Death of a Dwarf

by Pete Prown

  * * *

  Faintly, Dorro heard a sound, but it was growing louder by the second. He rushed out of the gaol and saw a crowd moving down the High Street in Thimble Down; actually, they were running and screaming, not to put too fine a point on it. He thought of doing the same, but remembered he was Sheriff Pro Tempore and decided at least to make a good show of it.

  “They’re coming, Sheriff, they’re coming to kill us all” yelled young Tom Talbo.

  “I saw ’em with my own eyes,” yelped Mrs. Poddle. “There was blood drippin’ from their teeth!”

  “And there’s about two hunner’d of ’em,” screamed Rory MacInturff, the tanner.

  This actually made Dorro feel better because he knew his fellow Thimble Downers and how prone they were to exaggeration. More likely the truth was far less threatening, but he was anxious anyway. By now, roughly one hundred Halflings surrounded the gaol, all talking, jabbering, and raising a ruckus. There was another round of tremulous agitation, and the mob parted, allowing Crumble and his Dwarves through. They too looked rather tense.

  “Ahoy there, Sheriff Dorro,” said Crumble with some caution in his voice. “So I see you’ve heard the news about our, errrmm, brethren who are about to visit.”

  “Is it true? Are these Battle Dwarves here to find Wump’s killer?” asked Dorro, hoping it was all a big misunderstanding.

  “In a roundabout way, ummm, yes.”

  “What does that mean, Crumble?”

  “What it means, Mr. Dorro,” said Two-Toes, filling in for his brother, “… is that these are combat-hardened Battle Dwarves who spend most of their lives fighting goblins on the frontier and keeping the Dwarf kingdom safe. They are brilliant warriors—cunning, heartless, and prone to kill first and ask questions later. With that in mind, sir, I’d say you have a very big problem.”

  Dorro just gulped and looked about helplessly. He was a librarian, not a fighter. If only Sheriff Forgo were here. Dorro felt like crying, but instead was shocked to find all the Halflings around him cheering and clapping.

  What have I done? he wondered. I guess these folks do respect me! My, maybe I can take on these Battle Dwarves! Yes I can, yes I ….

  Suddenly, the Thimble Downers all surged towards him, arms outstretched to hug him and lift him on their shoulders proudly, a symbol of the indomitable Halfling. But instead, they ran right past him. Perplexed, Dorro stood frozen for a second and slowly turned around.

  Behind him, in the doorway of the gaol, stood a scraggly, scruffy fellow scratching his overgrown beard and rubbing his belly.

  “Say, what does a guy have to do to get something to eat ‘round here? I’m could eat a whole herd o’ sheep!”

  At this, the crowd exploded into more yet cheering and crying.

  Sheriff Forgo was back.

  Aramina

  Dorro at least had the presence of mind to call for Nurse Pym. He called out to Gadget Pinkle, and the red-haired boy was off like a shot. Someone had fetched Sheriff Forgo a chair so he could sit in the sun. Another sprinted to the Bumbling Badger and returned with a well-cooked lamb leg, some crusty bread, and a small tankard of ale.

  The lawman’s eyes bulged when he saw the basket of food, though it was at that precise moment that Nurse Pym showed up. “Hold on now, Forgo. Don’t you dare take a bite of that lamb!”

  “Wha?...” Forgo was crestfallen. “I haven’t eaten for weeks. Look at me—I’m as skinny as Bedminster Shoe!”

  The crowd laughed as Pym checked Forgo’s eyes and tongue and listened to his chest. “Well, I’ll be darned; your lungs are as empty as your head. I can’t hear any sign of the Grippe.” Another cheer from the Thimble Downers.

  “Fine, eat your meal, but slowly. You don’t want to lose your lunch as soon as you down it, if you get my meaning.”

  Rubbing his hands together gleefully, Forgo grabbed the basket while still chomping on the lamb bone. “Slow down, Forgo! Oh, I give up—I have real patients to deal with.”

  “Thank you, Jessie,” squeaked the Sheriff, drawing an evil glare from the healer (who hated being called by her given name), but hurrahs from the crowd. “Long live Nurse Pym! Long live Nurse Pym!” they cried. And truly, Pym was one of the hardest working folks in all Thimble Down.

  “Now Winderiver, what are you doing here, addressing the crowd?” continued Forgo between bites. “Don’t tell me—”

  “Don’t you mock me, Sheriff! I’ve been working my bottom off as your temporary replacement and am knackered through and through,” snarled the bookmaster. “However, I’d be more than delighted to return the post to you. This occupation is thankless!”

  Choosing diplomacy over an easy laugh, Forgo quietly thanked Dorro for covering his job for him and said he might need to stay on a few days more until he got his strength back. A few Thimble Downers even clapped for Dorro, which diffused the situation and gave the sensitive bookmaster a little feeling of warmth from his fellow villagers.

  “So what’s the story with these Dwarves?” grumbled Forgo, as he moved on to the crusty bread and ale.

  “You know as much as I do,” said Dorro, “and in fact, now we’ll learn together.”

  Again the crowd parted and, indeed, a gang of Dwarves stomped right up to the gaol where Dorro, Forgo, and the other Northlanders were standing. One of the fiercest Battle Dwarves emerged from the back of the pack and spoke: “We have come for vengeance, little Halflings. One of our own is dead because of you and I want his head brought to me. And if you can’t provide that, we shall find the villain for ourselves and cut his tongue, boil his feet, and remove his toes and fingers one by one with a dull knife. At that point, we may let him live or simply remove his head with my axe. Now—where is he?”

  “Hello, sister.”

  The fierce Dwarf turned its head and opened its mouth, yet no sound came out.

  Crumble kept speaking instead: “Sheriff and Mr. Dorro … may I introduce the one and only Malachite Molly, one of the most lethal Dwarves in all the Northland. She has slain hundreds of invading goblins and trolls and, along with her fighters, kept us safe for decades. Yet you should also know her other name. This here is my former sister-in-law, Aramina. That is, Mrs. Aramina Wump.”

  Dorro’s face fell into a dumb stare.

  “Mrs. Wump?”

  The Chamber

  Dorro stared at the stout, filthy warrior. (Indeed, he originally thought it to be a male, though to be sure, instead of a full beard, there were only a few scraggly whiskers on her chin.) He turned to Crumble: “But you said Wump was unattached.”

  “You may address me, Halfling,” said Aramina brusquely. “Wumpie was my first husband, but we were too different to make it last. He was a gem-lover, a rock digger, a cave dweller. Me, I longed for the outdoors and a life of adventure on the frontier. Hunting goblins is what I was made for. Poor Wumpie—he just wanted to count his gold ingots and dig and dig and dig …”

  Wumpie? thought Dorro.

  “How long has it been, Aramina?” asked Crumble.

  “Oh, I left Wumpie nigh on twenty years ago. You ain’t changed much yourself in that time, Crumble.” Upon scanning the others, “And look at you, Flume, Two-Toes, and Magpie—you’re all fatter and much grayer, but really so much the same. We had such fun back then. Are there any others?”

  “My son, Orli, is around somewhere, though I haven’t seen him today. He’s peeved at me for a family matter.”

  “A son? Why Crumble, you romantic devil. Where’s his mother? She must have been a beauty!” exclaimed Aramina.

  “Ah, she was. But we lost my Clodagh many years back.” Crumble looked wistful and sad. “It was a goblin attack while we were traveling between caverns—they got us in the open. Only half made it home. Orli never really knew her.”

  “If I’d have been there, none of them goblins would have returned home with their heads attached to their necks!” Aramina’s face clouded over. “You have my deepest regrets, brother. And even though Wump could not live with
a warrior-wife, I still regard you buffoons as my own kin.”

  “And we feel the same, sister. But if you’ve come to Thimble Down to find Wump’s killer, you’ll have a devil of a time. This here is Mr. Dorro, who’s leading the investigation—he’ll tell you plain as day we have no suspects.”

  “That would be correct, Mrs. Wump, if I may call you that.” Dorro was excellent at playing the diplomat. “We found your late husband with many broken bones, but no leads. It could be anyone.”

  “We have our own ways, Master Halfling, and will conduct ourselves as we see fit. We are Battle Dwarves and answer to no one.”

  “Now hold on, Missy—I’m Sheriff Forgo, and this is my town. No one goes about here with axes and swords unless I say so!”

  “So, we have a Halfling with a spine, do we?” Aramina Wump laughed. “And a cute one at that. Look at that nice belly, though you need a little fattening up. If you could grow your beard out, Sheriff, you might pass for a Dwarf.”

  Ignoring her, Forgo went on, “I will allow you to stay in our village, but there shall be no violence or intimidation. If I hear of anything, I’ll toss you out of Thimble Down myself!”

  Aramina winked at Forgo and cooed, “I’d like to see ya try, handsome. But believe me, I will find me husband’s killer. And if I can’t do it with these fine fellows,” she said, gesturing to her troop of warriors, “I will summon the rest of my battalion and we’ll burn this rat’s nest to the ground. We were down in your southlands anyway, tracking a band of marauding goblins, so the rest of our comrades aren’t far away. And if comes to a show of force, I might keep you as my battle prize.”

  She gave the lawman a downright scandalous smile, scratched her hairy chin, and walked off into the heart of the village, looking for food and drink. Crumble and his brothers followed, leaving behind the newly revived Sheriff Forgo, Dorro, and a crowd of awed villagers.

  “Okay, Winderiver, why don’t you help me hobble back into the gaol and you can start filling me in on everything I missed. Seems like it’s going to be a lot!”

  Dorro just rolled his eyes and held out an arm for the still-weak Forgo to grab.