Chapter Eight
Wherein Grimbledung Officially Moves In
Grimbledung opened the door and was greeted by a soaked RatShambler still hooked up to the wagon. He had his head under the Magicked Moon in a vain attempt to keep it dry. “I really and truly do loath you. Loathing like Clay Golems loath flowing water. Whampyri and sunlight. Elves and dirt. Complete and utter hatred,” he said.
“Bring the wagon around the back and I’ll open the rear doors,” called Drimblerod as he moved through the curtain.
“Oh Rat, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about you. I was having a fine time inside.”
“Where it isn’t raining?” Asked RatShambler. “That inside?”
Grimbledung hopped up on the wagon, “Let’s go- I’m getting soaked!”
RatShambler looked over his shoulder and began to walk slowly up the street, “You’re getting wet? I don’t know how I can live with myself with such knowledge.” His pace did not quicken.
A full five minutes later, the wagon pulled into the back of the shop. Grimbledung was sitting, completely dejected- he wasn’t even trying to drive the cart and was merely along for the ride.
“What took so long?” Asked Drimblerod, “It’s not even a minute walk from the front to the back.”
Grimbledung merely pointed at RatShambler, “Maybe I can use your Mechanimator Wand to get a saw horse to pull me around?”
RatShambler snorted in reply.
“Let’s get your stuff off the wagon and your beast unhitched,” suggested Drimblerod.
“Too easy” said Grimbledung as he hopped off the wagon, a large sack in one hand, his gold Pixie Stick in the other. He gestured at RatShambler who promptly flashed back to just Rat. “Done.”
“You travel light, I see,” remarked Drimblerod, “We’ll get a bed put together and after we get some cans, we’ll get your wands sorted as well.” This brought muffled clapping from the living area.
“Please, please tell me you have a stove or a fireplace that I can nap in front of,” pleaded Rat. He was still soaking wet- the enchantment didn’t change that. Actually, there was a large puddle of water where Rat was standing since his fur didn’t hold the same amount of water as a full grown Shambler.
“Of course,” replied Drimblerod, completely nonplussed with holding a conversation with a rat. These were hard times, but also strange ones as well. “Head to the front of the store and it’s on the right. There’s a nice Red-Tailed Shambler fur throw in front of it.”
Without a word, Rat ambled out from the rear room, heading to the first warm nap he had had in six years.
Drimblerod watched him go with interest. “A rat and a shambler?”
“It’s a long story,” remarked Grimbledung.
“I’d love to hear it someday,” said Drimblerod. “But first let me show you the operations up front. Grab your bag of wands.”
As they moved past the dummy, it waved and clapped.
When Grimbledung dropped his stuffed-with-wands sack on its stand, it almost fell over as it bounced for joy.
“That is one odd dummy” said Grimbledung. As he came to the front of the store, he spotted Rat lying on its back, all four paws sticking up as if it were finally, mercifully, dead. Grimbledung leaned in close and heard a raspy snore. Satisfied, he returned to the counter. “OK, give me the tour,” he said.
“I put the flashy ones in the widow,” began Drimblerod as he moved to the window, “Something to draw pedestrians in. Anything unusual or colorful goes there. On the wall racks” he said moving there, “go the nonlethal wands. Things that won’t kill us if some harebrained window-licker waves it around. Behind the counter,” he pointed, “go the really expensive ones. The ones you do not hand to someone unless you’ve got your wand out.”
“Got it,” Grimbledung said. “So- that leaves the window-licker problem?
“Those people come in, wander the store, pick up everything, including the ones under the glass. After an hour, they just leave. The problem is that while they are in here, they chat up the other customers and distract them from buying something as well.
“Why don’t you just blast them out of existence?” Suggested Grimbledung, “Or bewitch them into buying a wand?”
“Because, as you said, having a Constable on the payroll hurts profits. And once a lawman is on the take, they never come off.” Drimblerod scowled, “Blasting a couple of my chronic window-lickers out of existence would make my century. Besides, the last thing you want to do is deal with the Constable on a regular basis.”
“Wait, you mean the same ones come back day after day? Don’t these folks work?”
“Times are tough. They have nowhere else to go and browsing is free.” Drimblerod shrugged, “It’s like a disease. Usually old people do it, but nowadays young ones do as well.”
“So, I get to insult the same people every day and they will come back again and again?”
“At least until you finally drive them off.”
“I’d do that for free!” Grimbledung rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Drimblerod raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s just an expression! Don’t get your hopes up.” Grimbledung shook a finger at him. “I still expect some of the profits you know.” He sniffed. “And if I could get them up.” He sniffed again. “Then that’s more coinage in my pockets. Is… is that stew I smell?” He asked.
“It is!” Said Drimblerod, “I’d started it before you arrived. I say we eat.”
“Stew! Hot stew!” cooed Grimbledung.
“Stew?” Asked Rat suddenly wide awake, “I’m all for stew!”
“Asleep for the business, awake for the food.” Grimbledung said. “As usual.”
“So then why are you surprised?” Rat asked. He gestured with a claw. “Lead the way Drimblerod; belly-filling awaits.”
With Drimblerod in the lead, the three of them moved to the middle part of the store for their first evening meal together.
Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes. Page 11