Brammelwurz and the Wilres Cabbage Shop

More about Brammelwurz and the Wilres Cabbage Shop

It was a Tuesday in the foggy month when Brammelwurz, a collector of rare spores, trotted through the Gorbia side valley—slowly, for the path was paved with thoughtful puddles. The morning smelled of moss and anticipation, and the sky hung like a damp blanket over the landscape. Between two mossy rocks, he spotted something he'd never seen there before: a small shop, squat like a stove bug, with round windows pouring warm light. A crooked wooden sign dangled above the door. "Wilres Cabbage Shop - Fresh Wonders Only," it read. Below, in smaller print: "No Sales on Full Moon." Brammelwurz was never a stranger to curiosity—indeed, it was his daily breakfast—so he approached. The door squeaked, "What the heck?" and swung open. A breeze full of dill and mystery blew toward him. Inside, the shop was larger than allowed outside. Shelves towered to the ceiling, filled with cabbages of all colors and shapes: green, purple, shimmering silver. Some were wrapped in paper with little stories on them. One softly hummed a melody Brammelwurz recognized from a dream. "May I help?" asked a voice from behind a burlwood counter. An old man with a wrinkled face that smelled of fresh hummus stepped forward. He wore a cloak of cabbage leaves and a top hat, atop which a snail sat like a crown. His eyes sparkled like bottle bottoms with starlight. "Wilres. With an s, not a z. That's important." Brammelwurz tapped his forehead in greeting. "I collect spores and stories. And you?" "I sell cabbages with memory. Feel free to look around." He placed a steaming cup on the counter for him. The tea tasted of childhood, wet grass, and a memory that never happened. A cabbage on a pedestal murmured, "I know what you've forgotten." Another was crisscrossed with threads that ticked softly. Wilres whispered, "Time cabbage. Don't look at it too long, or you'll lose your tomorrow." In a corner, Brammelwurz spotted a seedling under a glass dome. He knocked softly. The little cabbage responded with an image—a hut in the fog, a window open. "Memory seed," Wilres explained. "If you plant it, what you wish you had forgotten will grow." But what attracted Brammelwurz most was the old chest with brass fittings. Wilres opened it with a flick. Inside: a compass made of spore threads that pointed in directions that didn't exist. "It will find you places where thoughts grow that no one has thought before." Brammelwurz took a deep breath. "How much does it cost?" Wilres smiled. "A day of your future. One you would have wasted anyway." The gnome nodded. "Deal." The chest clicked shut. The shop took a quiet breath. And when Brammelwurz stepped back out, outside was no longer Gorbia, but a place that still had no name. But the compass turned—and pointed to something that, if possible, smelled.