Death of a Dwarf

  * * *

  After a quarter hour, a pile of clothing stirred in the rear of the darkened cave, seemingly of its own volition. A small girl emerged and began to make her way out of the chasm. There was more—under that pile of clothes she had found a canvas satchel containing a sheaf of pages. It was too dark to know exactly what they contained, but Cheeryup had a hunch; she was fairly certain she clasped Mr. Bindlestiff’s stolen documents to her chest as she began making her way home.

  In the pocket of her dress was yet another clue, this one a bit more mysterious. In time, however, she felt it might help lead her to the real Pie Thief.

  Cheeryup Alone

  “There you go, Sheriff—lock, stock, and barrel!” Hiram Bindlestiff was strutting around the gaol like a peacock, preening for the Mayor, Osgood Thrip, Crumble, Aramina, and Mr. Dorro. “You have the thieves, the evidence, and the location of their secluded hideout. These two rascals have been ravaging Thimble Down, and now deserve nothing less than exile. Or a good, old-fashioned hanging!”

  “Have you gone mad, Bindlestiff? They’re just children!” roared Dorro, his mind reeling with the implications. “We don’t hang criminals in Thimble Down anyway.”

  “I think exile sounds more than fair,” noted Thrip. “It’s better than chopping their fingers off; why, that was how we treated thieves back in my day. Mayor, it’s your duty as chief magistrate—”

  “Hold on, you’re not chopping my Wyll’s fingers off, nor are you exiling him!” snarled the bookmaster. “You have not conducted a proper trial, and secondly, you found him in the place where the Pie Thief kept his loot. You didn’t catch him or Orli in the act of theft.”

  “And secondly,” piped up Aramina, “If either of you harm me nephew, I will take my dirk and filet you like a fresh trout. Belly first!”

  That effectively shut Bindlestiff and Thrip up, as the Sheriff held up a hand.

  “Folks, let’s all calm down. No one is cutting anything off, and believe it or not, we do have a due process of law in this village. A complaint has been lodged against these two boys; now, the magistrate—our Mayor—has to decide if he wants to build a case for trial. That will take at least a month. For now, the boys will stay here for a day or two and thence be eligible for bail. Is that clear?”

  “Phooey! I wanted to gut these two blithering idiots and make ’em cry,” moaned Aramina in genuine disappointment.

  “Can I see my boy?” begged Crumble, followed by Dorro, who desperately wanted to see Wyll.

  “’Fraid not, gentlemen,” warned Forgo. “These lads need to be questioned first, and that will take at least a day. I will be done with them by this time tomorrow, but rest assured, I will take good care of them.”

  That answer didn’t seem to appease anyone except the Mayor, who realized that Forgo had saved his neck yet again and thought it might be time to give the lawman a meager raise in gratitude. If he won the election, of course.

  As the mob departed, Dorro was still incredulous. “I can’t believe Wyll is the Pie Thief, Forgo. It’s ridiculous.”

  “I know that, and you know that, Winderiver, but they were caught in the villain’s lair. I assume they were discovered as they were running away. That’s a hard-headed boy you have there.”

  “He’s much like his mother in that way—and perhaps me as well,” said Dorro sheepishly. “No one could tell Siobhán what to do, and it’s the same with Wyll. When faced with problems, his solution is often the same as hers—to simply run away. Dashed fools!”

  “Give me a day to sort them out, by which time you can have yer lil’ rascal back. And be kind this time! Maybe he won’t run off.” That last remark stung, but that’s how Forgo had intended it. It was time for Dorro to stop whipping the boy into a rabid lather. “Now, do you know where the girl is?”

  “Cheeryup? No sign of her either. I’m going to her burrow to find any signs of her, but she may still be in the forest. Wyll is very good at hiding her and surely wouldn’t tell me where she is. They’re quite crafty, those two.”

  “Well, I need some lunch, so let’s meet up later at the Stoat to compare notes. Six o’clock … and don’t be late!”