by Pete Prown
* * *
“Maybe I can be of assistance here, Crumble.”
It was Dorro, speaking softly from the back of the burrow.
“You see, your brothers are very crafty fellows and knew not only how to break bones without any evidence of it, but also how to put him into a deep, dreamless sleep from which he’d never return. It’s something I’ve been puzzling over since you arrived in Thimble Down—the belladonna drops you put into your beer to kick them up a notch. Of course, belladonna is terribly poisonous to Halflings, but only mildly so to Dwarves, hence the small narcotic effect you get when adding it to your ales. Yet if one were to put a dramatic amount into a glass of wine, why, you’d even render a Dwarf unconscious.”
There was silence, as Dorro kept going.
“And that’s what your brothers did, Crumble. On the night the children were caught breaking into Bindlestiff’s office, they also found the letter—I recall you saying you went for a long walk, Crumble. That is perfectly in keeping with the timeline. As you were out, they had time to offer Wump a jolly glass of wine, or more likely honeygrass whiskey, one laced with a potent dose of belladonna. I’m sure it was followed with laughs and pleasantries, as your brothers wanted to remember the Wump they knew as youths—fun, silly, and jolly, long before he turned greedy and evil.”
“Shortly, he fell asleep, probably right there on the bench where Aramina is sitting. Your brothers carried him out back, sewed him into the leather bag, and carried him to the roof of Bindlestiff’s cave. In his already-weakened condition, his heart rate lowered dangerously by the dose of belladonna, your brethren committed the final act of this grim play. They beat Wump to death with rocks and sticks and whatever they found—a fitting death for a thief.”
“At last, they cut him out of the bag, laid his broken, but unbloodied corpus in a nook on top of the smeltery, and quietly returned home before you returned. It was in its own dark way, a brilliantly conceived murder.”
Crumble sat there with Wump’s letter to Bindlestiff in his hands and began scanning its lines. In short order, he found the part about his own murder, as well as Orli’s. He dropped his head and began to wail and moan at the utter tragedy of it all.
The Weapon
“The last remaining piece of this saga, of course, is to apprehend your brother’s co-conspirator, Hiram Bindlestiff.”
Dorro looked at the buttons on his vest distractedly. “It shouldn’t be hard to find him. If I’m correct, he’s likely in the only hiding place of which he knows, one where Fibbhook discovered Wyll a few weeks back. I speak, of course, of the Pie Thief’s cave, up by the River Thimble.”
“My guess is that Bindlestiff is there right now, scared and hungry, but still dreaming up some mischief. As you venture forth to apprehend him, you will want to be on your guard. Sheriff, you may want to accompany these brothers on this excursion, at least if you don’t want rough justice done on the spot.”
“I would agree with you, Winderiver,” rasped Forgo. “We will leave at first light, and I shall come here to collect you gents and lady. I warn you not to get it in your head to try snatching Bindlestiff tonight. The murder of Wump is, unfortunately, outside of my hands—that’s for Dwarf law to decide. But catching Bindlestiff, who’s a Halfling like us, is fully in my jurisdiction, and I intend to follow it through. Do I make myself clear?”
The Dwarves all nodded. Dorro spoke: “Then it is time for us to bid you goodnight. Remember, don’t be too hard on your brothers, Crumble. They acted out of love for you and the boy. And as for Wump, the fellow he became wasn’t the brother you knew or the husband you wed, Aramina. He’d become sick with love of gold and money, and in the end, the disease got the better of him. Best to leave it that way.”
The trio of Thimble Downers turned and let themselves out of the burrow.