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Taking the East Road into Riven Rock was more depressing than Glenn anticipated. The shacks and smell of squalor travelled over the clay brick barrier lining each side. It’d take more than the ten feet beyond the road and five-foot high wall to safeguard his gnomish olfactory system. It’d take two hundred yards and a hundred-foot-high brick wall. He did his best to ignore the stench.
“Ewww,” Stephi said. “Is there like an overflowing sewer or something?”
“The eastward breeze isn’t helping any more,” Glenn said. “At least you don’t have a sensitive shnozz like me.”
“Think I’ll keep hiding back here and focus on what Petie smells.”
Blizz frowned, and snapped the reins on the horse team. “C’mon, boys. Not much ferther.”
Glenn started to say, “Birds don’t have a good sense of smell,” and then tapped himself on the side of the head, emphasizing the duh moment.
Blizz let out a sigh, then scrunched up his nose. “I kinda forgot the fancy fragrance.” He leaned close to Glenn. “You get used to it.”
Glenn huffed, trying to breathe with his mouth. “I hope so.”
“You know where we’re going, Mr. Jax?”
The party had been silent about their ultimate target, a glass blower’s shop. But their first objective was Krogman’s Wagon Shop. Not only was it a place to park and repair their wagons, the owner was the party’s contact. Supposed to be the one person living in Riven Rock the party could trust—at least according to Higslaff the Pawnshop Owner.
Glenn answered, “Krogman’s Wagon Shop.”
“Krogman’s...Wagon Shop?” The half-goblin’s eyes drifted up in thought. “There was a spry young fella that went by the name of Krogman. Sorta like me back when I was young.” The half-goblin seemed to smile at some long-past memory. “Krogman...he was a wheelwright, but that was a lot a winters ago.”
Blizz’s thoughts snapped back to the present. “If’n he bought out the shop from Hagelberger, I know where it sits.”
Ron was counting on Guard Captain Nickson to lead the way. Derek rode up front, next to him. Slarg and Yonn rode alongside the small caravan, slipping in between the teams and wagons when necessary, but keeping folks away. Mardin brought up the rear.
The roads were wider than in Three Hills City, once they got past the shanty town and the brick wall. Glenn figured it was because the town wasn’t restricted by a wall. That said, it wasn’t as well planned, with streets angling and veering in and out.
The buildings were mostly made from clay bricks and wood. Some canvas coverings and a few rusted metal supports. The squat towers were built with limestone. Unlike Three Hills City, almost no shop or apartment had a front porch. And the people, while there were plenty like in Three Hills City, they appeared more downtrodden. Dustier and more depressed. Almost no one smiled and all spent more time looking at the ground in front of them, instead of up and around them. Somehow, they avoided getting run over or bumping into fellow travelers.
Progress was slow. The horse teams pulling the extra-heavy loads wearied with the stopping and starting. They snorted and stomped and strained. Concern built on Blizz’s face.
Finally they made it to the wagon shop.
It was a large, barn-like structure. The base, up to about five feet, consisted of limestone slats pieced together bound by mortar. Vertical wooden planks made up the upper part of the two-story building. They’d been painted brown, but the paint was pockmarked, like it’d endured a sandblaster’s passing attention. White block letters on the brown planks above the door, a little faded, read: Krogman’s Wagon Shop. Underneath, in smaller lettering, it read: Sales and Repair. Wheels fixed. Beneath the words was a simple white painting of a wagon, along with a broken wagon wheel next to a fixed one.
Sounds of work—shouts, hammering and scraping—emanated from within the wide doorway. One of the two sliding doors was blocked open.
The three wagons pulled off the street and parked in front of the shop. Ron’s middle wagon blocked the doorway.
Derek strode up to Glenn’s wagon. “Old man,” he said to Blizz, “you and the other driver, see to the horses. Slarg and Mardin are going to fetch water for the teams. Gurk’s going to talk with the owner of this place.” After gesturing toward the barn-like shop, he glanced up at the sky. The sun was well past its apex and fast on its way down. “Lysine, Nickson and Yonn are going to look at getting buyers for what we brought.” Without looking at the wagon he continued, his voice a little lower, “We’ll need you out of the wagon, Hide Away Barbie. Get to the roof, without drawing attention.”
After saying that, Derek grinned wide. “Me and you, gnome, get to stand guard, and make sure no one gets curious about what cargo we’re carrying.”
Out of the corner of his eye Glenn saw Kirby make his way into the wagon shop. Ron was already resting on Four Banger’s saddle, ready to blend back into the street’s traffic.
Blizz stood and shook life back into his legs. “Sure thing, Mr. Kalgore.” He climbed down and got to work.
Glenn climbed down on his side and came around the wagon. He’d stood night watch and other types of watch. But he wasn’t normally the first choice for doing so in a city.
The gnome healer strode as fast as his short legs would carry him without breaking into a trot. He stopped and stood next to Derek.
The big warrior glanced down at Glenn. “We got the easy job. Just look mean and pay attention. I’ll go over by the lead wagon, you stick here.”
“Got it,” Glenn said.
Derek started to walk away, then turned back and frowned. “I said look mean, not look like you’re watching a parade or something.”
Glenn stared up at Derek, a quizzical look on his face.
“Even short as you are, with your club and shield, a mean look’ll discourage folks from slowing or getting curious.” He paused, staring up and down the street. “Don’t want to have your club out. Town guards might not like that.”
Glenn tried to mimic Derek’s look.
“You look like you’re constipated.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Draw your eyebrows down and maybe clench your teeth some.”
Glenn tried. Derek looked around and away before shaking his head.
“Strap on your shield, gnome, and let your arm hang down your side. It’s got a lot of combat scars on it. Shows you’ve been in a lot of scraps.”
The gnome healer did as instructed.
“Now, if someone slows and looks your way, make eye contact. Maybe twitch your eye some—like Clint Eastwood does when he’s getting angry.”
Glenn looked up at Derek and gave the eye twitch a shot.
“Don’t wink, gnome, like you’re looking to date me.” He rested a hand on his armored hip. “Give the look like someone just deflated Marigold’s boobs—no wait. Nobody’s gonna fret over messing with a depressed gnome.”
“Look, Kalgore, I’m a healer, not a warrior.”
“Yeah,” Derek said, “And you know what else? Your mom’s a skanky whore.”
“What?” Glenn said, his hands balling into fists.
“That’s it!” Derek said. He patted Glenn on the shoulder. “Keep that look.”
It took about forty-five minutes for the two men-at-arms to haul enough buckets of water to satisfy the horse teams, and for Blizz and the other driver to check the horses and feed them some oats. Glenn got bored watching people, sneering or doing whatever, whenever someone glanced his way. Every now and then he went and checked the other side of the wagon. No way would he ever make a good security guard.
Derek frequently glanced over at Glenn from his post, and occasionally offered an approving head nod. Other times, a disappointed head shake.
Glenn wondered what could be taking Kirby so long when Derek wandered over to stand next to the gnome healer. The big warrior gestured with a hand back to his right. “Yonn and Mardin are going to watch over there.” Derek rocked on his heels, still managing to look angry to passerbys. “You did okay, for a gnome healer.”
Glenn wasn’t sure if that was a real complement, and waited for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t. After a few minutes of eating dust, he pointed over his shoulder at the wagon and asked, “You want me to get my canteen?”
“Good idea, gnome.”
After the two shared a drink, Glenn said, “That tooth, does it change the flavor of things?”
“Not really. Did try eating grass. It tasted like grass.” The warrior shrugged. “But I didn’t throw it back up like a dog.”
“I was thinking.” Glenn rubbed his sideburn. “About your tooth.”
“Yeah, gnome. What about it? You want it to try eating grass or something?”
“No. I was thinking about White Ash’s father, an elven baronet. And then there’s Duke Huelmer, in Three Hills City.”
“There’s plenty of nobles. You think they might want my tooth?”
Glenn nodded. He held up a hand to forestall Derek’s certain protest. “In our world, didn’t kings and dukes and queens have tasters, so they didn’t get poisoned?”
Derek squinted in thought. “Maybe I recall something from some Shakespeare play mentioning that.”
“That tooth, if it allows you to eat anything, it’d allow you to eat poison too, right?”
Derek’s mouth opened with a retort, but then he stopped and squinted in thought again. “I think you might have something there, gnome.”
The two went back to watching carts pulled by oxen, and porters with crates and sacks passing by.
“When we’re done with this mission,” Derek said, “tell Lysine about your idea.” He reached down and slapped Glenn on the back. “You’re starting to figure things out on this world, Jax.”
The slap caused Glenn to stumble forward a step. Derek probably did it on purpose...but Derek had called him Jax, instead of Gnome. In a weird way, that sort of balanced things out.