The fact that the man did not know current terminology was not lost on Semfeld; it was a very long time to be living in the Great Sandy Desert. “You’ve been out here for over six years?” He gaped.
“I tell you, if I ever come across one of them Enforcers, I’ll kill them and use their bones as straws,” said the old man. “That would let me die a happy man.”
Both Semfeld and Liverioso took a step back from the man.
“So what are you two doing out here?” The old man asked again. “Did you get banished too?”
“Yes,” said Semfeld quickly.
“Whath? Banithed?” Began Liverioso, “Noth on your life! For your informathion, I am ...”
Semfeld quickly moved over to his partner and hit him in the arm, “What my friend means is, ‘yes’. We’ve been banished and we’re stuck here.” He squinted up at the sun. It was still overhead and pounding. “What rotten luck, right Liverioso?” His partner started to open his mouth in protest again but he cut him off, “Oh, I’m the Astounding Semfeld and my traveling companion is the Mysterious Liverioso.” He held out his hand. “And...”
“I’m the Great Garibaldis.” Hyperbole was unknown among Magicians. He assumed a proud pose; hands on his hips, nose to the sky, “Prestidigitator to the High Court of Pic, Advisor to the Emperor of Iranistan. I’m also available for birthdays, anniversaries, and funerals.” He paused for dramatic effect, “Cradle to grave services.” He looked hopefully at the two Enforcers.
Semfeld did not want to get into a lengthy discussion on the pros and cons of ‘Practicing the Trade’. Especially out in the sun. “We’re not here to hire you for a gig,” began Semfeld, “we’re stuck here and we need to get back to Aution.”
“Never heard of it,” said Garibaldis as he began to shuffle away again. “I’m fried. I’m getting out of the sun.” He didn’t look to see if the other two followed.
“Just keep quiet about being an Enforcer,” hissed Semfeld. “That man is our ticket out of here!” He started to walk after the old man pulling Liverioso with him. Semfeld easily caught up with the man who was still moving at a slow, energy-conserving shuffle. “So where do you live?”
The man stopped walking and looked at Semfeld. “I live here, of course.”
Semfeld narrowed his eyes at the old man. “Yes. We’ve established that you live in the desert. Has your brain been baked?”
The old man stared at Semfeld for a moment then bent down. As he did Semfeld jumped back. Garibaldis pushed aside some sand to reveal a metal ring. He gripped it with both hands and pulled up a small trap door. Semfeld leaned over and peered into the darkness. Cool, welcoming air greeted him from below. Garibaldis pushed past Semfeld and began to climb down the hole.
There were footholds carved into the shaft at regular intervals. After he disappeared from sight, Semfeld hit Liverioso in the arm, “Now control yourself and this old fool will get us out of here” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Semfeld started down the hole. Looking down he was unable to see the bottom. He looked up and saw that his partner had started down as well. Liverioso pulled the hatch closed as he entered it, cutting off the light completely. Semfeld worked his way down the shaft in total darkness. When the foothold he expected was not there and he panicked. He gripped tightly with his hands and tentatively felt out with his toes. There was ground under him. “I’m at the bottom” he called up. He stepped away from the shaft, still surrounded in darkness. “Garibaldis” he called, “where are you?” Semfeld reached out with his hands and shuffled his feet, hoping he did not encounter another shaft.
Off to his right, a light flared up- it was a Bulls-Eye lantern. Garibaldis was holding it. “This way, you two,” he said as he put the lantern down to guide the way. Semfeld waited for his partner and then the two moved toward the light. The passage was rough- hewn through the bedrock and barely wide enough for the two of them side by side. As they approached the lantern they heard clattering of pots.
They rounded the corner into a carved-out chamber. At the far end was a ramp that angled up toward the surface. Semfeld sniffed. “Did a Shambler die down here?”
Garibaldis turned from the pot he was stirring. “Die? No. Live? Yes.” He pointed over his shoulder to an alcove that had a rope strung across it. “Three of them in fact.”
“Wait a grain of thand,” said Liverioso, “you’re telling me you have animalths that you could ride out of here on and you don’t?”
“All they do is teleport me back here, those stinking Magician Guild Enforcers. Three times so far. They’re all a bunch of pompous blowhards. I hope they all die slow horrible deaths.” He spat on the floor.
“Oooohhh!” Shuddered Liverioso.
Garibaldis looked at him curiously.
“That’s his way of saying he agrees,” interjected Semfeld. “Those stinking Enforcers!” He spat as well.
“Ooohhh!” Replied Liverioso as he shook his fists.
Garibaldis went back to tending his pot. He rolled up his sleeve and pulled a wand from his pocket. Gesturing out of habit he showed that there was nothing in his hands. He waved the wand over the pot mysteriously
Presto Antipasto!
he declared.
A small puff of smoke came from the white tipped, black wand. With a flourish, he put the wand away and tilted the pot for his guest’s benefit. “Once again, the amazing feat of lunch has been accomplished for all to see.” Showmanship was paramount when it came to Magicians.
Semfeld glanced at his partner who still had his fists clutched. His eyes were trained on the sleeve where the wand had disappeared. As he moved closer to the pot, he nudged Liverioso’s shoulder and gestured toward a hanging frying pan. Liverioso nodded. “That was some show Garibaldis,” he started, “very nice buildup. I especially liked the way you waved your wand. Very mysterious.”
“Thanks,” said Garibaldis. It was nice to be performing for an actual audience again.
“Say, can you show me something else” he looked around the room quickly. “Maybe with one of those pots?” He pointed to several pots that were behind him. “That would be a treat to watch a true professional in action.”
Garibaldis beamed. It had been years since he had done a Gig. “Sure, sure.” He looked over his kitchen. “I have a Stir Fry trick that’s really worth the effort.” He examined the pots to find the best one for the trick.
Semfeld flailed his arms wildly. Nodding, Liverioso stealthily glided up behind Garibaldis. He raised the frying pan high over his head and brought it down quickly. A resounding -GONG- accompanied the strike. Garibaldis fell in a heap. “Hah! Take thath mithter thmarty breecheth!” He bowed to an audience that was not there.
“OK. Let’s move fast,” commanded Semfeld. “Grab all the food and water you can, I’ll grab the Shamblers. We need to be out of here before that old fool wakes up!” Quickly the two ransacked shelves, cabinets and cupboards, filling several sacks with supplies and grabbing four water skins each. They loaded the animals as Garibaldis started to groan. Semfeld roughly reached up Garibaldis’ sleeve and yanked out the man’s wand before leaving him.
Garibaldis was on his knees as the two pushed open the trap door at the top of the stairs. Sunlight and heat poured into the chamber as Semfeld led the animals up the ramp. “Stop you two!” groaned Garibaldis. “What are you doing?”
“Hah!” Liverioso executed a deep bow. “Onth again, the Enforthers of the Magithians Guild have proven they are thuperior! Take that mithter thmarty breecheth!” He ran up the ramp. Unable to stop himself, he stopped and rendered another bow from the top. “Next we’ll take care of that louthy Drimblerod and his thupid Gnome partner!” He bowed again then turned and ran out of view.
Semfeld was already on one of the Brown-Toed Shamblers. It grunted its displeasure of being woken from its late afternoon nap. “Let’s go!” He called, “that old man may have a spare wand!” He coaxed his Shambler into a trot as Liverioso clambered on top his. The third was tied
to Semfeld’s so it followed begrudgingly.
“So where do we go, Themfeld?”
Semfeld looked at the horizon in all directions as the Shamblers trudged away from the underground shelter. “Well, if this is the Great Sandy Desert, then Orcistan is to the north of us, and Aution is to the Northwest of there. So we’ll keep the sun so it rises on our left and sets on our right. That should get us close enough. All we have to do is reach the Salty River then turn left.”
“I’ll get you!” Called Garibaldis who was now at the top of his ramp. He was holding another wand - this one a standard looking gnarled wood affair with a leather handle; a highly modified Assassin’s Wand. He rolled up his sleeve, tilted his hands back and forth and then intoned
Flowers for Spines!
Kazzam!
he jabbed the wand towards the two figures. His head still spinning from the hit, the shot went wide.
Beside Liverioso a small flower sprung from the sand. “Fath-ter!” He called as he kicked his heels into the Tan Shambler’s side. It grunted in protest but moved to a trot nevertheless. “We need to geth outh of range!”
The two Enforcers coached their Shamblers into full gallops zigging and sagging as they went. Finally, the beasts decided they had had enough and began to walk slowly. No amount of coaxing could make them speed up. “We’re fine now, Liverioso. There’s no way that old man can catch us. Let’s not kill our only mounts.” He laid back on the Shambler’s hump. “Let’s just take it easy until nightfall.”
Garibaldis stalked down the ramp, still smoldering Assassin wand in his hand. “Think you’ve seen the last of me?” He scowled. “You think wrong!” He stopped frozen in place. “Drimblerod?” He laughed evilly as he looked at the Assassin Wand in his hand. “Oh no, you haven’t seen the last of me.” He removed his clothes and folded them neatly on the table. He wouldn’t need this set of clothes again. Ever. Searching his ransacked abode, he found his trusty wrist sheath- a gift from Drimblerod for his several purchases. Finding where the Gnome had set up shop would be simple once he reached civilization. Drimblerod’s reputation as a trustworthy wand salesman ensured that someone in a decent sized town would know where he had set up shop. If not, the Gremlins could always point the way. His head was still foggy but one word caught his attention. “Aution?” He said aloud. “No, you stinking enforcers” he said, “we’ll see each other again. The Great Garibaldis guarantees it!”
Garibaldis held the wrist sheath in place around his waist with one hand since the straps were much too short to tie around him. “Not by a long shot have you seen the last of me!” He said to a non-existent audience as he raised a hand dramatically. He turned his wand hand over and back to show it was empty. “The amazing Transmogrification Spell for your enjoyment” he said to the empty room. “Enjoyment and amazement!” He waved the wand over his head.
Behold the Short Tailed Gila!
Ta Da!
He intoned.
Quickly he placed the wand in the sheath. He slowly shrunk in size and developed a brownish pallor. As he shrunk, he quickly tied the wrist sheath around his waist. Garibaldis dropped to all fours as his limbs shortened and he developed a tail- albeit stubby one. After a few moments, the transformation was complete. Moving to its hind legs and using its tail as balance, GaribaldisGila gave a short bow.
He adjusted the wand sheath to his back and tightened it with nubby claws.
Slit eyes looking up at the ramp, he clambered up it and into the sun. He gazed up at the fiery ball which was finally heading toward the Western horizon. Its glare and heat did not even bother him.
Once again standing on hind legs, he scanned the area. The tracks of the three Shamblers were plainly evident- they led along a jagged path of already wilting flowers. GaribaldisGila dropped to all fours and slinked along their path, eating the flowers as he went.
“Home free Liverioso!” Semfeld beamed. “Oh, pardon me, I mean the Mysterious Liverioso!”
“Why thank you, Astounding Themfeld!” Liverioso reclined on his Shambler as well. “Thoon enough we’ll exthact our revenge!”
The two rode generally northward, with only a few minor detours (some even on purpose!), the next two months.
As always, with GaribaldisGila close behind.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Wherein Gnomes Decide to
Visit the Local Wizarding School
Drimblerod peered out from behind the curtain and, as he had done for the past five days, asked “Is it safe?”
“Yes, Drim,” replied Grimbledung flatly, “I told you; I sent them to the middle of the Great Sandy Desert. Those two are gone forever. Even if they made it out of the desert which they won’t, they’ll have to figure out which way to go, which they won’t, and even if they go the right way, they have to deal with those treacherous Pics and their caravans, which they won’t. Then they have to get through the entire of Orcistan, without getting eaten, which they won’t. They have no wands, and no cloaks, no food and no water. You’re never going to see them again. Ever.”
Drimblerod moved cautiously to the counter, “These aren’t people you cross, Grim.” He shuddered. “But if they went where you said they went; I guess we’ll be fine. But why didn’t you send them to the middle of the Eastern Sea? Without a boat, that would have solved the issue once and for all.”
“I’ve never been there,” replied Grimbledung casually. “I’ve been to the middle of the Great Sandy Desert. I used this great little underground shelter right in the middle of it as a hideout once. Very cozy and out of the way.”
He looked up over his shoulder. “Well, in any case, I still wish you had thrown those things away.”
“It’s like when they put heads on pikes. It’s a warning.” He appraised his work. Above the curtained doorway was a lopsided shadowbox which contained two crisply folded, gaudy cloaks each with a black wand with white tips on them. “I think it really brightens up the place.”
They both looked at the wands in silence. Finally, Grimbledung spoke up, “You know what would help? Why don’t we take that trip to the Wizard’s School like you were saying, a day out would be a fun mini-adventure.”
Drimblerod exhaled slowly. “I suppose that would take my mind off these recent events. Let’s pack the wagon and we’ll head out at first light. Rat, would you mind being a Shambler for a little while?”
Rat was lying on his side in front of the fire as usual. “Sure thing, Drimblerod. After how the past few weeks have been going, I owe you a few pulls of your wagon.”
“Then it’s settled!” Exclaimed Grimbledung. He hopped back and forth and sang:
We’ll ride in the wagon and visit the school!
Talking to students and Big Old Jule’,
Drim’ll talk wands and it’ll be great!
I’ll run the halls, and climb the gates!
He thrust his hands in the air.
And visit the cafeteria and eat some chow.
Visit the Cafeteria and eat some chow?
Yes! Visit the Cafeteria and eat some CHOW -OW!
He finished the song on one knee, arms splayed out to his side. His fingers were all waggling.
“One more song and you’re staying home.”
“I agree, Rat,” said Drimblerod. “AND there are no songs on the Wagon.”
Grimbledung slowly got to his feet, pouting, “What about once we get there?”
“We’re there on business, not as part of some traveling minstrel show,” scolded Drimblerod. “No songs while we’re there either.”
“Fine no more songs.” Grimbledung sighed heavily. “Until we get back, right?” He added worriedly.
“Yes. Now let’s flip the sign and get some food. We’re starting early in the morning.
Grimbledung hopped to the sign, humming a tune as he went. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” He said as he scooted to the back of the store.
“Tomorrow will be a really long day,” lamented Rat as he too turned to go.
Drimbler
od followed Rat to the back of the shoppe. “How bad could it be?”
The sky was just turning pink as the wagon pulled out the back of the shop and down the street. “Why’d we have to start so early?” Complained Grimbledung for what was already probably the tenth time.
“It’s not healthy to see the sun rise,” said Drimblerod at the same time as Grimbledung did, “yes, I heard.” They were not even out of the Shoppe, not even on the main road heading south out of Aution and he was already tired of the journey. He concentrated on the back of RatShambler. “Keep up the good work Rat” he called.
RatShambler looked at him as he walked. There was pain in his eye; a pain that spoke one word; Grimbledung.
“Just keep the pace and get us out of town to the south, Rat,” Drimblerod coaxed.
There wasn’t even a whip on the wagon and Drimblerod wasn’t holding the reins; he felt that would be insulting to Rat. On more than one occasion during the short time of their journey, a peasant eyed RatShambler curiously as it made its way along the streets, yielding where appropriate, nodding to passersby, and taking the right of way as necessary, all without any apparent guidance from the driver of the wagon. In fact, the driver appeared to be asleep while the Gnome next to him bounced on the seat and clapped. It was an unusual display even in Aution.
They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1) Page 19