Grimbledung, slouched over on the wall, finally reached the tipping point and fell over. As his head banged on a shelf, he popped awake. “Gah!” He exclaimed, “I’ve been shot in the head!” He sat up and felt his head. It was not bleeding as far as he could tell, but it felt like an entire herd of Shamblers were trotting around in it. Shamblers, he thought, something about Shamblers. He pushed the thought out of his head and looked for his partner. “Drim! You alive?”
Drimblerod was on the floor on his belly, arms and legs spayed out. He picked up his head and looked at Grimbledung. “I swear, I’ll never drink again,” he lied. “What’s wrong with that woman giving us four bottles at once?” He rolled onto his side. “What’s that banging?” He asked testily.
Grimbledung listened intently for a moment. “I don’t hear any banging.” He tilted his ear towards the ceiling. “There is a thumping ...”
“Are they building a second floor on this place?” Drimblerod asked no one in particular. “There’re laws against doing construction so early in the day!” He sat up and held his head in his hands.
“Thump. Thump. Thump,” said Grimbledung. “That’s what I’m hearing. Maybe there’s a dragon on the roof and his tail’s wagging.”
“Don’t be daft,” scolded Drimblerod, “How in all the lands could there be a dragon on the roof with all the construction going on up there?”
Grimbledung looked at the ceiling. “What construction? Are we expanding? Now it sounds like there’s Shamblers galloping around up there” he said as he stood uneasily. He held his head in his hands. There it was again- the thought of Shamblers. Again, he pushed it out of his head.
Drimblerod pulled himself to a standing position using the counter to steady himself. “Mayhap it’s the Melonchello that’s causing the racket.” He too was holding his head.
“Don’t be absurd Drim,” Grimbledung shook his head, “how could a bottle wag its tale?” He staggered to the curtain. “I say we get something to eat and see if that helps.” He moved the curtain aside and stepped into the back room.
Drimblerod moved to the edge of the counter and looked up. “A strongly worded letter to the city council. That’s what I’ll do.” He shook his fist at the ceiling, almost losing his balance in the process. He quickly grabbed the counter with both hands. After several deep breaths he also stepped through the curtain. “I’m telling you Grimbledung, I don’t think it’s the Melonchello that’s got my head hammering” said Drimblerod as he sat at the table. “You hear it too, right?” He put his head in his hands, “I’m going to kill whoever is making that racket,” he groaned.
“Let’s ask Rat,” suggested Grimbledung, “he didn’t have anything to drink, so if he hears it too, then we will know it’s not us.”
“Brilliant! Say, where is Rat?”
Grimbledung looked around the shoppe. “I’m not sure. That racket is making it hard to think.” Angrily he got up. “Let me yell at those construction workers, then we’ll sort this out.” Testily (and somewhat unstably) he made his way to the front door. It dutifully unlocked as he reached for the handle. Yanking the door open, he stepped out and was promptly kicked in the chest. He doubled over and rolled back into the store. “Drim! We’re being robbed again!” He groaned as he tried to scramble to his feet. Still holding his chest, he managed to get to his knees; the wind was knocked out of him. For a moment Grimbledung was unable to speak. Finally, his breath returned.
“I really and truly loathe you. Loathe you like a fifth ace in Trufflidge. With the fires of a thousand volcanoes. White hot hate,” said RatShambler. He was still attached to the wagon which stuck out in the street at an odd angle because of how he had backed in to be able to kick the door. There were several notices tacked to the wagon and one tucked under his harness. The door was scuffed where he had been kicking it. “If you don’t change me back this instant, I’m going to go find a spice caravan to join. In a month, I’d own the operation. Then I’ll sell it, and use the profits to hire a whole band of assassins to hunt you down, you maniacal Gnome.”
“Say, that’s getting personal, Rat,” countered Grimbledung. He rubbed his chest. “That really hurt you know.” He considered his words for a moment. “Both what you said and what you did.”
Drimblerod came rushing from the backroom, wand in hand, “Let me at them!” He said, “If those two Humans are trying to rob us again, they’re in for it!” He waved the wand over his head as a purple glob of magic sizzled and swung around on a tendril of lightning like a flail.
“Drim! It’s just Rat. We forgot him outside,” explained Grimbledung as he got to his feet, still clutching his chest. “I think I have some broken ribs,” he said absently, “or something’s broken, anyway.” He staggered back against the wall. “Woops,” he commented to neither of them as he fell back. He coughed and droplets of blood dribbled down his chin onto the front of his jerkin. He looked down at the drops of blood on his front, and on the floor in front of him, then looked back up at Drimblerod, “You know, I don’t think that’s normal,” he commented. He looked ahead, staring at nothing in particular for a moment.
Drimblerod took a step towards his partner, “You alright?” He asked, worried.
Grimbledung waved him off dismissively but continued to stare straight ahead. He then turned his face to Drimblerod and finally focused on him. A smile came across his face for a moment then it faded away. “Oh my,” he remarked right before he died.
Sorry.
Chapter Thirty Two(ish)
Wherein Akita Disposes Grimbledung’s Body
“Grimbledung!” Shouted Drimblerod as he rushed to his crumpled partner.
RatShambler was still facing out on the street and had not seen what had occurred. “Tell Grim that any time he feels like changing me back would be fine by me. Oh, and the Constable said he’d be coming back to collect on these tickets. He should be by any minute now.”
‘SHUT UP, RAT!” Howled Drimblerod as he tilted up his partner’s lifeless head.
What’s going on in there?” Asked RatShambler.
“YOU KILLED GRIMBLEDUNG!” Drimblerod stood and turned towards the door. “You stupid rat! You killed him!”
“What?” Asked RatShambler, “How’d I kill him? I’ve been out here all night long.” He maneuvered the wagon around so he could look into the shop. Curses from the street came into the store as the wagon blocked even more of the traffic. “What happened?” He asked as he looked at the crumbled Gnome. “What happened to Grim?”
Drimblerod stalked up to RatShambler, “You kicked him, you idiot. You kicked him and killed him. And the Constable is on his way here.” He looked down at his dead partner, “And you have no one who can change you back.” He raised his wand and aimed it between RatShambler’s eyes. It flashed menacingly. “Not that you need to worry about that now.” The wand cracked like thunder as a lightning bolt sprang from it and struck RatShambler neatly between the eyes. The bolt continued through RatShambler’s head and across the street, charring a lamp post. It fell to the ground as bits of cinder. Drimblerod glared at RatShambler as the hole in his head quickly began to close in on itself.
“That hurts you know.”
“So does killing my partner and friend!” Howled Drimblerod.
“Someone’s gonna pay for that lamp post” said Akita as he stepped past RatShambler into the doorway. “And ya better not discharge that wand on the strrrreet again or I’ll fine ya somethin’ fierce for that as well.” Akita watched as the hole in RatShambler’s head sealed itself up. There was not even a discoloration to show that a substantial hole had been blasted there moments before. “Interestin’,” he commented.
“Constable Akita!” Drimblerod said worriedly. “Why don’t we talk out in the street.” He moved to block the Constable’s view of the store.
“And that’s how you ask a lawman in.” Said Akita as he pushed past the Gnome into the store. He quickly surveyed the store and stopped as his gaze fell on the heap that was Grimb
ledung. “What’s goin on here?” He growled.
“It was an accident!” Wailed RatShambler, “It wasn’t my fault!”
“And that’s how you confess to a lawman.” He looked RatShambler up and down. “What happened to the Gnome?”
“I DON’T KNOW! I wasn’t even looking when it happened.” RatShambler pondered recent events, “Perhaps I kicked him while I was kicking the door.”
“That was when I came by the first time. ‘Cause of the racket.” He bared his teeth. He had been still asleep when some pesky citizen had pounded on his door. “Ya got a ticket for that,” he narrowed his eyes, “ya kept doin’ it after I left?”
RatShambler blinked at the Constable. “But I wanted to get in and no one was answering and I....”
The Constable turned away from the beast to face the other Gnome; that was all the confession he needed. “So what’r you going to do with him?” He asked. “Anyone we need to tell?”
Drimblerod paused. He had no idea, really, of Grimbledung’s past- family, associates. Nothing. “I have no idea if he had family.” Tears welled up in his eyes, “I guess I didn’t really know him at all.” Drimblerod, completely at a loss of what do it, began to cry.
Akita shook his head, tongue waggling back and forth. “That’s not gonna help him out any. Arrrre ya gonna doing anything more productive than that?” Akita, with many years as a Constable behind him, had dealt with many deaths and, overall, felt sorry for the loss the people felt. He remembered when his own mother had died; he was inconsolable and went on a month-long tear. It had made the parchments for the better part of the month: “BEWARE- Mad Werewolf on the Loose!” They had proclaimed. “Rum Running Short in Cool Springs,” and finally by the last week, “Orcs Request Special Council Meeting- Town’s Becoming Too Rough For Them”
“This is all that comes to mind” sobbed Drimblerod.
“So that there Gnome was kicked then.” Akita moved over to the body and appraised it. “No magicin’ then?”
RatShambler, now also tearing up answered for the sobbing Gnome, “No, that’s it. I kicked him I suppose.” Tears began to roll down his long face, “Take me away I suppose. That’s what I deserve for killing such a nice Gnome. I suppose.”[22]
Akita growled deep in his throat. “Yerrrr all hopeless.” He brandished a twisted wand- a Unicorn Horn- and aimed it at Grimbledung’s body, “And useless.” He barked something that may have been an incantation, or may have just simply been a bark. He jabbed the wand at the dead Gnome. In a flash of light, the body was gone. Only his wand remained.
Drimblerod stopped crying and looked where Grimbledung’s remains had been only a moment ago. He jumped to his feet angrily, “What’d you do to him you dog!” He closed the gap between them quickly and looked up at the Constable. Both still had their wands out. “What’d you do with my friend!” He demanded.
Akita took a step back. Grief often gave people more courage than any potion ever could. It also often removed any and all common sense. He planned on ignoring the ‘dog’ comment unless it was made again. “Take it easy, Mister Axebreath.” He said, making sure he enunciated every word clearly. Growls now could make the entire situation spiral out of control. “Really. I took care of your friend, Drimblerod,” he said as he backed away from the door. His wand was at his side but ready for action. He kept his eyes on the Gnome’s wand as he backed out of the shop. “He’ll be taken care of.” As he got to the door he glanced at RatShambler, “We’re gonna have to talk later, you and me.”
RatShambler sighed. “I’ll be in town, Constable,” he replied, even though he was already mentally going over the benefits and drawbacks of joining either a spice or a silk caravan.
Drimblerod took a step towards the door, “Where’d you send him?” He sniffed. “Sorry about the ‘dog’, Akita,” he added sadly. “Really I am.”
Akita shook his furry shoulders. “He’s dead and not by magic. I sent him to the best place for that.”
Drimblerod narrowed his eyes. “Where to, Akita?” He began to raise his wand.
“The morgue, of course.” With that he backed around the corner and loped off. Quickly.
(some of) Chapter Thirty Two
Wherein Grimbledung’s Body Arrives
At Prost Garrison
“Doc! Doc Marone!” Said the corpsman as he poked his head into the window, “We got a body out here!” He ducked back out for a moment, then stuck his head back through. “Looks like it’s a Gnome.”
Doctor Marone looked up from his parchment- the Daily NEWS (that was the kind of doctor he was). An interested look crawled across his face. It did not remain there though- it merely started on one side and made its way to the other then went wherever interested looks went when they were through for the day. Boredom was back in place in no time. “Great Scott. A body. You don’t say. We don’t get a lot of those here.” He looked back down at the parchment, “In the morgue.”
“But Doc, this one’s in one piece!” Insisted the corpsman. He disappeared for a moment then returned, “And he’s still warm!”
Doc Marone exhaled as he rerolled the parchment. “Bring him in and I’ll take a look.” He stood and hobbled to the door to open it, peg leg thumping as he went. Doctor Marone had been working at the Prost Garrison for nearly a year and because of its hazardous location along the Anti-Ogre Wall, he tended to deal with ‘bits’ and sometimes ‘most of’ corpses. It was very rare that entire corpse actually made it to him. Once, a bucket of Ogre scat was brought to him “This was all we could find,” the soldier had explained, “What can you do for him?” Even with all the potions and herbs at his disposal, the prognosis for the digested trooper was not good. On the bright side, Doc Marone did win ‘Best Roses of Show’ that year at the annual Druid Convention. To his credit, when he accepted the award, he cryptically thanked ‘the West End Roving Sentry, Night Shift’ for his part in making the roses award-winners.
The corpsman, a stout Human huffed and puffed as he carried in the body. “I don’t get it,” he grunted, “I guess Gnomes are like Dwarves” He struggled to put the body on the combined examination/ operation/ embalming / zombification table (sometimes with the same patient), “They are sure heavier than they look.” He maneuvered the body around and then looked at it. “No holes anywhere,” he commented as he examined the drops of blood on the front of the body’s shirt. “Poison maybe?”
Doc Marone shook his head. “His colors too good for that.” He pressed on the Gnome’s chest. It crackled and popped. “Wow, I think a cart ran over this fellow.” He moved to the sides of the chest and began to probe there as well. “Maybe even a wagon.”
“So what do you think?” Asked the corpsman, “Can we use him?”
“Maybe as a bearer, Gnomes aren’t the best fighters around.” He held his hands out, elbows tucked in close to his body, “Too short of a reach,” he said. “We can use him in the supply room, I suppose. Gnomes are good organizers. So I hear.”
The corpsman moved to a shelf crowded with jars of assorted sizes and took a large stoneware jar that had a skull and crossbones painted on it and placed it beside the body. He took out what appeared to be a butterfly cocoon, soaked in honey. “You think one of these is enough?”
The doctor wiped his hand on his stained smock and then stuck his finger into the Gnome’s mouth. He looked at the ceiling for a moment. He pulled his finger out and examined it. “He’s still pretty warm. One should be plenty,” said the doctor, re-wiping his hand on the smock.
The corpsman handed him the cocoon daintily so as to not rub off too much honey. The doctor took it and quickly shoved it into the Gnomes mouth. He clamped it shut with one hand as he held out his hand to the corpsman, “Poker.” He said as he assumed a professional tone.
“Poker” said the corpsman as he slapped a sharpened stick into the doctor’s hand.
The doctor slid the stick through his fingers into the Gnome’s mouth. He jabbed it around several times until he felt it puncture t
he cocoon. As he pulled it out, it trailed what looked like tar intermixed with honey. Without taking his eyes off the Gnome’s mouth, he handed the stick to the corpsman. “Plug” he commanded.
The corpsman took a stained handkerchief from his back pocket, snapped it once to knock the dust (and other accoutrements) off and handed it to the doctor, “Plug” he said.
The doctor took the cloth in his hand and glanced at it, “Prep the plug, what’s wrong with you?” He handed it back to the corpsman. “And quickly, man!”
The corpsman laid the handkerchief on the table beside the Gnome’s leg and rolled it.
‘Plug,” said the doctor testily.
“Plug,” the corpsman repeated as he placed the rolled cloth in his hand. Quickly, the doctor stuffed one end of the cloth in one of the Gnome’s nostrils, and the other end in the other one.
“Clamp”
The corpsman, already anticipating the doctor’s request had one in his hand. In hopes of making up for the failed rolling incident, which he was sure would be addressed later, he slapped a clothespin into the doctor’s hand, “Clamp.”
The doctor quickly removed his hand and used the clothespin to pinch the Gnome’s lips shut. He backed away warily. “I think that’s got it,” he said.
“What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Asked the corpsman, hoping to keep Doctor Marone’s mind off the impending scolding.
“Time will tell,” he said solemnly, “time will tell.”
“I’m going to see if anyone else comes in after him. Maybe there was a group of them that got run over,” said the corpsman as he quickly moved to the door. “Anything else, Doc?” He asked warily.
They Were The Best of Gnomes, They Were The Worst of Gnomes (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 1) Page 24