by Pete Prown
* * *
“Wyll, arise!”
“Wha—?”
“Wake yourself, tom-noddy! We’re being stalked!”
Wyll sat up and saw Orli crouched in a fighting position by the last embers of the fire. “Who is it?”
“I was a fool! We slew the deer and left his remains in the field. Its scent brought others.”
“Others?” asked Wyll quietly.
A single howl pierced the night, sending a shiver down Wyll’s spine. “Black wolves,” said Orli without a trace of emotion. “We’re surrounded.”
As if on cue, the boys became aware of the glint of yellow eyes surrounding their camp, as well as the sounds of soft growling.
“Gather up all your bags and pull your knife, Wyll. I’ll build the fire up as much as possible.”
“Why don’t we run for it, Orli? Maybe we can outpace them.”
The Dwarf boy laughed. “If you were the fastest pony, you might have a chance, but a Dwarf and a Halfling against a pack of black wolves would be run down quickly. Our end would not be good. Our best bet is to use fire to ward them off and hope they retreat at dawn, which isn’t far off. Either way, our odds aren’t good.”
Orli quickly set about gathering all the nearby sticks and branches, as did a terrified Wyll. The Dwarf even lit bits of grass, anything to intimidate the wolves. But they did not seem much deterred, inching ever closer.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Wyll was accepting the fact that they were severely outnumbered and underarmed. A shadow loomed out of the darkness, and a big, coal-colored wolf moved closer—he was clearly testing them. It growled a few times, drawing the boys’ attention. It was only at the last second that Orli realized the trick.
“Wyll, look out!” As the big wolf crept closer, two smaller members of the pack snuck up behind them and charged.
Wyll spun around to find one of the creatures springing towards him. The force of its body knocked him down, and its sharp paws dug into his shoulders. With bright yellow teeth, the wolf bit into his shoulder and shook its head violently, tearing muscle. It yelped as Orli drove his big knife into its side and the monster ran off, but the other wolf grabbed Wyll’s ankle and began dragging him away as if a small rabbit.
“No, you shall not take my friend!” screamed Orli, as he slashed at the wolf, wounding its neck. It too drew off, but the big black wolf saw its chance and leapt onto the Dwarf boy’s back, knocking him forward onto his knees. It too bit deep, but mostly got a mouthful of his backpack. Now the rest of the wolf pack pressed in, savaging both boys. Orli spun to face the big wolf and was feebly trying to stab it when a mighty axe sailed through the air and cleaved the beast’s ribcage. It howled, ran a few yards, and fell down dead.
To their bewilderment, a rain of black arrows filled the air, impaling wolves left and right, as they screeched and yelped. Orli looked to find Wyll, only to see his unconscious, bloodied body on the ground a few feet away. He crawled over to his friend and did his best to use his own body as a shield, in case a stray arrow flew too close. Around the pair, wolves screamed in death, as more shafts, axes, and hatchets rained death upon the pack.
The last thing Orli saw, as the gray vestiges of dawn were beginning to dance over the horizon, was a pair of thick leather boots approaching him in the faint light.
He blacked out and remembered no more.
Run to Earth
It was a pleasant-enough morning, Gadget figured. Could be worse. Could be raining. Or cold and miserable.
Instead, the sun was peeking out from the clouds, and there was a mild temperature, at least for a deputy’s patrol of the village. Gadget Pinkle did this every day, walking a beat around the lanes of Thimble Down under Sheriff Forgo’s instructions.
“You do this, boy, and you’ll be a seasoned lawman in no time, just like the great Deputy Bosco,” he’d say in his deep, gravelly voice.
The red-haired lad frowned. Honestly, I’m sick of Deputy Bosco, thought Gadget. He was a nice feller, but he’s a saint in Forgo’s eyes and Forgo never stops prattlin’ on about him. I’ll never be good enough.
Aside from having to live up to that impossible standard, Gadget rather enjoyed being a deputy. The hours were easy, and the duties none too onerous, ’cept every once in a while when the Sheriff blew his lid.
But it’s better than lifting heavy barrels or driving a wagon, he figured, plus it put few a few pennies in his pocket every week. Gadget was a creature of simple pleasures.
Suddenly, he heard sounds emanating from his lower stomach.
Thwarrrnnngg! Burrraappph!
They were not good sounds—almost like a musician tuning the lowest string of a bass fiddle. A sharp pain shot through his stomach, and he almost doubled over.
“Ooooch!” was all he could muster to say.
When the pain subsided, he looked up and spied an empty bench under a nearby maple tree whose leaves were golden and ready to fall. Gadget moved as quickly as he could to get to the bench, just in a case he had to lie down.
Brannggwwwhhherrrr!
Another spasm lurched through his gut as he reached the bench and sat down hard. Beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt faint. The deputy suddenly feared that he had the Grippe.
“Don’t worry, Gadget. It will pass soon enough.”
The young lawman whipped his head to the left, only to observe the curious vision of Miss Cheeryup Tunbridge sitting on the other end of the bench. She hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Whorcher say?” Gadget grabbed his abdomen again, wincing in pain.
“I said it won’t last long, Gadget. It never does.”
“What doesn’t last long?” The young man still didn’t understand why this girl was sitting next to him with a strange smile on her face. As if she was enjoying his pain.
“Getting poisoned by appleseed oil. It should stop in just a few minutes.”
“And why, young lady—owwww! [grabbing his gut again]—would I have appleseed oil poisoning? And pray tell, just what is appleseed oil?”
Gadget was annoyed by now. How dare this bratty child talk to him in his hour of agony and taunt him with riddles. And he let her and her ruddy friends break out of gaol a few days ago, too—how’s that for thanks! Maybe it’s time to run this Tunbridge brat back into the clinker, he thought.
“Appleseed oil is the oil made from apple seeds, silly,” laughed Cheeryup in a superior tone. “It has many mechanical uses, of course, but my mother uses it on her sewing apparatus to keep the gears lubricated. It’s completely natural and lethal only in large doses, so don’t worry. You’re only slightly poisoned.”
By this time, Gadget Pinkle’s jaw was hanging loose, and his gaze fixed on the strange girl. But he noticed that the pains were indeed subsiding. “How do you know I was poisoned with this appleseed oil?”
“Because I poisoned you. Last night. Isn’t this too much fun?”
By now, Cheeryup, was tittering, while the deputy felt he was in the presence of evil itself, instead of a tiny, twelve-year-old girl.
“You … What?”
“You heard me, Gadget. I poisoned you and I couldn’t be more delighted. You see, my mother taught me all about appleseed oil when I was young and told me never to put it to my lips—it was strictly for her sewing uses. Still, if I ever did, she said, and it was only a teaspoon or less, I shouldn’t worry, as I’d just get a terrible stomachache and it would go away. But if I drank, say, the whole bottle, I’d be a goner because it has a terrible poison in it. Fortunately for you, you’ve only had a teaspoon or two.”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
Moving closer to him on the bench, Cheeryup smiled and said, “I’m not trying to kill you, you goose. I’m trying to run you to ground. Because I know what a rotten, stinking rat you are.”
“I am not a rat! I’m a deputy!” Gadget felt downright insulted. His pride was wounded.
She reached up and put a kindly hand on
his shoulder. “I know you’re a deputy, dear Gadget, and I respect that.”
Gently, Cheeryup reached up, grabbed his left ear, and gave it a hellacious twist.
“Ow-ow-ow! Worcher do that for?” screamed the young man, writhing on the bench and drawing the attention of passersby.
Drawing her face near and whispering, “Because, dear Gadget, you’re the Pie Thief. I know because I put appleseed oil in my blueberry muffins last night and left them all at the Ghost’s Walk. And I hid across the way, that is, until I saw a tall, skinny boy like you come out of the alley, grab a tray of muffins, and verily skip down the Ghost’s Walk with the prize in his hand. In a nip, I gathered up all the other muffins I had hidden and threw them down the well. My only other task after that was to wait until this morning and look for someone who had a terrible stomachache. And that would be you.”
Cheeryup let go of Gadget’s ear and stood back smugly.
“Fine, I ate the muffins, but that doesn’t prove nuffin’! I was out for a walk last night, saw the goodies, and scarfed a few down. Big deal? Don’t mean I’m no Pie Thief.” Gadget beamed back at her proudly. “Now, young lady, I’m taking you down to the gaol where you belong.”
“Oh dear,” said Cheeryup, beginning to tear up. “Now I have to go back to that awful gaol and tell Sheriff Forgo all about how you broke into my burrow and stole back Mr. Bindlestiff’s papers. Well, if we must …”
“Hold on there!” barked Gadget. “You think you’re so clever. How do you know it was me?”
“Because you left pie crumbs everywhere. Is that your calling card? And you also took a lock of hair I’d found in the cave.”
“So?”
“Because it was bright red hair, Gadget—the same color as yours!”
The deputy looked concerned for a minute, but rebounded quickly. “Oh, that could-a been anyone’s hair.”
Seeing that her superior logic wasn’t getting her anywhere, Cheeryup Tunbridge took a different course. “Fine, you win, Gadget. Let me congratulate you before you take me to gaol.”
She held out her hand, which the deputy graciously took in his own and shook. That, of course, was his mistake. For no sooner had Gadget Pinkle shaken her hand than she’d twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him face-first onto the bench—hard.
Just as fast, Cheeryup climbed up on his back and carefully nestled her right knee in his spine, pressing down for maximum effect. The pain was so bad that Gadget couldn’t even make a sound—his face was contorted in a silent scream of agony.
“I’ve had it with you, Gadget. Are you, or are you not, the Pie Thief?”
“No!” he gasped, but that only made Cheeryup knee him harder in the back. “Yes, yes, yes! I am!”
“And did you have a tangle in your hair and cut it out with a knife, leaving it carelessly in the cave?”
The poor deputy could only nod by this point, tears streaming down his cheek.
“Yes!”
She eased up her knee and let Gadget lie there panting heavily for a minute. “This is what we’re going to do, Gadget, unless you want me to hurt you again. First, you’re going to give me Mr. Bindlestiff’s papers. You’re going to go back to the gaol and keep your mouth shut. And last, your thieving days are over. By the way, why did you do it?”
Slowly sitting up, Gadget looked at her like a sad puppy. “Because I was bored,” he sobbed. “Thimble Down is such a slow, quiet little town and I needed something to do. I didn’t even care about the stuff I took. It was just jolly fun taking things and getting away with it—it’s the only real talent I have. I’d have given it all back eventually, I promise!”
Cheeryup looked at him sternly. “You know, I believe you, Gadget. But you will turn to good now and stop your thieving. If you start using your talents to curb crime in the village, you’ll be as good as Bosco any day. If not better!”
“You think so?” Gadget brightened. “You think I can be as good a deputy as Mr. Bosco. You mean it?”
“I do. Now, where’s the papers? We have a deal, remember.”
Gadget Pinkle froze for a few seconds, as if making a decision.
“Come! Follow me!”
Band of Dwarves
Wyll drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days. Maybe it was.
Occasionally, he felt the sensation of rough hands pulling him up and pouring a savory broth down his throat, but he barely remembered it. Then came the chills and fever, and the feeling of being laden with dozens of blankets or animal pelts. There were glimpses of strange faces, sounds, and smells, all interlaced with long periods of groggy sleep. He knew he was not outdoors, but that’s about it.
“Oy Wyll! Wake up! Come on, sleepyhead. I’m getting bored of your company, mate.”
Wyll opened his eyes and looked around. He had no idea where he was; his eyes moved around the space—a cave, perhaps—and fixed on his friend Orli.
“There you are! ’Bout time! You’ve been napping and lollygagging all week.”
“Umm, sorry,” Wyll croaked. In a second, Orli brought an animal skin to his lips and let him sip some cool water. It felt good. “Where am I?”
“We, young Wyll, are in the company of some very excellent Dwarves, the same fellows who saved our lives,” noted Orli. “If it weren’t for these blokes, we’d be wolf food.”
“Really?”
“Yessir. And believe me, it was close. If these goblin fighters hadn’t found us, we wouldn’t be talking. But as it was, there’s one less pack of black wolves roaming about. One of ’em had a nice bit of your shoulder for a snack, while another chewed up your leg. But you’ll survive.”
Wyll knew something was wrong with his left shoulder, and this explained it. “Now who’s this yer talkin’ to, Orli?” A gruff figure came up behind him. “Ah, the little Halfling pup. He looks better.”
“Thanks to you, Tarquin, he seems fit for the walk home.”
“Oh, he won’t be walking. We have a pony for him, but we do have to get moving. The cold weather is coming fast, and we want to get home to our families for a while. At least until we must hunt the orkus again.”
The Dwarf stomped off, and Wyll noticed a general bustle in the air; these Dwarves were indeed preparing for departure.
“Are we going with them, Orli?”
“Most certainly, Wyll. Our luck couldn’t be better—this band is coming off a long patrol of our borders and is headed back to the kingdom, same as us. We will have safe envoy to my home.”
“And then what?”
“That I don’t know, but in the meantime, eat some of this broth and try to stretch yer limbs. We shall be departing in an hour.”