They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1)

by Robert P. Wills

  And the hook was set. “You will-a leave the wand with me? No!” And then we’ll get that fish on the dock.

  “Sure thing. You can use it to move the sign any time you want. And ...” Grimbledung faltered as he tried to come up with another use for the wand. “...and you can even use it to get stuff off the top shelves without using the ladder!”

  “That is a-very nice of you Grimbledung. A-very nice!” He reached out and took the wand from Grimbledung. “Then the deal, she is set. The sign it a-stays in the store and the wand, it moves the sign.” He shook Grimbledung’s hand before the Gnome had a chance to backpedal. “She is a good deal.”

  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 that wasn’t tied down (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.”

  “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.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Wherein Rat Tells Grimbledung’s Secret

  Grimbledung sulked at the counter as he had for the past two days. Business had been brisk but so far not a single person had come by to join the Gatherers Division. “It’s killing me, Drimblerod! Killing me!” He lamented.

  “Yes, I know. You’ve been telling me for the past two days. I’m ready to take you up on your lamenting.”

  “All that time spent making a glorious sign, deciding what it would say. All that time and effort and time, and not a single volunteer has come to join the Gatherer’s Division.”

  “Grim. Your complaining is etched on my brain. You have said that every half hour for the past two days. You even mutter it in your sleep. I swear on all the gold in The Region, if you say it again, I’m going to cut you down and bury you out back.”

  “Maybe I should go out and check on Larr ... the sign to see if it’s still there.” Suggested Grimbledung.

  “Why don’t you do that. And take your time at it.”

  Grimbledung hopped off the stool and moved around the counter. “Do you want me to bring you anything back? I don’t think Nulu will be here for a little while. You want me to bring you something back? Because I can if you want. Bring you something back, that is.”

  Drimblerod stared at his partner. Where the incessant energy came from was beyond him. He would be annoyingly bubbly and helpful for hours, but then out of the blue, he would teeter on the edge of insanity. There was definitely something not right with Grimbledung. “Thanks, no,” was all he said in response. No sense in saying something that would flip whatever insanity switch was lurking in the dim recesses of Grim’s head. “Take your time.”

  Grimbledung opened the door. It was completely blocked by Nulu. “Was that for me, or you heading out?”

  “I’m checking on sign. I’ll be right back for some snacks.” He ducked under Nulu’s legs, making her hop up as he scooted off.

  “What in the Lands has gotten into him?” Asked Nulu as she set the tray on the counter. She leaned against the wood edges of the Counter with her hands. She had learned that trying to sit on the stools in the shop did not end up well for the stool- or her pride. “I think there’s something wrong with that Gnome. His mood swings are as broad as a ballista bow.”

  Drimblerod picked up a muffin. “His ...” He considered his words for a moment, “episodes seem to be a little fewer and farther between, even in the short time I’ve known him. Maybe he’s getting better.” He sniffed the muffin. “I have to tell you Nulu, your cooks really caught on to baking. You should offer up a breakfast menu, or have a street side window or something.” He popped the muffin in his mouth and chewed approvingly.

  “It’s amazing how well it works once you get cooks that can read and follow a recipe. If this keeps up, I’ll become a restaurant and pub, instead of a pub and restaurant.” She frowned.

  “You wouldn’t like that?” Drimblerod mumbled around another muffin, “Your profits would definitely increase once word got out.”

  “It’s not about the money....” Nulu started. Drimblerod choked on his muffin. Nulu slapped him on the back twice and poured him a cider. “Drink this before you die from a muffin. That would be bad for business!”

  Drimblerod drank some of the cider and wiped away a tear, “That muffin almost came out my nose. Not about the money? Isn’t everything about the money?”

  “I’m well off financially.” She did a quick mental calculation. “Really well off. So the Stumbling Drunk is more something to pass the time. I get to talk to folks at the bar, listen to adventure tales, break up fights. If it were more restaurant than pub, it would get boring.” Nulu picked up a muffin, smelled it and popped it into her mouth. She chewed the muffin and swallowed. “They are getting good at those things.”

  “So no one calls me now when it’s snack time?” Rat scolded as he came under the curtain. “We’ve known Rat long enough, so we’ll just start ignoring him. Is that how it is?” He asked as he hopped up on the counter. “Is there a heel?”

  Nulu picked up a heel and began to butter it “I save them just for you, Rat.”

  “Say Rat, you’ve known Grimbledung a long time, right?”

  Rat’s one good eye was on Nulu as she butt
ered and then jammed his heel of bread. “Yep.” He was busy squinting at the bread, “Not so stingy on the jam, if you please. It gives me a reason to clean my fur later.”

  “So do you know why Grimbledung acts like his does?” Asked Drimblerod. “Is it all because of that Disintegrate! shot he took to the head in the Pixie Uprising?”

  Rat considered his options. The truth, as he often told Grimbledung, was usually the best policy because, in all practically, it was difficult to keep lies straight over a long period of time. Speaking about the Pixie parts in his head seemed like a disloyalty. His episodes were getting better. The focus of being a shop owner was doing him good, Rat could tell that plainly. Even so, this Gnome and, strangely enough, the Trolless now seemed like family as well, so lying to them also went against his principles. After 100 years of life, Rat had developed a set of morals well beyond those of a common rat (which we don’t have to tell you, are pretty high morals as it is). Also, the end of the second month where Grimbledung had said he would pitch his Gnome partner into the Abyssmal box if things weren’t going well had come and gone without even a discussion; the arrangement was definitely looking like it was going to become permanent. Diplomacy was in order. “That’s mostly the issue with Grimbledung, yes. That shot to the head was at least, the cause of the issues. I’m not sure how much more I should talk about since Grim asked me to keep the issue to myself.”

  “Asked you to keep it a secret?” Asked Drimblerod, “Or did he threaten you?

  “’Elfin Elven ...” Nulu handed him the bread which was dripping with jam. “Excellent, Mistress Nulu. That is one well jammed heel of bread.” He nibbled at the edges of it to keep the jam from leaking down his paw. “You both seem like nice folk and I would hate to have Grimbledung’s secret come between us.” He bit off a larger piece of bread to give him time to think of his next statement. Nulu and Drimblerod both leaned in as he chewed slowly. Finally swallowing, he started to take another bite of bread but Nulu’s frown showed that her patience was nearing its end. “There was more involved than just a blast to the head. The issue involved a bit of shrapnel from some ...” He paused as he considered the proper word. The safest word. “Non-Grimbledung bits and pieces in his brain which now causes him to act ...” He licked at some wayward jam that had made it down to the bottom of the heel and almost to his claw. “Unpredictably.”

  Nulu leaned back and whistled. “Unpredictable. That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Are you saying that Gnome has rocks in his head?” Drimblerod asked. “That would explain a lot if that true.”

  “Rocks?” Said Rat. “No.” He quickly took a large bite of bread.

  “Wait, are you trying to tell me that Grim has Pixie parts stuck in his head?” Asked Drimblerod hesitantly.

  At least, Rat thought, I didn’t actually tell them what happened- they guessed the details on their own. Hopefully Grimbledung would see it that way.

  “No wonder he’s a mess at times. Pixie are a most nefarious beast if ever there was one! So what’s the whole story, Rat. And what can we do to help?”

  Rat sat back on his haunches and licked at another rivulet of wayward jam. “Fine. But I’m making it the quick version because if Grimbledung catches me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “Don’t say that Rat,” assured Nulu, “we’re only trying to help.”

  “No, no. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if Grimbledung found out. Knowing Grimbledung, it would be terrible.”

  “Terrible?” Asked Nulu.

  “It would rival the Great Cat Incident of 823.” Rat stuck out his tongue.

  Drimblerod blanched. Nulu’s perplexed look made him quickly whisper to her, “Tell you later.” He gestured for Rat to continue.

  “Well,” started Rat. “It all began the morning of the Great Pixie Uprising.” He took another bite of his bread then sat back on his haunches as he collected his thoughts. His one good eye got a far-away look in it. “I remember it well. It was a cool spring morning.” He took another bite of his bread. “A Thraksday.”

  “This is the short version?” Nulu whispered to Drimblerod, “I hope Grim’s gone awhile. This doesn’t seem like the short version of anything. We should start calling him Bard instead of Rat.”

  Drimblerod shrugged in reply and whispered back, “Could be worse. He could be singing it ala Grim.”

  Nulu stifled a laugh.

  Rat -still looking at the distance- ignored them both and continued, “...and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.” His eye narrowed as he recalled the event. “That’s when the first Brownie mercenary showed up. He was astride a toad and wielding a relish fork...”

  InTerN Mission

  Standing in front of the ruined Keep along the Great Salt River, the group of Halflings stood in a straight line. The Keep, long since defeated, was a reminder to those in the area that no matter how strong one felt their battlements were, in the end, they were vulnerable. It was for this reason that several financially-secure Halflings had bought the Keep and kept it in its current state of decay. Even though it was not Halflings that had destroyed it, the Keep was still a good reminder to the locals. Plus, it was a good place to hold weekly drills, as well as the annual (obviously) Summer Solstice Dance and Impaling. Halflings came from leagues around for the event.

  Currently, the Keep was being used as a rallying point.

  In front of the line of Halflings, a gaunt Halfling in full dress uniform addressed them. The Halflings stared straight ahead as they listened to the recounting of a long since ended invasion. Tears of joy ran down several Halflings’ cheeks as they heard of massive battles, copious amounts of spilled blood, and general destruction caused by the invading Halfling horde. Finally, the Halfling stopped talking. He looked down the line of soldiers. A lone tear rolled down his cheek. Clearing his throat, he put his hands on his hips, “Inspection ... Arms!” Barked the Halfling- Colonel Magnus von Humungous.

  Obediently, the score[10] of Halflings drew their swords and held them up.

  “Ready!” They all said in unison.

  “Good, good,” said Colonel Humungous as he moved from Halfling to Halfling. “Very good” he said to several. Finally, after inspecting all twenty (the entire score) of the soldiers, he moved back in front of them, “Port ... Arms!” He commanded.

  The group returned their swords to their respective sheaths quickly.

  “At ease, you fine bunch of soldiers,” said Humungous, “You are probably wondering why I have asked you here.” None of the soldiers took the bait and remained rock-still. “Right then,” said Humungous. He looked over the soldiers again, “Really? You all know why you’re here?”

  The soldiers shuffled about. Finally, the leader of the group, a Corporal, spoke up, “Sir! We do not know why we are here!” He shouted. “But we are here to do whatever you want us to!” He looked forward again, “We hope it has to do with killing folk!” Several soldiers nodded (they were, after all at ease).

  Colonel Humungous moved in front of the Corporal, “Exactly so, my fine soldier, that is, indeed part of the plan.”

  The Corporal stared straight ahead. The Colonel stared at the Corporal.

  Finally, after several long moments the Corporal looked at his superior officer, “Honestly, Sir, we have no idea why we’re here, Sir” he confessed.

  “Good, good,” said the Colonel as he again moved to the front of group. “And that’s how it should be. Since it’s a secret mission and all.”

  Several soldiers nodded. Usually secret missions meant that more mischief and mayhem could occur and no one would ever find out about it. It was one of the perks of secret missions. That and extra rations.

  “Your job, my brave Halflings, will be to infiltrate the town of Aution, determine what sort of resistance they can put together once the invasion starts...” As he spoke, several of the Halflings smiled. “... and knock heads as you see fit!”

  “Knock heads,” mumbled several of the Halflings.r />
  “Push ‘em around!” Quipped one.

  Two Halflings drew their swords.

  “Safety Tax!” Said another. The fervor was building.

  One of the Halflings, unable to contain himself, let out a loud “Huzzah!”[11] He has been on secret missions before.

  “Yes, that is authorized as well,” said the Colonel to the young Halfling. “Just try to avoid any witnesses this time,” he tut-tutted.

  “Huzzah” muttered several of the other Halflings. Ominously.

  “So, to recap,” said Colonel Humungous, “INfiltrate, deTERmine, and kNock heads! That is your mission. We have an intelligence party already inserted into town and they are compiling the order of merit for razing ...”

  It was important to have a plan when one burned a town to the ground; it assured the highest number of civilian casualties. If a force just started at one side and set the town ablaze, then residents were able to evacuate through the non-inflamed parts of town. More often than not, escaped residents joined resistance movements and returned to avenge whoever they felt had wronged them. It created a lot of unnecessary work. More importantly, individuals who had started the aforementioned fire were typically at the top of said list. Since that list was going to be made up entirely of Halflings, it was in their best interest to ensure the razing went efficiently and quickly from the edges of town inward. Hence, the list, or as it was called The List, was an integral part of any Halfling invasion plan.

  “Got it?”

  “INTERN! Yes, Sir!” Said all the Halflings in unison.