by Pete Prown
* * *
“How bad is it, Nurse Pym?” It was about an hour later, and Dorro was alarmed. Not only was Sheriff Forgo an important part of Thimble Down, but he was the bookmaster’s friend—one of the very few. “I saw the Sheriff yesterday, and he seemed fine. But Wyll and Cheeryup say they heard him cough as early as three days prior.
“Why didn’t yon kiddies tell me?” Pym was irked as she continued applying cooling towels to Forgo’s head.
“Apparently, the children were sworn to secrecy.”
“The fool! Forgo may be sharp as they come at sheriffing, but he’s an idiot regarding his own health,” she raged. “The gist of it is, Sheriff Forgo has the Grippe as bad as I’ve seen it.”
“But he will be better, right?” squeaked Dorro.
“That is no longer in my hands, Mr. Bookmaster.” Nurse Pym’s face was grave. “A few days ago, I’d have confined him to bed and with a wee rest, he might’a shown improvement. But at this point, his chances of survival are greatly reduced. I can hear it in yon chest and the way he’s wheezing.”
“You’re jesting, Pym. Forgo is strong as a bear!”
“I’m sorry, Dorro—but even they die. I’ll do my best, but he’s a sick lad. Big or little, fat or thin, young or old, the Grippe doesn’t discriminate. It’ll take anyone.”
Dorro was mute with shock. This can’t be happening. His mind was reeling. Forgo is one of the strongest Halflings I know. He can’t die!
Pym stood and scrawled out some basic instructions for Forgo’s care. She reminded Dorro that she was very busy with other patients and couldn’t come running over for every little thing.
“It’s up to Forgo at this point,” she said in the business-like way. “Either he’ll fight the Grippe off or not. But I’ve got to run—there are five more just like him in the village. Do your best, Dorro.” And Pym was gone.
Checking on the unconscious Sheriff one more time, Dorro wobbled to the front of the gaol, his mind in utter turmoil as he absently checked his pocket watch. Up front was a congregation including Gadget, the Mayor, Wyll, Cheeryup, and Orli, all looking concerned and bewildered.
“Look Winderiver, it’s unfortunate about your friend,” said the Mayor coldly. “But he has chosen this moment to leave us in the lurch. That said, I want you to take over this investigation into the thievery in the village. You are now our interim Sheriff.”
“What? Are you jesting?” Dorro’s eyes bugged out of his head. This was the most outrageous, ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
“I am not, Bookmaster. You have aided Sheriff Forgo in the past with his investigations and, from what I gather, have had some success. The village of Thimble Down is currently in a crisis and, without the Sheriff, we have no law, aside from that idiot deputy. Thus, there is no one to hold down the fort, save you.”
“I am well aware, too, that there is no love lost between us, Winderiver,” the Mayor continued on. “But if you won’t do it for me, do it for Sheriff Forgo. Though it beguiles me that either of you could actually have friends, it appears that you two are friends, so do it for him. Find the thief. Deal with the Grippe. And keep the peace during the election. Do all this and I will grant you the political favor of your choice—something not too outlandish. I shall sign paperwork tonight and have it posted all over the village tomorrow, appointing you Sheriff Pro Tempore. That is all I have to say at the moment.”
And that’s all the Mayor did say. He turned on a tuppence and walked out of the gaol, leaving Dorro Fox Winderiver, absurd as it sounded, as the acting Sheriff of Thimble Down.
The Black Stones
“I’m eternally grateful, Mrs. Bluebell and Miss Elizabeth Ivy. Without your help, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Oh tosh, Mr. Dorro, our pleasure,” sighed Mrs. Bluebell, taking her daughter’s arm, “We’re happy to do our part. Thimble Down is but a small village, and our Sheriff works hard for what I’d guess is very little income. And we’ve been blessed, thanks to my husband’s bustling shop and our perfect daughter.”
“Oh mother!” Elizabeth Ivy blushed, but of course, loved the attention. “When should we return?”
“I’d say every three or four hours,” added the bookmaster. “Just make sure Forgo is comfortable and has cool towels on his head. But Nurse Pym indicated the Sheriff might not wake up for many days—he’s in a deep sleep, which is why it’s called the Grippe. Once it has you, you may never awaken. Let’s hope that’s not the case, surely.”
At that, mother and daughter left for home. Dorro was lucky to have found them and even offered to pay for their nursing skills; Mrs. Bluebell declined, but suggested that Dorro make a small donation to her garden society next Spring during its daffodil celebration. He agreed immediately and the deal was struck.
Sheriff Forgo, meanwhile, hadn’t awakened at all, but was still feverish. He would stay that way until his body fought off the Grippe or …. Dorro didn’t want to think about that part.
His next plan of action was to make a public announcement in front of the Bumbling Badger tavern. He still hadn’t fully come to terms with being the Sheriff, but in a way, Dorro was quietly pleased to have this responsibility bestowed upon him.
Think of what my parents would say! He giggled to himself. Our little Dorro, Sheriff of Thimble Down.
His father would laugh and slap him on the back, while his mother would pinch his cheek and cry. He missed them, but heard their voices from time to time, reassuring him that everything would turn out all right.
Dorro checked on Forgo once more (He doesn’t look good, he rued), and bolted out the door towards the Bumbling Badger. If all was set to plan, Gadget Pinkle should have been working the lanes for the past hour, spreading the word and setting things up in front of the tavern.
At eleven o’clock, Dorro arrived and found a small group of Thimble Downers milling about outside, wondering what all this fuss was about. He’d hoped there would have been more folks present, but he couldn’t argue. And for moral support, there were Wyll, Cheeryup, Mr. Shoe, and the ever-present Mr. Timmo. Well, there’s no time but the present, thought Dorro as he climbed on top of a wooden crate.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” intoned the bookmaster a mite too formally.
“Oh aye, we hear ye just fine, Young Dorro!” crowed Farmer Duck, drawing laughs from the crowd. Now more folks were ambling out of the Bumbling Badger to see what the amusement was.
“Folks, we have some announcements today and it’s important that you listen up and spread the word.”
“Why should we listen to you, Dorro? You run the stinkin’ library!” cried Poe Stitchwicket, a loud shepherd. More howls of laughter ensued.
“Because, Poe, our dear Sheriff Forgo has the Grippe and is knocking on death’s door!” The tittering stopped in a heartbeat. “I know this is a shock to many of you and, you may laugh some more, but the Mayor—against my wishes, I’ll have you know—has made me Sheriff Pro Tempore, which means, I’ll be doing Forgo’s job until he’s well again.”
“If he gets well again,” said the gloomy Bog the Blacksmith.
“Let’s hope he does, Bog; otherwise, you’ll be stuck with me until a new sheriff is appointed,” continued Dorro, finally finding his confidence. “Now, on to business. We all know about the Grippe. Take care to wash your hands a lot and take care of your families. We don’t know how it spreads, but it’s going around the village quickly. And sadly, this Pie Thief is still at it, though he steals more than pies.”
“He took my best shovel!” shouted Farmer Duck. “If I find him, I’ll dig his grave with it!”
“No, Duck, if you find him you will come tell me. Speaking of help, I need any tips or clues you may have. If anyone helps up capture the villain, the Mayor has offered a reward of two gold coins!” The crowd gasped at the exorbitant sum and started thinking of clues on the spot. A pair of gold coins would set any Halfling up quite nicely for a while.
“Lastly, I want to let you know that I’m not do
ing this alone. Gadget Pinkle will serve as my deputy, so let him know any clues. And I’m also deputizing Mr. Timmo, effective immediately.”
“Yay, Timmo, me boy!” shouted out Duck, who clearly had already downed a pint or two of ale, despite the early hour. Timmo, for his part, opened his eyes as wide as possible, not sure if he’d heard his friend Dorro correctly. He assumed there’d been a mistake.
“Gadget and Timmo will help form the backbone of the constabulary in the village until Sheriff Forgo has recovered. Any questions?”
Shyly, Mr. Timmo raised his hand.
“What?” barked Dorro, in a gruff voice that sounded remarkably like Forgo’s.
“Did you really mean to deputize me? I mean … me?”
“Yes, Timmo, I very well did mean you. Sorry there was no head’s up, but things are moving fast. And that’s the end of this announcement. Again—wash your hands, and if you know anything about the Pie Thief, let me, Gadget, or Timmo know. That is all!”
There was a small cheer, though Dorro didn’t know if that was for the reward or the fact that he was finished, but the deed was done. Dorro Fox Winderiver had just completed his first official act as Sheriff. And he liked it!