“Well, I never!” Grimhilde took Parton by the hand and stormed out of the store.
“She is one of my best customers, you know,” said Paul.
Drimblerod rubbed his temples. “Can we just get back to the jerky?”
“Then we can look at the floats.” He glanced at the door as it closed. “Since they float in water.”
“We are not going anywhere near the water, Grim. We absolutely positively do not need floats.”
“Well, if you’re going to waffle like that…” He took a step towards where Paul had gestured.
“Let’s just get our shopping done, Grim. Then we can get back on our adventure. Our supplies alone are going to drain pretty much the last of our funds.”
“We’re that low on money? Really?” Grimbledung said. “Why, this is the first I’ve heard of it!” He reluctantly nodded. “Floats would have been neat though.”
“So what’re we up to for the beans and rice?” Drimblerod asked. “And for the jerky.”
Grimbledung hopped up and rolled -very ungracefully- over the counter to the other side. “What’d ya say, Paulie?” He said when he hit the floor. “Haggling is what we Gnomes do best,” He narrowed his eyes, “So be forewarned.” He elbowed the Dwarf. “Ehhh?”
“You said something about four silver for the beans and rice. If we go light at fifteen pounds of jerky, what will you do on the lot?” Drimblerod asked as he leaned forward. “To make a sale today?”
“Get him, Drim!”
“Eight silver for the lot!” Drimblerod tossed out.
“Yeah!” Grimbledung narrowed his eyes. “What he said.”
Paulious IronHammer, son of Theron Skees Stonefeet and master haggler squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Grimbledung then Drimblerod. “Let’s haggle then.”
Haggling not seen in a hundred years ensued- even Fate looked over to see the commotion.
She was impressed.
Chapter 27
An Inn For All Seasons
Rat scampered down the street- he kept to the side because even though he was articulate, sometimes folks didn’t actually try to engage him in conversation before deciding he was a garden-variety rodent and should be dealt with appropriately.
A Human sitting on a bench looked over as he moved toward him “Where you going in such a hurry little fella?” He asked.
Rat had noticed that sometimes people engaged him in conversation even when they were sure that he was not able to speak- in fact Humans were the worst perpetrators of this. He had seen Humans have entire conversations with dogs, goats, horses, and once a fish that was in the process of being caught. Not to mention numerous arguments with some contraption or another that was not working properly. Rat smiled- often his ability to speak flummoxed a Human. “Looking for a cheap Inn.” Rat skidded to a stop in front of the man. He stood on his hind legs. “Know of any?”
If the man were at all surprised by a talking rat, he hid it well. “What’s a rat need with an Inn? Can’t you just sleep anywhere?”
Rat nodded. “Sure, sure. But my traveling companions...” He gave an apologetic shrug. “... Couple of Gnomes… aren’t too keen on sleeping under some building.”
“Prefer beds, huh?”
“Truth be told, sleeping indoors has really started growing on me,” Rat admitted.
“I’m an outdoors kind of guy.” The old man leaned forward past the covered sidewalk to look up at the sky. “Like the stars over my head. Fresh air.”
Rat nodded. “I can understand that.” He looked around. “So... A place to spend the night.”
“Just passing through then?”
Rat examined the old man. He was unsure of how much information to give the elderly Human- Grimbledung and Drimblerod had been very clear that their final destination had to be a secret lest someone else get to the mine first. Still- what were the odds that this old man was a claim jumper? “We’re just passing through town. Picking up some supplies on our way.” He frowned. “Truth be told, we’re actually lost at the moment.”
“Where you trying to get to?”
Rat took a risk: “We’re on our way to the Lost Picman’s Mine.”
The man stared at Rat for a long moment. “The what?”
“It’s a mine that’s lost.”
“Picman you say? Never heard of the fellow.”
Rat nodded. “That’s probably why he’s lost.” Inside he cringed; worried that he had given up too much information.
“Nope; never heard of it.” The old man said finally. He perked up. “But last night while sittin’ at the tavern, there was this clown in the corner who was trying to trade pamphlets and maps for drinks. I think he might’a mentioned it now that I think about it.”
“Clown? You mean acting like a buffoon or dressed up with a red nose?”
“A real buffoon. Talking up everyone, wanting to hand out maps or something. I was there to drink so I wasn’t really paying attention to him. Prolly he’s got a map to what you’re looking for.”
“That might be. Where was this tavern?”
“Up the road.” The old man pointed. “Bout five blocks on the left.”
“Do you remember what it was called?”
“The Minotaur’s Tale. Big red Minotaur on it. Can’t miss it.” The man smiled. “And they got rooms on the top floor as well.”
“Thanks very much.” Rat gave a short bow. “If you make it there tonight, I’ll be sure to have my companions buy you a drink.”
The man perked up. “Well, that sounds like a deal then.” He smacked his lips. “How soon till your companions start drinking?”
“Probably not until the sun goes down. But only because the one companion that would start drinking as soon as he got out of bed isn’t in control of the money,” admitted Rat. “If you see two Gnomes wandering past, point them toward the inn, will you?”
“Sure thing.” The man smiled. “See you ‘round sun down then.” He gave a little wave. “Mayhap I can panhandle another couple of drinks by then so I can make a night of it.” He looked left and right. “As long as the law doesn’t put a damper on my panhandling.”
“Good luck with that.” Rat gave a wave of his own and then went in the direction the old man had pointed.
True to the old man’s word, after about five blocks, Rat saw a large wooden sign hanging from the front of a large building- it had a muscular Minotaur on it. The Minotaur was leaning onto one edge of the sign as if it were a doorway. He was holding a piece of parchment and a quill. Since he was scampering along the walls of the shops, he wasn’t able to see the top of the building- which was much more impressive than the sign. “Ahhh; tale, not tail. That’s at least more appetizing.” He waited by the door until a patron exited, then scooted in before the door closed. Rat scampered to the bar and hopped onto it. “Hey bartender,” he called. Mainly to ensure that the other patrons realized he wasn’t a run of the mill rat. “When you have a moment.”
The bartender glanced down the bar at Rat. He raised an eyebrow. When Rat waved at him, he gave a nod.
Rat sat on his haunches. In front of him was a bowl of nuts. Figuring they were going to be patrons later on, he took a large one and began to nibble on it. By the time the bartender made it to him, he had eaten a half dozen nuts. He looked down at the bits of nuts at his feet. “Sorry about that; I kind of got carried away.”
The bartender shrugged. “Folks usually eat them by the handful not one at a time. Besides; they’re there to make you thirsty and buy more drinks.” He raised an eyebrow again. “Need a drink?”
“Actually, no. Not at the present, anyway.”
The eyebrow lowered. “Then stop eating my nuts. They’re for paying patrons you know.”
“That’s me!” Rat nodded. “I actually need a room, so...”
“Like a cubby hole or something? Got a cigar box under the bar that might suit you.”
“My traveling companions are two Gnomes; we need something with real beds.”
“I absolutely am.” Rat gave a wink with his good eye. “I am a key employee, in fact. Key. Just don’t mention that to them; they like to think they’re in charge.”
“Got it.” The bartender began to wipe the counter with an old rag. “So room for three then. For just the night?”
“Yes; we’re passing through. You see we’re on an…”
“Save the stories for when you’re buying drinks.” Said the bartender. “A room for the night’ll be four copper.”
“Do we get a complimentary drink with that?”
“What; each?”
Rat twitched his whiskers. “I can guarantee they’ll put down at least four drinks each once you get them started. They are, after all, Gnomes and parched from days on the road.”
“I can see why they sent you on ahead of them.” He sighed. “Fine, a complimentary drink to get them going.”
“Each?”
“Each.”
“Deal.” Rat twitched his half-tail.
The bartender leaned over and looked around Rat. “You got pockets or you planning on paying later?”
Rat held up his claws plaintively. “Rats aren’t marsupials.”
“Not sure I know what that means.”
“Means if I carried a coin w3ithout said pouch, it wouldn’t be comfortable and you’d not want it when I got it out. So they’ll pay when they get there.”
“Shoulda figured that much.” He nodded knowingly. “So the mar-soup pals’ll pay when they get here.”
Rat resisted the urge to correct the man. “Absolutely.” He twitched his whiskers again. “Mind if I just run up to the room till they get here?”
“How you going to unlock the door?”
Rat smirked. “When all is said and done, I am still a rat; I’m sure there’s a loose floorboard or baseboard I can squeeze around.”
“Room three oh five. Gotta get back to filling glasses anyway.”
“Thanks!” He hopped off the bar and scampered off. “See you in a bit.”
The bartender shrugged, then returned to filling drinks. After all, if one couldn’t trust a talking rat, times were really tough.
Chapter 28
Burlapped in Old Jute
Grimbledung, Drimblerod, and Paul lay on the floor of the shop. Spent.
“Then it is settled.”
Drimblerod wearily clapped his hands twice. “Settled on our end.”
The Dwarf tugged at his beard. “And here.”
Grimbledung sat up. He rubbed his belly. “Now that that is settled, what sort of jerky do you have to offer?”
“I thought we decided on something middle-of-the-road.”
Paul sat up as well. “Yes, that’s what was agreed on; something middle of the road gives you a selection of about four types of jerky,” said Paul. “Anything from mildly spicy to not spicy at all.” He rolled to his feet then moved behind the counter. Paul ran his hand over a series of drawers. “If you go with something spicier, then you’re not having to buy spices to put in your beans and rice and that’ll save you some money.” He gave a wink. “And still have a tasty meal.””
“So does the spicy stuff cost more than buying the plain and then adding spices?” Drimblerod raised an eyebrow.
The Dwarf tilted his hand back and forth. “Not unless you go to the far end of the heat range.” He gave a genuine smile. “Really, if you go with a medium spicy jerky, then you can skip the spices and save a few copper.”
“We’ll do that then, thanks.”
“Number six is probably what you’re looking for.” The Dwarf opened the drawer and pulled out two pieces of jerky about the length of his finger. “Right down the middle. Give this a try.”
Grimbledung took his piece of jerky and smelled it. “Earthy and full bouquet.” He licked it. “Fairly dry but still has some moisture.” He nodded approvingly.
The Dwarf raised an eyebrow at him.
“He’s a connoisseur of food,” explained Drimblerod.
“I see.”
Drimblerod popped his piece of jerky into his mouth. He gave an approving nod as he chewed. “I see what you mean; this will flavor the beans and rice nicely. Grim, what do you think?”
Grimbledung was chewing his piece of jerky with a stern look on his face. “Nice after-taste on the spices. Not too long of a linger.... Very nice indeed.” He smacked his lips. “Still, not as spicy as it could be.”
“We’re just trying to give the beans and rice some flavor, Grim. We’re not trying to win a competition with the stuff.”
“What’s the spicy stuff like?”
The Dwarf put his hand on the drawer at the very end of the row. “The spiciest?”
“Spiciest is what I do best.”
With a shrug, the Dwarf opened the drawer and retrieved a small set of tongs from inside. He gingerly picked up a thin sliver of jerky. Even though it was chicken it was completely black. “It’s called Witch’s Finger.” He handed it to Grimbledung. “Make sure you wash your hands after handling it.”
Grimbledung waved at him dismissively as he took the jerky. “We Gnomes are known for being able to handle spicy food. Why I remember...” He took a whiff of the jerky. “Remem... reme... You sure this isn’t the finger of some dead witch?” He moved the jerky to his other hand and smelled it. “Gads. That smells...” He smelled it again. “Like...” He looked at the twisted sliver of meat then at the Dwarf. “It can’t be.”
“Araakis Spice.” Confirmed the Dwarf. “Very spicy and very hard to procure.” He rubbed his hand together. “And very expensive.”
“I don’t think you should eat that, Grim. That stuff is legendary hot.”
“Bah!” Grimbledung popped the meat in his mouth and began to chew. Tears streamed down his face. “Nice... bouquet.... rampages over the entire tongue.” He stuck out his tongue and panted. The sliver of meat was crumpled even more, but still intact in his mouth. “Gahhh! Teeth! On! Fire!”
“That’s gross, Grim. Just swallow the thing.” Drimblerod scrunched up his face. “That’s gonna burn again in about eight to twelve hours, just so you know.”
“Hot!” Grimbledung stomped his foot. “Hot!”
“Just swallow it!”
“Spit it out if you have to,” suggested Paul. “I won’t tell anyone you are a paper belly.”
“Never!” Grimbledung pushed his head forward and swallowed hard. The jerky seemed to sear his throat all the way down. Even with the meat gone, his mouth was on fire. “Hot!” He reached up…
“Don’t do...” The Dwarf said.
Grimbledung rubbed both of his eyes.
“Uh oh,” said the Dwarf.
“Heeeyaaaahhh!” Grimbledung began to hop up and down. “I’m blind! I’M BLIND!”
“Open your eyes, Grim. You’re not blind; you just have your eyes closed.” Drimblerod put his hand on his partner’s shoulder.
Grimbledung tried to force his eyes open. It felt like there were hot pokers in them. Hot pokers stuck in by angry Ogres. Who had a running start. “BLIND!” Scalding tears ran down his cheeks. “Yaaaa!” He fanned his eyes with his hands. Then rubbed them again. “YAAAA!”
“Get him to the counter,” said the Dwarf. “I do have the counter for that spice.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a jar. “Turn your head to the side so I can pour this into your eyes.”
“Blind!” Grimbledung did not open his eyes because he was sure flames would shoot out of them and set the entire shop of fire. “What’re you going to pour into my eyes?! What?”
“Well, the counter to the Witch’s Finger of course.” The Dwarf unstopped the jar. “Hold still now. This stuff is really expensive as well.”
“As well?” Drimblerod put his partner in a headlock and turned his head to the side. “Hold still!”
Grimbledung stomped his foot. “Ahh-ooooo!” He howled. Hairs sprung from his ears.
�
��Hurry!” Drimblerod tightened his headlock. “He’s going to change!”
“Into what?”
“Just hurry!”
Grimbledung began to drool as his teeth elongated.
“That’s just gross.” The Dwarf let several drops of the milky white liquid fall into Grimbledung’s eye. “I’m going to need to mop.”
The burning stopped almost immediately so Grimbledung opened his now-restored eye. “What kind of place you running here!” He reached up to rub his eye again. “You’re going to make me blind!”
Drimblerod grabbed his hand. “Stop doing that! Hold still so he can get your other eye, Grim.”
Grimbledung wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned back, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Do it quick before my eyeball explodes!”
The Dwarf put several drops in Grimbledung’s other eye.
Grimbledung staggered back, fell on his butt and continued until he was flat on the floor. He shuddered. He thrust a finger into the air. “After due consideration, I think we’ll stick with that first sample.”
“Agreed.” Drimblerod nodded. “Otherwise we’d have to buy a jar of that stuff.” He looked at the ancient-looking jar. “What’s in that anyway?”
The Dwarf stoppered the jar and put it back under the counter. “Well, besides ice cold cider, the only other counter for Witch’s Finger is, of course, Witch’s Milk.”
“Is that another euphemism like Witch’s Finger means really dangerously spicy chicken jerky?” Grimbledung cocked his head at the Dwarf.
The Dwarf gave a little shrug. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
“Wait a grain of sand!” Grimbledung sat up. “What exactly did you just pour into my eyes?”
“Let’s just move on,” suggested the Dwarf. “Before we get into inappropriate territory.”
Grimbledung raised a finger. “I feel obliged to point out that we recently determined that ‘nipple’ is fine.”
“Medically speaking, sure” agreed Drimblerod. “I don’t think in this case it would be.”
“Then we won’t discuss the source of the witch’s milk,” Paul said.
Grimbledung and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Mine (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 5) Page 15