Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes.
Page 33
Grimbledung nodded slowly as he glanced at Drimblerod, who just shrugged. Grimbledung’s nod increased in speed when the threat of any more ear-whacking was gone, “Our pleasure. Enjoy the sign.” He beamed. “I made it myself.”
Pozzuoli let go of his hand and turned to Drimblerod. “The deal. She is set.” He reached out and shook Drimblerod’s hand.
“Yes, Pozzuoli. The deal, she is set.” Drimblerod smiled. “The sign stays in the store and the wand stays to move the sign. When we take the sign, the wand comes with it since you won’t need it anymore.” From the highlands indeed, scowled Drimblerod. What did he take him for; some highland muckity-muck who eats with a pinky out on fine linen? He was from The Nearly Green Bog. You didn’t survive there if you couldn’t make a deal. “The deal is set.”
“Oh, the fish” lamented Pozzuoli, “she is not as a-big as I thought she was!” He kicked himself mentally for getting duped by a lowlander. Now he would have to keep the sign at least through the annual inventorying, which was more than two months away. Then he could toss the sign and pocket an easy ten gold coins. Not only would he not have to hire three workers to move boxes as he inventoried for a week (a measly few silvers), they would not pilfer anything ( a couple more silvers) and he wouldn’t have to be closed for an entire week (which amounted to the balance of the ten gold coins). Of course, the sign could actually end up bringing in extra business after all. Time would tell.
“Yes. Those highlander fish look big under the water, but once you get them on the dock, they aren’t nearly as big as you thought,” agreed Drimblerod. “Let’s go Grim.” He started for the door. If he had to listen to that absurdly fake accent any longer, he would lose his meal.
Grimbledung followed him and turned at the door, “Good day to you, Sir Puss Wooly.” He smiled amicably and closed the door behind him
“What complete idiots. Buffoons to the core.”
“Sign. Let’s get one thing straight.” His accent was gone, as was his amicable fiddling. It suddenly seemed colder in the store. “You talk to customers. ONLY to customers.” Pozzuoli glowered at the sign. “And if you annoy my customers, I’ll pitch you in the fire barrel so fast your eyes will pop out and I’ll use them as dice. I don’t need a Levitation Wand that badly.” He poked the sign. “And you even talk to my wife to try to get her on your side, you’ll be a bunch of talking toothpicks.”
“I got it, Mister Pozzuoli,” sign agreed. The Gnomes seemed like much better company than the Dwarf – buffoons or not.
“Good. I’m going to bed. If anyone tries to break into the place, give a good shout and maybe I’ll keep you around a little longer....”
“Jerry?”
“Sign,” said Pozzuoli as he walked to the front door. “Turn off, lights!” He commanded. The Pixies, captive in jars hung from the ceiling, immediately flickered off. Any delay resulted in a punishment they called simply ‘The Shakes’. As Pozzuoli turned the lock on the door, Jerry the sign began to scheme on how to return to the company of the buffoon Gnomes.
He did not know it at the moment, but no amount of scheming would ever make that happen.
Jerry the sign was doomed.
Doomed to a horrible end.
Sorry.