***
Hedwicket said to travel to Franchet's house, and he’d help me from there. The house was less than a mile away. I walked. In case I broke the law, I didn't want to have my license plate out there for the world to see.
I wore my yard-work clothes for the incursion, jeans and a water soaked t-shirt. I should have changed my shoes though; I lost count how many sticks jabbed my toe through the new hole left by Hedwicket’s dagger.
A half-hour later, I arrived at the wooden fence surrounding Franchet's property. Is Hedwicket's tribe, or whatever it’s called, addicted to nitrous oxide? If Hedwicket was any indication of what gnomes could do, they should be able to handle breaking and entering.
The wooden fence stood just taller than my head with few handholds, a tough job for a less than avid climber. Lingering in the back of my mind were all the times I promised to skip the donuts before work, or during lunch, or for my afternoon break. So I have an addiction to donuts, don't we all have vices?
I called for Hedwicket. After my second shout, a mallard crapped on my head. The defecating duck landed next to me, quacking in a way that sounded too close to a laugh for it to be coincidence. It waddled over and poked its bill through the hole in my shoe, nipping at my toe. I dropped to my knees. I swung at the duck with alternating fists.
The duck fluttered away and said, "Quit fooling around, Wilburn."
I knew then there was something wrong with my brain. All the diet sodas I’d drank finally rotted my brain.
"Who are you?" I massaged my toe. "Hedwicket's long lost cousin of the Clan Fowl?"
"Who do you think I am, you tool? It's Hedwicket.”
Roast duck sounded great for dinner.
“Why are you being so mean? I thought you needed my help.” I rocked back and forth, hands cradling my foot. “None of the heroes I’ve read about went through this much trouble. They had to fight off goblins or evil monsters, never a rude duck.”
“Think of it as a test, to be sure you have what it takes to fulfill this dire need.”
Sneaky gnome, appealing to my emotions like that.
“Before you left, I told you the way would be filled with peril.”
“You didn’t mention the peril would be you,” I muttered.
“What did you say, Wilburn?”
"Nothing, go ahead."
"Work your way to the top of the castle and find the family of cats. The liquid will be behind them within an impenetrable steel trap. That is where you must go, but beware the great lion."
"If it's impenetrable, then I won't be able to get in." I pulled out my handkerchief to wipe at the duck excrement dripping down my forehead. I closed my eyes against the ripe smell: a mixture of sweat, grass, and duck waste.
Hedwicket flew into the air a few feet and hovered like a humming bird. "You keep showing me that flippant attitude and I'll show you the duck version of Mount Vesuvius."
"Sorry, this whole thing has me stressed out. Are you sure there isn't another way we can do this?"
The duck rolled its eyes. "Have you ever seen a flying dog?"
I shook my head.
"Have you ever been to Honduras?"
“I’ve never even left the country,” I said.
"Then yes, this is the only way I know to do this.” He flew a few more feet, stopped, and looked back. “And quit saying sorry so much, you sound like a wimp." He quacked loud enough to hurt my ears, pooped again, and flew away.
What am I getting myself into? First, a talking garden gnome tried to take my toes off with his dagger, a mallard, with amazing aim, threatened me with an excrement attack, and now I was about to break the law, possibly even commit a felony. What a day. The price to be a hero quickly added up.
I found a tree close to the fence; the extra footholds made it an effortless climb. The house side of the fence was smooth, no trees in sight. The way out would not be so easy.
According to Hedwicket, it would be hours before the dentist returned home. I wasn't about to take any chances the way my day was going. I squatted close to the ground and inched toward the house, hoping nobody heard me.
I stepped inside the unlocked back door. An oak table with six chairs sat in front of me, a large chandelier hung overhead. Chocolate chip muffins beckoned to me from the basket in the center of the table. I snagged one and shoved the whole thing into my mouth, careful to keep any crumbs from falling.
The stairs were by the front door. One set led toward the basement, the other to my destiny. Sweat dripped from my nose. The trek through the woods had raised my heart rate considerably, my heart now pounded out of sheer terror. I’m not the felon type.
Pausing half way up the steps, I heaved deep breaths and pictured the poor gnome children whose lives I would save if I finished this simple task. My feet moved again.
I tiptoed to the end of the hall and into the main bedroom. If there’s a treasure, it’ll be in here. The nightstand held a picture of the doctor and his wife, Nancy. With their eyes on me, I felt guilty, as if I were tarnishing the sanctity of their home. I needed to locate the nectar and get out.
The duck version of Hedwicket told me to look for a family of cats; my eyes pored over the room, searching for anything feline. I lifted the thick comforter and peered under the bed, nothing but dust and an old book. I moved to the closet, nothing. I slammed the doors and my hands trembled. I put myself on the line for these gnomes, and the only advice Hedwicket gave me was to look for a family of cats.
Closing my eyes, I took another deep breath. When they opened, I saw a family of cats. Before me, hung a captivating oil painting, which displayed a pride of lions lounging in the African savannah. I snatched it from the wall. Behind it was the impenetrable steel—a wall-safe. I yanked on the handle and it swung open too fast. I bounced and landed on the floor, my left elbow pressing into my ribs. When I could breathe, I slithered back onto the bed and braced myself for what I was about to see.
Nothing. The safe was empty. Were the gnomes wrong about Dr. Franchet? Would I have to travel to Honduras? Time to get out of the dentist's house…after I grab something to drink that is.
I scuttled down the steps, sweat slipped from my nose to the carpet. I slowed to a trot as I rounded the dinner table. I spotted the Franchet's back door. Everything would be okay.
A few steps from the door, the humming refrigerator caught my attention. I peered inside. Only orange juice and root beer. Diet soda was preferable, but root beer would do under the circumstances. The soda fit well in the front pocket of my jeans. I hustled to the back door and threw it open.
As I stood outside surveying the wooden fence, fifty feet between me and freedom, I remembered the last thing Hedwicket said, "Beware the lion." The terror he warned me of stood before me. Not a lion, but it might as well have been. Standing on all fours, the Newfoundland's head was shoulder high. A colossal beast of a dog, its paws larger than my face. Posh fur ringing its head made the lion description fit well. Monstrous fangs protruding from his maw didn't hurt the effect either.
I spun to the back door, hoping if I made it inside, the thick wood and glass would be strong enough to hold the beast at bay. I barely had the door open before the monstrosity bit down on my rear-end, lifting me from my feet. My hands held tight to the sides of the doorway while I prayed to the Gnome gods, and any other gods I could think of, to help me out of the most embarrassing and horror-filled moment of my life. I felt like a chew-toy shaken by the Herculean version of a house-pet.
One of the god's must have listened; because before the Newfoundland tore me apart, my jean pocket ripped loose. The sound was like a twenty-two caliber handgun. The beast fell back, carrying a large portion of my jeans with him. My feet hit the ground running. I was through the doorway and had the French door closed before Gigantor had a chance to stand back up.
The dog pounded back to the door and scratched with all its might, the three-inch claws squealed across the glass. I hoped it was with all his might. The door held, but I
didn’t wait around to see how long.
I ran through the living room and snatched a fish-covered blanket from the couch. I wrapped it around my shoulders and prayed the Franchet’s neighbors were too busy to notice a chubby guy leaving the dentist’s home. If they saw me, maybe they’d think the Hawaiian-themed blanket was a kimono. It was hard to keep from running. I must have looked like a penguin. Walking fast with a blanket wrapped around your body is tough.
I made my way to the side of the house, the Beast now clawed at the wooden fence. My heart slowed with each step. Minutes before, I was about to spend my last minutes on Earth as a chew toy. Now the threat of losing my life faded. The blanket made the warm day more so, but meeting someone with a blanket around my shoulders would be better than showing them my tighty-whiteys.
When I was safely away from the Franchet home and the genetic monstrosity, my thoughts went to Hedwicket. I wasn’t ready to give up. If I needed to find a flying dog or a flight to Honduras, I would do it. Ambition stirred in my soul. I felt light on my feet and took off at a jog. After stubbing my toe twice and taking a tree branch to the eye, I began walking again.
Minutes later, I stepped from the wooded area into my backyard. Hedwicket stood in the neighbor’s garden, unmoving. I felt a tickle in my belly. Had I imagined the whole thing?
The gnome’s head turned and he winked at me, silencing my gurgling stomach. I gestured to the picnic table behind my house.
I waited for him on the table, my heart trying to pound free of my chest. I had a whole list of excuses prepared for the gnome. This human would not go down without a fight. I’d prove he could count on me.
My hands rested on my lap, and I felt dampness through the Hawaiian blanket. I peeled my temporary Kimono back to see a soda sticking from my pocket. The root beer had somehow stayed put through my melee with the Beast.
I pulled the soda from my pocket and sat it next to me on the table. Hedwicket ambled around the corner, wearing the same grumpy expression he had when I first met him. Two feet in front of me, he stopped and fell over backward.
I leaped from the table to his side. When I prodded him with my toe, a sonorous laugh burst from his mouth. "I thought you died! What's the matter with you?" I said, my voice wavering.
Hedwicket bounded to his stubby legs and danced the same jig from earlier, this time throwing more hops and twists into it.
"Why are you so happy?” I asked. “I failed you. There was nothing in the safe, and I was attacked by the great lion you warned me about."
The gnome’s feet moved faster.
"Hedwicket, what’s gotten into you? I was ready to go to Honduras or whatever I need to do and you ignore me."
The dancing stopped, the gnome’s eyes filled with tears. He hugged my leg with enough strength I worried I would need to add a hospital stay to my agenda.
"Enough," I said through gritted teeth. "I can see you're happy. What's going on?"
"Don't you see, Wilburn?" He still embraced my leg. "You did it, you saved us!"
"I did?"
"Of course you did. You have the liquid, the nectar, the elixir!" He let go of my leg and pointed at the soda on the table. One nimble hop and he stood behind the bottle of root beer. Countless movie scenes flashed through my mind; the ones where the hero finally finds the treasure or forgotten relic. The wonder and triumph in Hedwicket's eyes would fit perfectly into any one of those scenes.
"Wait, the liquid your people are in such a dire need of is root beer?"
"That's what you call it? We call it drub root; the most renowned liquid to all of gnome-kind." His hands moved toward the soda, his sausage like fingers wiped at the condensation. He swiped the bottle from the table and gently placed it in a knit bag he pulled from his pocket. He bounded to the ground ten feet away, already at a full sprint.
"Hedwicket!" I ran after him, stumbling when my legs caught in the blanket. "What was that talk about flying dogs and Honduras? What about making me break into Dr. Franchet's house?"
Hedwicket stopped before the garden he called home and peered at me with intense eyes. "I'm sorry, Wilburn; those were the only ways I knew to find the sacred nectar. Those stories were passed down for generations from other drub root drinkers."
"You’re going to drink it? I thought you said all of gnome-kind depended on it? Your life depended on it?"
"Of course I'm not going to drink it. My wife is, and my life does depend on it. If we frittered away one more anniversary without her obtaining drub root, she would have killed me. You did a great service for my kind, Wilburn. You will never be forgotten." With a wink and a swift wave of his stubby fingers, he scurried to the garden and dove into the dark soil.
That was a week ago. I pretend to clip the hedges on the east side of my house now, but I’m really keeping an eye on Hedwicket. He stands there day and night, pretending he’s made of plastic. I could say I’m upset, that the little gnome fooled me, but I would be lying. Sure, it was nasty of him to trick me into finding a simple root beer, especially when I could have just walked a quarter mile to the corner store.
What really matters is that I saved Hedwicket's marriage. My destiny. Who am I to judge how fate decides to fulfill my destiny? Besides, have you ever met a gnome? Me neither. So I can’t judge them without a deeper understanding of their culture. And neither should you.
The End
Thank you so much for taking the time to read In Search of Nectar. Feel free to leave a quick comment on the In Search of Nectar page at online retailers. I look forward to hearing what you think!
Kirkus MacGowan