“Come, wretched gnome, arise and hoist the sack! You have wasted an entire day in your inefficiency. We must be off at once—for even as you rub the sleep from your eyes, time wanes!”
Shelyid bent to hoist the burden over his shoulder. More accurately, Shelyid got down on his knees preparatory to burrowing under the enormous sack and hoisting the several-times-larger-than-himself object onto his entire diminutive person. But, at that moment, a thought seized him—or so, at least, one can surmise from his pale and distraught expression.
“Wait! Wait!” he cried. “I forgot something!” And so saying, Shelyid charged from the room, ignoring his master’s expressions of impatience and displeasure.
Back into the catacombs plunged the dwarf, his little legs scurrying frantically. Down and down he went, into the lowest depths, arriving at last in a small and dark crypt. He went into a corner of the chamber and squatted, clucking softly.
A moment later, a large and horrid-looking brown spider emerged from a hole. Shelyid extended his hand, onto which the hideous creature clambered. He raised the thing before his eyes. The arachnid stretched out a gruesome limb and touched the dwarf’s nose.
“Hullo,” whispered Shelyid. Then he began to weep. The spider touched his nose several times with a motion which, were the idea not absurd, one would have called a caress.
“I have to leave,” choked Shelyid. Then, a few sobs later: “I’ll miss you so much. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had. What will I do without you?”
He looked about the dank little grotto, not much more than a cave, actually.
“My happiest times’ve been the times here with you.” He sniffed. “Actually, been my only happy times.”
He stroked the monster. “I know I should enjoy the master’s lectures, ’cause they’re good for my brain and stuff.” Wretched sniffles and snuffles. “It’s hard to understand what th’master says, ’cause I’m so stupid. And then he gets impatient with me and he—well, he’s sort of mean to me.” More wretched sniffles and snuffles. “Real mean, actually.”
A great sob burst from the dwarf’s chest. “Oh, what’ll become of me? I’m just a dwarf. I’m just a stupid, ugly dwarf. I don’t want to go off and have adventures! I’m no good for it. I’ll get killed—eaten by ogres or something! Or maimed, or—” He stopped, overcome. Then: “Oh, and what’s the difference? I guess I’m no good for anything, anyway. Might as well get eaten.”
He gazed down at the spider, great tears leaking down his hairy cheeks. He stroked the horrible creature again.
“But I’ll sure miss you,” he whispered. “I sure will. If I come back, I mean, if I don’t get eaten or whatever, I’ll come see you right away. I promise.” The spider touched his nose.
A faint sound echoed in the room. It bore about it the aura of the voice of a most outraged sorcerer.
“That’s th’master. I gotta go, or I’ll be beaten.” He sniffled. “Probably be beaten, anyway. But I just had to see you once last time.”
He placed the monster back on the ground. “G’bye,” he whispered, and fled from the chamber.
CHAPTER VI.
A Journey Begun. A Coach Ride. The Royal Palace. King Roy’s Dream Redux. Calamities. A Tumultuous Departure. The Central Travel House of Goimr. The Wizard Inquires. A Commercial Philosophy Explained. A Purchase. “We’re Off!”
Thus it came to pass that wizard and servant abandoned the abandoned death house and set forth on their journey of renown.
Their initial progress was slow. Shelyid, his diminutive figure buried under the enormous bundle on his back, from which protruded here and there the snouts, corners and extensions of sundry wizardrous objects too bizarre to describe, staggered to and fro, lurching with every step, careening wildly from house wall to house wall, from lamppost to trash bin, from corner to midstreet to gutter.
“Shelyid!” spoke Zulkeh. “Cease this inefficient mode of travel! And take care lest you damage the items I have entrusted to your care.”
“But, master,” whined the dwarf’s voice from somewhere beneath the sack, “it’s heavy. And I can’t see.”
“Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. “Is the odyssey of science to be impeded by the physical frailties of such as you? Too long now, wretch, have you lolled about in the comfort of luxurious surroundings. The rigors of travel will do you good. It will improve your muscular tone, enhance your respiratory capacity, strengthen your stamina, harden your will, hone the edge of the blunt instrument that is your mind, and expose you to new knowledge and lore. Enough of this childish petulance! Make haste! For, even as I speak, time wanes.”