Death of a Dwarf
Page 24
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Go away! Cheeryup yelped in her head, while a frustrated Dorro knocked on the front door of the darkened Tunbridge burrow. As much as I’d like to let you in, Mr. Dorro, I cannot trust you at the moment. Not while Wyll is in gaol and there are so many loose ends!
The girl was huddled in the back room of her mother’s burrow, where she’d been hiding since the wee hours of the night. The past hours were a blur, especially the part about being rescued from gaol by Wyll and Orli, an act—shockingly—abetted by deputy Gadget Pinkle. She was dragged off to the river cave, whereupon the boys brought her to the Pie Thief’s lair. If that wasn’t staggering enough, the subsequent invasion of the cave by Fibbhook and his cronies was the capper.
No, the capper was when they took Wyll and Orli and threw them in gaol. They had the nerve to call the boys the Pie Thieves, as if they comprised some sort of joint criminal enterprise. Pure nonsense! Fibbhook will pay for this, I swear! Cheeryup was incensed by the actions against her friends and swore revenge. Now, I just need Mr. Dorro to go away. I can’t speak to him now.
Fortunately, the bookmaster took the cue and wandered off. He’d even tried the door, but Cheeryup had soundly locked herself in the night before. She had some food, and intentionally left the curtains pulled tight and had lit a small fire in the far-back bedroom where no one would see smoke rising from its chimney.
To all outside appearances, the Tunbridge burrow was cold and empty, the mother lying unconscious in Nurse Pym’s infirmary and the ne’er-do-well daughter off on some lark. But inside the lodging lurked the brilliant mind of young Cheeryup Tunbridge, and for the foreseeable future, she planned on using it as her secret headquarters. The thought mildly thrilled her.
Working quickly in the back room, Cheeryup cleared off a table and dropped the satchel containing the papers she had found the night before. Before beginning, she dashed off to the kitchen to find some sustenance and located a wedge of cheddar cheese and freshly picked apples in the larder. That and a tin cup of water would suffice for the moment.
She opened the fabric bag and pulled out the papers within. It took Cheeryup only a few seconds to realize she’d hit upon a pot of gold. While the words on these parchment pages didn’t mean anything to her, the ink drawings and diagrams clearly indicated something about the black stones and how to burn them in a furnace or stove.
More disturbing were a few pages in the back containing crude pictograms, these ones of Halflings, Men, and other creatures, but all of them sick and dying. The images were horrific and sad, with ailing folk emitting smoke from their lungs, lying on streets in agony, or twisted up in spasms of intense pain in bed. Cheeryup knew these pages contained proof that the black stones used at Bindlestiff’s Smelting Works were causing the Grippe and all its ensuing sickness and death.
The girl wanted to rush to Mr. Dorro and tell him all about it, but she feared his temper and didn’t know if he’d cast her off to gaol as well. She put her hands in her pocket and felt something strange, but knew what it was instantly. Cheeryup pulled a clump of hair from the pocket and examined it.
There was something about the lock of hair that bothered her, but she could not put her finger on it. At that moment, Cheeryup made a decision. She left the hair clump on the table, but stashed the satchel of papers under her mother’s mattress where no one would find it. She slipped to the closet, put a heavy shawl around her head, and snuck out a side window.
Cheeryup had someone she needed to speak with.
The Thief’s Mistake
“Oy, Dimple! Over here!”
It was late afternoon, and a bedraggled Sheriff Forgo sat across the table from the equally worn Dorro Fox Winderiver. A moment later, Dimple Hognoddle lumbered over from the bar.
In the months since he’d been fired by the Thrip family and taken on at the Hanging Stoat, the boy had matured greatly. First, he was just washing crockery and sweeping floors, but now had moved on to taking orders and pulling pints on occasion, as well as some basic bookkeeping after hours.
“Gimme a big black-and-tan; Winderiver will have a small honeygrass whiskey. And bring us some bread and cheese, too.” Dimple toddled off to the bar. “He’s doing well here, I’ve heard. You should be pleased.”
“I know Wyll and Cheeryup did everything they could to get him a job here—they may have washed a few dishes themselves to grease Mungo up!” Dorro laughed, but missed his young friends and frowned. He and Forgo each pulled out their pipes, tamped down the Old Nob tobacco, and lit them. In moments, they were each floating in a sea of fragrant smoke—not the acidic effluence of the smeltery, but the sweet, tangy aroma of nicely aged leaf.
“So where are we, Sheriff? Is this case making any sense to you? Ah, thank you, Dimple.” The serving boy suddenly arrived with the drinks and food, and Dorro slipped a coin into his hand as he departed.
“I was unconscious for half of it, so I’m making up for lost time now. All I know if that we have no idea who killed Wump; a squad of Battle Dwarves are hanging around the village; and there are two lads in the gaol who some claim are, jointly, the Pie Thief. And if those boys are the thieves, I’m Osgood Thrip!”
Dorro smirked, but knew it was all true. “So what did you find out from the lads this afternoon? Anything of use?”
“Not much. Just that they are innocent and stumbled onto the stolen goods, which is pretty much what I thought anyway. To the cave I also sent Gadget, Farmer Duck, and about half a dozen other Thimble Downers I can trust. They will retrieve everything and bring it back to the gaol. But that doesn’t tell us who the thief was nor anything else of value. Wyll even said if I let them go, they’d go get the answer, but that’s all they told me. I think they’re planning something anyway, but that’s just my instinct. What’s the matter?”
“Sheriff, do you have anyone guarding Wyll and Orli at the moment?”
“I sent Gadget to the cave and locked them boys in myself,” said Forgo with confidence.
Dorro buried his face in his hands and shook his head. Red faced, he spoke quietly. “I could kick myself. Why was I such a fool? I should have spoken to Wyll today—he’s still mad at me, and knowing him, won’t deign to spend any more time in your gaol cell, Forgo. No offense, but you could clean every once in a while for your guests!”
“They’re prisoners! I don’t clean for them lowlifes!” Forgo bellowed.
“Those lowlifes are Wyll and his friend!” countered Dorro. “And that boy is the nephew of some Battle Dwarves who aren’t too fond of you anyway.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that your gaol isn’t the most pleasant place to reside, especially for my hard-headed nephew. So what do you think he’s going to do, my dear Sheriff?”
The candle in Forgo’s head flickered to life. “Oh. They’re going to break out again, aren’t they.”
“My guess is that they’ve already done so and are now making their way into the Great Wood. Moreover, when Aramina—that is, Malachite Molly—discovers her favorite nephew Orli has flown the coop, she may have a few choice words to share with you. Do you understand now?”
Sheriff Forgo stared into his beer for a second and chugged it down in a few gulps. He stood, grabbed some bread and cheese, and threw a few coins on the table. “I may have bungled this one, Winderiver.”
Forgo rarely apologized, and this was one of those rare occasions. “Sheriff, I’d say we bungled it, just as we have every step of this case. It’s time for us to get serious and start putting the pieces together.”
“And how do we do that?”
Dorro knocked back his honeygrass whiskey and tapped his chin with his free hand.
“We find Cheeryup!”