Death of a Dwarf

  * * *

  Orli and Wyll crept through the village in the moonless night, making their way towards Cheeryup’s burrow. It wasn’t late, but neither wanted to be spied—they were enjoying their status as dangerous runaways far too much. They tapped on the Tunbridge’s door, but no one answered.

  “That’s a bit odd. At this time of night, Cheery would be home tending her mother,” mused Wyll. “I hope everything is okay with the old girl—she makes the best muffins in Thimble Down.”

  “All is not well, Master Wyll,” said a creaky little voice in the darkness, causing Wyll and Orli to leap a foot in the air. “’Tis only me, lads. Just poor Dalbo.”

  “You scared the tar out of us, Mr. Dalbo!” said Wyll, clutching his chest. “What happened?”

  “Ermmm, yon friend Cheeryup is, sad to say, a guest in Sheriff Forgo’s gaol.”

  “Wha..?” screamed the boy as quietly as possible.

  “’Tis true. She was detained for stealing the contents of Mr. Bindlestiff’s safe. And I fear there’s a warrant for the arrest of ye boys as well.”

  Orli leapt in, “We never stole anything!”

  “But rumor says you were caught trying to break in,” continued Dalbo Dall. “The general thinking is that ye went back a second time and were successful.”

  “But Mr. Dalbo—this was all your idea! You told us to do it!” cried Wyll.

  “I did suggest going to Bindlestiff’s office, and truly I carry some guilt about that fact. I never should have interfered.” The village wanderer looked sullen in the dim, reflected light of the evening. “Nor did I foresee the Sheriff hauling the poor girl to gaol and her all ballin’ and cryin’. Maybe I should go back to me woods for a while and stop being such a nosey busybody.”

  “Mr. Dalbo, you’re up to your neck in this! And where’s Mrs. Tunbridge?”

  “Ach, she’s still in the hands of the Grippe, so Nurse Pym moved her to an infirmary she’s set up. There are now twenty Thimble Downers in the same sad state. Now, I’ll just be moseying along …”

  “No you won’t—grab him, Orli” The giant Dwarf boy clamped his meaty hands on Dalbo’s shoulders. “We have a mission first.”

  “And what be that, young Master Wyll? Oooch, yer squeezing me shoulders too hard!”

  “You’re coming with us to crack Cheeryup out of gaol. Right now!” The look on Wyll’s face was grim and set.

  “Oh poor Dalbo! Why do I always get myself into these messes,” moaned the tiny vagabond as Wyll and Orli lead him down the lane in the darkness, their hands firmly clamped on each arm.

  There was going to be a gaolbreak!

  The Fugitives

  Sheriff Forgo’s snoring could have woken the dead.

  Wyll, Orli, and Dalbo were crouching outside a dimly lit window by the gaol, discussing ways to break in and purloin Cheeryup, who was stewing in a back cell.

  “This is gonna be easy!” laughed Wyll. “Ol’ Forgo is right unconscious and ain’t gonna wake ’til morning. I’ve been in his gaol before, and it’s a lark to break free.”

  “If you say so, Wyll. I’ve never done this before.”

  The Dwarf boy was nervous, but Wyll’s carefree demeanor proved reassuring.

  “In that case, you won’t be needing little Dalbo.” The wanderer stood and made to leave before Wyll and Orli grabbed his filthy jacket and pulled him down again. “Oooch! I ain’t made of stone, you know! Dalbos can break if you mishandle ’em!”

  “You got us into this mess, Dalbo, and you’ll be the one to fix it!” snarled the normally placid Wyll.

  “Meaning what, young sir?” demanded the tiny Halfling.

  “Meaning that you’ll sneak in there with us to get our Cheeryup out! You get the key from Forgo’s belt and meet me in the back. Understand?”

  “I’m no thief, Master Wyll!”

  “You’re a troublemaker, Dalbo, that’s what you are. You will do as I say, or I will tell everyone in the village that you’ve given up the drink and don’t need their extra pennies anymore. Then you’ll have to get a job like everyone else!”

  “Why, yer a nasty boy, Wyll Underfoot! Crafty, too, just like yer uncle,” fumed Dalbo Dall. “But I appreciate your wily nature—ye be a sneaky fox like Dorro, and that’s an admirable trait when yer in a pinch. So I’ll tell you what; I’ll pinch thems bleedin’ keys, but then I’ll be off like a shot. What ye do after that is no o’ my business! Ol’ Dalbo is a wily fox, too, and before you know it, I’ll vanish into the woods. Deal?”

  Wyll extended his hand in the near-darkness.

  “Deal.”