Death of a Dwarf

by Pete Prown

  * * *

  Their first stumbling block was the door to the gaol. Forgo had locked it before falling asleep, which was unusual for him; normally the gaol was open all day and night. For a moment, Wyll was afraid that the Sheriff had been expecting a breakout, but shook that idea away. Fortunately, he knew a fine lock picker, and that person was crouching next to him.

  “Orli, didja bring that tool with you?”

  Wyll could see Orli smiling in the dark, as he fished something out of his pocket. He quietly attacked the lock, twisting and jabbing the long, thin tool into the slot.

  Click. Clack. Click-clack!

  Orli quickly held his finger to his lips and squeezed on the knob. Gently the door swung inwards by a few inches. Happily, they still heard Sheriff Forgo sawing away in his sleep. Wyll cocked his head at Dalbo and disappeared into the pitch-black interior; the wanderer reluctantly followed while Orli stood watch outside.

  Inside, everything moved like clockwork. Dalbo stole through the darkness and gently lifted the keys off Sheriff Forgo’s belt. Indeed, the vagabond was so light and soft on his toes that he moved without making a sound; for a second, Wyll wondered if he were the Pie Thief. No question, if it wasn’t for the drink and laziness, Dalbo would have been a formidable criminal, he figured.

  Moments later, the diminutive being crept into the hall leading to cells in the back and handed the keys to Wyll, holding them tightly so they didn’t tinkle and make noise. “Good lad,” was all that Dalbo whispered before he turned on a penny and disappeared back out the front door.

  True to his word, Dalbo Dall was gone, slipping down the lane. To a casual bystander, this shadow would appear no more than a cat going for a midnight ramble. Within minutes, Dalbo was off into the Great Wood where he planned to stay until things cooled down in the village.

  Back in the gaol, Wyll continued with his plan. He snuck further into the building, listening with each step. He heard light breathing in the back and instantly knew that Cheeryup was asleep. This tousle-headed boy was also light on his feet, nimbly dodging a bench and a tray of dirty dinner plates on the floor—the remains of his friend’s supper.

  He deftly unlocked her cell and moved to her bedside as softly as possibly. “Cheery!” he whispered in the dark. “Cheery, it’s me, Wyll!”

  In a heartbeat, Wyll saw her eyes reflecting in the dark.

  “Took you long enough! Is Orli here, too?”

  “That’s gratitude for ya,” said Wyll, knowing how sharp Cheeryup Tunbridge’s tongue could be. “Yes, he’s outside on guard.”

  “Do you have a plan at least?”

  “Of course, we do! We’re runaway adventurers, Orli ‘n’ me. A-course we have a plan!” snarked Wyll, not sure if he really did have a plan or not. “But we have to move.”

  “One more thing, Wyll Underfoot!” the girl snapped.

  “What? We don’t have much time …” Wyll felt Cheeryup give him a big, wet kiss on the cheek and an even bigger squeeze.

  “Thank you, Wyll. You are my best friend, you know.” Wyll was glad she couldn’t see him blushing in the dark. “Okay, let’s go.”

  The pair turned to leave the cell when a match ignited in the adjoining cell. Wyll and Cheeryup watched the match move in the air and touch the wick of a candle. A hand lifted the candlestick in the air as if by ghostly magic and came towards them. The younglings clasped hands in fear as the flame moved closer and closer, another hand pushing the cell door open and floating towards theirs.

  Finally, the light illuminated a face in the dark, the one they’d completely forgotten about in the adventures. A sound cut through the shadows, the leery voice of a man-child who’d been suddenly awakened and sounded grumpy: “What the heck are you two doing here?”

  In the same breath, Wyll and Cheeryup both gasped, “Gadget Pinkle!”

  In all his haste, Wyll had forgotten about the deputy. The jig was up.

  Snatched

  “What the heck are you doing here?” Gadget was miffed at being awakened by a noisy gaolbreak. “Good gravy, it must be past midnight.”

  “Ummm … we’re visiting the prisoner?” said Wyll, clearly short on ideas.

  “Inside the cell? With the Sheriff’s stolen keys in your hands?” Perhaps not the smartest deputy in the world, Gadget was finally catching on. “You’re trying to bust yer chum out, ain’t ya?”

  Wyll and Cheeryup looked awkwardly at each other. It was the latter who spoke first: “You’re right, Gadget. Wyll can’t stand having me incarcerated, so he came to free me. It’s the truth, I swear!”

  “And I bet the Dwarf boy is outside standing guard. I’s right, ain’t I?”

  “You are, Gadget,” said Wyll sadly. “I ’spose you’re going to lock us all up now.”

  “It would make my life easier t’were I did,” mused the razor-thin deputy, rising from his bunk. “And ol’ Forgo would think his Gadget a top-notch lawman, maybe as good as his esteemed Bosco. I hear about that bloke every day, I do.”

  “Well, Bosco was one of a kind,” noted the girl. “You have big shoes to fill, Gadget, but you’ll get there in time. I know you will.”

  “That’s alright, Miss, but I’ll make my own pair of shoes. I don’t wanna be Bosco, Part Two anyway. I’m Gadget, Part One, if you catch my meaning.”

  “I think we do,” nodded Wyll. “Do you want me to get Orli back here and you can lock us all up together? I promise not to make a run for it, not with Cheery still here. I’ll take my lumps this time.”

  “No you won’t, young man.” Gadget sounded serious, as if he were going to lose his temper.

  “Beg pardon?” Wyll and Cheeryup were both confused.

  “Get going, you silly geese! And be quick about it or the Sheriff will wake up.”

  “You mean you’re letting us go, Gadget?” The younglings were flummoxed.

  “Of course, you ninnies,” laughed Deputy Pinkle, folding his arms and relaxing. “I know you didn’t steal anything from that nasty ol’ Bindlestiff. I ain’t as dumb as I look, and further, I know that three kids couldn’t burglar ol’ Bindler right under his big, fat nose. Even if you did, there are guards on duty at all times in the smeltery—they’d have stopped you for sure. Nah, I think it were an inside job, like. Maybe that rotter Fibbhook.”

  “Why would Fibbhook steal the papers?” wondered Cheeryup, but suddenly they all noticed something else—Sheriff Forgo had stopped snoring.

  “Gadget! Who in St. Borgo’s name are you talking to back there?” It was a sleepy, groggy Sheriff, howling from the front office.

  “No one, Sheriff, just prattling on to myself,” lied Gadget. “I like to pretend I’m an actor onstage—right now, I’m a Battle Dwarf about to fight a pack o’ goblins!”

  “Good grief. Just watch the prisoner and keep yer trap shut,” grumbled Forgo. “I bet those boys are miles away by now, but just in case, keep your eyes peeled.” They heard the Sheriff flop back on his cot and roll to his other side. A few loud snores and grunts followed.

  “Look, little Miss, you and yer pals should skedaddle before Forgo comes back here himself. Pop out the back door and get your Dwarf friend. Skooch!”

  “Thanks mate—we owe ya one!” was all Wyll said as he grabbed Cheeryup’s hand and dragged her from the cell. Within seconds they were out the door, had found Orli, and were bolting back towards the river, running and laughing in the darkness.­

  Meanwhile, Gadget Pinkle waited in the dark until he heard Sheriff Forgo’s snoring settle to a steady rhythm. “Ach, he probably won’t even remember this in the morning,” mused a satisfied Gadget. “But just in case, I need to prepare my alibi.”

  At that, the deputy picked up a ceramic mug and cracked it soundly over his own noggin. Mission accomplished, the red-headed deputy slumped back down on the bunk, blissfully unconsciousness for the rest of the night.