Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes.

by Robert P. Wills

Chapter Four

  Wherein Grimbledung Closes his Shoppe

  (which is, in fact, a wagon)

  Grimbledung looked around his home. He had lived here for nearly six years. It was ramshackle, drafty and smelled of animals. It was an abandoned livery stable in the West End of the town of Aution where even respectable thieves did not venture. He had bought it for a song.5 Not even the residents of West End enjoyed coming home, and when they did, they made a mad dash of it. The only person in Aution who walked the streets of West End slowly and calmly was the Constable; he didn’t rush anywhere. And being who he was, he didn’t need to. Of course, being what he was helped considerably. Thugs and ruffians moved out of his way and tried not to catch his eye. Beggars acted as if they had full bellies so he wouldn’t approach them to discuss their vagrancy issues. Aution was tough, but its Constable was tougher.

  The town of Aution had actually started out as a small crossroads trader’s shack that was established to sell wares to soldiers moving between the towns along the Great Salt River and the Anti-Ogre wall to the north. Sheward Delberger, a conniving Halfling ran the shop with a Ruthless Hand (a variation on the Finger of Death but five times as powerful). A disgruntled traveler, trying to warn others of Sheward’s shady business practices had hastily tried to put up a warning sign which proclaimed “Caution!” In thick red letters. An Ogre skull and crossbones were painted underneath it. Sheward saw the traveler hammering the sign into the ground and promptly blasted him with the Ruthless Hand. The traveler was reduced to a pile of bones, and the sign lost its “C”. Not bothering to go kick down the rest of the sign, Sheward left it in place and the town of aution was born.

  The “a” was later capitalized by the town’s first schoolteacher – Margareta Barlow, for grammar’s sake. However, for what they called “historical’s sake,” the townsfolk fought the change tooth and nail. Miss Barlow pointed out at the time (testily) that “historical’s” was not even a word, but the issue was put to a vote anyway. When it finally came time to actually vote however, Miss Barlow showed up at the town council meeting with a four-foot ruler that she wielded like a katana (comfortably, thanks to the leather wrapped handle). Prior to the vote, an eagle-eyed citizen made a Point of Order to bring to everyone’s attention the usually present metal edge of the ruler seemed to be sharpened. This led to some quick mental calculations by the townsfolk prior to the vote6.

  Thanks to no one daring to raise their hand (lest they lose it) to vote against Miss Barlow, Aution was added to the maps.

  The rest is history. We’d say historical, but that’s actually a word. It’s just not the right one for this occasion. Obviously.

  Grimbledung’s brightly colored wagon was pushed into a corner. A large banner was pulled fairly tight between the upturned side slats. “Grim’s Wands” it proclaimed in large blue letters. Much, much smaller letters in a color nearly identical to the banner itself whispered ‘no refunds whatsoever, so don’t even ask!’ Grimbledung put his bedroll, cooking gear, and various odds and ends onto the wagon. There was not a lot to show for nearly three and a half centuries of living. Of course, the Great Flood took most of my treasured possessions Grimbledung mused trying to defend his life choices. Right, the other half of him responded, what treasures exactly? - A leaky cauldron, dented skillet, and a ladle with half a handle. Grimbledung scowled; sometimes he annoyed himself thoroughly.

  “Ah well, time to start a new chapter,” he said aloud. “There’s always tomorrow.” He clapped his hands twice, summoning the kindly old rat that he had befriended. You enchanted it so it has to come when you clap. It can’t even find rest in death, the other half reminded him. ‘Shaddap you!’ He clapped twice again, and finally a haggard looking grey rat trotted in. One of its eyes was black, the other a milky grey. Its tail ended at what should have been the midway point. It looked up at him, head cocked to one side. From that angle, Grimbledung could see that its whiskers were no longer even on both sides.

  “Rough day? You look a mess!”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” replied Grimbledung. “I’m moving out and I think this is the last I’ll need of your service. Unless you want to hang around for kicks.”

  “Just kill me,” the rat rasped, “after a hundred years, I think I’m ready for The Long Dirt Nap.” The rat pondered the thought for a moment, “Wait, moving? Where? Is it someplace inside where I could lay by a fire all day?” A slight gleam appeared in the rat’s good eye, the other remained like month-old milk.

  “It’s some fancy shop on the East Side. I have acquired fifty percent of an actual Wand Shop. Whatever that is. You can probably hang out there all day, chat with customers.” He considered that for a moment, “Or insult them. Relax in your golden years. What a lucky rat you are!” Grimbledung smiled at the foot-long rat.

  It sat back on its haunches like a lap dog. A century old, beaten, boiled, and baked lapdog kept alive by a poorly executed Enchant spell. “Don’t start with me, Grim.” It snarled through a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. Thanks to rat physiology, its teeth continued to grow no matter how long it lived. Rat’s teeth were as fresh as the day he was born. The rest of it was another matter entirely.

  “Well-p, it’s settled then! Let’s get going. To the wagon, Rat!’ Grimbledung drew a short gold wand- a Pixie Stick- from his boot as Rat moved to the front of the wagon. Much too large to be used by Pixies, Pixie Sticks were to be used against Pixies. Contrary to how they were portrayed in popular literature, Pixies were ill-tempered, spiteful creatures and considered a nuisance by most everyone. An infestation of rats was more tolerable than a Thrush of Pixies (as all groupings of Pixies were called) moving into one’s attic. At one point, the gold wand was imbued with the Gallinas Rotisserie spell, which turned the vile Cornish Pixie into a delicious Cornish Hen. It had been modified through the years to transmute a variety of creatures. Presently, it turned rats into a Green Toed Shamblers- a useful beast of burden. Grimbledung pointed the wand at the impatiently waiting rat.

  It squinted its eye in anticipation.

  Rodentus Grigo!

  Transmutis completes

  Shambli Verdes!

  Intoned Grimbledung.

  A gold bolt arced from the wand and struck Rat. It was enveloped with the golden light for a fraction of a second. In a flash, Rat sprung in height to six feet at the shoulder. Shamblers, a distant cousin of the Moose, were effective beasts of burden. Unlike moose, they were calm tempered and easy to reason with. Slightly smaller and missing the antlers, they still possessed the elongated snout, barrel body, and gangly legs. They could easily pull twice their weight and walk for days on end. They were a majestic animal, proudly displayed on the standards of several kingdoms. The one presently before Grimbledung was such a beast in species, but not quite in appearance. The milky eye was larger, yet still present and instead of a gleaming brown coat, it was mottled and grey. And it's tail still only made it to the half way point.

  “I should remind you that I still, at this point, despise you” said RatShambler. It’s characteristically emerald green-furred feet were more akin to moat green.

  “Buck up, Rat,” Grimbledung said as he hopped up to grab the harness and hook it under the massive beast, “we’ll at least give this a shot for a couple of months. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll kill you then.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely. Right after I kill Drimblerod for talking me into this scheme.” He scowled “Dead as a winter turnip”. He hopped up onto the wagon and pulled the whip from its notch and cracked it over RatShambler’s head.

  RatShambler craned its neck around and glared at him with its large black eye. Slowly and deliberately, he began out of the stable at an absurdly slow pace.

  “Come on Rat! I’ve got a reputation to maintain here and I might be back in a few weeks,” pleaded Grimbledung. He was rewarded with a slightly faster than a walk shuffle. “Thanks, Rat!” Grimbledung sneered at passers-by as they went; smiling was the ma
rk of a patsy in this part of town.