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 Twenty-Six

  Wherein the First Volunteers for the

  Gatherers Division are Recruited!

  “Yes” began Runion. “You see, we’ve the owners of a very successful Pickled Elf Toe business. We supply most of the fine eateries and inns in The Region with the highest quality Pickled Elf Toes so we’re out and about quite a bit.”

  “And,” continued Earl without missing a beat in their practiced spiel, “when we’re not selling the finest quality Pickled Elf Toes, we’re out… procuring them.”

  “Wait. I have to stop you gents right there,” interrupted Nulu. “You mean to say that you actually go out and kill Elves and cut off their toes? The two of you?” She found it hard to believe that a lumbering mass that was Runion and Earl (or Earl and Runion even) could out-fight even a single Elf. And that was if they could come across one by themselves; much like ants, one never saw just one Elf. This was probably because of the unfortunate fact that their toes were, at the moment, considered a delicacy. Three years ago, it was Fried Orc Ears. Nulu paled. She was glad that gourmet fad was over. Orcs were cantankerous on a good day, once someone lopped one or both of their ears off, they were downright belligerent. For the year or so they were a fashionable snack, Orcs were on the warpath and it wasn’t hardly safe to travel anywhere. “That’s pretty impressive, I have to say. Even as a Trolless, I don’t think I’d want to take on even a Troop of Elves.”19

  “We don’t really take them on. We rely on stealth to get our wares,” said Runion, “that and these pinky shears.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a curve-bladed pair of scissors. He snipped them in the air several times.

  “Pinky shears?” Asked Rat, “I’m almost afraid to ask why they’re called that.”

  Earl shrugged his affiliated shoulder, “In the Kingdom of Putch, south of Orcistan, it was fashionable for a time for ladies to have eight fingers. It was kind of like the foot binding that goes on in Far East- but with fingers. Dainty hands requiring Haute Couture gloves were considered high fashion. Anybody that was somebody had eight fingers.”

  What some people do to meet some unattainable ideal of beauty,” said Nulu disapprovingly.

  “Our sentiments exactly. Why try to improve on perfection?” Said Earl. At Nulu.

  “Exactly my sentiments” agreed Runion. He was still looking at Drimblerod. "So, what do you need from us to get this business deal going?” He asked.

  “Just a handshake is good enough for me. We don’t exchange coins until you bring wands, so you’re not under any obligation to come back at all.”

  “The sign mentioned something about a Jamboree” said Earl.

  “He did,” added Runion.

  “Grimbledung is going to run the Jamboree so expect it to be completely out of control and over the top. We’ll do it at the Summer Solstice when the weather’s nice and the days are long. Top performers will get some sort of absurd prize that Grim will think up. Don’t expect it to be valuable though- Grimbledung is an odd Gnome.” Even though he pooh-poohed the idea of a years’ end Jamboree, Drimblerod was looking forward to it almost as much as Grimbledung was. Nothing got the name of a shop out on the winds better than a two or three-day party with free food and ale. The money spent on the event would easily be tripled with the word of mouth advertising it created.

  “That’s it then? We wander off” began Earl

  “Bring back any wands we come across?” Finished Runion.

  “Legally if at all possible” suggested Drimblerod, “I would like to keep our interaction with law enforcement and brute squads to a minimum if at all possible.”

  “So, legally gotten wands. And at the end of the year, you throw a bash with free food and drink?”

  “That’s the long and short of it. Oh- and if you come across other travelers, let them know about our proposition as well. The more people at the party, the better.”

  Earl stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

  Drimblerod slapped it. “Deal”

  Runion stuck out his hand, “Deal.”

  Drimblerod sighed. He slapped Runion’s hand as well. “Deal. Now don’t go and get silly on me. I got enough to handle with Grimbledung.”

  Earl turned to Nulu who was silently watching the dealings while still keeping an eye on the two thieves. “Trolless, hopefully we’ll meet again. Under better and more sociable circumstances.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “At the Jamboree, perhaps a dance?”

  “What?” Was all she could manage to say.

  “Mayhap we can have a drink some time. I’m only in town a short while.” He winked surreptitiously, “Just the two of us.”

  “But. What about ...” She began as she pointed at the Runion side of his body. “Never mind.” For some reason, being a well-spoken Trolless made her an easy mark for every weirdo and oddball she came across. As if just because she didn’t grunt and shout like a regular Trolless, she had lost all her standards in males.

  “See you around then.” Earl said as he waved. Runion was already walking out of the shop, which meant he was as well. “We’ll be back,” said Earl as the door unlocked and opened for them.

  “Safe travels you two. Errr. You all. You-uns?” Nulu gave up and just waved.

  Runion and Earl stepped out the door and turned down the street just as Grimbledung came puffing back into the store. He coasted to a stop at the counter and leaned on it. “Sheriff’s....” He said breathlessly.

  “Yes. That’s who you’re supposed to be bringing. Did you forget?” Asked Drimblerod.

  “Sheriff’s...” Panted Grimbledung. He started to speak again, but just pointed at the door instead. Standing there was Aution’s current constable- Constable Akita. He was also panting, but that was normal for him.

  Constable Akita had been elected by a landslide. Mainly because no one else’s name was on the ballot. This was due to two reasons:

  First, no one really wanted to be responsible for maintaining law and order in a lawless town like Aution, and

  Second (and more importantly), Because Akita would have probably killed anyone who dared to run against him. Constable Akita was the town’s constable the past ten years running. The local nobility saw him mainly lounging about, usually in a bright patch of sunlight so they assumed that his unusual approach to the constabulary arts kept the town free of riff raff. In all actuality, he didn’t conduct much law enforcement because no one wanted to deal with him; common riff raff dealt with their problems on their own instead of approaching Constable Akita. He tended to bite people who interrupted his frequent naps, eating, sleeping, and, as he liked to call it, “marking the town as his own.”

  In short, Constable Akita was a wolf.

  Sort of.