by Pete Prown
* * *
And this is what the letter said:
“Good Day to ya, Sheriff! ‘Tis I, Crumble, the Northland Dwarf. I hope the dawn finds you well, at least better than our friend here. We have, as you can see, found our Mr. Bindlestiff and administered our own brand of law—we hope ya don’t mind, but felt obliged to finish the job.”
“You see, when we heard ol’ Bindler was on the run again, we knew it was our time to act. It didn’t take long to find him, cowering behind a few burrows in Fell’s Corner. Aramina has a knack for tracking game in the wild, and finding this porker was a cinch for her. She verily sniffed him right out, like truffles in the dirt! Ooo, but did he howl and whine at the sight of our bunch o’ mugs, all laughin’ and hollerin’.”
“We discussed it amongst ourselves and tried to come up with a fitting punishment for such an evil creature. Not only had Bindlestiff knowingly imported black stones to the South and imperiled yer folk’s health (something I did not know and still feel aggrieved about), but he encouraged Wump’s greediness, to the point where my brother decided to kill not only myself, but my boy Orli. Yet that is—or should I say was—Mr. Hiram Bindlestiff: a greedy business feller who cared little for those around him. Only for them’s that brought him gold, silver, and wealth of every kind.”
“Aramina, a-course, wanted to chop his fingers ‘n’ ears off, but we talked her out of it. We voted and decided that, according to Dwarf law, his punishment should be death, which was fine by us. But we do have some compassion, so recalling the disposition of my brother, we gave him many jiggers of your excellent honeygrass whiskey, all laced with sizable draughts of our belladonna juice. Ol’ Bindler was in excellent spirits, thinking we wuz all friends and this would blow over by morning. He simply fell asleep, never to awaken again. We checked his heart and breath, and knew Hiram Bindlestiff was a blight on this earth no more; he died a contented Halfling, dreaming happily of coins and stacks of silver bars.”
I” must credit my brothers Two-Toes, Flume, and Magpie for developing the next part of the plan. Considering how Bindlestiff made his fortune off the melting, purifying, and refining of metals, we decided to smelt the ol’ bugger himself!”
“So last night, in the wee hours, we lit up one of the furnaces in the closed forge and whipped up a vat of hot pyrite. When it was good ‘n’ hot, looking like liquid star-shine, we dipped the Bindler’s corpus in a few times until he was well covered. Then lickety-split, me brothers got him out, cooled it, and set him to a perfect standing posture.”
“And that, gentlemen is what you have in front of you—the life-like form of Mr. Bindlestiff, all expertly cast in pyrite. Or, as most folks call it, Fool’s Gold. We felt it quite the right material in which to cast this fine gent, considering his rank and personage and all that muckety-muck. Considering the care we took in dippin’ him, I’d say he’ll stay fine the way he is for a month or two; thence you can peel off the pyrite and dispose of the remains as ye see fit.”
“As for us Dwarves, we have since skedaddled from the fine burg of Thimble Down as fast as we could, owing to the fact that we just murdered a feller and didn’t feel like spending any more time larking about yer gaol. Most of us shall return to Gildenhall and resume digging, gathering, and smelting metals for the use of our brethren.”
“As for me, my life took a sudden twist earlier last night when Aramina—the aforementioned Malachite Molly—asked me to become her betrothed. While I am quite fond of the lass, at first I demurred, owing to the fact that she’s a fighter who lives in open country, while I’m a digger and a metalsmith of a sorts.
But Aramina said that she’d give up her fightin’ ways just to be with me, and would return to Gildenhall. Now, I know this lady and knew that would be a life of misery for her, yet was touched at her sacrifice. We discussed the matter more, and she offered up a fine notion.”
“‘Why not join our battalion, Crumbly?’ she said. ‘We’ve never had a blacksmith in our ranks and are forever fighting with dull swords and notched axes. Why, if you wuz with us, we could keep our weapons sharp and protect our lands from them goblins even better! We could even get you a homey wagon for yer tools, put some stout ponies up front to pull it, and a portable furnace on wheels bringin’ up the rear. And sometimes, you ‘n’ me can sneak into the wagon for a little smoochin’!”
“Why, Sheriff Forgo, that was an offer I could not turn down. Not only would I be with a grand lady, but I could see the countryside, practice my craft, and do my bit to protect the Wide Green Open from them horrible goblins, trolls, and worse. And after this bit of mischief, I feel it’s my time to give back and do the right thing.”
“And that’s where our story ends. I’m sure Orli will miss your Wyll something fierce, but I bet their paths with cross again, and perhaps the lad can come visit Gildenhall again. My brothers and I, along with my bride-to-be, wish you, Mr. Dorro, and the fine folks of Thimble Down the very best.”
To your Good Health,
Crumble, the Dwarf