Blowing off the dust again here, this time with a special announcement. On December 10, I’ll be releasing a novelette set in Darbyfield with a new cast of lead characters. I’m proud to premiere my first new ebook in quite some time: A Wiggle Of Slimes.
Meet Boldaway and Crew, specialists in humanely catching and relocating unusual and difficult pests. They’ve handled everything from lava crows to Whittier’s (venomous) hedgehogs. But when hungry bog slimes suddenly pop up all around Darbyfield, will Charlotte, Walt, and Grun have met their match? Can they stop…a wiggle of slimes? Find out in this new novelette that blends cozy fantasy, a touch of steampunk, and a dollop of humor into an entertaining tale!
Preorders are now open on Amazon, and will (hopefully) be opening elsewhere soon once the formatting goblins have been appeased. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DMTF5WPW Amazon hasn’t enabled a preview yet, so I’ll post one here. I’ve been working on this novelette for months, and I’m very happy with how it came out. I hope you’ll enjoy it as well!
It was a pleasant late summer morning in the Oakton Vineyards. There was a light breeze, and the thin dotted clouds provided just the right amount of relief from the sun. The vines were hanging heavily from their trellises. The grapes, in all their red and green glory, were almost ripe and would soon be ready to be harvested and processed into that year’s vintages, to be bottled, sold, and savored throughout the Emerald Dell and beyond.
The trellises, and the vineyards, were as immaculate as they could be. So were the workers. This was at the insistence of the owner, Lord Basil Oakton, the elfish real estate magnate who had turned an inheritance into a profit center.
He demanded a great deal from his vineyard employees—promptness, hard work, obedience. Those who fell short, even by a hair, risked facing his angry glare, his insults, and worst of all, his sneer. It was said that Oakton’s sneer could cause plants to wilt; it often had the same effect on people. Still, he was never lacking for workers, if only for the pay and the entry on the resume for future job hunting.
That day two elves, wearing the dark green of Oakton’s staff, were walking down the rows of trellises with their precisely-trimmed vines. One would lift bunches of grapes gently with a stick, eye them carefully, and voice her observations on their quality and ripeness. The other would nod and take down notes on a pad he carried.
The two stopped at one lengthy trellis. This one bore vine after vine of Riesling, the grapes that were used to create Chateau Oakton, possibly the most acclaimed white wine in all the lands of the Crescent Sea. The elf with the stick gently lifted one bunch of grapes. “Excellent,” she said after her examination.
“Looks like we have a good crop this year, Hyacinth,” the other elf said as he wrote on his pad.
“I’ll check another few bunches.” Hyacinth moved several yards down the row. “One can never be too sure.” She stopped and inserted her stick behind another bunch, lifting it carefully.
The grapes slipped off the stick, falling back into place, swaying very slightly. Hyacinth raised an eyebrow as she pulled the stick away.
A thick, slimy, greenish liquid dripped off the end.
“What the devil…?” Hyacinth grabbed the grapes with her free hand and moved in for a closer look, bending down to glance up at the vine.
There was a noise that could be best described as a “splort”.
Hyacinth pulled back. Her blouse was covered in the same thick green liquid she had seen on her stick. She tried to wipe it away, but it clung to her hand. “Are you all right?” her companion asked.
“I’ll need a handkerchief,” the elf said. “After that, we have to see Lord Oakton. Immediately.”
* * *
It had been on another pleasant late summer morning, several years prior and on a farm quite some distance from the Emerald Dell, that Charlotte Boldaway had had her epiphany.
The three Boldaway siblings, one of whom was Charlotte’s father, owned and managed a large farm on the outskirts of Dauvenne. Charlotte lived in the farmhouse, which had added room after room after room over the years to accommodate three growing families. Even with that it was hard for her to find solitude at times, so she would stroll out to the fields carrying a chair, sit down, and read or study or think in peace.
That one morning, following a breakfast spat with a pair of loutish twins Charlotte had trouble believing she was related to, she headed out early for the fields. She chose a spot near the cabbage patch, set her chair down, and sat, book in her lap.
Charlotte fixed her wide-brimmed sun hat on her head, blinking the light out of her brown eyes as she tucked her long hair underneath it. She took a deep breath, the breeze blowing about her, the sun warm on her brown skin where it wasn’t covered by her blue sundress, the sounds of family and hired hands going about their business faint in the distance.
As she stared idly at the cabbages, she heard footsteps. “Morning, Charlotte,” a grizzled voice called out.
She turned her head and saw the dwarf approaching. His hair was braided and his beard was long, with streaks of gray in the deep red. He was wearing a worn pair of overalls and pushing a cart loaded with cloth bags. Charlotte smiled slightly. “Good morning, Walt,” she said.
Walter Riegelschplitz stopped and leaned on the cart’s handle. “You’re out early today,” he said.
“It’s been…one of those mornings.” Charlotte shook her head.
“Henri and Marie Louise again?”
“They didn’t need to use all the marmalade, Walt. I know we have other preserves, but the marmalade is my favorite.”
“Want me to…?” The dwarf dug into the sacks and pulled out a wooden mallet.
Charlotte laughed. “Walt, no! They’re still family. Besides…”
“Yes?”
“Someday. Someday I’ll be out of here.” Charlotte stared at the cabbages. “I still love my family, all of them, but life on the farm isn’t the life for me. It won’t be long before I can apply for University. I just need to choose what I want to major in.”
“Have you narrowed it down?” Walt asked.
“Not yet. There are so many choices…”
Charlotte fell quiet as she saw the slug, perched on a cabbage not twenty yards from her. It wasn’t green or brown, like all the slugs she had seen before, but crimson and silver. It was also shining, with a faint bluish light, as it munched on a cabbage leaf.
“What are you staring at?” Walt glanced over. He scowled, his eyes narrowing, and muttered under his breath something that sounded like “snegel”.
“Walt?” Charlotte froze.
He tossed the mallet on the cart and turned towards her, all business. “I need to get help,” he said. “Keep an eye on that slug, Charlotte. Watch it like a hawk. And whatever you do, don’t touch it.” She nodded as he ran off.
Walt returned a few minutes later, carrying another sack. With him were Henri, one of the loutish twins, and Devon, who was Charlotte’s uncle, one of the farm’s owners, and Henri’s father. “Charlotte?” Devon asked with just a hint of worry. “Is it still here?”
“It hasn’t left.” Charlotte pointed at the shiny slug, still happily eating cabbage.
Devon stared at it. “You’re right, Walt,” he said. “We’ve got a snegel on our hands.”
“A snegel?” Charlotte said softly.
Henri rolled his eyes. “It’s just a slug.”
“It’s not,” Walt said gruffly. “It’s dangerous.”
“Oh, really!” Henri said with a smirk. “It looks so dreadful! I’m surprised it didn’t scare Charlotte off!” Charlotte held her tongue; she knew that when it came to pretty much everything, Henri was far more foolish and less wise than Walt. And to her surprise, she had developed a slight fondness for the snegel.
“Henri…” Devon said.
“I’ll take care of it!” Henri chuckled as he walked towards the cabbage. “You big babies! You’re all scared of a slug!”
“Don’t!” Walt shouted.
“Don’t what?” Henri said as he stopped by the cabbage head. “Don’t squish the ugly little slug? Is it Charlotte’s new beau?” He bent down, his face close to the snegel. “Ooh, smoochy smoochy Charlotte’s icky boyfriend!” He pursed his lips and made kissing noises.
Henri straightened up. As he did, his stomach brushed the snegel. It hummed and shot out a bright blue sizzling bolt of magical energy. The blast struck Henri with full force, sending him flying through the air, landing in another clump of cabbages. “Henri!” Devon shouted.
“My lips hurt,” Henri mumbled as his father rushed to his side.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked Walt.
“Besides Henri getting what he had coming?” the dwarf stated.
“I didn’t say that, but yes.”
“Well, snegels are from Tirnog. I’ve heard about them from my cousin. They store energy from the sun and discharge it when they’re attacked, to drive off predators. It’s usually a mild shock where they come from, since Tirnog is usually misty and chilly, but here? Where it’s been sunny all summer?” Walt grimaced. “Must have been one Hell of a shock. How’s the boy?”
“He’ll live,” Devon said as he helped Henri to his feet.
Charlotte looked at her cousin. His hair was still standing on end following the shock, his clothes were blackened, and his eyes were out of focus. It’s mean to think this, she thought, but maybe this will finally knock some manners into him.
“Okay.” Walt reached into the sack. He pulled out a pair of canvas gloves and a small wooden box.
Charlotte could see that every part of the box, even the latch and the hinges, was wood, no metal. She also saw the small air holes in the lid. “Is that for the snegel?” she asked.
“Right. Devon? Throw me your gloves.” He did, and Walt snagged them and handed them to Charlotte. “Put these on. You’re going to help.”
“Me?”
“Devon’s busy and Henri’s still smoldering.”
Charlotte nodded and put the gloves on; they were big for her hands, but not so much that they got in her way. “What do I need to do, Walt?”
“Hold this.” Walt handed her the box and flipped the lid open. As he put his gloves on he added, “I’m going to try to get the snegel in here. It shouldn’t be able to shock anyone through the wood. Once it’s in the box, you need to close that lid as fast as you can. Got it?”
(c) 2024 Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved.