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 Sixteen

  Wherein Grimbledung has Another (Grand?) Idea

  “It seems to me” Grimbledung sat back, “that coming up with inventory is the hardest part of our business. I mean, with my wagon, I’d have to be out looking for a while before I was able to sell anything.”

  Drimblerod shrugged, “Well, you can’t sell without inventory. I do have people that come in to sell old wands when they want something else.”

  “That’s only part of the time and then they buy something else so you still don’t gain any wands.” He took a drink from his mug. “What we need is folks purposely looking for wands for us. Bringing us wands on purpose.”

  Drimblerod put down his mug, “But having a bunch of employees cuts into profits.”

  Grimbledung shook his head. “We won’t be paying them.” He winked. “They’ll volunteer to go get us wands.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “They’ll be wanting to get us wands. They’ll be willing get us wands. They’ll be waiting to get us wands.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  Grimbledung nodded, “Nuts like a fox!”

  Rat opened his mouth, thought better of it, and went back to drinking.

  “So who are these people that will work for us for free?” Drimblerod was far from convinced. “Slaves are out of fashion at the moment. We’d end up with folks picketing out front. Who do you suggest?”

  “Well, those people going into the Outfitters Store, we can use them to find wands for us. We could ask that store if we could advertise there for people to bring us wands.”

  Drimblerod mulled over the idea as he scraped frost off his tankard, “What do we give that owner?”

  “A couple of brooms?” Suggested Grimbledung, “no one likes to sweep. I know I don’t.”

  “I’ve never seen you sweep” said Rat as he sat down, shot glass in front of him.

  “That’s ‘cause I don’t like to do it,” explained Grimbledung. He took another gulp of his ale.

  “A couple of brooms,” Drimblerod considered it. “I don’t know, Grim. If word gets out that there’s lots of Mechanimated things around here, the Magician’s Guild might come poking around. I don’t know if I can go through that again.” His face paled, “You have never dealt with those people.” He thought again and sighed, “All right, so what are we hiring these folks to do? Bring us wands? How do we get them to do that?” Asked Drimblerod. If the plan were too absurd he would just nix the whole idea, but there was no sense in not listening to his partner; he’d surprised him once already.

  “While they are out and about, if they find Unicorn horns, Basilisk scales, any sort of item we can use for wands. Dragon spines even. If they come across something and bring it back, we’ll buy it. If they come across actual wands, we buy those too.”

  “But what if they don’t come back?”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Grimbledung said, “if they just wander off or get eaten by a dragon, we’re not out any coins.”

  Drimblerod shook his head. “But what about complaints from next of kin?”

  “That’s the best part! We won’t be liable if anything happens,” explained Grimbledung. “We won’t be tasking them to do anything, or signing any contracts. We’ll just sensitize them to what we’re interested in. All we’ll do is ask them to keep an eye out for peculiar items. If they come across something and bring it back, we’ll buy it from them if we like it.”

  Drimblerod sipped his ale and thought over the plan.

  “We can set up a display in the store advertising the start of this brand new part of adventuring- Wand Gathering.

  “You could call them the Gathering Division and give them a badge with GD on it,” suggested Rat.

  “A ‘Gee’ and a ‘Dee’?” Said Drimblerod hesitantly.

  “Sure! Either Gathering Division, or you two; Grimbledung and Drimblerod!”

  Grimbledung looked hopefully at his partner. “Neat!”

  Drimblerod put down his tankard, “Grimbledung, that is underhanded and conniving. Completely below board. Even for a Gnome.” He squinted his eyes at his now squirming partner. After a moment he continued, “And I have to say absolutely, positively brilliant. You truly have a dizzying way with business.”

  Grimbledung squealed and clapped his hands. “So, can we call them the Gathering Division?”

  “Sure, we can even give out bonuses to the best Gatherers. We can have them all come to a year-end ceremony or something.”

  Grimbledung jumped from his chair and it once again clattered to the floor on its back. The Dwarf looked again. It was most interesting thing happening in the bar. For a moment, Drimblerod thought he had said something wrong again. Until Grimbledung shot his hands in the air and cheered. “A Jamboree! I’ve always wanted to host a Jamboree!” Grimbledung clapped his hands. “And a bar-b-cue?” He asked hopefully.

  “I suppose so,” said Drimblerod hesitantly.

  “A Jamboree and Bar-B-Cue!” Sang Grimbledung as he hopped back and forth. Nulu walked up to the table hefting two large racks of lamb surrounded by vegetables.

  “What now?” She asked Drimblerod. “He’s an all or nothing kind of Gnome, isn’t he.”

  “Apparently so,” said Drimblerod.

  Nulu leaned over and slipped the platters with the racks of lamb across the table.

  “Wow, nice rack" commented Grimbledung with a wry smile- his eyes aimed nowhere near the platters.

  “Watch it buster” warned Nulu as she straightened.

  “It’s hard not to” said Grimbledung.

  “No vegetables for me” warned Rat. “If I eat vegetables, I get the toots something fierce.”

  “I got you taken care of” said Nulu as she pulled a saucer from her apron.

  Rat sat on his haunches. “You really are a fine Trolless. Load up that plate, Grim!”

  Grimbledung stopped dancing and sat down. His stomach growled loudly.

  “I’ll leave you to your meal and we’ll talk later,” she said as she dropped some cloth squares and two knives on the table. “I’ll get those drinks freshened up in a bit.”

  “Cut some for me before you push any vegetables against the meat” said Rat, “otherwise, I won’t be responsible for my actions later.”

  They (all three) dug into the meat and vegetables (not Rat) heartily without much chatter beyond a comment about a morsel or the taste of the chilled ale.

  Soon, the lamb was reduced to bones and small bits of meat scattered on the platters and table. Rat lay on his side panting. “I’m embarrassed to say someone’s going to have to carry me out of here.”

  “But Rat,” offered Grimbledung, “you were carried in.” Grimbledung spoke around a rib that stuck out of his mouth like a pipe.

  “I’m stuffed” admitted Drimblerod.

  Grimbledung pulled the bone from his mouth and tapped it on his platter. “I propose a toast to the founder of the feast.”

  “Our customers?” Asked Drimblerod.

  “No” said Grimbledung, “to Rat, of course.”

  “What’d I do?” Asked Rat without moving.

  “Was the sale his idea?” Asked Drimblerod.

  Grimbledung shook his head, “No, the idea was the easy part.” He smiled broadly. “He spelled all the words right.” Grimbledung lifted his almost empty (for the fifth time) tankard.

  “Well, I’ll drink to that!” Said Drimblerod hefting his also nearly empty tankard high.

  “You’ll just have to pour mine down my gullet because I can’t hold my glass,” slurred Rat.

  Grimbledung picked up the shot glass and poured the ale into Rat’s open mouth. Most went down his throat, some sloshed past his whiskers. Finally, Rat’s one eye rolled back in his head and he flopped back onto the table.

  “Is he dead?” Drimblerod asked as he leaned forward to examine Rat.

  Grimbledung shook his head, “Rat can’t die. I enchanted him as a familiar. He’s tried getting squashed, skewered and burned. Nothing does
him in. He’s over 100 years old. More or less.”

  “Has he tried getting himself eaten? It seems to me that would work.”

  Grimbledung stuck out his tongue. “You’d think that, but apparently not. It seems the enchantment resists digestion as well.”

  “That must have been traumatic for the poor thing” Drimblerod gazed at the sleeping Rat.

  “Not as traumatic as it was for the cat. That was a one-way Rat-trip of sheer terror for that cat, if you get my meaning. Rat wasn’t too pleased about it either. Cats are a subject you do NOT bring up around Rat.”

  Drimblerod blanched. “Gads! Good tip. No discussions about cats.” He thumped his tankard on the table loudly. “One more drink while we talk to Nana.”

  “Nulu” corrected Grimbledung.

  “Nulu. Then we get bock to the shap.”

  “Agreed.” Grimbledung also banged his tankard on the table. “One more please!” He yelled to no one in particular.

  A Halfling approached the table, “Whatayawant?”

  “Two more drinks if you please, Mister Halfling. And ask...” Drimblerod looked at Grimbledung who nodded once at him, “Nulu if she has time to speak to us.”

  “Fine,” scowled the Halfling as he gathered Rat’s numerous empty shot glasses. “What about the rodent?” He gestured to the sleeping Rat.

  “I think he’s had his fill. Let’s just let him sleep it off.” Grimbledung said, “Bless his little heart. I’ll take mine though.”

  The Halfling scrunched up his face. “Yeah,” he snapped. “Yeah, you’ll get yers,” he snapped (again) as he walked off.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Said Drimblerod.

  Grimbledung shrugged. “It’s probably nothing” (see footnote 11). He nodded once and let his chin rest on his chest.

  “Hey! Wake up, Grim!” Drimblerod nudged the table.

  Grimbledung startled awake, “I’m awake, don’t worry about me.”

  “You better be” tut-tutted Drimblerod, “we have drinks on the way. We Gnomes have a reputation to hold up.” He blinked. “Up hold.”

  Grimbledung giggled.

  “Don’t you dare get the giggles,” warned Drimblerod, “we’re going to have a serious business meeting with Nala.”

  Grimbledung giggled again.

  “And the last drink I need for you to is....” Drimblerod paused. “What was I saying?”

  “You were saying that we had drinks on the way,” suggested Grimbledung.

  “Exactly,” agreed Drimblerod as he slapped his hand on the table, “we have drinks on the way!”

  “And Nulu to talk to.”

  “Right” agreed Drimblerod.

  “What do we want to Nulu about?” Asked Grimbledung. That wasn’t right. “What do we want about Nulu?” He tried again. He concentrated. It didn’t help. “Nope. I give up.” He took a drink. “Something about Nulu. We’re curious about her. Or something.” He finished off his drink and sat it down with a forlorn look. “Curious, I suppose.”