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 Eighteen

  Wherein Grimbledung Explains His Condition

  The next morning, Nulu crossed the street with a large tray in her hand. When she reached the door she tried to open it. It was locked. “All right door” said Nulu testily, “here is the deal. I’ll be coming over here a lot in the future and there’s something you need to know.”

  The door was silent.

  “As a Trolless, begging just isn’t in my nature. It really just isn’t. Yesterday was a once in a lifetime freebie.” She shifted the tray to one hand.

  The door remained reticent.

  “So let’s make sure we understand each other.” She leaned forward and placed a massive- yet manicured - hand on the door. “Don’t mistake my pink nails for daintiness” she growled. “Push me too far and I’ll rip you clean out of this wall and break you into toothpicks; use you to jab olives and cherries with for my drinks.”

  The door clattered open.

  “And a good morning to you too.” She gave a quick curtsey and ducked to enter the shop. Nulu flicked the bell several times with her finger. No one came out of the backroom. She shut the door behind her “Stay locked until they’re up. I’m not going to deal with customers.” The door obediently clacked and locked. “Thanks Door.” Nulu said. The door rattled what was hopefully a ‘you’re welcome’.

  Ducking under the curtain she saw Grimbledung still asleep on the cot. Drimblerod sat beside the cot, head tilted back resting on Grimbledung’s feet. “That’s going to be a sore neck.” As she put the tray on the table, Dummy sat up and waved. “You again,” she said, appraising Dummy.

  It nodded and gave her a hearty thumb’s up.

  “Uhm, not now. Not ever,” she said flatly.

  Dummy’s shoulders sagged.

  “Never in a hundred years.

  Dummy’s arm lowered slightly.

  “Never if every Troll in the Lands were gone.”

  Dummy’s hand dropped to its side, thumb still extended.

  “Not if the only males left were prissy, lute playing Elves.”

  Dummy’s thumb sagged.

  “Gah!” Shouted Drimblerod as he rolled on his side. “My neck’s broke!” He lamented as he held his head with both hands.

  “Nothing some strong tea won’t fix, I imagine,” offered Nulu.

  “Is it morning?” Drimblerod asked, rubbing his neck.

  “Only barely still.” Nulu replied, “I let you sleep in a little.” She gestured to the table, “Get some food in you.” She wagged a finger at him. “So you’ll remember you owe me a mop. My storeroom is quickly becoming an underground lake.”

  Drimblerod staggered to the table, head tilted sideways. He plopped into a chair and removed a shoe. He flung it at Grimbledung. “Wake up! The day’s getting away from us!” He shouted.

  The shoe bounced off Grimbledung’s shoulder. “Hey!” He angrily exclaimed. He sat up quickly, “Hey!” He said this time with his nose in the air, “HEY! There’s bread and tea nearby.” Grimbledung turned and swung his legs off the cot, “And preserves!” He squealed.

  Holding his head with one hand, Drimblerod pointed with the other, “Don’t you dare sing the Preserves song.”

  “There’s a Preserves song?” Asked Nulu, surprised.

  “Probably,” replied Drimblerod, “there seems to be a song for everything. Even certain bodily functions, if I remember correctly.” Drimblerod scrunched up his face and sing-songed, “Do I really? Yes, I do - do.”

  “On that note,” said Nulu, “I’ll pick up my tray after lunch. Send that mop over before I’m flooded out.” She ducked under the curtain. Even before she reached the door, it swung open and closed behind her. She patted it as she left, “That’s a good door.”

  Drimblerod poured himself a cup of tea as Grimbledung moved to the table, leading with his nose, “Tea, toast, and blackberry preserves. Very nice dealings, Drim.”

  Drimblerod spread the preserves on a hunk of crusty bread. It wasn’t warm but the inside was still soft and the crust was crunchy. “If she had a Gnome cousin, I’d marry her.”

  Grimbledung blinked twice, “Why would you marry Nulu if her cousin was a Gnome?” He asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to marry the Gnomish one?”

  Drimblerod stared at Grimbledung, “It’s really too early for your antics. Eat your bread, drink your tea and be content.”

  “Whatever you say, Drimblerod,” Grimbledung said. As he spread the dark preserves on a piece of bread, he hummed a tune. When he bit into it, crumbs spilled all over the table. “Tasty.”

  Drimblerod shook his head, “Let’s just save Rat a piece for when he wakes, he put a way a bit of Ale yesterday.”

  Grimbledung set a piece of bread - a heel- aside. “Say, I was thinking. How about if I whip up the Gatherer Division sign. I have an idea that I think would be perfect.”

  Drimblerod raised an eyebrow at him- his mouth was too full of bread and preserves to speak.

  Grimbledung raised a hand, “Don’t worry. Nothing gaudy or outrageous. Just a simple sign to get customers’ attention. I’ll get Rat to help with the spelling.”

  Drimblerod finally swallowed his bread. “Sounds fine to me. You seem to have a flair for that sort of stuff.”

  Grimbledung smiled. Now his mouth was too full to speak.

  Drimblerod poured him a cup of tea, “I do have one question, and please don’t get upset. I’m just curious.” Grimbledung was sipping his newly poured cup of tea around a mouthful of bread so Drimblerod continued, “Why can’t you read? I mean, you’re conniving, underhanded, and devious...”

  Grimbledung waved a hand at him dismissively.

  “No, no; I give credit where credit is due. Great Gnomish qualities, all. So why can’t you read?”

  Grimbledung finished chewing and put down his tea cup. He turned his head to the side and bent his large ear forward. Behind it was a puckered scar as big around as a gold coin. “I took a ricochet Disintegrate! Spell to the side of the head in the last Pixie Uprising. I haven’t been able to read since.”

  “Good gravy!” Exclaimed Drimblerod. “How did that not kill you outright?” He moved closer to peer at the impressive scar.

  “From what I’ve been told, the blast took out a Brownie, bounced off a shield, winged a Pixie and then caught the side of my head. I was out of commission for two months.”

  Drimblerod shuddered. “That was a close call. At least all you lost was your ability to read.”

  Grimbledung shook his head slowly, “Well, that wasn’t all I lost. I lost something even more dear to me than reading.”

  Drimblerod refilled their cups, “Gads! What could be worse than losing the ability to read?”

  Grimbledung sighed. “I lost my rhythm. I used to be a famous Bard.”

  Drimblerod stared at him wide-eyed. “No kidding? Wow, that does explain a lot,” he said. “All your rhythm? That’s a tough one. Well, if those are the only two side effects, that still not bad.”

  “Actually no. I’m kidding. I’ve always sung like this. But I really can’t read.”

  Drimblerod smirked, “Well at least you know the quality of your songs. Admitting you have issues if the first step to recovery.”

  “And why, pray, am I the only one NOT eating?” Scowled Rat as he squeezed under the curtain.

  “Rat!” Grimbledung clapped. “I saved you some bread!”

  “A heel?”

  ‘Of course. I’ll put some blackberry preserves on it for you.” Grimbledung reached down and scooped up Rat. “Want some tea?”

  “Only if it’s strong enough to stop my head from pounding,” said Rat. “And blow up my heart.”

  “Well, we can always hope. About the heart, that is,” offered Grimbledung.

  “So” Drimblerod brushed his hands off, “I’ll go open the store and leave you two to your work.”

  He got up and moved to the curtain, “I can’t wait to see this display. Reserved?”

  Grimbledung nodded.

 
; “Professional?”

  Grimbledung nodded again.

  “And not at all gaudy,” finished Drimblerod as he ducked past the curtain, “Riiight ....”