The Blade

Chapter 20

"Wuck, what...um, who are those...people?" Although the figures blocking the carriage's passage were clearly humanoid, George's hesitation stemmed from a certain otherness to their appearance—their dimensions, their posture and even their movements were all somehow just not quite...normal. The purple skin and the fangs were a touch weird, too.

"People?" The gnome had his eyes closed tight. "What people? I don't see no people. Particularly not any that I might have, you know...acquired a carriage off. Nope, no people. So, just you ignore 'em, and I expect they'll probably go away."

"Gnoblins!" From the driver's seat, Lob turned to glare at his younger brother. "What the hell were you thinking, nicking stuff off gnoblins?"

"Gnoblins?" queried George.  "What are gnoblins?"

Wuck leapt to his feet. "Nicking? Nicking? I don't nick stuff! I just...re-purpose it under new ownership. And I wouldn't normally requisition gnoblin assets, but you said you was in a hurry. So, I had to adjust my standards a bit." Realising he was now visible to the party blocking the road, he hurriedly slumped back down. "Anyways," he muttered, "they probably can't prove nothing."

Lob took in the assortment of spiked, bladed, studded and ridged weapons wielded by the dozen or so figures standing before the carriage. "Yeah, I think they might have skipped the 'prove' bit, mate. Looks to me like they've jumped right to the 'blood-soaked payback' bit. In my experience, gnoblins ain't that big on the whole judicial process thing."

Grandpa sighed. "I should have known better than to trust a gnome to do a simple job right. Bloody gnomes. And bloody gnoblins."

"But what is a gnoblin?" repeated George, who had been following the conversation like a dazed spectator at a three-way tennis match. "And what are we going to do about them?"

"Us?" queried Grandpa. "We're not going to do anything about them, because they're not our problem. I expect all they want is their carriage back, and a little chat with Mr Requisition there, and as far as I'm concerned, they're welcome to them both.  It means we'll have leg it from here, but you never know, we might be able to hitch a ride. C'mon, boy."

George was appalled. "But...but, we can't just let them have Wuck! What will they do to him?"

Grandpa gave the gnoblins an appraising look. "Oh, probably chuck him in the sewer, I should think."

George blinked. While the sewers didn't sound like a great option, he'd been expecting much worse. "Oh. Oh, well, that's not...so bad. I guess. Um."

"Course, they'll probably torture and kill him first," added Grandpa, getting to his feet. "Gnoblins are right bastards, that way. Anyway, after you, Georgie."

Wide-eyed, George remained firmly in his seat. "Kill him? Grandpa, we can't let that happen!"

"Why not?" asked Grandpa, with genuine puzzlement.

"Well, because...because...he's our friend."

"No, he's not. He's just some larcenous gnome you only met about an hour ago. Now, let's get moving."

"But...but..."—desperately, George searched for inspiration—"he's Lob's brother."

"Whose brother?"

"Lob!  You know, the Grand High-Keeper."

"Oh, that little sod.  So, let me get this straight—you're saying we should waste our time helping the kleptomaniac brother of a lying sock-thief, who's been freeloading in my trunk for thirty-seven years? I don't think so, Georgie—we've got bigger fish to fry.  Now, can you please move your arse?  Our friends outside are getting restless."