Coat Rack held up two arms, inquisitively.
Semfeld held up his hands. “All I meant was that if she is settled in Cuticle, she may not want to come to Julesville. Then of course, you’d stay there. Or she might need to get her affairs in order before coming here since she has a business there. That’s all.”
Liverioso nodded. “I didn’t consider that, but you’re right.” He looked at Coat Rack. “He’s right.”
Coat Rack nodded. She pointed at one of the shelves. A small box rose off the shelf and floated to the counter.
“So that’s it then. Very nice!” Semfeld reached for the box.
Coat Rack slapped his hand then shook an arm at him.
“I’m good for the gold coin!” Semfeld rubbed his hand. “You can trust me, honest!”
Coat Rack gestured off into the distance with one arm, then waved with another.
“Well, we wouldn’t just run off and never come back to pay, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Coat Rack put her arms about where her hips would be if she had hips.
“Fine then. We will be back and ready to go in about an hour. We will pick up the box then.”
Coat Rack shook an arm at him.
“We will be paying for it then as well, don’t you worry.” Semfeld patted Coat Rack. A thought occurred to him. “Oh, Door is coming with us on this trip so he’s going to be away until we get back, sorry.”
Coat Rack slouched some, then straightened. She patted Semfeld back.
“I just thought I’d let you know.” He gave a smile. “We’ll be back in an hour. Liverioso?”
Liverioso stood and hugged Coat Rack. “Thanks for your help. I will bring Sage by so you can meet her when we come back.”
Coat Rack held up a wooden arm at the pair.
“What?”
She put the box on the table then held up two arms questioningly then pointed around with another one.
“Oh!” Said Semfeld, understanding. “You need a target! We need to get to Cuticle. It is at the base of the Devil’s Thumb near the Bronze Mines of Riatoh.” He looked around the shop quickly then pointed at the far wall. “It’s south of here.”
Coat Rack nodded then pointed toward the door and shoo’ed the pair.
As the two Magicians made their way to the door, Coat Rack gently opened the box and hooked her arm around a plain tan leather loop sticking out. The large crystal that hung from the plain leather loop bathed the shop in red flickering light.
Ominous red flickering light.
Chapter 17
Truffles, Truffles Everywhere!
Drimblerod rummaged through the wagon. “You’re killing me, Grim. Killing me.”
“What’d I do now?” Grimbledung rolled over. He was using two of the bedrolls to make a nice, comfy bed. “It’s early still, you know.”
“We’ve no food, again you know,” countered Drimblerod.
Grimbledung sat up. “What?” He pulled the top bedroll up to his chin. “Why are you trying to scare me first thing in the morning?”
“Scare? No, I’m threatening first thing in the morning.” Drimblerod threw an empty box hard at the floor of the wagon. “Why is it that every time I turn around, we’re almost out of food?”
“Well, you see, I get peckish at times.”
“Well, stop getting peckish at times.”
“What; all times or just some times?”
“All times while we are living on a wagon.” Drimblerod looked around. “We’re still out in the middle of nowhere. With no real idea of where that mine is.”
“It’s in some rocky outcroppings overlooking a lake,” Grimbledung reminded him. “Remember?”
“That’s pretty vague, Grim. And if you haven’t noticed, we haven’t seen a single outcropping. Rocky or otherwise in days. We’ll be to Old Jute in a couple of days. If we haven’t found it by then…”
Grimbledung opened his mouth to complain.
“… or gotten a good idea of where it is, then I say we just turn back.”
Grimbledung hopped back and forth. “Ooh! Ooh! Can we stop and see that guy who has that magical floating boat thingie to get back?”
Drimblerod considered that. “Well, if we make it all the way to Old Jute we can see if he is willing to run us upriver towards Julesville.” He shrugged. “Maybe he can give us a ride part of the way at least.”
Grimbledung clapped. “That sounds great!”
“No, it sounds absolutely horrible.”
Grimbledung stopped mid-clap. “Why?”
“Because that means we won’t have found the mine and are just returning home empty-handed.” He frowned. “The whole trip will have been for nothing.” He looked back towards Julesville. “And there’s no telling what has been going on with the shop. No telling at all.”
“I imagine it’s going swimmingly back in yon shoppe.” Grimbledung waggled his ears. “You worry too much.” He squinted his eyes at his partner. “Say, you haven’t been sneaking food to comfort your worrying, have you?”
Drimblerod picked up the box and threw it at his partner. “I’ve not sneaked any food from this wagon, you dolt.” He shook his head. “I knew I should have been the one to talk to Pozzuoli.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Grimbledung. “If only you had told him about our trip all honest like, we wouldn’t be constantly scrounging for food.”
“Is that a question or a request?”
“IT’S A STATEMENT!” He pulled in his finger and shook his newly-formed fist at the Gnome. “I specifically told you to tell him exactly where we were going and how long we’d be gone!”
“Well, I thought you meant to not tell him any of that.” Grimbledung picked up the box and sniffed it. “Those were some good biscuits.” He shook the box then tilted it up, emptying the crumbs into his mouth. “Real good.”
“No, what would have been real good would be to have a month’s worth of them instead of a week’s.” Drimblerod turned and rummaged around the boxes again. “We’ve got a little hardtack, some pretty soft fruit, and some pretty hard bread that in another day will be identical to the hardtack.” He turned. “And nothing at all that resembles meat.”
“Well that won’t do.” Grimbledung pulled on his shoes. “Want me to do something about that?”
Drimblerod clenched his fists. “That sounds like a great idea since you are the one completely, wholeheartedly, and solely responsible for our situation.”
“Well, if you think it might be my fault...”
“Might?” Drimblerod picked up their cooking pot. “We’ve got a pot and nothing to go in it.” He tossed it at his partner. “Resolve. That. Problem.”
“Fine, fine.” Grimbledung picked up the pot and smelled it. “I seem to recall that we passed a stream right before we stopped for the night.” He pointed at the rise back in the direction they had come from. “Over yon rise.” He picked up the pot. “I’ll go fish up some... fish.”
“And how are you planning on doing that?”
Grimbledung looked from the pot to the rise and back. “Uhmm... I’m gonna whack those fish with this here pot.” He smiled triumphantly. “They won’t know what hit them.” He frowned. “Unless they know what a pot looks like, of course.”
Drimblerod looked at their meager supplies. They really didn’t have anything. “This isn’t good.”
“Hey, hey, HEY!” Grimbledung dropped the pot and scooted to the wagon.
“What?” Drimblerod looked around. “What now?”
Grimbledung swung onto the wagon and snatched the ever-present though never-used whip. “This here’s perfect!”
“I agree. Give it to me so I can whack you with it a few times.”
Grimbledung shook his head. “No, no, I mean for fishing!”
Drimblerod considered that. “That is sort of a fishing pole I suppose.”
Grimbledung snapped the whip several times. “This’ll be great!” He beamed at his partner. “If Rat asks, tell him I’ve gone fishing.” He waggled his ears. “
Know why?”
“Why?”
“Cause I’ve gone fishing!” Grimbledung hopped off the wagon. He was still swinging the whip around.
“You do that.” Drimblerod shook his head. “All you need is a hook...” He rummaged in the tools box. “Here!” He held up a medium-sized fishing hook. “Tie this to the whip and redeem yourself.” He tossed the hook underhand at the pot.
The hook clattered around as it landed in the pot.
“I got this, Drim,” he assured.
“Well you better hurry before Rat gets back or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Well, it doesn’t pay well at all, from what that gondolier has told me.”
“Then there’ll be Rat to pay.”
Grimbledung gulped. He tucked the pot under his arm and scampered past. “Don’t tell him!”
Drimblerod shook his head. “I’ll rearrange our meager supplies while you’re away then I’ll get a fire going. When you get back we’ll cook up some fish and hang the rest off the wagon to dry for later. Got it?”
Grimbledung gave a wave with the whip as he went over the rise. “Got it, Drim!” He called.
Drimblerod turned to look at the boxes in the wagon. Most of them were empty. “What a disaster.”
“What’s a disaster?” Asked Rat as he hopped onto the back of the wagon.
“What?” Drimblerod hopped around to face him. “Who said anything about a disaster?”
“You did.” Rat sat up. “Just now.”
“I was talking to myself is all.”
Rat looked at the boxes. Many of them seemed empty. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Drimblerod waved his hand dismissively. “There’s nothing to worry about, Rat.”
“A wise man once said ‘the only thing we have to worry about is worry itself’ ”.
“I don’t think that’s what he said.”
“Well it fits.” Rat scurried onto the pile of boxes. “These are empty aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.[14]
“Are they?” Drimblerod began stacking the boxes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Where’s Grimbledung?”
“He’s getting breakfast.”
“What sort of breakfast could that unstable Gnome come up with out here in the wilds?”
“He’s fishing.” Drimblerod held up a piece of fruit. “Want a piece of fruit?”
Rat twitched his whiskers. “What I want is some meat, not some soft fruit.”
“Well, Grim’s working on that right now. He’s got a good chance at it.”
“Oh?”
“I hate to admit it but he’s actually a pretty skilled fisher.”
“You’re kidding.”
Drimblerod shook his head. “Well, it’s a pastime that you can do laying on your back while you eat and drink and you don’t have to do anything for hours while you wait.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” Rat sniffed the boxes. “Hey, you know there’s something I’m pretty skilled at as well.”
“What’s that, Rat?” Drimblerod nestled a smaller box into another.
“It’s not common knowledge that Shamblers have excellent smell.”
Drimblerod laughed. “It’s definitely better than that Ox.”
Rat shook his head. “No, no. That’s not...” He considered that. “Well, yes Shamblers smell a whole lot better than Oxen, but what I meant was that Shamblers have a great sense of smell. Much better than Rats even.”
“I didn’t know that,” admitted Drimblerod. He pushed a stack of boxes against the front-board of the wagon. “How can we use that to our advantage?”
“Even as a Rat, I can tell there’s some wild onions growing around here and earlier while wandering, I caught a whiff of some truffles.”
“Truffles? Wow. We’ll be eating in high fashion indeed.”
Rat nodded at him. “If Grim’ll change me into a Shambler, I can go searching for edibles.” He looked around. “Where’s the pot?”
“Grim took it with him to put the fish in.”
“Give me an empty box so I can swap him.”
“Why don’t you use the box?” Drimblerod removed a smaller box from the stack he had made and tossed it to the ground. “Leave him the pot?”
Rat put his claws on the box. “The pot’s got a handle so I can carry it easier when I’m a Shambler.” He looked at the box; it was bigger than him. “And as a Rat as well, I think.”
Drimblerod smiled at him. “Do you need a hand with that?”
“I can drag it to him if he didn’t go too far.”
Drimblerod pointed over the ridge. “Apparently, he’s over yon ridge.”
“Yon ridge, huh?” Rat grabbed the box with his claws and began to walk backwards, dragging it with him. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“I’ll get a fire going and finish consolidating our supplies.” Drimblerod looked at the wagon. “Not that there’s a lot to even consolidate.” With a shrug, he went in search of wood for a fire- he would save the boxes to burn when they were really in a bind.
Rat stopped to rest. The box outweighed him considerably and being box-shaped, was not conducive to being dragged along rough terrain. “Stupid Gnome,” he said yet again. While he rested his legs, he moved around the box sniffing. There were definitely plenty of tubers growing that could be harvested; he had decided to wait until he was a Shambler however, since the box was already almost too much weight for him. As he moved closer to a nearby tree, a pungent odor came to his nose. “Oh, there we are, my dear truffles.” He backed up to get a good look at the tree so he could find it again. “I will deal with you momentarily, my succulent morsels.”
After another circuit around the box, he returned to tugging it through the long grass and other debris that invariably seemed to be directly in his path.
Grimbledung sat on the pot looking at the sky. “Turnip,” he said absently as a cloud went by. “Riding a unicorn,” he added when another cloud crept alongside the first. He jerked the whip back and forth, making the dragonfly he had stuck on the hook dance on the water.
“Grimbledung!”
Grimbledung startled. “Yes, mighty clouds! What is thy bidding?” He shouted at the skies. “Tell me and I obey!”
“Come get this box, you!”
“What box do you speak of, mighty clouds?” Grimbledung shielded his eyes. “I see the turnip and the unicorn.” He squinted. “And that pixie arming the trebuchet at the Goblin encampment, but where is the box you demand I fetch?”
“Grimbledung, I swear if you don’t get over here and get this box,” warned Rat.
Grimbledung looked to his side. “Oh, Rat! I was just talking to the clouds.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You’ve got a box, too?”
“I’m warning you...”
“What are you doing dragging a box around? Trying to snare a Box Troll?”
“I am not hunting Box Trolls.”
“You sure? They can’t pass up an empty box you know.” He gave a wink. “Handy things, Box Trolls.”
“I am not hunting Box Trolls.”
“Well if you catch one, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Fine.”
“So what’re you doing with that box?” Grimbledung gave a sly wink. “If you’re not hunting Box Trolls.”
“I’m trading you for your pot.”
“I’m not sure a box is worth a pot.” He looked down at the pot. “What else you got?”
Rat sat up and twitched his whiskers at him.
“Anything to eat in it?” Grimbledung jerked the whip again. “That’d definitely make me want to trade.”
“I’m going gathering and I need the pot, Grim.”
“You can barely handle that box. What makes you think you can carry this big iron pot?” Grimbledung patted it.
“I’m going to be a Shambler so I need something with a handle that I can grab with my mouth.” Rat hopped onto the box. “I won’t be able to carry this box
.” A thought occurred to him. He twitched his whiskers.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Grimbledung flipped the end of the whip again. “Still, this pot’s awfully comfortable.”
“Shouldn’t you be sitting on the bank to fish?” Rat said, setting up his joke.
“This works just as well,” said Grimbledung. He patted the pot, oblivious to the impending gag.
“I’m telling you I need the box; you can’t do both. So what you need to do is...” Rat leaned forward as he got ready to launch the joke.
Grimbledung twitched the whip. “What’s that?” He looked at the end of the whip- he had a bite.
“Fish or get off the pot.”
Grimbledung fell off the pot. “Hey now!” He sat up. “When I say things like that people threaten me.”
“It’s all in the context.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Trust me on that.” Rat scooted the box toward the Gnome. “Take the box.”
“Fine, fine.” Grimbledung sat up and looked at the end of the whip. “Got some nibbles,” he muttered.
“Change me into a Shambler.”
Grimbledung didn’t take his eye off the end of the whip. “Uh huh.” He drew his wand and aimed in the general direction of Rat. “Stand still...”
Rat scooted over into the line of fire. “Go.”
Rodentus Grigo
Transmutes Completes!
Shambler Verdes
He intoned quietly.
“Thanks, Grim,” said RatShambler. “Now I’ll go fetch some accoutrements for the fish.” He pushed the box beside Grimbledung.
Grimbledung carefully shifted his butt to the side and slid onto the box. The end of the whip dipped several times as he did. “Uh huh.”
RatShambler took the handle of the pot into his mouth like a bridle. “Know what, Grim?” He asked around it.
“What’s that?” He muttered, staring at the end of the whip.
“Now you don’t have a pot to fish on.”
“Yaaa!” Grimbledung fell off the box.
Satisfied, RatShambler moved back towards the cluster of trees. When he got there, he dropped the cast iron pot and stuck his nose to the ground. Moving it back and forth and he inhaled, he started to walk slowly in larger and larger circles.
Grimbledung and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Mine (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 5) Page 10