Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes.
Page 26
Chapter Nineteen
Wherein Grimbledung Begins Work
on the Gatherer Division Sign
“That’s what I am aiming for,” reassured Grimbledung to his departing partner’s back.
“All I can guarantee is that all the words will be spelled right,” said Rat. He sniffed the blackberry preserves, “What have you volunteered poor Rat to do now?”
“It will be fun, Rat” assured Grimbledung, “we’re going to make a Gatherer’s Division sign to trick people to get us wands.”
“I see” said Rat warily. He took a bite of his bread.
“All for next to nothing! It’s a perfect scheme” said Grimbledung as he wet his finger to pick up crumbs from the table.
“Sneaky and underhanded as usual,” said Rat.
Grimbledung took his finger from his mouth.
“Is the truth so hard to use to get your way?”
Grimbledung silently pulled his finger around the table, gathering more crumbs.
“People sometimes will actually do more for you if you’re truthful, you know.”
Grimbledung put his finger back into his mouth around a smile.
“I heard that Disintegrate! yarn you spun for Drimblerod, by the way. Are you going to stick to that story?”
Grimbledung’s smile faded as he pulled his finger from his mouth. “And that,” he said pointing his wet finger at Rat, “is the last that will be said about the subject.” The two stared at each other in silence for a long moment- Rat with one good eye, Grimbledung with eyes hot as newly forged iron. Grimbledung’s smile returned. “So come on, Rat. Finish up so we can get to work.” He clapped his hands, “We’re going to paint, carve, and imbue a sign. It will be fun!”
“Sounds fun” monotoned Rat.
“And if all goes well” continued Grimbledung, still smiling, “I won’t pitch you into the box” he finished as he casually pointed at the Abyssmal Box.
“Yes. Won’t that be a treat,” said Rat, stuffing the last of the bread into his mouth.
“Chew that while I dig up some lumber” said Grimbledung as he pranced to the backroom, humming a tune.
The threat or the bread? He hopped off the table onto the chair. “Morning, Dummy.”
The Dummy turned to look down at Rat. He twirled his hand next to his head and jerked his thumb at the backroom.
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Rat. “He’s got Pixie brains mixed in with his brains. They weren’t able to get it all out. Every so often, he goes Pixie Crazy. When he’s not just unstable like a Pixie.”
Dummy raised his hands and shrugged.
“You see, Pixies are mean, spiteful, and ornery. Much like your garden variety Gnome.”
Dummy nodded.
“The problem is that Pixies are also mean spirited, and on the whole, criminally insane.” Rat sat on the chair. “Take those Gremlins that hide out in the back that we hear about but never really see, and they never seem to interact with anyone at all. Why, it’s as if they aren’t even really there.”12
Dummy gave Rat a thumbs up.
“They are mischievous and tamper with things,” continued Rat. “Well, at least they used to anyway. Now they’re an organized mob. BUT, before, when they messed with things, it was more as a nuisance than as lethal. Stitching in water bladders leaked, knots untied. That sort of thing. It made you curse, but that’s about it.”
Dummy nodded and gave another thumbs up.
“Now Pixies on the other hand, lure Werebears and Werewolves to sleeping travelers’ campsites.”
Dummy shivered.
“Or they untie knots to rope bridges while folks are on it. Lure pirates to your secret hideout. Just plain mean things.”13
Dummy gestured to the back room.
“Yes, and when that Disintegrate! Spell blast bounced off a shield, it caught that second Pixie in the head, not the wing. When it hit Grimbledung, it was carrying along mean Pixie brain bits with it.”
Dummy put his hands on either side of his head.
“Right. So those little bits of Pixie brain make him a more than a little unstable. He’s getting a lot better. A few years ago, he’d have burned this place down by now. The Pixie is working its way out of him slowly but surely. Hopefully soon, he’ll be back to just being goofy.” Rat dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone, “You know,” he continued, “he didn’t know how to read before he got blasted in the head.”