by Jean Rabe
He glanced outside, noting that the dark sky was lightening just a bit, hinting that dawn couldn’t be too far off. The party must be over by now, the gnome thought happily. That’ll make everything much easier. I’ll go find Carmella, and then. . . .
The strains of the orchestra reached his ears. He concentrated and picked out laughter, the clinking of glasses. Fenzig softly groaned. “They’re still at it,” he moaned. “Now what am I gonna do? However can I get to Carmella looking like this?”
He crept through the palace, sticking to the darkened passages not used by the guests, until he eventually reached the far corner of the kitchen. Along the way he schemed, discarding each plan as impractical and likely to get him pitched into the dungeon again.
“Fenzig! How’d you get so dirty?” It was Grechen, and he greeted her with a weak smile, put his finger to his lips to keep her voice down.
“Went for a walk,” he whispered. “And I . . . I fell down. Practically ruined these fine clothes Elayne got for me. I can’t let anyone see me like this. Not even the other cooks, okay?”
She waggled her finger at him scoldingly and quickly ushered him through the pantry and into a room filled mops, pails, and assorted cleaning supplies. Grechen pointed to a wooden tub. “I’ll bring hot water,” she said. “You can wash up in that—just yourself. I’ll deal with your clothes.” She wrinkled her tiny nose when she saw the streak of slime on the back of his shirt, from when he’d sat against the wall in his cell. “Looks like you fell more than once.”
He grinned at her sheepishly and shrugged. “Clumsy,” he offered. “Too much to drink, I guess.”
Grechen plucked up his clothes, gave him a curious glance when she spotted the human-sized woman’s necklace dangling about his neck. This time he offered no explanation, and thankfully registered that in her mind she hadn’t remembered it as Carmella’s. She thinks I stole it from someone at the party, he mused disappointedly. She thinks I’m a thief. But she’s not going to tell anyone, thank the gods.
Grechen, frowning, pointed to a low shelf that held a few folded outfits, gnome size. “The gardener’s spare clothes,” she said. “Something there will have to do until I can clean these—if I can clean these. Silk. Must’ve been expensive.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, I feel bad about it,” he said. Fenzig truly did. “The party,” he said, changing the subject. “Should be over soon, huh?”
She closed her eyes, shook her head again, and hurried back to the kitchen, his clothes dragging along behind her.
Several minutes later, he was soaking in warm, soapy water, in a tub that he suspected was used for especially stubborn pots and pans that were too unsightly for the kitchen sink.
“Breakfast?” he groaned as he dipped his head beneath the suds. “The cooks are going to start breakfast soon?” He’d read Grechen’s mind via Carmella’s necklace when she made her last trip with the hot water. “What kind of party lasts that long? Gnomes never have such parties. At least none I’ve been invited to.” But then gnomes have more sense, he thought. Some gnomes, anyway, gnomes who don’t end up stealing from King Erlgrane and wind up in a dishwashing tub.
Quickly finishing his ablutions, such as he could manage given his surroundings, he padded to the shelf and looked over the gardener’s clothes. “Grays, browns, colors that I like,” he mused. “But. . . .”
Next to them were a couple of gnome-sized cook’s outfits, Grechen’s probably, or perhaps the other gnome cook. Sucking in his bottom lip, and settling on a plan that just popped into his head, he selected one of these, and squirmed into the pale yellow dress. It reached to the floor, covering up his hairy bare feet, and the sleeves were long enough to hide his hairy arms. Next, he selected a white apron trimmed in lace that made his neck itch, and a flouncy hat that helped to hide his masculine facial features.
Wouldn’t have thought of this if I hadn’t spent some time with Carmen the Magnificent, he reflected.
He slipped into the kitchen, and held his breath. Grechen was there, fussing over a tray filled with wine glasses. She looked his way for just a moment, then toddled away with the tray.
Whew! Didn’t recognize me as Fenzig, he knew. Thought I was someone named Helath. And she was too busy to get a close look to learn differently. The necklace, which he’d hid under the apron, told him as much.
The other cooks paid him no heed either. So he stretched up, grabbed a large plate of chocolate-iced cookies, and hurried into the ballroom—wanting to be out of the kitchen before the real Helath appeared.
He glanced at the swirling, laughing guests, and his teeth began nervously clicking together. He drew a deep breath, and started looking for Carmella.
19
Entering and Breaking
“Cookie, Lady Rehmir?” Fenzig squeaked at her in a high voice, which sounded more strangled than feminine.
“No thank you,” Carmella replied. She had just finished dancing with that young human again, and her face was flushed, looking only a shade lighter than her sweeping dress. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I don’t think I can eat for days.”
“Then maybe you’d care for some cider? I’m sure there’s some in the kitchen. Something to wash down all that food? Something to keep you going?”
“Well, tea will be served soon.”
“But it is not so sweet as cider.”
“Yes, you’re right. Cider would be lovely. Bring a tray, why don’t you?”
“Why not follow me into the kitchen, and I’ll fill you a tall glass. It would . . .”
“Another dance, Carm? This song is delightful. And sharing it with you, sweet Carm, would make it. . . .”
Carm? The gnome glared, ignoring the rest of the gushing words. The young man had approached again, was using the nickname Elayne had referred to Carmella by. Fenzig didn’t like the familiarity. No, she doesn’t want to dance, you cretin. She’s danced plenty with you, thank you very much. I bet you’ve occupied her all night. No time for her best friend ’cause of you. If she would have had time for me I wouldn’t’ve ended up in the dungeon and . . . .
“I’d love to dance again, Gregory.” She extended her hand and made a move to join him. But Fenzig placed himself between the pair and stepped on the edge of her watermelon skirt.
“You’ve been dancing quite a bit, Lady Rehmir. That cider would be good for you, give you some more energy. Why don’t you follow me into the kitchen for a glass? It definitely would do you some good.”
She glared down at the diminutive cook, trying her best to be polite. “In a while, perhaps. The music is . . .”
“Magnificent?” the gnome finished, trying a new tact and lowering his voice just a bit. “Magnificent as in Carmen the Magnificent?”
Carmella’s eyes widened. She tugged her hand free from Gregory’s and bent slightly at the waist to get a closer look at the gnome. “Fenzig?”
The flouncy hat bobbed an affirmative.
“What are you doing in that . . . that . . . outfit?”
“Shh! Not so loud. I’m not very popular with some of the sentries around here.”
“I don’t understand, Fenzig. You’re being. . . .”
“Difficult, Carm?” The young man again. “Is the wee-one being difficult and bothering you? We can’t have that. The help should not be intrusive. I can escort her back to the kitchen where she belongs. And then you and I shall dance and romance away what’s left of the night and . . .”
“No, she’s not bothering me, Gregory,” Carmella said, rising and affectionately touching his cheek. “I’m going in the kitchen with her for some cider. But I’ll be right back. Please, don’t go anywhere.”
“I shant, sweet Carm. I shall wait right here patiently for your return.”
Gods! His voice is dripping with more sugar than Grechen put in these cookies. The gnome sat the tray on an empty chair, scrunched his face in Gregory’s direction, and hurried from the room. The swishing of Carmella’s skirt, and the loud angry thoughts is
suing from her head, told the gnome she was right behind him.
He scurried past the other cooks, straight into the pantry. “Listen, Carmella . . .”
“What do you think you’re doing! He’s nice! Nice to me! He likes me. And I think, maybe, just maybe, that I like him. I was having a good time. At one of these stuffy old affairs of my father’s, I was having fun. Whatever possessed you to interrupt me? To . . . to . . .”
“Not so fast!” the gnome sputtered. “Stop thinking and talking at the same time. You’re giving me a horrible headache!” He tugged free the necklace, and she grabbed it from him.
“I forgot all about this!”
No doubt Gregory made you forget a lot of things.
“You’ve had this for days!” She put it over her head. “Little thief!”
Would’ve returned it to you earlier but I forgot about it. Good thing I remembered it after I was thrown in your father’s dungeon.
“Dungeon?”
“Lady Carmella?” The call came from the kitchen, sounded like Grechen’s voice. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Just need to clear my head, get away from all those people.” She returned her attention to the gnome. “Dungeon?”
Fenzig thought quickly, not bothering with vocal words. She’s got the necklace, let her use it. When he was finished with his little tale, she leaned back against a spice shelf, her flushed face growing instantly pale.
“You stole into my father’s treasure chamber.” Her voice was sad.
I wasn’t going to take anything.
“But you broke in.”
I was bored. Sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. But your father. . . .
“But my father’s in the ballroom. It is my father. And he’s just proposed to Lady Elsbeth of Genoa Acres. He’s going to remarry.”
Fenzig closed his eyes, and dejected, shook his head. “A fine mess,” he said. “Great family. But he’s not what he seems. Hawk-nosed, clumsy. . . . Maybe we should . . . .”
The rest of his words were lost in the swishing of Carmella’s skirt, she brushed past him and headed toward the far corner of the palace, toward the steps that led down to the catacombs.
“Wait for me!” Fenzig cried. He gathered up his skirt and apron and hurried after her, his short legs futilely churning away.
It wasn’t until she’d reached the bottom of the winding stone steps that he finally caught up with her. She was arguing with the two guards who he had slipped by earlier. She was standing on the very bottom step, and they were barring her way.
“I’m sorry, Lady Carmella,” the taller said. “Orders. You understand. General Ketterhagen said no one was to come down here, except, of course, for the duke himself. We can’t let you pass.”
From his vantage point higher on the stairway, Fenzig noticed the odd tilt to Carmella’s head. He moved closer, until he was practically behind her, though still several steps higher.
“I don’t have time for this,” she huffed. “Orders are the only things on you fellows’ minds right now. And I’m not about to roust Ketterhagen and bring him here to convince you I can go wherever I please.”
“Then return to the party,” the other guard suggested with a grin. “You look beautiful this evening, Lady Rehmir, like a flower, and you wouldn’t want to soil your clothes down here. These dismal surroundings are not for the likes of you.”
“I’ll do anything I please with my clothes,” she snapped back. “And I’ll decide my own surroundings.” She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, loosening a strand of beads entwined in her short curls. “I don’t have time for this,” she repeated with a little more edge to her voice.
Despite her tone, the guards remained nonplussed, like attentive birds. And they refused to move. Fenzig moved to the side so he could see them better, wondered how this standoff was going to end.
“Perhaps I should find Ketterhagen, then,” the taller finally proposed. “Or, your father. Either will explain that these chambers are off-limits. Staying away from the catacombs is for your own good, Lady Rehmir.”
Fenzig saw Carmella draw her shoulders back and clench her fists. He didn’t need her necklace to know what she was thinking about. He squeezed past her, clinging to the stairwell wall. She sharply inhaled, and he managed to skitter past the guards, unseen. Their attention was trained on the very irate Lady Rehmir, the gnome noted with satisfaction, not on their former prisoner in cook’s clothing.
Once behind the guards, the gnome stepped back and between them, where Carmella could see him, and where he could see the expression on her face. It wasn’t soft, like it had been throughout the evening. It was hard and determined, her eyes narrow, looking like she did as Carmen and Magnificent trying to get away from an angry mob of townsfolk she’d sold worthless concoctions to.
“No. You don’t need to get Ketterhagen or—” She stopped in mid-sentence, then smiled, her face softening only slightly. “On second thought, why don’t you both go get Ketterhagen. I’ll wait here for you.”
The taller sentry chuckled and whispered something to his fellow. The latter nodded and started up the stairs, brushing past Carmella, who punched his midsection with her clenched fist and drove her heel down on top of his foot.
The air rushed from his lungs, and he doubled over from the strong, unexpected blow. Fenzig, also surprised, was only a heartbeat behind her in acting. He rushed forward, barreling into the back of the taller sentry’s legs. The man pitched forward, straight into Carmella’s arms, and she began pummeling him.
“General!” screeched the one who was now grappling with Carmella at the bottom of the stairwell. “Harrold! Go fetch the General!”
Harrold righted himself, while clutching his side, started up the steps past his companion and Carmella.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Fenzig hollered, not bothering to keep his voice down. They were so far below the palace he doubted no one above could hear them. “You get the General, and I get tossed back in the cell! I’ll have none of that!” His short feet carried him up a few steps, then his legs got caught in his skirt and he felt himself flying forward. His arms flailed out to find a purchase—and his hands struck the back of the retreating guard’s legs. It would do. He grabbed hold and grimaced. The guard was bounding up the stairs anyway, dragging the gnome with him.
Fenzig’s chest and stomach bounced over the sharp edges of the stone steps, each strike sending a jolt of agony into his tiny body. “No . . . you . . . don’t!” Fenzig managed. He gritted his teeth in a hopeless attempt to block out the pain. “No . . . you. . . .” And he pulled himself closer to the fleeing sentry. Closer. Closer. “Don’t!”
“Ouch!”
The sentry stopped halfway up the steps, Fenzig’s teeth dug firmly into his ankle. The gnome bit down harder, then felt himself being flung backward, kicked down the steps, his skirt flying up, apron ripping, flouncy hat falling away.
“You!” The sentry named Harrold spat at the gnome. “How did you get out of the dungeon?” All thought of summoning Duke Rehmir or General Ketterhagen had vanished. He reached to his belt and tugged free a long knife. “Doesn’t matter how you escaped, vermin,” he cursed under his breath. “You won’t be getting out of anything ever again.”
Fenzig struggled with the material of his dress and finally managed to get to his feet and clamber up a few steps just as the sentry reached him. The pair was several steps above Carmella and the other sentry, who from the sounds of it were continuing to wrestle. The gnome planted his feet wide apart and looked up at the charging sentry, gulped when he saw a malicious gleam in the human’s eye.
“I didn’t hear General Ketterhagen tell you to kill me!” Fenzig tried.
Harrold shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The duke’ll reward me well when I bring him your corpse.” With that he dropped to a crouch where he could better reach the gnome, and slashed forward with the knife.
Despite the pain in his chest and stomach, the gnome wa
s faster. Fenzig pivoted, and the knife caught only the folds of the long skirt. The material ripped in the same instant the gnome whirled back and flung his hands forward, connecting with the sentry’s wrist. He whirled again, tugging with all the strength his small form could muster, and throwing the man off balance. The knife clattered on the steps.
The sentry pitched forward, and Fenzig threw himself flat on the step, sensed the human’s body pass over him.
“Carmella! Watch out!” the gnome cried. He turned his head just in time to see Carmella press herself against the stairwell wall. Harrold struck the taller sentry, and both men tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the steps.
Before they could untangle themselves, Carmella leapt on the two men, striking madly at them with her fists. The gnome watched as the men seemed to tolerate the hail of blows, offering no defense as they concentrated on pushing themselves up. Then the tables instantly turned, and the taller sentry threw Carmella to the stone floor and knelt on top of her to keep her from getting up.
“Don’t care if you’re the duke’s daughter,” he hissed through clenched teeth, using the weight of his body to keep her struggles to a minimum. “You’re to die anyway. Tomorrow or the next. Might as well die now. Stop struggling!” He fumbled at his waist for his knife, tugged it free, and wrapped the handle against the side of her head, momentarily stunning her. “I’ll make this painless, Lady Rehmir.”
“No!” Fenzig bellowed. The gnome grabbed up the other man’s long knife, wrapped his short fingers around the handle and hurried down the last several steps.
Harrold was backing away from his comrade and Carmella, catching his breath. Before he could react, Fenzig sped by him and thrust forward with the knife, felt it sink into the back of the tall sentry’s right leg.