“This is a respectable town you know.”
Drimblerod smirked “Well, even respectable towns have their rabble.”
“They’re usually just passing through.” Paul tossed back at him.
“I can just leave him here to pick up the stuff, if you’d like.” Drimblerod returned deftly.
“No, no. So we’re looking at eight silver, if I remember correctly.”
“What if you killed him?”
“He’s not dead,” assured Paul. “Witch’s milk is most likely probably not poisonous to Gnomes.”
“If you say so.” Drimblerod looked down to fish out the lone gold coin from his pouch. “Gads, we’re low on funds.”
“You got a good deal, I assure you.”
Drimblerod tossed the gold coin to Paul. “Sure, up until my partner became a lawn ornament.”
“You could easily sell him for twice the cost of the supplies, I’m sure. Gnome lawn ornaments are haut couture right now.”
“I’d rather just have my partner back, if it’s all the same to you.”
Paul rolled the wheelbarrow beside Grimbledung. “Want help getting him in?”
“Of course; the last thing I want to do is chip something important off.”
“That would be bad. Get the legs?” Paul grasped Grimbledung under his arms. “He’s going to be heavy you know.”
Drimblerod grabbed his partner’s legs and picked him up. “Lay him down in it?”
Paul grunted and nodded.
The pair shuffled sideways and put Grimbledung in the wagon. One hand and one foot stuck up out of the wheelbarrow.
“How are we going to get him in that sack?”
Paul looked from the petrified Gnome to the sack. “Let’s just put it on top of him.”
The bell over the door jingled.
Both the Dwarf and Drimblerod turned to look.
Grimhilde entered the store. She had the young boy and now a long black staff with her.
“We’re back, Paul. I completely forgot to buy what I originally came in for. And I brought my staff to…” She looked at the petrified Gnome. “I see he’s already been taken care of. Who did him; that wizard that runs the confectionary?
“Witches milk.”, said Paul.
“Ahhh…irony.”
“Yes, so everything’s fine, Grimhilde, just fine.” The Dwarf gave a smile. “These customers are just passing through town. Stocking up. That sort of thing. Then they’ll be on their way.”
“And getting petrified by Paul over there.” Drimblerod pointed at the Dwarf.
“He’d look good in my garden,” remarked Grimhilde.
“He’s not for sale,” Drimblerod said flatly.
“You sure?”
Drimblerod looked from his partner to the woman and back again. “Yes, I’m fairly certain. I’ll just take him along with.”
Paul moved back behind the counter. “Got the sack, Drimblerod?”
Drimblerod nodded. He bent down and picked up the sack. With a flourish, he guided it down on top of Grimbledung as if he were making a bed. “I suppose that works.”
“He’ll be fine. Just don’t dump him out of there.”
Drimblerod tucked the sack under Grimbledung. “At least he doesn’t know what’s happening to him.”
“What happened?” Grimhilde asked. “Why would he even drink that stuff?”
“He asked to sample the Witch’s Finger.”
“What kind of person would do a fool thing like that?”
“That’s my part… dead partner you’re talking about there, lady,” began Drimblerod, “and I’d appreciate it if you had a little respect for the very recently deceased.”
Grimhilde let out a small sigh. “Fine, fine. Far be it from me.”
The young boy prodded Grimbledung with his foot. “Gross.”
“Hey, kid- stop that!”
The boy grinned. “Never seen a dead body this close before.”
“Parton!” Scolded Grimhilde.
“Sorry, Aunt Grimhilde.” The boy put his hands in his pockets.
“What are you in the market for?” Paul smiled at the tall, raven haired woman.
“I’m looking for some red delicious apples, something that will knock out Dwarves, and some magic mirror polish.”
Drimblerod bent over and took the handles of the wheelbarrow. When he stood, the back of the wheelbarrow came off the ground. “Can you get the door, kid?” He rolled forward a little.
“What was that middle thing?” Asked Paul.
“Sure, sir.” The boy reached out and tapped Grimbledung’s foot again. “Gross!” He turned and skipped to the door. When he got there he opened it with a flourish.
“Some sort of sleep aid would do just fine. Do you have any black root? I’ve read that puts Dwarves to sleep.”
“I’ll let you know where we’re staying.” Drimblerod rolled the wheelbarrow toward the door.
As the wheelbarrow got beside Grimhilde, the burlap sack began to thrash about.
Grimhilde screamed as she put her hand to her mouth. She backed up a half step, caught between the counter and the now-thrashing sack. “What is going on?!”
Drimblerod let go of the handles and the wheelbarrow clunked to the floor, tipping on its side.
Grimbledung rolled out of the wheelbarrow, tangled in the sack. “I’m still blind!” Grimbledung rolled over again, out from under the sack and under Grimhilde’s long skirt.
Grimhilde screamed again. She grabbed the counter preparing to climb over it.
Grimbledung stood up. “Wait, I can see a little light now. Hey now? Hey now! Where am I exactly? Hey, hey, my situation is improving, I think!”
Grimhilde’s skirt puffed out in several places as Grimbledung thrashed back and forth.
“Where am I? Exactly?”
Grimhilde fainted, collapsing in a heap. As she rolled onto her back, Grimbledung’s head popped out from her skirt. He waggled his ears.
“Grimbledung you’re alive!”
“Told you it probably wouldn’t last that long.” Paul gave a wink.
“You sure toss around qualifiers like it’s no trouble at all.”
“Plausible deniability,” explained Paul.
Drimblerod offered his hand to his partner. “Grim, I’m glad you’re alright.”
Grimbledung nodded. “What happened?”
“You tasted that Witch’s Milk and it petrified you!”
“Gads!” Grimbledung patted himself down. “But I’m better now?”
Drimblerod looked at Paul. “Are there any side effects?”
“He might be unusually irritable,” said Paul.
“Did that for a while. Nothing new there.”
“Unexplained unstable outbursts.”
“Had them.”
“Fits of rage.”
“Still familiar territory.”
The Dwarf stared at Grimbledung. “What about clairvoyance?”
“Dated a Dwarfess named Clair for a couple of decades, does that count?”
“Flashes of the future.”
“You mean like right before you die?”
“That’s the past that flashes before your eyes.”
Grimbledung nodded. “Right, right. Then you’re playing checkers.”
“Checkers?”
“Don’t ask,” Drimblerod interjected. “So how long will this clairvoyance last?”
“Maybe a few days. Maybe not at all. Especially if he only got that one…”
Grimbledung licked at another trickle then puffed out his cheeks as he put his finger over his mouth. “Urp! Rolton chips! Someone give me a rag or something!”
The Dwarf rubbed his hands together.
“Use your tunic, Grim.”
“Will this stain?” Grimbledung licked at another drop as it trickled down his cheek. “Gah!” He leaned over and rubbed his face off with Grimhilde’s skirt.
“Hey!” Grimhilde pulled herself up using the counter. “What are you doing?”
“Returning something that was probably yours to start with,” Grimbledung explained.
“Well then,” began the Dwarf, “so we’re going to go with number six then? A nice middle of the road jerky. And that sticks with the original agreed upon price.”
Drimblerod nodded. “Seven silver, if my memory serves me,” he tried.
“It’s not. You’re at eight silver.”
Drimblerod smirked. “Sorry, with all that excitement, I probably maybe forgot the actual amount…”
“Hey, jerky is expensive and tedious to make and you want fifteen pounds of it.” Paul pointed at Drimblerod. “You are getting a really good deal here. And some really good jerky, I might add.”
Chapter 31
Mixed Trails in Old Jute
Parton perked up. “Jerky? Hey, can I have a snack, Aunt Grimhilde? Can I have some jerky too?”
“How about some healthy nuts instead?” She tried.
“Nuts’r boring.” The boy put his hands in his pocket.
Grimbledung did a little hop. “Hey!”
Drimblerod looked at his partner.
“HEY!” Grimbledung hopped again.
Paul looked at Grimbledung. “Are you all right?”
“Someone give me a bucket!”
“I’m afraid to ask,” admitted Grimhilde.
“Me too,” agreed Drimblerod, “but we might as well find out sooner rather than later.” He nodded at Paul. “Got a bucket?”
“Got an idea percolating, Drim! Percolating all inside my head!”
Paul handed a bucket to Drimblerod.
“Thanks. Apparently my partner’s percolating.” Drimblerod handed the bucket to his partner.
“Indoors?” Grimhilde once again pulled her son to her. “In public?” She held her staff out. “I’m warning you…”
Grimbledung snatched the bucket and ran behind to a display of stacked barrels. He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. “Yeah, oh yeah!” He flipped off several bucket lids and put handfuls of their contents into the bucket. He shook the bucket as he ran behind the counter.
“What is wrong with him? Besides percolating?” Paul grasped the counter as Grimbledung shoved his way past him. “You shouldn’t be back here you know. Employees only.”
Grimbledung ignored the Dwarf, running with his nose in the air, inhaling deeply. “Here we go!” He shoveled two more handfuls into the bucket. “Almost there.” He scooted out from behind the counter and then up the stairs. Random crashing could he heard.
“Anything breakable up there?”
Paul shook his head at Drimblerod. “Breakables are all down here so’s I can keep an eye on them.”
“Well, that’s good to…”
Drimblerod was interrupted as Grimbledung barreled down the stairs, bucket swinging behind him. He skidded to a stop in front of the counter. After a slight pause, he scurried behind it. He gave the Dwarf a wink. “Gimmie some room to work, Paulie; I’ve got it from here.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’ve got, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want it.”
“Oh you want it. You want it alright!” Grimbledung shouldered the Dwarf. “You WANT it!” He gave him a wink, then turned to the mother.
Grimhilde took a step back.
Grimbledung cleared his throat then looked around the store as if he were surveying a large crowd. “Folks, just what does one do when their child wants a snack but not a wholesome snack as youth tend to do? Anyone? Anyone of you?” He looked around the room as if it were crowded. “You sir, there in the front. What do you do when your offspring wants some sort of snack?”
Drimblerod looked behind himself. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you, the fine looking Gentlegnome in the front row.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Drimblerod looked around nervously. “Give him what he wants?”
Grimhilde gasped. “Oh dear.”
“Oh dear indeed, my fine non-floating woman. Oh dear!” Agreed Grimbledung. He clapped his hands once. “Folks, I can solve your snacking problems with the wave of my hand, this very hand.” He waved his hand above his head.
“Now just a moment…” Began the Dwarf. “I’m not so sure I need you as a partner.”
“Oh you need a partner,” assured Grimbledung. “Just as sure as the Sun goes to its resting place every night to make room for the new Sun, and lightning makes snakes, you need a partner.”
The Dwarf opened his mouth to argue both those points but Grimbledung pressed on: “You. The young man, there.” Grimbledung pointed at Parton. “You say you want a snack?”
The boy nodded. “If my Aunt’ll let me.”
“Something filling?”
“Sure.”
“Something tasty?”
“That’s better than filling.”
Grimbledung raised an eyebrow up high. “Something healthy?”
“Not particularly.” Admitted the boy.
“Yes.” Said Grimhilde.
Grimbledung clapped his hands once. “Well, I have the solution to all your problems.” He hefted the half-full bucket onto the counter. “Mixed Trails!”
“Mixed trails?” The Dwarf peered into the bucket.
Drimblerod shook his head. “Mixed trails. Rat won’t be pleased.”
“Step right up and give it a try, son.” Grimbledung beckoned to the youth. “A good handful to see what you think.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” began Grimhilde.
Paul raised a hand at her. “No, no; let him try it.” He gave a sidelong glance to Grimbledung. “The Gnome’s onto something. Give it a try young man.”
Parton moved to the counter and stood on his tiptoes to reach into the bucket. He took out a small handful and tried to peak around his fingers to see the contents of his hand.
“Just pop it all in your mouth.” Said Grimbledung. “And chew yourself to delicious bliss.”
The boy tilted his head back and emptied his hand into his mouth. He chewed slowly, then sped up. He gave his Aunt a nod. “Uhmm-hmmm!”
“Uhmm is just the word to use,” said Grimbledung, still in selling-mode. “But the word you would use dear woman is healthy.”
“Healthy?”
Grimbledung nodded. “And affordable.”
“What’d you give my nephew?”
“Mostly nuts, pieces of chocolate for sweetness, some dried fruit, and some broken crackers for crunch. Nothing more.”
“Can I have more?” Parton asked.
“Well, you’ll have to talk to the shop owner for that, I imagine.” Grimbledung slid the bucket toward the Dwarf. “He’ll probably sell it for a copper a scoop.”
“I what?”
Grimbledung pushed the bucket closer to the Dwarf. “After he gives this young man a healthy sized sample for him to show to all his friends and tell him where he got his scrumptious snack…” He raised an eyebrow at the woman. “… and for his Aunt to tell their parents that it is also healthy.”
“She will?”
Grimhilde took a tentative handful of the Mixed Trails and ate it. She nodded as she chewed. “I think I’ll take a couple more scoops after the free sample for his two brothers, Paul.” She reached into her coin purse.
“You will?”
“Two copper then?” Asked Grimhilde.
“Yes Ma’am.” Declared Grimbledung. “A copper a scoop all day long. Half price on Grunsdays.”
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Paul, regaining his wits. He smiled at Grimhilde. “I’ll get my scoop while you get out the two copper.”
Grimbledung waggled his ears at his partner.
“Very nice, Grim.” Drimblerod waggled his ears back. “You truly have a dizzying intellect for marketing.”
Grimbledung grabbed a handful of Mixed Trails and popped it into his mouth. When Paul returned he gave him a wide grin, showing off chewed nuts and chocolate. “Mmmm!”
Paul furrowed his brow at him. “You are one strange Gnome.” He dug the scoo
p into the bucket and poured a heaping portion into a small paper sack. “One.” He repeated the motion. “And two.” He smiled at Paul. “And a large helping for my young advertiser.” He scooped one and a half scoops into a third sack. “Don’t forget to tell folks where you got your…” He looked at Grimbledung. “Mixed Trails?”
Grimbledung shoved another handful into his mouth. He nodded. “Mmmm hmmm!”
Paul gave him a double-take then moved the bucket to his other side, away from Grimbledung.
“There you go, Miss Grimhilde.” He slid the three bags across the counter.
Grimhilde put two copper on the table. “Thanks, Paul.” She nodded at Grimbledung. “And to you; for the snack that I approve of.” She handed Parton his sack, then picked up the other two. “Now, about those apples. I prefer red delicious...”
Grimbledung waggled his ears. “Another satisfied customer, eh Paul?” He elbowed the Dwarf.
Paul stared at Grimbledung.
“Eh?” Grimbledung elbowed him again.
“So, Paul,” began Drimblerod. “Now that my partner here has showed you how to move inventory that might take a long time to move on its own.” He gestured at the stack of barrels of various nuts. “Which I might add, will also be a nice hook, creating other sales…”
“Eh?” Grimbledung gave Paul another elbow.
“Think you can give us a couple extra pounds of jerky?”
Paul glanced at Grimbledung. “Stop elbowing me.” His eyes got wide. “And get back to your side of the counter!”
“I think the additional business should be worth quite a bit to you over the coming, day, weeks, months.” Drimblerod paused for effect. “Years.”
Paul frowned. “I suppose…”
“So how about we make it an even twenty pounds of jerky, and then we call it even?” Drimblerod leaned forward, expecting another bout of haggling.
“Eh?” Added Grimbledung. “Ehh??” He waggled his elbow at the Dwarf.
“Fine then. Fine.” Paul clapped his hands twice. “Deal.”
Drimblerod clapped as well. “Deal.”
Grimbledung leaned over the counter and took two hands’ full of Mixed Trail. “Works for me too, Paul.” He waved two fistfuls of the treat. “Eh?”
Grimbledung and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Mine (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 5) Page 17