The Halfling unsheathed his blade. All eighteen inches of it (they are, after all, Halflings). And pointed it at Rat. “I’ll turn you into a hat!”
The other Halflings laughed uproariously at their leader. “A hat!” They all guffawed.
Drimblerod led Grimbledung across the remainder of the street, “You can’t go around doing that to Halflings, Grim,” he explained, “the last thing we need is a brawl in the center of town.”
Grimbledung looked at his partner, “Sorry, but those folk just rub me the wrong way. It’s their small hands and beady eyes. And they smell of cabbage. They give me the willies and I end up saying things I shouldn’t.”
“Well, it’s over with now and I’m sure we’ll not have to deal with them again. I don’t recall any Halflings in town so they must just be passing through.”[6]
“I suppose you’re right,” said Grimbledung as they moved to the door of the tavern. “Sorry about that. I’ll try to keep a civil tongue inside my head.”
“Your poor tongue,” said Rat. “Stuck in that head of yours, all civil, with nothing to keep it company but buckets of crazy.”
Grimbledung looked down at Rat, “I’ll pee in your ear if you keep it up.”
Drimblerod shook his head. “On that note, how about we get some food?”
Grimbledung’s stomach made gurgling sounds. “Gah! I’ve broke my stomach! My achy breaky stomach!”
“Don’t you dare make that into a song,” warned Rat.
“I’m too hungry to sing,” answered Grimbledung as he entered the tavern like a famished Ogre entering an encampment of River Folk. “Sustenance!” He bellowed, “I need food, and I need it now!” He pointed at his belly just in case anyone was unsure of who was in need of feeding. And where.
The tavern was practically empty- it was still early too for any lunch time patrons, and breakfast was long over. Not that the menu changed for different meals. Only several professional drinkers sat at the bar.
“Let’s find a table with a view of the shop,” suggested Drimblerod, “then we can see what they have for fare.” He moved towards the tables when a large hand grabbed him by the collar. The hand was connected to a larger arm, which was attached to a huge female. Drimblerod followed the arm up, craning his neck until his eyes met those of a scowling Trolless. “Is this section closed?” He asked.
“Can’t you read?” The Trolless snapped.
“Yes,” said Drimblerod and before he could help himself, he added smarmily, “several languages in fact.”
“Well, mister smart mouth Gnome,” she turned Drimblerod roughly by his neck. “Then I imagine you will have no trouble reading that sign to me.” She aimed his head at a colorful plaque by the front door.
“Please wait to be seated by hostess?” Offered Drimblerod.
“Very good.” She turned him back around to face her, “And right below that?” The Trolless asked. Grimbledung’s stomach growled loudly. She spun to face him, never releasing her grip on Drimblerod, “You GROWLING at ME?”
“No, no! It was my stomach!” Whimpered Grimbledung. “So what’s the bottom of the sign say?” He prodded Drimblerod on the shoulder. “What, what?”
“Or else,” said the Trolless.
“Or else what?” Asked Grimbledung.
Drimblerod shook loose of the Trolless to face Grimbledung, “Or else what?!” He demanded. “Are you insane? Or else this troll...”
“Trolless” corrected the Trolless.
“Trolless” continued Drimblerod, “will pop my head off like a cherry. Why are trying to provoke it?”
“Her” corrected the Trolless testily.
“Her.” Agreed Grimbledung, “Definitely a her.” He looked her up and down. Hungrily.
The Trolless blushed, “Why thank you my little Gnome.”
“Listen, Mistress Troll,” began Drimblerod, “we meant- I meant no offence. You see we are famished and our hunger has clouded our eyes. Of course you are a lovely Trolless. Kind hearted, I imagine. A tribute to your ...
“Fine, Gnome. Don’t lay it on too thick,” warned the Trolless, “otherwise I’ll start to think you’re just making stuff up.”
“Great. Give us a table.” Drimblerod said flatly.
“You can lay it on a little,” said the Trolless, “after all, what girl doesn’t like a little sweet talk?”
Drimblerod cleared his throat, then began to speak politely, “Perchance, kind Trolless, could you take us to a table so we may enjoy your company a might longer?” He looked up hopefully.
“Very nice, Gnome. Where’d you want to sit?”
“By the window?” Asked Drimblerod.
The Trolless pointed to a table against the window. “Keeping an eye out? If you two are wanted by the law, you should know I run a respectable Tavern and I’ll turn you in before you cause me any trouble with the law. The last thing I need is the Constable in here.” She shuddered.
“Not at all!” Drimblerod feigned offence, “we’re respectable shop owners.”
‘With a door and walls and everything!” Beamed Grimbledung.
“It’s right across the street,” Drimblerod pointed out the window. “We own Second Hand Sorcery.”
“Good. That means you can pay. Nothing gets my hackles up more than a ‘I’ll sweep for a meal’ customer.”
“That’s a lot of hackles,” said Grimbledung eyeing her up and down again.
Drimblerod shook his full pouch of coins. It jingled loudly.
“I’ll bring menus.” She caught herself as she began to turn. “Pictures or words?”
“Words” said Drimblerod before Grimbledung could answer.
The two Gnomes moved to opposite sides of the table and sat down.
Drimblerod put Rat at the end of the table. Grimbledung bounced up and down in his chair. “Just imagine, Rat” he exclaimed, “food that we actually ordered ourselves!”
“That will be a treat,” agreed Rat. “Say. I want some warm meat and ale when you do order. Skip the vegetables.”
“Got it” Grimbledung said. He began to clap.
“Would you two try to control yourselves?” Said Drimblerod, “You’re going to embarrass me. Haven’t you two eaten out before?”
Rat twitched its whiskers. “Was it after the Great Quake of 748?”
“I think so, Rat. Drim, does it count if it was after an earthquake and we served ourselves? It was after the mandatory evacuation.”
“Savages.” Drimblerod scowled, “let me do the ordering. We need to build some in-roads with this place and I don’t want you two to screw it up.”
The Trolless approached with two menus and a piece of parchment. She stared at the rat. “Do I even want to know?” She asked as she pointed at it with a quill.
“Lovely Trolless.” Rat stood and bowed, “please don’t let my appearance trouble you. Any ill comfort caused by my appearance is overshadowed by your immense beauty.” He sat down again.
“The rat eats on the house.”
Drimblerod picked up his menu. “We’ll start with two pints and a shot glass of ale. By the way,” Drimblerod smiled. “I’m Drimblerod. That’s Grimbledung. You’ve met Rat.”
“Pleasure. I’m Nulu. Nulu Bentknees. Owner and operator of the Stumbling Drunk.” She smiled back.
“Stumbling Drunk?” Not very appetizing for a restaurant,” said Drimblerod.
“We’re a Pub and Restaurant, not a Restaurant and Pub operation,” Nulu explained. “Besides, the real profit is in alcohol. Water is free down at the well, you know.” She winked, “And it’s awful hard to water down a rack of lamb.”
Rack? Of Lamb?” Asked Grimbledung hungrily.
“We’ll take two of those, some roasted potatoes, radishes, and turnips.”
Rat stuck out his tongue.
“No vegetables for Rat” Drimblerod added.
Grimbledung looked back and forth between Nulu and Drimblerod through the order. “Is your ale cold?” He asked.
Nulu tilted
her massive hand back and forth. Her sharp nails were pink. “It’s been unusually warm lately so the cellar isn’t as cool as it should be. Still, the drinks aren’t warm.”
“You know; it sounds to me like we can help you out. I’m going to run across the street for a moment.” He stood. “I’ll be back before the drinks show up! Don’t you two do anything weird. We’re going to be regulars here.” Drimblerod warned the two with a jab of his finger as he left quickly.
Nulu frowned. “I’m offended. Did he just say I’m slow at serving drinks?”
Grimbledung had a huge grin on his face the entire time he was sitting.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Nulu.
“Oh, nothing!” Explained Grimbledung, “I get to eat out!” He clapped his hands.
“What a strange crew.” She shook her head and went to fetch their drinks. When she got to the bar, Drimblerod burst back into the door panting. “Success!” He cheered. He was holding a thick, deep blue wand.
Nulu dropped her tray on the bar and jumped around. “What are you on about?” She demanded.
“How about we go down to the cellar?” Drimblerod asked as he raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not that kind of gal” Nulu said as she crossed her arms, biceps bulging, “and this isn’t that kind of establishment.”
“Gads no!” Exclaimed Drimblerod, “Nothing like that! I want to show you something.”
Now Nulu raised one of her well-maintained eyebrows.
“Business related, of course.” Tut-tutted Drimblerod. “If it were otherwise,” he added with a mischievous smile, “I’d have a ladder with me, not a wand.”
“You sure know how to charm a gal.” Nulu pointed at a closed door, “Down here.” Nulu led Drimblerod down a set of stairs deep below the pub. It was a dark tunnel with wooden stairs laid down on it. At the bottom, the room was more a grotto than anything else.
Barrels were stacked four high around the room, lining the walls. Crates of vegetables were stacked in the middle of the space. “The cellar,” she said flatly.
“It is a little cooler in here” said Drimblerod.
“Especially early in the year. Now, after a warm summer and before any snow, not so much,” explained Nulu. “In another couple of months it will be nice and cool down here again.
Drimblerod grinned at Nulu. “Why wait?” He flourished the wand and aimed it at the ceiling.
Gelu Cretum
Up Yonder!
he intoned.
A light blue light flashed from the wand and rose to the ceiling slowly. Where it hit, a blob of ice began to crackle and form. Drimblerod held the wand in place as the ice crept out in all directions. When the stalactite-glacier reached the walls, he lowered the wand.
“That’s amazing!” Said Nulu, her words coming out with little white puffs.
Drimblerod offered the wand to Nulu. “Don’t aim it at anyone.”
“Really?”
Drimblerod blinked. “Sure, it would kill them almost instantly.”
“No, not that.” Nulu shook her head, “I understand that. I mean, you’re giving it to me?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Sure. As an initial offering of business. Maybe we can talk after we eat?”
Nulu took the wand hesitantly.
“All I ask is just to hear me out. The wand is for your time either way.”
“Then let me pour you and your partners some drinks” said Nulu. She shivered, “And get a shawl.”
The two went back upstairs. As Nulu got mugs for the drinks, Drimblerod returned to the table. Grimbledung was still smiling. Drimblerod snapped his fingers. “Mop.”
“Mop?” Asked Rat.
“I’ll have to enchant her a mop,” said Drimblerod, “that will be to close the deal.”
“Hey Drim, I had a thought” began Grimbledung, still smiling.
Drimblerod waggled his ears. “Really? A stray thought? Well nurse it along- it’s in enemy territory.” He giggled.
The smile dropped from Grimbledung’s face like a sheet, replaced by pure rage. He stood quickly, knocking his chair to the ground so hard an inebriated Dwarf at the bar turned to look. In a flash Grimbledung drew his wand from inside his sleeve, “What are you saying here? ‘Cause I can’t read, I’m not smart?” A sneer pulled across his face, “Reading doesn’t make a person smart. It makes them arrogant so they insult business partners at the meal table.” He leaned forward with his wand and pointed it at Drimblerod’s forehead. “How well do you think you’d read with a hole straight through your head?”
Drimblerod sat frozen in place. Rat moved between the two, “Now Grimbledung, that’s not what he meant at all.”
“Are you saying I don’t understand what someone says now? YOU calling me stupid too?” Grimbledung fumed. He moved the wand between the two.
Nulu walked up to the table, the tray in her hand holding two large frosted tankards and a frosted shot glass. “Trouble boys?” She asked as she slid the tray onto the table. “Let’s not have any ...”
“Disintegrations” offered Grimbledung menacingly.
“Disintegrations” she continued, “in the pub. It’s really bad for business you know.”
Grimbledung didn’t take his eyes off Drimblerod.
“I brought some frosty ale for you boys. I thought there was going to be a toast or something.”
Grimbledung’s eyes shifted for an instant to the tankards. “Frosted?” He asked.
Nulu slid into a chair at the table. It creaked in protest. “Listen, Grimbledung, I’m sure whatever your partner said, it wasn’t said out of spite or meanness.”
Drimblerod nodded.
She put her massive hand gently on Grimbledung’s shoulder. “How about you give him a chance to apologize before you disintegrate a good part of his head?”
Grimbledung lowered his wand slightly, “Well?”
Drimblerod took a deep breath. “Grimbledung, I wasn’t trying to offend you,” he began. “I was just messing around. I think you’re really smart.”
As he spoke, Nulu reached around and righted the chair.
“You’ve done a really good job in the store,” he continued, “your idea for the sale sign was great. I’ve been in that shop for nearly ten years and it never occurred to me to run a fake sale.”
“Really?” Asked Grimbledung, sitting back down. He still had his wand marginally trained on Drimblerod.
“Really. You boosted sales more in one day than, than...” He hesitated.
“Than when?” Grimbledung put the wand on the table.
“Than since the Great Frost Giant Invasion of 816.”
“That was a big invasion,” agreed Grimbledung.
“And remember? Everyone wanted an Incinerator Wand to scare off the Frost Giants, Frost Bears, and those Mastodons.”
“I hated those Mastodons.” Grimbledung shuddered. “I lost an entire season’s vegetables to one.
Nulu slid the tankards in front of the two and handed Rat his frosty shot glass.
“A toast to the failed Frost Giant Invasion!” Rat said, raising his shot glass.
Neither Gnome moved to touch his drink.
“Grimbledung, let’s have a drink so I can hear your idea. If it’s anything like your sale idea, it will be deviously great.” He spun a tankard around so the handle faced Grimbledung. “How about it?”
Grimbledung looked between Drimblerod and the tankard.
“I sincerely apologize,” finished Drimblerod. “Really I do.”
“Fine then. Let’s drink to our partnership,” said Grimbledung, slipping the wand up his sleeve, “then you can hear my idea.”
“All right, boys” said Nulu as she got up from the table, “you play nice and I’ll go check on your racks.”
Picking up his tankard, Drimblerod said “To a great partnership and a devious partner at luring in customers.”
Grimbledung hefted his tankard, “To us!” He said and he gulped down some ale.
“Thank
the gods!” Said Rat, “My paws were getting tired.” He sipped his ale. “That is some cold ale.”
“So,” said Drimblerod, “What’s the plan?”
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.
“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.
They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1) Page 9