Death of a Dwarf

  * * *

  Forgo looked at the bookmaster and folded up the note.

  “Well, ain’t that something,” was all he said. He hoisted Gadget up off the ground, tucked him under his beefy arm, and started back towards gaol.

  In his wake, Dorro stood shivering in the lane—alone and thoroughly confused.

  Lessons

  Dorro didn’t often hold meetings at the library, but on this blustery late-Fall morning, there were few patrons, save Bedminster Shoe. As usual, Mr. Shoe was providing crisp, efficient service for the folks who showed up—a few younglings bundled up with scarves and hats, and eager to hear a ripping good yarn from the scribe.

  “See the way Bedminster is showing them kids how to read. Remember back in our day?”

  “Course I do, Forgo, ye fool! We had classes most days with yon late schoolmaster, Cecil Root.” Nurse Pym gave a rare smile, making her look many years the younger. “Mr. Cecil was harsh when he needed to be, but ye can’t argue with the results. T’weren’t for him, none of us wee ones would ever know our letters, nor our numbers.”

  “True enough, Jessie, true enough.”

  “I remember Mr. Cecil catching me at the river with my fishing pole, rather than studying my arithmetic. Here, I was trying to catch a big bass, and instead, he caught me!” Dorro laughed with his friends, all of them fondly remembering their younger days and all the long years that had passed. “And now here we are, old and fat ourselves.”

  “Speak fer yerself, porkchop!” scowled Pym, knowing all too well she was anything but lithe.

  “How are the patients, Jessie? Is the Grippe receding?” asked Forgo.

  “Aye, it ‘tis. Ever since ye closed the smeltery, folks been getting better every day, even dear Mrs. Tunbridge. True, I thought Cheeryup’s mum wasn’t going to make it for a while.”

  “Thank goodness she’s well. How many did we lose to the disease?” asked Dorro quietly.

  “Hmmmm, maybe twenty villagers all told. Too sad to think about, what when you add in the dead from the battle. Then it rises to more like seventy Thimble Downers, many in the prime of their lives. Breaks my heart, it does.”

  The nurse was silent after that.

  Dorro looked across the room. “The reason I’ve called you here is because of an idea. It’s been rumbling around my brain for a while, and now it’s thumping even louder. I think you two may have hit upon the same thing here.”

  “What idea?” The Sheriff had no idea what Dorro was blithering about.

  “About the schoolmaster—it’s true, we haven’t had one for nigh on thirty years. And why not?”

  “Oh, you know how cheap our mayors are,” rasped Forgo. “When Mr. Cecil passed, the Old Mayor didn’t want to spend any more money on the position, especially since your family had just promised to build the library. It was assumed that this fine institution would fill that need in the community.”

  “It fills a role, certainly,” Dorro continued, “But it’s not the same as a proper schoolmaster. Now here’s my little thought …”