“G’morning, Gadget,” Forgo said as the young deputy ambled into the gaol. “What’s the word in the lanes?”
Scratching his mop of dull red hair, he paused for a few seconds, but had a thought, “Did you hear about Mrs. Leery?”
“No, what, happened?”
“She came down with the cough a few days ago.”
“So? Lots of Thimble Downers have this damnable flu.”
“Yeah, but this lady is dead,” murmured Gadget. “Don’t remember any folks dying from the plain ol’ flu.”
“She died?” Forgo stood up like a bolt. “Why, Mrs. Leery babysat me as a youngling. Poor, dear lady ….”
“And another oldster in Fell’s Corner is on the verge—a certain Milvis Tanner. I heard he won’t make it to see another dawn. Coughin’ himself inside out, they say.”
“I vaguely know him—keeps to himself. Still, that’s a shame. Nurse Pym must be exhausted.”
“’Tis true, I have seen her bustling all over the village these days.”
The door banged open and none other than Nurse Pym herself strode in. “Forgo! I need yer help. Now!”
“Now calm down, Jessie and take a seat!”
The nurse shot him a baleful eye—no one called Nurse Pym by her first name. She only let her long-deceased parents call her that many years ago and, since then, it was reserved for only her closest friends. Forgo, who knew her as Jessie back from their childhood days, pulled out a chair and gestured for Thimble Down’s foremost healer to park it and shut it. She quietly sat down, though still glaring at the Sheriff. “What’s the problem?”
“What’s the …?” Pym let it die on her lips. “Are you pulling my leg, Forgo? I’ve got over thirty sick Halflings of all ages in bed with this cough and they ain’t improving. And they’re all over the place, so I’m being run off my feet. If I get the so-called Grippe, we’re done—there’s no other healer in town.”
“What do you think the blight is caused by?”
“Hell if I know, Sheriff,” said Pym, adjusting her beefy profile on the chair for more comfort. Indeed, she was right—if she got ill, Thimble Down would be in grave danger; in some ways, she was its most important citizen. “It must be a virus blown in from the country by traders. But I’ve given patients my famed nettle soup, along with cranberry and oak-leaf tinctures, and none have shown signs of improvement. You’ve heard about Mrs. Leery, no doubt. By tomorrow, we could lose another one—maybe two.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with this smeltery?”
Nurse Pym scratched a few of the hairs on her chin. “I’m no scientist, but it makes some sense. Halfling lungs aren’t made to suck in black smoke, but sure enough, most of ’em smoke pipes like chimneys anyway. But that’s the finest pipe weed from Nob, not a fog of smelted metals and ores.”
“If you need more help delivering medicines, you can use my cart and my pony, Tom. He’s slow, but reliable. And speaking of slow but reliable, feel free to employ Gadget as well. He’s a good lad.”
Gadget perked up at the sound of his name. “Huh? What? Who?”
Lowering his voice, the Sheriff added, “Maybe not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but still useful.” Nurse Pym smiled back.
“I’ll take you up on both. Gadget, come with me. I have ten Halflings who need my soup and tincture right away. If you can deliver them for me, it would do a world of good for these old bones.”
The ever-affable Gadget Pinkle grinned and nodded, happy to be of help. Not the brightest lad, again thought Sheriff Forgo, but he could grow into something more. Like Bosco. A cloud briefly passed over his eyes, but he shook it off and quipped, “That’s our plan for the moment. Jessie—I mean, Nurse Pym!—please keep me apprised of the sick. Hopefully, there won’t be any more deaths.”
Pym looked grim for a moment. “Oh, there will be, Sheriff. You can count on it.”
* * *
No sooner had Nurse Pym left than the door burst open again, and in flew Wyll and Cheeryup, along with their new friend.
“What ho, young ones! And who’s this fine fellow?”
“Sheriff Forgo, may I introduce Orli, a Dwarf from the North Country,” said Cheeryup in her most formal voice.
The lawman held out his hand to shake, which Orli returned, though looking curiously at the custom. “Hullo, Mr. Sheriff. My Pa says yer the boss in this here village.”
Forgo laughed. “Maybe I am, good sir. Who’s your papa?”
“He is Crumble of the Northern Realm, known far and wide for his gifts with metals and ores,” happily continued Orli. “We are here with the rest of my uncles to work for Mr. Bindlestiff at yon smeltery. My dad and uncles are the best smelters around, which is why they were called for. And they’re teaching me, so someday I can be the best, though I ain’t sure that’s what I want to do with my life.”
“What would like to do, Orli?” chimed in Wyll. “I’m going to be a lawman, just like Sheriff Forgo, and fight villains all day long.”
Forgo guffawed again. “I wouldn’t go that far, young Wyll. So what about you, Orli—will you be a lawman, too?”
“I was raised deep in the earth, but I do like life under the naked sun,” said the stout lad, who was as tall as Cheeryup and Wyll, yet wider than both put together. He also had a few scratchy black hairs on his chin and neck, a mark of a grand Dwarf beard to come.
“I enjoyed our trek through these woodlands, Wyll. We don’t have many trees in the colder places, but I quite like them trees o’ yers. I could become very fond of them in fact. Can you make a living as a tree man, or … a tree Dwarf?”
“Of course you can, Orli,” chirped the thin yellow-haired girl. “You could be a carpenter or a lumber-Dwarf. Can you climb trees?”
“I dunno.”
“That settles that,” added Wyll with a gleam. “This afternoon, when it warms up a little, we’ll go search for my favorite climbing trees. I know a good many, especially in Mr. Dorro’s orchard.”
The children clapped hands joyously, but Sheriff Forgo interrupted. “So what did you three actually come her for?”
“Oh dear, I forgot!” snapped Cheeryup, not happy with herself for forgetting. “There was a hullaballoo at the library this morning; many village folk were there complaining of the thefts. Apparently, that thief was a busy bee last night.”
“Why didn’t they come to see me?”
Wyll jumped in, “They’re comin’ soon. They just bumped into each other at the library while Mr. Dorro was there, and he began asking all sorts of questions. Soon, half the library patrons had stories of things that had gone missing.”
“Like what?”
“Minty Pinter lost a nice tin pot from his cart, and Dowdy Cray said a whole axel was stolen from his wagon shop,” piped Cheeryup.
“… and Farmer Duck can’t find his scythe or any of his baling twine. And Freda at the Hanging Stoat says her apron is gone. So is her beer tray!” rang in Wyll. “Folks are missing pies and hats and coins and books and socks and more!”
“Dorro must be out of his melon about missing books.”
“He is, Sheriff, he is,” groaned Wyll. “Steam was coming out of his ears this morning when he discovered that Bladgett’s Illustrated Portfolio of Burrows and Hillock Homes was missing. He was going to show it to Orli’s father and uncles, but now he can’t.”
“So I’ve got a thief who steals with impunity from burrows and public buildings, and a mysterious illness that is felling my fellow citizens. What’s next?” Forgo frowned and looked out the window of the gaol. Suddenly, he coughed. A loud, wracking cough.
He stared at the children, and they back at him, all quite alarmed. “Not a word of this to anyone, younglings—you never heard me cough. Understood?”
Wyll, Cheeryup, and Orli nodded mutely and departed. Behind them, they heard the Sheriff start to hack and cough again. It didn’t seem like it would ever stop.