Here's Looking For You, Grim (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 3)

by Robert P. Wills

  Finally, Teeth turned onto a wide path that he suddenly encountered and after a few more paces, slowed to a jog, then a walk. Grimbledung slipped off Teeth’s shoulders and slid down his back to the ground. “Wow,” was all he managed to say. He paused a moment, hands on his knees as he took several deep breaths.

  Teeth whirled around. “You following me, man?” He backed up a few steps. “You sure are fast for a Gnome!”

  Grimbledung was unsure how to even answer the accusation so he ignored it hoping it would fade into the drug addled memories in Teeth’s head. “Say, you going to TreeTop City?” He asked amicably instead.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s where I’m going, man. Want to walk there with me?”

  “Sure, man,” said Teeth. A confused look on his face. “Do I know you?”

  “Ribbit,” offered the frog.

  “Right, you’re running from those Halflings.” He pointed but not in the direction they had just come from.

  “Yeah. You said you were going to take me to TreeTop City.”

  Teeth nodded. He spat the frog into his hand. “Yeah.” He smacked his lips as he looked at Grimbledung. Then he licked them.

  “That frog taste funny or something?”

  Teeth looked down at the frog. “Not more than usual.” He put it back in his belt pouch. He licked his lips again. Then his stomach growled.

  Grimbledung took a step back.

  “Running makes me hungry, man.” He looked around, then at Grimbledung, “So does tasting my frog.” He reached out to grab something in front of his face. There was nothing there.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” He tried grabbing the phantom object again. He looked in his hand and frowned, disappointed.

  “Well, let’s get going so you can get a proper meal in you,” said Grimbledung. He was sure there was a nice, safe distance between him and the party of Halflings. After just days of onions, he was ready for a proper meal as well.

  Teeth put his hand on his stomach. “I’m starving, man. Let’s go.” He picked up a faster than normal for him walk. “Let’s go.”

  Grimbledung looked at the Elf. The Halflings were far behind. He was safe from them probably forever. Teeth had all but said he was going to eat him. Still, a proper meal... With a shrug, Grimbledung scooted to catch up with the departing Elf. After all, with only some dimwitted Elves to deal with (if Teeth was any indication), he was in less danger from them than those Halflings. Whom he would never see again. He waggled his ears. “Piece of cake!”

  “Cake?” Teeth whirled on Grimbledung. “You got cake?” He frisked the Gnome frantically. “I want some cake!”

  “I don’t have cake, Teeth.”

  “Well, I gotta eat something, man. I’m starving!” He grabbed Grimbledung by the shoulders.

  Wait, wait! You don’t know where I’ve been!”

  “Where you been, man?” Asked Teeth.

  “Lots of places! Lots!”

  “Far out.”

  “Yeah, far out places! So you shouldn’t eat me, cause you don’t know what I’ve picked up!”

  “You picked up something?” Teeth grimaced as he recoiled.

  Grimbledung blinked at the Elf. There was no way it could be this easy. After all, the only people to actually survive a trip to TreeTop City were drooling vegetables. “Well, let’s just say I did pick up something. Then what?”

  “Well, we’d perform the Rite of Faug-a-Ballagh.”

  “That sounds fun. Is there eating involved? And music?”

  “Sure, man.”

  “So just a ceremony to...” Grimbledung trailed off, hoping Teeth would end the sentence.

  “To clean you out. For your own good, man.”

  “What’s involved with that?” Grimbledung asked nervously. He was not pleased that Teeth finished his sentence and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  Teeth shrugged his shoulders, “We stuff you full of mushrooms we’ve rubbed all over the frogs out here.”

  “How does that clean me out?”

  “How does what?”

  “That?”

  “That what?”

  “For Delberger’s Hand, just eat me!” Grimbledung said exasperated. “It’ll be quick anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, once we get to TreeTop City, like we agreed,” offered Grimbledung. “Remember?”

  “Sure man, I remember.” Teeth lied. He turned and began to walk. In a completely different direction. “Let’s go.”

  Grimbledung followed close behind- the thought of a bunch of mushrooms had his stomach growling as well..

  There’s no way this is going to turn out well.

  “Quiet,” hissed Grimbledung. To himself. “I’ll get a meal then make a break for it. How hard can that be?”

  He didn’t answer himself. From past experience, he was well aware that Reason hadn’t a chance when there was a free meal involved.

  Chapter Twenty

  Add a Dash of Halflings To Suit Taste

  “Damn that Gnome!” Cursed Righty yet again. He sheathed his sword as he and the two remaining Halflings (that managed to keep up with him) turned to head back to the wagon train. “I’m going to kill that stinking Gnome.”

  “First you gotta find him, Righty,” said one.

  The other shook his head. “That’s not the hard part.” The other two turned to look so he continued, “Not getting killed by the Lord High Priest when he finds out you lost him, that’s the hard part.”

  Righty redrew his sword. He was a full head taller than the pair. “What’s this troll dung you’re talking about? It seems to me you’re the conductor of this wagon train. You’ll be right there beside me at the CIA.”

  The conductor considered that for a moment. Criminal Incompetence Assessments invariably involved more than one individual. Being in charge of the overall operation gave him a front row seat to the proceedings. “So what are we gonna do?”

  Righty slammed his sword back into its sheath. “That Gnome was with an Elf when I spotted him. That means there’s only one place we need to look.”

  The first Halfling shook his head, “No way. Those Elves eat anyone they get their hands on. There’s no way I’m going to actually go there on purpose.”

  The other Halfling nodded, “I’m with Vast on this one.”

  Righty shook his head. “At least with the Elves, you’ve got a chance with fighting back and escaping. It’s real hard to fight back when you’re stuck on a pole up to your neck.” He pointed deeper into the forest. “No. Our only chance is to sneak in, grab that Gnome, and sneak out.”

  “What if that stupid Gnome puts up a fight?” Asked Vast.

  “I can’t see that happening. By the time we show up, he’ll know he’s being served up as a meal. He’ll be glad to see us by that point.”

  The other two looked at each other, considering the hazardous plan.

  The third option of just deserting was not even considered.

  “OK,” said Vast, “we’re in. But we need to at least let the others know what we’re doing.”

  Righty nodded. “Agreed. Let’s get back, grab some supplies, and head out.” He looked at the conductor, “Can you get the train to move slowly until we catch back up, Skies?”

  The wagon train conductor nodded, “Sure. I’ll have Savannah take charge. She’s pretty persuasive.”

  The three returned to camp, made the necessary coordination, and began on their quest into the forest within half an hour.

  “Think they’ll wait for us?” Asked Righty.

  “Don’t worry,” said Skies, “Savannah and I have been together for two years now. She’ll cut down every one of them that she has to, to keep the pace slow.” Skies didn’t know it at the time, but the actual number she would end up killing to slow the train’s pace was two. Theirs was a good relationship. “The only thing we need to worry about are those ravenous Elves.”

  “Overwhelming success awaits us,” said Vast.
“No one stands in our way.”

  Meanwhile, in a subplot, far, far away...

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Semfeld and Liverioso…

  Fifty Shades of Hopeless

  The Pics milled about under hastily erected tents. As traveling merchants, mercenaries, and marauders (the three M’s of the desert) they were well prepared to make stops even in the mid-day sun to ply their trade. Or, in this case, torment hapless stranded travelers who may or may not have something of value (that’s falls under the third ‘M’). As usual, the sun was blazing down on the rank and file but this time the rewards didn’t seem worth the effort to most of them. Granted, the tormenting was amusing, but out on the middle of the Great Sandy Desert, it took more than a little amusement to keep rank and file Pics happy.

  “Come out and we’ll kill you!” Shouted the Pic Warrior. Several of the other Pics nodded their approval of the current line of negotiations.

  “Whath? Donth you mean OR we’ll kill you?”

  There was a long pause as a discussion broke out among the Pic Warriors concerning conjunctions and their use in threats and-or negotiations. One Pic even diagramed the sentence in the sand using the end of his wickedly curved falchion. Nomadic lifestyle notwithstanding, grammar couldn’t just be thrown to the wayside; they might have all been societal cast-outs, misfits, and miscreants but that didn’t mean they weren’t civilized! Finally the Pics came to a consensus...

  “Come out OR we’ll wait till you’re dead and use you bones for flutes!” Bellowed the Pic Warrior past a wide smile. He didn’t know it at the moment, but this particular bout of negotiating would be the high-point of his month.

  “Over our dead bothies!” Liverioso bellowed back. He waved a frying pan at the trap door in the ceiling. Weakly.

  “That’s not what we’d call a good negotiating tactic!” The Warrior grinned. “Youth enth upth death either way!”

  “Ooohhh!” Fumed Liverioso. It was bad enough that the Pic Warrior wanted them dead, but to make fun of him while he waited? That was just mean spirited.

  Semfeld leaned back against the wall, exhausted. “We’re done for, Liv. Stop taunting the Pics.” The Webber stew, pie, jerky, and finally meatloaf (it’s always last) was long gone. In fact, it had been three days since the last of the Shambler flea soup and sawdust bread had been eaten and he was famished. “Let’s just sit in peace until we die.” He weakly raised a hand at his partner, “So quit answering that Pic.”

  “Whath you thay in there?” Bellowed the Pic Warrior as his fellow Pics laughed uproariously. Since discovering Liverioso’s lisp, they had all been having a high time with it.

  “Oooohh!! I hate you tho much!” Yelled back Liverioso as the laughter increased outside. He turned to look at his partner, “Hang on Themfeld. We’ll get out of this. All we need is thom bargaining power.”

  “That’s all?” Semfeld answered for what had to have been the tenth time. “Like I told you, we have nothing to bargain with.” His head lolled to the side. “We’re done for. Put down that frying pan and quit pestering that Pic. If we’re nice to him, maybe he’ll give us some water before he finishes us off.”

  Suddenly a Halfling Warrior appeared in the room. “DIE you!” He snarled as he swung at an opponent that wasn’t there. “What?” He squeaked suddenly confused and off balance.

  “That’s all we need,” remarked Semfeld as he gazed upon the Halfling. The Halfling’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Semfeld. “Oh, great…”

  “Oooohhh!” Cheered Liverioso. With strength he didn’t know he had, he raised his frying pan high above his head and brought it crashing down on the side of the Halflings head (the top had a double bladed axe attached to it). With a resounding ‘Gong’, the Halfling crumbled to the ground. “Ahhh haaa!”

  Semfeld’s eyes grew large. “What in the lands?”

  Liverioso raised his frying pan in triumph. “Bargaining power!” He cheered. He turned to address the trap door.

  “Let me do this Liv. Otherwise it may not work,” said Semfeld as he straightened up. He too turned to look at the trap door. He cleared his throat. “OK, You stinking Pics! You have us beat!” He shouted. A cheer arose from the Pic warriors outside. “We will trade you for our lives!”

  The cheers and laughter died off instantly. Insatiable traders, Pics were unable to pass up any offer at bargaining.

  “What have you got to trade?” Shouted the Pic Warrior. “We don’t need a frying pan!”

  “For our lives, we will trade you our…” Semfeld thought for a moment for the correct way to describe their new-found companion. Laughter could be heard outside. “Our…,” he continued. “Highly trained, absurdly lethal Attack Halfling!”

  The laughter outside died off again. Attack Halflings were highly prized and very difficult to get. Especially alive. “You’re bluffing!” Shouted the Warrior. Several of the Pics rested their hands on their weapons. Since the word ‘Attack Halfling’ had come out of the underground way-station, the tension had raised two notches. Attack Halflings were not something to be taken lightly.

  Semfeld worked his way to a standing position and moved over to the crumpled Halfling. With a grunt he picked up the Halfling -careful to avoid all the pointed and sharpened parts- and moved to the ladder. With another grunt, he hefted the Halfling up to the trap door. “Liverioso, hold this thing up while I work the door,” he said.

  Liverioso moved up the ladder as well and rested the Halfling on his shoulder – careful to avoid the foot long scythes attached to its feet, and the spikes on its knees. And its thighs.

  Semfeld flipped the latch on the trap door and peeked out. There were over a dozen Pics outside. Things didn’t look good. “Here he is!” He called out. With that he raised one of the Halflings hands out the trap door and waved it around. There was a twisted black dagger tied to it. It glistened with poison.

  “What’s that? We can’t see what that is!” Said the Pic Warrior. “That could be anything!”

  Semfeld scowled, “Do you think we’d try to trick mighty Pic Warriors?”

  The Pic Warrior laughed at Semfeld. “What was that I just heard?” He turned and shouted over his shoulder, “What’s the first Rule of the Pic?”

  “The First Rule of the Pics is we do NOT talk about the Pics!” a (new) Pic Marauder shouted immediately. He was rewarded with a slap to the back of the head.

  The Pic Warrior turned around to look at the rapidly blushing Marauder. “What’s the first not secret Rule of the Pic?”

  In unison all the Pics shouted in return, “Flattery is the first sign of capitulation!”

  “And the Second Rule?”

  “You DON’T talk about…” began the new Pic Marauder as he was again hit in the head.

  “WE HATE CAPITULATION!” Shouted the rest of the Pics.

  “But you’re buyers and traders!” Said Liverioso, confused, “how could you hate capithulation?”

  The Pic Warrior turned back around and glowered at the trap door, “That’s capitalism you dolt We love capitalism- it’s the best thing since Free Trade Agreements. Capitulation is…” He paused and frowned; “Now you’re just stalling! Weapons at the ready!”

  “No, No!” Said Semfeld, “We’ve got an Attack Halfling, really!” He looked down at his partner, “Liverioso, push this thing up higher.”

  With a grunt Liverioso pushed the still-unconscious Halfling up into the opening of the trap door. The Halfling flopped out and onto its side. Semfeld picked up its head and turned it toward the Warrior.

  “That thing looks dead!” Said the Pic Warrior.

  Semfeld feigned offense, “Are you saying our Attack Halfling isn’t what it’s supposed to be?”

  Now the Pic Warrior was on the defensive, “No, it’s just that… it’s not very active, that’s all.”

  “We keep it unconscious until we need him. These things can be pretty dangerous you know!”

  The Pic Warrior shrugged, “I suppose so. BUT if we co
nclude negotiations, and later find out that your Halfling is not of the living, the entire deal is off.” He narrowed his eyes menacingly, “And your heads as well.” His eyes grew wide, “Unless of course, he’s a Zombie Attack Halfling…”

  “Gads no!” Semfeld shuddered at the thought. “That’d be a Doomsday Weapon!”

  “Fine then. As long as your Halfling has not ceased to be, we will deal.”

  “And you’re authorized to make decisions for the entire group?” Semfeld asked suspiciously. He had heard where unscrupulous Pics (and Pirates) often had just a rank and file member deal with negotiating and if things did not turn out well, the age old ‘that guy didn’t know what he was talking about’ defense was played.

  “I am the current leader of this group of Pics,” said the Pic Chieftain. “Elected by a show of hands so it was all on the up and up. My term runs until the end of the month so you have a good ten days before anything I say is no longer valid.”

  The other Pics all nodded in agreement. As far as elections went, the Pics were the most above-board groups in the lands.[9]

  “Agreed then!” agreed Semfeld as he clambered up, dragging the Halfling with him. Now that official negotiations had started, there was no imminent danger. With Pics, negotiations were an automatic cessation of all hostile activities; during the negotiating process, Pics were downright pleasant to deal with.

  “So…” began the Pic Chieftain with a courteous bow.

  Semfeld hefted the limp Halfling into a standing position, “Here’s what you get.”

  “Ahh, said the Chieftain as he moved forward. He motioned for one of his men to bring water, “Standard Attack Halfling with battle axe helm, scythe footings, and double daggers on the hands. Poisoned I see. Light armor and spikes on all joints, able to be catapulted, tossed, or otherwise shied at enemies.” He bent over and examined the Halfling closely. “Fairly young so no chronic injuries to contend with…” He smiled broadly, “And I even like the color of its armor.” He stuck out his hand.