Death of a Dwarf

by Pete Prown

  * * *

  Dorro’s next stop was northward.

  With Orli beside him, they borrowed ponies and sped up the road towards West-Upper Down. All about them was devastation from the fighting: burnt-out burrows, blasted trees, and many corpuses, some so ravaged that the bookmaster couldn’t tell if they were goblin, Dwarf, or Halfling.

  He was sure some elves and Men-folk had also been killed, but their bodies had been retrieved by their own kind for burying elsewhere. Indeed, he noticed some parties of Dwarves in the distance, gathering up their own dead for the final ritual. He remembered Wump’s funeral and knew that many of these corpuses would be burnt as they were sent to the next world.

  The goblin dead would get no such honor. Their bodies would be loaded onto wagons and dragged many miles into the Great Wood where they’d be left as carrion for the wolves, bears, and vultures. It was cold justice, many felt.

  Along the way, the bookmaster thought about the one outstanding thread that hadn’t fit into place: the murder of Wump. The more he learned about this Dwarf, the more he disliked him. Unlike honest, amiable Crumble and his equally lighthearted brothers, Wump was out for the benefit of Wump—he certainly knew the sale of the black stones was, if not illegal, then designed solely for his own profit. And quite intentionally he didn’t cut his brothers in. Dorro wasn’t sure what was the norm in Dwarf culture, but still, it didn’t paint an attractive image of Wump. At times, he wasn’t even sure if Aramina liked the Dwarf—and she was once his wife!

  Could she have killed him?

  Dorro let that idea roll around inside his head for a moment as he and Orli trotted up the road.

  She does like her work, as bloodthirsty as it may be. Knocking off Wump would be like swatting a flea to her. And she could justify it by saying she was protecting the reputation of the other Dwarves.

  Dorro let other figures flow through his mind as potential murderers.

  What about Crumble or any one of his brothers? Or in fact, Orli? He had no love for his uncle, as Wyll has told me. Apparently Wump beat the boy not long ago. But these brothers seem so jovial together and Crumble’s threats to avenge his brother’s death feel credible. This brings me to Bindlestiff and Fibbhook. They are the most likely culprits—maybe the deal went bad or Wump decided to rat them out to his brothers. Dash it all!

  Dorro was frustrated by this large web of potential murders and motives. It confused him, but at least he knew one thing—the reason for Wump’s murder was about silver or gold. This, he felt, was a fact. Indeed, it was the root of most murders.

  “Here we are, Orli!”

  Dorro and the Dwarf boy pulled up on their reins and jumped off their ponies. The bookmaster looked around and saw that the village of West-Upper Down had been largely spared the ruination of Upper Down and parts of Thimble Down. Some chewed-up turf and fields, perhaps, but the goblins must have raced through this tiny hamlet on their way to the bigger prize, knowing they could come back and lay waste here on their return.

  Dorro banged on Mrs. Finch’s door, which was locked and all silent within.

  “Children! Mrs. Finch! This is Dorro Fox Winderiver. Are you alive? Please!”

  “Knock again, Mr. Dorro,” begged Orli. “And if that doesn’t work, my axe could take it down in a heartbeat.”

  The burly Dwarf boy laid his hand on his axe head, a formidable piece of metal that could probably take down a mid-size oak tree in a one swing.

  To both their surprises, they heard tittering. It evolved into giggling and full-on laughing. They looked up, and there on the roof of the burrow were two younglings and an old, frail Halfling woman, laughing heartily.

  “You didn’t see us, Mr. Dorro?” hooted Cheeryup. “We’ve been up here the whole time, looking right at you, you silly goose!”

  “We were so intent on the door, that we … oh poo!”

  Dorro put his hands on his hips and looked exasperated. “Do get down here, you irksome child and that other one, and let me hug you both! And do help Mrs. Finch down carefully. You owe her your lives!”

  A moment later and they were all together again, hugs and cheer going around freely.

  “However can I thank you, Mrs. Finch? You did me the greatest favor of my life—for once, I didn’t put these two in harm’s way.”

  “’Tis nothing, Mr. Dorro. My late husband, Nate, was fond of your Ma and Pa, and they were kind to him. Younglings, I remember this gent when he was but a toddler running around the yard with no pants on! Oooo, he had the softest, pinkest bottom you ever saw. All covered with dimples, it was!”

  At that, she and the young ones all laughed again, while Dorro blushed a deep shade of plum.

  “Please, Mrs. Finch! These children don’t need to hear this. But my offer stands—I shall do you any favor I can.”

  “None be required, Mr. Dorro,” cackled the old woman. “I was glad no to be alone during this ordeal.”

  Suddenly, Wyll and Cheeryup began to confer and whisper to themselves. Then they ran over and whispered into the bookmaster’s ear.

  “I see … I see! Well, well, Mrs. Finch, the younglings here have divulged interesting information—for example, you have a leaky roof. And your furniture smells moldy. And your bed springs creak.”

  “Oh dear, none of that matters to me. I’m just an old woman who lives alone here, tending my garden and talking with me friends and neighbors.”

  “Regardless of those facts, madam, I may have a solution. Owing to the fact that the smeltery in Thimble Down has just been closed, I know for a fact that a certain number of skilled workers will soon be available and looking for employment, at least temporarily. If you would allow me to hire them to re-fit your burrow, in effect, you’d be doing these Halflings a tremendous favor. They need the work, you need some tidying-up done, and I need to repay a debt to a very kindly, sweet old friend. What do you say, Mrs. Finch: yay or nay?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Dorro, it’s all so sudden—”

  “I’ll take that as a yes!”

  At that, Dorro bent over and gave the ancient lady a kiss on her brow, causing the lady to blush this time.

  At that, Mrs. Finch invited them all inside to have tea on her moldy and soon-to-be-ridded-of old furniture.

  The Trouble with Wump

  With Mrs. Finch’s burrow projects squared away and the children back in the village, Dorro refocused on the murder of Wump.

  A little after supper, Dorro ambled through the village, watching his fellow Thimble Downers begin to rebuild their homes and lives. He reached his destination and knocked. A minute later, a face peeked out of the door and invited him in.

  Very discretely, Dorro asked the gentleman if he could spare a few minutes for a walk. It would be very beneficial, he assured the gent.

  Very beneficial, indeed.