Fenzig's Fortune_A Gnome's Tale Page 2

  Something is wrong with this treasure, the thief nearly said aloud. I should get out of here.

  Fenzig quickly finished stuffing his bag with only the gold coins. It would be enough to let him live well for a while. The gnome would take a string of pearls or two while he was at it. Those would be light and could be carried around his neck. And then he would leave, as he suddenly had a very bad feeling about this place. He moved to the closest chest, examined the lock, retrieved his thinnest pick, and went to work. If there were pearls, they’d probably be in here. He took a deep breath, threw open the lid, and saw—

  “Nothing,” Fenzig whispered. “Empty. Something’s definitely wrong.”

  “I’d say you’re in the wrong, thief. Stay where you are!”

  It was the first time in Fenzig’s relatively lucrative career that he’d been caught, and he suspected he’d remember those words for the rest of his life—however short that life might now be. The gnome swallowed hard and turned toward the speaker.

  “Guards, take this diminutive miscreant to the dungeon.”

  I’m dead, Fenzig thought. Very, very dead.

  The speaker was Erlgrane’s wizard, of course, an old human, nearly ancient, with stooped shoulders and a gray beard that hung below his waist. His skin was as pale and wrinkled as parchment, practically white—like it hadn’t seen the sun in decades, and the fingers that edged past his voluminous sleeves were gnarled and bony and reminded the thief of a spider’s legs.

  “H-h-how?” the gnome stammered. “H-h-how did you know I was here?”

  The wizard yawned and pointing at the treasure chamber’s door. “Opening that set off a magical chime, waking me from a much needed sleep. I summoned the guards. And here we all are.” The wizard smiled self-righteously and yawned again, then steepled his spider-fingers beneath his chin. “It’s been a long time since someone was foolish enough to try to steal from King Erlgrane.”

  Then the smile disappeared, and he glared at the gnome with rheumy blue eyes that looked out over wrinkled, dark circles. “You are very foolish, wee-one. Very, very foolish. This isn’t even the real treasure chamber, thief. That treasure room is a great deal more difficult to find and much larger. It has many priceless riches inside. More wealth than the likes of you could possibly comprehend. This room contains nothing of any significant worth. Just as you are of no significant worth.”

  The thief swallowed hard.

  “Valueless.” The ancient man chuckled softly and gathered the folds of his dark robe in his spider-fingers.

  With that, the wizard turned on his slippered heels and left, and the thief was roughly entrusted to the not-so-gentle care of the sentries. They turned him upside down and shook out every coin he had—including a few of his own that he’d come into the tower with. They confiscated his set of thieving picks and a small pouch filled with strips of dried venison (which he’d stolen from a merchant earlier). Then the tallest guard tossed the thief over a muscular shoulder, as if he were a sack of vegetables, and carried him roughly down several sets of stairs.

  The second guard followed along behind, all the while berating the gnome for breaking into the castle and hinting that all manner of doom awaited him. Without pause, they unceremoniously threw Fenzig into this cell, locked the door, and left him with only the rats for company. The rats and the oppressive stink.

  I’ve got to get out of here. Indeed, I must. Maybe I’ll feign getting sick, he thought. I’ll double over when they bring me dinner, which has to be coming soon, and they’ll open the cell door to see what’s wrong. I could dash out, climb up the stairs, and run to freedom. Or maybe I could lie on the straw and pretend to be dead, and the guards will throw me out with the garbage. Or maybe I could climb the door and work the lock loose. Or maybe . . .

  Fenzig’s mind whirled with the possibilities—all of which seemed especially dismal on his very empty stomach.

  “Oh, why did I try to steal from King Erlgrane?” he whispered as he whirled on the balls of his filthy, cold feet and strode toward the straw. “Why did I try such a stunt?” But he knew the answer. He had tried to steal from the king because the king was the richest man in all of Burlengren, the city nearest the gnome town of Graespeck.

  He’d already stolen from most of the wealthy farmers in the area—not robbed them blind, mind you—just stole enough coins and pieces of jewelry to keep himself in food, clothes, and more than a few luxuries. He never took everything a person owned; he had some morals, after all. And he’d run various successful scams on travelers passing through, lining his pockets with their gold and getting away before they were the wiser.

  It wasn’t that the gnome didn’t like to work, for he considered thieving very hard work. He just didn’t like the kind of work that was the same thing every day, physical work that was overly strenuous and made him sweat. Why labor hard for a few coins a week when he could steal as much as he needed—and then some? A steady job was for those who were not as creative, skilled, or clever as he.

  So Fenzig had tried to steal from King Erlgrane because the king was rich and the gnome wanted a share of it. And I should have gotten away with it, he fumed. I am an expert thief and I shouldn’t have been caught.

  “I hate this place.” Fenzig sat listlessly on the straw. He pursed his lips and glowered at the rats. “I hate you. Indeed, I hate the smell. And I hate the fact that I was caught.” Grimly, the gnome realized he had only himself to blame for his predicament. “I shouldn’t have tried to steal from King Erlgrane. I should’ve stuck to stealing from farmers. Not as much money. But they don’t have wizards and guards, and indeed they can’t hang you in the public square or hand you over to someone named Girond the Tormentor.”

  His stomach rumbled more loudly, and he briefly wondered what was keeping the rubbish they’d serve for dinner. Maybe he’d try just a little. Just enough to keep up his strength so he could formulate a plan of escape. He was still muttering to himself when the door creaked open.

  The same gruff guards who’d brought him here last night were illuminated in the torchlight.

  “King Erlgrane will see you now,” the tallest sneered.

  The second grinned maliciously and slowly drew his index finger across his neck.

  A chill raced down Fenzig’s short spine.

  3

  A Grim Proposition

  The gnome felt himself being lifted as a guard on either side hoisted him by the armpits. They were holding him so tight that he couldn’t wriggle free. Occasionally one would “accidentally” jab him in the ribs, as the other maneuvered around to scrape him along a rough section of wall.

  I’m going to die, Fenzig thought sadly. I’m so terribly young, and I’m going to die before I really get to live. How will they do it? A rope? An axe? Maybe these oafs will drop me down the stairs so I break my neck. I wonder if it will hurt? Of course it will hurt. But I wonder how much it will hurt. How long will it take? Will anybody tell my father? Probably not, Fenzig decided after being carried up two flights of stairs. Nobody even asked my name.

  Fenzig survived being manhandled up the interminably long staircase and expected to be taken to a torture chamber or a courtyard with a gallows where King Erlgrane would pass sentence without so much as a trial and solemnly watch the execution. Or maybe his death would be handled someplace more public, where he’d be made an example of to young people, showing them the penalty for a life of crime. Maybe he’d be hanged in front of the entire town and his body left to rot to feed the crows. People in Burlengren didn’t much care for gnomes anyway.

  “At least the air is better here,” he whispered. He was breathing deeper, clearing the stench that had settled in his lungs.

  “Finer still where you’re being taken,” one of the guards offered.

  Fenzig hadn’t expected to be brought into King Erlgrane’s audience chamber and set down at a long marble-topped table filled with steaming food: bowls brimming with delicious-looking sugar beets, plates piled high with mouth-wat
ering vegetables, tureens of soup, dishes of candied fruit, loaves of just-baked bread–and little bowls to wash your fingers in.

  The room was almost larger than the gnome’s home town. White marble pillars, festooned with carvings of plump cherubs edged in gold trim lined the sides and supported the heavy roof that was oh-so-high above the gnome’s head. There was a large mural on the ceiling that had elegantly-dressed humans dancing across it, and the floor was covered with a thick rug shot through with threads of silver and woven in an intricate pattern. Everything in the room had a pattern in it, but Fenzig wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the details. He was too busy eyeing the huge roast turkey in the center of the table and the bowl of boiled potatoes sitting near a container of thick, savory gravy. The scents of the food was helping him forget the odors of his cell and even raising his spirits a little.

  I wonder if this is my last meal? I heard condemned prisoners always get a last meal, he thought. This certainly would be a fine last meal. Especially if there is dessert. He stretched forward and dangled his fingers into his water bowl, then wiped them dry on his pantleg.

  He wondered if he should dig in or if he needed some kind of permission. He judged the distance to the turkey and to the roast. The table was large—human-sized, not gnome-sized—and he wouldn’t be able to reach the meat without standing on his chair. The guards were posted behind him, hovering to make sure he stayed put, though one briefly moved out of the way so a serving girl could pour him a glass of juice. It smelled of raspberries, sweet and inviting.

  “King Erlgrane will join you soon,” she said, then whispered, “Don’t eat or drink anything until he arrives. It’s not polite.”

  Fenzig fidgeted nervously and looked around. He coughed to cover up the sounds of his rumbling stomach, and he tried to concentrate on the polished silver candlesticks on the table, anything to keep his mind off the food. It had been far too long since he’d eaten.

  The napkins were made of silk, so fine-looking he’d been afraid to dry his fingers on them, and the plush chairs that ringed the room were worth a small fortune. The knives and forks and spoons were made of real silver, not wood or steel like common families used. Fenzig’s own family was not well-off, and until he’d ‘procured’ a set of silver for his mother’s birthday two years back, there hadn’t been enough knives and forks for everyone at the table.

  I should have broken into this room instead, he thought. I could have made off with the candlesticks and a dozen spoons, and I’ll bet the wizard wouldn’t have known. Who’d cast protection or warning spells in a dining room?

  Trumpets blared just beyond the chamber, and as the refrain died, twin mahogany doors slowly opened to reveal the glistening brass instruments and the trumpeters who, dressed uniformly, also stepped back uniformly. King Erlgrane strode in between them. He was attired in dark velvets—navy, violet, and forest green, all trimmed with pearls and beads. Fenzig guessed the outfit was worth more than all the coins in the fake treasure room.

  King Erlgrane reminded Fenzig of a hawk, with a narrow beaklike nose too long for his fleshy face and dark beady eyes that seemed to regard the gnome as prey. The king’s hands fluttered like a bird’s wings, and his long neck bobbed forward as he glided farther into the room.

  Fenzig’s mouth dropped open as the king selected a chair at the end of the table. The gnome had been so engrossed with the impending meal that he hadn’t noticed that chair. Well, to be fair, the chair was a good distance from the gnome and couldn’t be seen well until he turned his head so his chin touched his shoulder. Besides, it wasn’t exactly a chair, Fenzig decided. It was more like a throne. It was high-backed and made of burnished brass and some dark wood that gleamed warmly in the light of the candles. Its padded back and sides were covered with an expensive brocade material, and embedded into the wood along the top and at the handrests were plum-sized rubies and jacinths. Fenzig surmised that any one of those stones could buy enough food to feed every gnome in his town for several months, maybe a year—even given the gnomes’ voracious appetites.

  King Erlgrane was wearing even larger gems, the gnome noticed as the monarch reached for his wine glass. Each manicured finger, including his thumb, was bedecked with at least one ring set with a big, glittering stone.

  How can one man have so much wealth? Fenzig wondered. And what would have been so bad about me taking just a little of it? How can he move his fingers wearing all of that? How can he lift his hands?

  “Good evening, thief,” the king said. His voice was deep and musical, and the gnome thought he might have enjoyed listening to it under other circumstances.

  The king swished the juice about in the crystal goblet, never spilling a drop, held it to his nose, and his lips edged upward into a slight smile. Then he swallowed only a little of it and motioned to a serving girl.

  She quickly sliced the turkey, releasing even more scents to tantalize the gnome. Fenzig could barely contain himself while she filled the king’s plate and buttered his bread. Finally, the king nodded toward the gnome, indicating he could eat.

  For a moment Fenzig forgot all about his imminent doom and stretched forward. His hand closed about the lip of a bowl of jellied cranberries, and he tugged it closer. The serving girls put on his plate the things he couldn’t reach—which was almost everything on the table—and he filled his plate and emptied it thrice before he noticed quite a bit of time had passed. Embarrassed, he looked up at King Erlgrane. The monarch had apparently long since finished his meal and was leaning back in the throne-like chair, coolly regarding the stuffed gnome.

  Fenzig reluctantly finished his last bite of turkey, pretended to wipe his mouth on the silk napkin, then shoved the napkin in his trouser pocket, where two others and a crystal salt shaker were already nested.

  Now he’s going to tell me how I will die, he thought nervously. The gnome started to sweat and took a quick glance around, noticing six guards—all stationed by the room’s exits, and all with swords drawn. No way out, he decided. I’m done for. At least I’ll go out with a full belly.

  “I could have you killed. Should have you killed, wee-one.” The king used the somewhat derogatory nickname the humans of the area had given the gnome race. “Stealing from me is punishable by death. Are you aware of that?”

  Of course I’m aware of that, Fenzig answered to himself. Yes, indeed, now I am aware of that. What do you think the prison guards told me—repeatedly? What do you think I’m so nervous about? Why are my knuckles so white? And my very full stomach isn’t doing flip-flops because of the food. The food was great by the way, thank you, the gnome added, wondering if he should compliment the king out loud.

  King Erlgrane clapped his hands, and the serving girls began to clear the table. “Stand up, wee-one. I want to get a good look at this master thief who had the gall to break into my castle.”

  Fenzig slid out of the chair and reluctantly padded toward King Erlgrane. The king leaned back in his throne and angled his lean form so he faced away from the table and could better view the gnome. The monarch’s change in posture also let Fenzig see even more jewels. A sapphire-encrusted dagger stuck out of a sheath in the king’s right boot. His belt buckle was hammered gold—the image of a unicorn with diamond eyes–and he wore wrist bracers set with shimmering black opals.

  He wears a fortune, Fenzig thought, his mouth watering ever-so-slightly. More wealth than . . . .

  “You’re quite thin for a wee-one, though I daresay if you keep eating like that you won’t be,” he began. “Won’t have to worry about you fitting through my tower windows.” He drew his lips into a thin line. “I’ve heard you’re a rather accomplished burglar. My wizard, who was not at all pleased that you roused him last night, cast a few spells to learn about you—Fenzighan Wiznagrik, isn’t it? Well, it seems, little Fenzighan, that you’ve been lightening the purses of travelers in my realm, not to mention stealing from my farmers.”

  My wizard, my realm, my farmers. Do you think everything is your
s? Fenzig nervously shifted his weight back and forth on his feet, but he managed to meet King Erlgrane’s steady gaze.

  “You don’t deny any of this, do you, wee-one?”

  The gnome shook his head. “No. I am a thief. But I never hurt anybody, Your Majesty, ever. And, indeed, I never took everything anybody had. And I don’t think I should die.”

  “Everybody dies eventually, my little thief.” The king rubbed his chin and eyed the gnome stonily. He let the silence in the room become ponderous before breaking it again. “No one lives forever, Fenzighan Wiznagrik. But if you’re as good a thief as my wizard thinks you are, perhaps you could outlive this day. Maybe live a good, long time, or in any event as long as wee-ones tend to live. Perhaps we could strike a deal. I’ll overlook your past transgressions if you perform a little errand for me. Interested? One small errand in exchange for your one small life?”

  The gnome had not expected to be offered a way out of his predicament.

  “An errand?”

  King Erlgrane nodded. “Nothing too complex. I need you to pick up something for me a few miles north of here.”

  “I’m to go someplace and get something for you?” Fenzig briefly wondered why King Erlgrane didn’t send one of his guards or servants. “That’s it?”

  “Yes,” he replied silkily. “But you’ll need to use your skills. You’ll have to steal what I want.”

  Fenzig gulped. Stealing had gotten him into his current pickle. Could stealing get him out? Would stealing for King Erlgrane really be illegal, since the king made all the rules? Maybe it wouldn’t be stealing at all. Maybe it would just be appropriating something by royal decree. The gnome looked at the floor and at his dirty bare feet.

  King Erlgrane eased out of the thronelike chair and stood, towering over the gnome. Fenzig looked up.

  “Well, wee-one? Steal for me, and I will forget you tried to steal from me.” The king idly drummed his fingers on the table. “What is your answer?”