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 please 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. 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.”
“Now 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 buttered 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.”
“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 to begin with). 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 was quickly approaching and 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...”