by Pete Prown
* * *
“Now be careful, everyone. Bindlestiff might be a buffoon, but that doesn’t mean he’s not quick or armed. A clever fellow like that might have also set a trap or two.” Forgo wasn’t going to take any chances—he wanted this Halfling taken cleanly and safely.
“Oh, come on, Sheriff!” giggled Aramina. “Let Malachite Molly have a little sport with the old frog. I’ll have him chased out in no time, what with me ’n’ my battle axe!”
“She’s right, y’know,” whispered Crumble. “No matter what defenses ol’ Bindler has, Molly will flush ’em out and put them out of commission. She’s like a bleedin’ hunting hound—she can smell trouble!”
“Against my better judgment, I will allow this,” said Forgo gravely. “But again, do not kill him unless it’s a matter of your own imminent death.”
“No worries, skipper! I don’t want him dead yet. We have to put the blighter on trial first and make him admit he’s a rat. Then I’ll cut off his—”
“Aramina, shut it, will you,” barked Crumble. “Now boys, clear a way and let Molly get through. She’ll get this done in half a tick!”
At that, Magpie, Flume, and Two-Toes made a space in their line for Aramina and Molly to get through and approach the cave’s opening. But while Forgo might have gone for a stealthy approach, Molly chose intimidation and fear, launching in a fearful whooping sound that would scare the stoutest of hearts.
“Whooo-lee-lee-lee! Whooo-lee-lee-lee! We’re comin’ to gut ya, Mr. Bindlestiff—or should I say, Bindle-stuffed! Yep, we’re going to stuff you like a pigeon, lest you get your tail out here right quick.”
Clearly Aramina loved her work.
She disappeared into the cave for what seemed like an eternity. The company soon heard loud reports—Bang! Blam! Boom!—the sound of explosions.
“Them’s must be the booby traps she’s triggerin’ off,” muttered Crumble. “Lots of ’em!”
After a few nerve-wracking minutes Malachite Molly stepped into the sunlight and waved for the troupe to approach. A few minutes later, they all stood in front of the orifice, wondering what was up.
“He was here and set a whole bunch o’ nefarious traps—black-powder bombs, cave-ins, fake snakes—he had it all. I can’t find the bugger through …”
Whoosh! A flight of arrows flew through the sky and one pierced Aramina through the shoulder—she screamed in surprise. A second flight came on its heels, striking the heavily armored Dwarves, causing pain and panic. They dove behind trees and rocks, while Two-Toes and Sheriff Forgo grabbed the huntress and pulled her to safety.
“What kind of trickery is this I wonder?” mused Crumble, scanning the tree line on either sides of the entrance.
He bolted northward along the shore, keeping low, Flume and Magpie following him. It didn’t take long for them to return, pulling with them an irate Hiram Bindlestiff, whom they’d hastily bound in rope. And Flume carried a strange-looking wooden creation, something like a scrambled-up loom.
“I knew there’d be a trick, and there was!” sneered Crumble. “How is Aramina?”
Two-Toes looked over the patient and replied, “Just a bolt to the shoulder. I got it out and put some herbs on it. She will heal, though pain will follow for a few weeks. We might ask that Halfling healer Nurse Pym to add a few stitches.
“Ridiculous!” croaked Aramina. “I’m fit as a fiddle and ready to dance! I just want to know how the fat toad got the jump on us.”
“I want my solicitor. I demand my rights!”
Bindlestiff’s cries were silenced by a quick kick from Sheriff Forgo.
“You’re lucky I don’t hold court right here, Bindlestiff,” roared Forgo. “No question we’d find you guilty and hang you from that pine tree. Rough justice, we call it!”
“So how did the old weasel shoot us with such accuracy?” wondered Flume.
“I can guess the answer is here, one I’m rather familiar with,” said Sheriff Forgo referring to the strange loom. “It was a contraption Bindlestiff found in the Pie Thief’s lair and put to use. A few months ago, the thief—who, I still can’t believe, is my own deputy, Gadget—stole the device from our armory; it hadn’t been used for decades. It was invented by a long-deceased Thimble Downer for the defense of our village. The weapon is a lightweight, ground-mounted crossbow on which you could load seven arrows at once. One master drawstring controls all the pulleys. Load the device, pull the drawstring, and fire. It was quite ingenious in fact.”
“So why was it kept quiet all these years?” asked Aramina. “Could be a weapon of great wonder and destruction?”
“Maybe that’s the reason right there,” wondered Forgo. “I think we all knew that this device could be used as much against us as for us. And furthermore, most Thimble Downers would agree that we are creatures of peace, not warfare. So we decided not to go down that road, despite the clever device and its obvious worth to others. Its inventor died soon afterward of natural causes, and we decided to store the darned thing in the armory. And that was the last of it, at least until Gadget got his mitts on it.”
“Oh, how we would love to use such a tool in the goblin wars!” crowed Aramina with glee. “We could mow down the enemy by the score.”
“But what’s to keep the goblins from capturing the weapon from the Dwarves and using it against your soldiers?” Forgo cautioned. “No, it would be best to destroy the accursed thing.”
“Give it to me, Flume,” commanded Crumble, who held the multi-bow and inspected its clever workings. “The Sheriff is right—it’s a devilish instrument. I am sorry, Aramina.”
At that, Crumble lifted it the contraption over his head and smashed it on the ground. He proceeded to stomp all over it, crushing the pulley mechanisms and all other workings. Now no one would be able to copy the infernal weapon.
“Now let’s take our prisoner back to Thimble Down. There is justice that needs to be dealt to this swine and I am hopeful that the Mayor can administer it. If not … we will.”
Fool’s Gold
The entire way back to the village, Hiram Bindlestiff cried and whined about how he was a wronged Halfling, and how Wump had been to blame for everything.
Next, he threatened to have his solicitors sue them all within an inch of their lives. And when that didn’t make his captors free him, he reverted to bribery, offering each of them piles of gold.
“You will be the richest Dwarves in the Northern Kingdom,” begged the smelting kingpin. “Think of it, Sheriff—no more spending nights fighting criminals in Fell’s Corner. Now you’ll be in a comfy feather bed with servants to attend your every need. You know you crave it!”
“Actually, I only wish for two things, Hiram. One of them is a tall, cold pint from Mr. Mungo’s taps. And the other is for you to shut the hell up. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll get either of them.”
Magpie had been sent ahead to find Nurse Pym and bring her to the gaol. Soon they were at the small, round building—one of the few freestanding structures in Thimble Down—and unwinding after a whirlwind of events. With Bindlestiff locked up in the back and Pym attending to Aramina’s wound, the remaining Dwarves returned to their burrow.
After an hour, the lawman decided to leave Gadget Pinkle in charge and set off for that mug of beer at the Hanging Stoat and something savory and warm for luncheon. In his own exhaustion, Bindlestiff was fast asleep in his cell, reducing Forgo’s worry even more. Inside the tavern, Mr. Mungo read Forgo’s expression and led him to a quiet table in the corner; in short order, Freda the barmaid had brought him a mug and a bowl a beef, sage, and potato stew, accompanied by a small jigger of honeygrass whiskey, on the house.
That Mungo is a prince among Halflings, thought Forgo has he tucked into his supper. It was the best meal he’d had in a month, and for the first in a long time, the lawman relaxed.
He left a few coins on the table and strolled back to the gaol, whistling a tune in the cold afternoon air.
“Hello, Gadget, I’m
back!” he chirped as he entered the building. “Gadget, I’m here!” Something wasn’t right.
Forgo rushed back into the cells to find his deputy not only locked in, but also unconscious on the floor. Hastily grabbing a key, he picked up Gadget Pinkle as if he were a rag doll and plunked him on a cot.
“Wake up, boy! Can you hear me, lad!” Forgo even gave the young deputy a few quick slaps to awaken him.
“Oy, me head! What happened?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me, Gadget. I found you on the floor and our prisoner gone.”
The young deputy suddenly looked sheepish.
“Bindlestiff said he had sharp stomach pains and needed some water. So I brought him a ladle-full and he musta jumped me. Hit me with something hard—that pewter bowl, I guess. That’s all I remember.”
“Can you take yourself to Nurse Pym? She should look at your head.” Forgo was disappointed in the young fellow, but remembered how incompetent Bosco had been in his early days and what a brave hero he’d become. Even then, the memory of Bosco stung the Sheriff bitterly.
“No, I’m fine, Sheriff, I really am! Put me to work.”
“Fine, if you say so. Now go get me Dorro Fox Winderiver and tell him to meet me outside the Bumbling Badger. Dash as fast as you can, boy!”