shrugged and smiled.
“You can’t be serious,” she continued. “Please say you’re not serious. I made a special trip into the market for colored sugar for the icing.” She thrust the cupcake at Fenzig, and he grudgingly took it. “See, it’s blue! Elayne’s favorite color.”
It looked like the morning sky, smelled like blueberries, and made his head spin.
“It’s not your cooking, Grechen. Your cooking is wonderful,” he said as way of an excuse. “Best I’ve ever tasted, in fact, a masterpiece for the palate. I just can’t eat anymore.” In truth, he didn’t want any more not because he couldn’t eat any more—he could always eat more—but because all the thoughts of politics and armies whirling around in his head had depressed him and agitated his stomach. It was merrily churning away and making him a little bit dizzy.
“Upset stomach?”
Maybe in a manner of speaking, he thought, although he shook his head “no” so she wouldn’t run off trying to find some remedy that would make Carmen the Magnificent blush. Upset stomach? Well, on second thought, definitely in a manner of speaking. He didn’t think he could stomach anymore of the rich life at the duke’s palace.
“I’ve been eating at least three of everything it seems, and if I eat one more bite, Grechen, I’ll probably explode. You’ll be spending days cleaning bits of me off the kitchen walls and the ceiling.”
The image took Grechen aback. She swallowed hard and offered him a polite smile. “Then maybe you better save that cupcake for later.”
“Why, that’s just what I intend to do!” Fenzig beamed, passing the cupcake back to her. “And, if you don’t mind, could you save me one or two extra for a midnight snack?”
She grinned broadly and gestured to a low cupboard. “I’ll put a dozen in there,” she whispered. “Just for you.”
He nodded and slipped from the kitchen, taking the back stairs down into the catacombs that ran beneath Duke Rehmir’s imposing palace. Fenzig had planned on going outside, enjoying a leisurely walk under the stars, visiting Summer, who he’d come to consider a great listener, and thinking up an “I’ll see you later” speech to give to Carmella. Then he had planned on walking into town and finding a room at a boarding house, settling in for a while, and discovering something other than politics and kingships and armies to occupy his mind.
“Being a thief isn’t so bad,” he told himself as he continued down the damp stone steps. “I certainly can’t join my father’s woodcarving business, it doesn’t exist anymore.” So it was back to being a thief—a prospect that didn’t bother him as much as he thought it should have. “I’ll just have to be a little more careful who I steal from.”
The light was scant here, as the lanterns were spaced far apart, and the wicks were turned low. No use wasting oil on a part of the palace where few people bothered to visit, he suspected was the rationale. Fenzig didn’t care for the darkness, as he associated it with things he didn’t like—rats, craven cats, and bad dreams mostly. And It also reminded him of his stint in King Erlgrane’s dungeon.
But he could fare well in the darkness when he put his mind to it. His gnomish vision was excellent, and he could easily pick through the shadows. “Not so bad at all, being a thief. Thieves don’t concern themselves with warring on people or taking their lands or making the proper alliances or having such elaborate parties for their daughters. Though the food was very good, thank you. Thieves just take a couple of baubles now and then, things people can live without. And I never, ever took everything anyone had. I’ve got morals, after all.”
He wondered if kings and other politicians had as many morals as most thieves he knew. Then he silently cursed himself for such thoughts. Duke Rehmir had been kind to him—much more than kind to him, all things considered. Fenzig knew the duke would make a much better king than Erlgrane had, and the duke didn’t have any wizards, that he knew of—outside of Carmella, who he suspected wouldn’t stick around for long. Politics didn’t seem to interest her, either.
Fenzig’s silent footsteps took him into the thickest shadows, where the light from the lanterns didn’t quite reach. He hadn’t realized he was heading to Duke Rehmir’s treasure chamber until he was just outside the door. At least
he hadn’t consciously realized it, he told himself. “I really was gonna take a walk outside,” he whispered. “But since I’m here, I might as well look inside. Just to see if he’s added anything new. Just for something to do.”
Poking around amid jewels and coins and valuable sculptures sounded like a much better idea than listening to the orchestra and watching all the people dance. There was no one his size to dance with, and it bothered him—just a little—seeing people dance with Carmella. Fenzig wasn’t jealous, not in the romantic way, as he only thought of Carmella as a friend. But he was jealous in a “best friend” way. Carmella hadn’t spent more than a few moments with him this evening, she’d just been too preoccupied with everyone else.
I’m not going to steal anything, he told himself. I’d never steal from Duke Rehmir. He gave me gems, after all, and he’s been very generous. So I couldn’t outright take something from him. I just wanna have a look. Just for a minute. Just for . . . what have we here? This is new.
The gnome finished picking through the shadows surrounding the massive door. It was bound in iron, and three great locks held it shut. When the gnome was here before, at Duke Rehmir’s insistence, he hadn’t noticed the locks. He searched his memory. No. There weren’t any locks. But the duke didn’t care much about his wealth then, before his daughters returned, hadn’t seemed to care much about anything. The thief supposed when you were adding to an army that you had to pay and feed and when you were planning on becoming a king, you had to care about your treasure horde and make some effort to protect it. Besides, with all those people upstairs, you’d had to take the precaution of locking the vault—just in case some of those folks were less than honest and chanced to find their way down here.