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 Fifteen

  Wherein the Gnomes Make a New Partner

  The three crossed the sidewalk onto the street. As they got there, a group of Halflings, ten in all, crossed their path.

  “Hey there little fellas!” Said Grimbledung amicably, “we’re going to get something to eat!”

  The entire group skidded to a halt. The lead Halfling looked up at Grimbledung, “What’d you call me?” He snapped.

  “What?” Asked Grimbledung. He was still hopping back and forth out of excitement. “Me?”

  Drimblerod saw several of the Halflings rest their hands on the hilts of their weapons- the others already had their hands on theirs. “Hold on there, Halfling, my friend meant no disrespect,” began Drimblerod.

  The Halfling whirled on Drimblerod, “You callin’ me stupid or deaf?”

  “What?” Asked Drimblerod. “Me? How?”

  “Well,” began the Halfling as the others spread out around the Gnomes, “either I’m hard of hearing ‘cause your friend didn’t say what I thought he said, or I’m stupid because I didn’t understand what he said to me.” He glowered up at Drimblerod, “Which is it?”

  Drimblerod took a step back, “Listen, we’re just crossing the street going to get something to eat. We don’t want any trouble.”

  Several of the Halflings muttered “Trouble.”

  Grimbledung stopped hopping back and forth. “What?” He said again. This time his eyes narrowed.

  Drimblerod looked from his partner to the group of Halflings. From recent (Grimbledung) and not too recent (all Halflings) experiences, he knew that they were all pretty unstable. Individually Halflings were fairly pleasant to be around. Once they got into groups of three or more, their demeanor completely changed; they became bullying, cantankerous, and just downright unpleasant.

  Drimblerod smiled at the lead Halfling, “Listen, pal, how about we buy you and your friends a drink? We’re celebrating and would be happy to buy your first round.”

  The lead Halfling crowded Drimblerod, “I don’t need no stinking Gnome...”

  “WHAT?” Interjected Grimbledung.

  “... buying me or my mates drinks. Wec’n get our own drinks. When and where we want. Got it?”

  “Your loss then, Pal.” Drimblerod said. He grabbed Grimbledung’s shoulder and pulled him around to face the direction of the pub, “Let’s go Grim.”

  “Oh it’ll be grim all right,” sneered the Halfling.

  The others nodded. Several continued to mutter “Trouble.” Some said “grim.”

  “And you’re at the top of the list for when we hand it out.” He kicked a clod of dirt at the Gnomes.

  Rat who had been standing on Drimblerod’s shoulder the entire exchange hopped onto the Halfling’s shoulder. “I’m going to pee in your ear at one point in the near future.” He whispered into the Halfling’s ear as he hopped off.

  The Halfling unsheathed his blade. All eighteen inches of it (they are, after all, Halflings). And pointed it at Rat. “I’ll turn you into a hat!”

  The other Halflings laughed uproariously at their leader. “A hat!” They all guffawed.

  Drimblerod led Grimbledung across the remainder of the street, “You can’t go around doing that to Halflings, Grim,” he explained, “the last thing we need is a brawl in the center of town.”

  Grimbledung looked at his partner, “Sorry, but those folk just rub me the wrong way. It’s their small hands and beady eyes. And they smell of cabbage. They give me the willies and I end up saying things I shouldn’t.”

  “Well, it’s over with now and I’m sure we’ll not have to deal with them again. I don’t recall any Halflings in town so they must just be passing through.”11

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Grimbledung as they moved to the door of the tavern. “Sorry about that. I’ll try to keep a civil tongue inside my head.”

  “Your poor tongue,” said Rat. “Stuck in that head of yours, all civil, with nothing to keep it company but buckets of crazy.”

  Grimbledung looked down at Rat, “I’ll pee in your ear if you keep it up.”

  Drimblerod shook his head. “On that note, how about we get some food?”

  Grimbledung’s stomach made gurgling sounds. “Gah! I’ve broke my stomach! My achy breaky stomach!”

  “Don’t you dare make that into a song,” warned Rat.

  “I’m too hungry to sing,” answered Grimbledung as he entered the tavern like a famished Ogre entering an encampment of River Folk. “Sustenance!” He bellowed, “I need food, and I need it now!” He pointed at his belly just in case anyone was unsure of who was in need of feeding. And where.

  The tavern was practically empty- it was still early too for any lunch time patrons, and breakfast was long over. Not that the menu changed for different meals. Only several professional drinkers sat at the bar.

  “Let’s find a table with a view of the shop,” suggested Drimblerod, “then we can see what they have for fare.” He moved towards the tables when a large hand grabbed him by the collar. The hand was connected to a larger arm, which was attached to a huge female. Drimblerod followed the arm up, craning his neck until his eyes met those of a scowling Trolless. “Is this section closed?” He asked.

  “Can’t you read?” The Trolless snapped.

  “Yes,” said Drimblerod and before he could help himself, he added smarmily, “several languages in fact.”

  “Well, mister smart mouth Gnome,” she turned Drimblerod roughly by his neck. “Then I imagine you will have no trouble reading that sign to me.” She aimed his head at a colorful plaque by the front door.

  “Please wait to be seated by hostess?” Offered Drimblerod.

  “Very good.” She turned him back around to face her, “And right below that?” The Trolless asked. Grimbledung’s stomach growled loudly. She spun to face him, never releasing her grip on Drimblerod, “You GROWLING at ME?”

  “No, no! It was my stomach!” Whimpered Grimbledung. “So what’s the bottom of the sign say?” He prodded Drimblerod on the shoulder. “What, what?”

  “Or else,” said the Trolless.

  “Or else what?” Asked Grimbledung.

  Drimblerod shook loose of the Trolless to face Grimbledung, “Or else what?!” He demanded. “Are you insane? Or else this troll...”

  “Trolless” corrected the Trolless.

  “Trolless” continued Drimblerod, “will pop my head off like a cherry. Why are trying to provoke it?”

  “Her” corrected the Trolless testily.

  “Her.” Agreed Grimbledung, “Definitely a her.” He looked her up and down. Hungrily. “Make no mistake about her membership in the feminine persuasion.”

  The Trolless blushed, “Why thank you my little Gnome.”

  “Listen, Mistress Troll,” began Drimblerod, “we meant- I meant no offence. You see we are famished and our hunger has clouded our eyes. Of course you are a lovely Trolless. Kind hearted, I imagine. A tribute to your ...

  “Fine, Gnome. Don’t lay it on too thick,” warned the Trolless, “otherwise I’ll start to think you’re just making stuff up.”

  “Great. Give us a table.” Drimblerod said flatly.

  “You can lay it on a little,” said the Trolless, “after all, what girl doesn’t like a little sweet talk?”

  Drimblerod cleared his throat, then began to speak politely, “Perchance, kind Trolless, could you take us to a table so we may enjoy your company a might longer?” He looked up hopefully.

  “Very nice, Gnome. Where’d you want to sit?”

  “By the window?” Asked Drimblerod.

  The Trolless pointed to a table against the window. “Keeping an eye out? If you two are wanted by the law, you should know I run a respectable Tavern and I’ll turn you in before you cause me any trouble with the law. The last thing I need is the Constable in here.” She shuddered.

  “Not at all!” Drimblerod feigned offence, “we’re respectable shop owners.”

  ‘With a door and walls and eve
rything!” Beamed Grimbledung.

  “It’s right across the street,” Drimblerod pointed out the window. “We own Second Hand Sorcery. We’re neighbors.”

  “Good. That means you can pay. Nothing gets my hackles up more than a ‘I’ll sweep for a meal’ customer.”

  “That’s a lot of hackles,” said Grimbledung eyeing her up and down again.

  Drimblerod shook his full pouch of coins. It jingled loudly.

  “I’ll bring menus.” She caught herself as she began to turn. “Pictures or words?”

  “Words” said Drimblerod before Grimbledung could answer.

  The two Gnomes moved to opposite sides of the table and sat down.

  Drimblerod put Rat at the end of the table. Grimbledung bounced up and down in his chair. “Just imagine, Rat” he exclaimed, “food that we actually ordered ourselves!”

  “That will be a treat,” agreed Rat. “Say. I want some warm meat and ale when you do order. Skip the vegetables.”

  “Got it” Grimbledung said. He began to clap.

  “Would you two try to control yourselves?” Said Drimblerod, “You’re going to embarrass me. Haven’t you two eaten out before?”

  Rat twitched its whiskers. “Was it after the Great Quake of 748?”

  “I think so, Rat. Drim, does it count if it was after an earthquake and we served ourselves? It was after the mandatory evacuation.”

  “Savages.” Drimblerod scowled, “let me do the ordering. We need to build some in-roads with this place and I don’t want you two to screw it up.”

  The Trolless approached with two menus and a piece of parchment. She stared at the rat. “Do I even want to know?” She asked as she pointed at it with a quill.

  “Lovely Trolless.” Rat stood and bowed, “please don’t let my appearance trouble you. Any ill comfort caused by my appearance is overshadowed by your immense beauty.” He sat down again.

  “The rat eats on the house.”

  Drimblerod picked up his menu. “We’ll start with two pints and a shot glass of ale. By the way,” Drimblerod smiled. “I’m Drimblerod. That’s Grimbledung. You’ve already met Rat.”

  “Pleasure. I’m Nulu. Nulu Bentknees. Owner and operator of the Stumbling Drunk.” She smiled back.

  “Stumbling Drunk?” Not very appetizing for a restaurant,” said Drimblerod.

  “We’re a Pub and Restaurant, not a Restaurant and Pub operation,” Nulu explained. “Besides, the real profit is in alcohol. Water is free down at the well, you know.” She winked, “And it’s awful hard to water down a rack of lamb.”