The next morning, Dorro was at the gaol, checking on Forgo and licking his emotional bruises from the previous evening’s debacle at the Hanging Stoat. What a disaster! thought Dorro, wallowing in self-pity. I’m a terrible sheriff—Forgo would have knocked some heads together and settled that fight before it even began. I should go back to the library and re-shelve some books and scrolls.
Before he could continue roiling in black thoughts, the door banged open and in rushed in Mr. Bindlestiff and Crumble the Dwarf. “Sheriff, we have a problem!” cried the smelting boss.
“Me bruvver is missin’!” cried the Northlander through tears. “Wump never goes missin’, ever. Something bad has happened, I know it!”
“When did you last see him?” calmed Dorro.
“Just last night, after we … errr … well, it was a family matter.”
“There you go, Crumble, it’s been only a few hours. He’s probably under a tree, sleeping off a few beers or off exploring in the Great Wood.”
“My brother Wump would never go off without his favorite floppy hat!” Crumble held up the blue felt hat as evidence. “I know him—he’s a creature of habit. After our family business, I went for a long walk alone to sort things out. I came back to the burrow and fell asleep. When me and the other boys awoke, Wump was gone.”
Bindlestiff broke in, “I need this matter rectified, Winderiver! These Dwarves do important work at the smeltery, and I can’t have them distracted and worrying. Find Wump!”
Seeing through the fog, Dorro announced, “I shall form a search party immediately. Crumble, gather your brothers and son, for I will need their help. I’ll gather my deputies, and we will meet back here in half an hour. Agreed?”
The other two nodded in accord and Dorro bolted from the gaol to make ready.
* * *
Precisely thirty minutes later, Dorro and a gang of Halflings stood in front of the gaolhouse. He directed one search party of Magpie, Gadget, Minty Pinter, and Bog the Blacksmith to search the south and west of the village to the river, while his own party of Crumble, Two-Toes, Flume, Orli, and Mr. Timmo would take the north and east, towards Upper-Down.
“Gentlemen, we are looking for a Dwarf,” said Dorro, stating the obvious. “He has dark hair with braids on either side of his face and a heavy beard. We don’t know what state he’s in, but as a Dwarf, he is very strong and could be dangerous. If you find him in a precarious situation, report back to the gaol, and a messenger-lad will come find me. Are we clear? Good. Let’s move out!”
Dorro tried to sound authoritative like Sheriff Forgo, but it just didn’t come out that way. However, his logic was impeccable, so no one questioned him, and the parties moved off to find their quarry. Each member was lightly armed with a club, knife, or short sword, as well as a leather jerkin over a shirt or jacket. A few even wore leather helms, though they looked rather silly.
Dorro’s group moved north through Fell’s Corner, the most obvious place to find a lost Dwarf. The nefarious neighborhood was home to various types of skullduggery, from gambling and drinking dens to burrows of ill-repute and thievery. They even climbed the grassy roofs of several burrows to see if Wump was hiding in any of the nooks and crannies of earth and trees in these forlorn spots (indeed, small trees often grew unbeckoned on the roofs of burrows).
As they searched, Dorro noticed that Orli was not his usual chipper self. No, he was indeed looking sullen and most definitely was not speaking to his father, nor making eye contact. Crumble’s earlier comment about a certain family matter the night before might have something to do with it; he filed that idea for later retrieval.
Having no luck, the group circled back out of Fell’s Corner and moved down one of Thimble Down’s main streets, filled with shops and taverns, buskers and beggars, kiddies and grandmas, all going about their daily business. Crumble asked if anyone had seen his brother, but came up with nothing.
“Where could that Dwarf go?” he confessed to Dorro on the side. “He never goes anywhere without his felt hat. I have a bad feeling that he’s no longer among the living.”
“Did anyone have cause to do him in?” queried the bookmaster, perhaps none too subtly.
“Wump? Oh, he always has adversaries for one reason or another,” mused his brother. “He has a good heart, I’d say, but a grumpy disposition—doesn’t seem predisposed to be kind to anyone and perhaps he is a tad selfish, too. And if there is gold or precious minerals about, he’ll be the first to dig ’em up. Wump isn’t a great one for sharing his bounty either. Sure, he’ll pay a share to the community, but the rest he hoards. A true Dwarf, that one!” He laughed at his own joke.
“Did he have any family?”
“Oh no, Mr. Dorro. Our Wump is a bachelor these days—he lives for his own pleasure and satisfaction. A bit of a loner, and intentionally so.”
The search party turned a corner and headed towards the smeltery, where they were to meet up with Bindlestiff. “And how did he get along with Orli? Was he a loving uncle?”
Crumble flinched, hoping that Dorro hadn’t noticed, though he had. “Oh, they got along fine until … well, last night. It was a Dwarf matter, though, to be honest, Orli did something wrong and had to be punished. I found it hard to do myself, so I let Wump do the deed. The boy is still sore about it—especially on his rear end!” The Dwarf laughed weakly, then he began to shake. “Oh, I hope nothing happened to my brother. He always meant well, he did!”
Dorro was mulling over this Dwarf matter when the figure of Mr. Bindlestiff came running out of the vast entrance to his smelting works, waving his arms. “Thank goodness you’re here, Sheriff Dorro! Come quickly!”
The portly man of business dashed off to the rear of the giant cavern that housed his industry. It was a long stretch of a hillock, but Bindlestiff knew the trail and climbed to the top, a sprawling hilltop of rocks, gravel, and scrubby vegetation, interspersed with enormous round metal chimneys and air vents. Naturally, it was smoky, but Mr. Bindlestiff seemed to know where he was going. Finally, he stopped on the edge of a ravine that dropped about thirty feet near the rear of the enormous hill. “Down there, Winderiver! Can you see!”
“See what?” said the lawman-cum-librarian, craning his neck. The four other Dwarves followed suit, peering through the drifting smoke.
“See that—right there, where Fibbhook is waving his arms like a lunatic,” cried Bindlestiff. “Look at his feet!”
Dorro finally saw something; it looked like a bundle of clothing, but instantly knew it was not. Crumble put his hand to his mouth and grabbed the bookmaster’s arm.
“It’s me brother, Wump. He’s dead!”