“Nurse Pym, what do you make of it?” Dorro, Mr. Timmo, and the band of sad, weeping Dwarves stood around the body of Wump, who was lying in a culvert on the earthen cap of Bindlestiff’s Smelting Works.
The chief healer and midwife of Thimble Down looked up from the corpus of Wump and said, “Yep, I’d say he died, all right!”
Thank you for the obvious, Pym, thought Dorro sarcastically, but actually said, “Your keen powers of observation continue to amaze us, Nurse. Do you know the cause? Was he stabbed?”
“No, there are no puncture wounds anywhere on Mr. Wump’s corpus. However—and this is the interesting part—the head and body have bruises all over ’em and I’d say, more than a few broken bones. So, for the moment, my gut is that the fellow died from a savage beating with a club.”
“Or rocks?” said Dorro quietly, out of earshot of the Dwarves.
“Yes, could be rocks, but why? A thick cudgel might do the trick just as well. I don’t see any broken skin, which jagged rocks would likely cause.”
“Why does he have that strange look on his face,” queried the bookmaster. “It’s quite eerie and unnerving.” And indeed, Wump did have a bizarre leer on his face—part fright, part smile, with his eyes wide open, as if he died in a state of nervous excitement.”
“I noticed that, Dorro, but I think it’s a natural spasm that happened at the moment of death. I’ve seen the strangest looks of rictus on corpus’ faces before—happy, sad, surprised—and you can’t read too much into it.”
“So, here’s what we know so far. Dead: one Northlander Dwarf. Cause: blunt-force trauma, probably to the head. Weapon: Unknown, possibly a thick cudgel, or less likely, a rock. Assailant: Unknown. Kin: Four brothers and one nephew, at least so far as we know. Now, I suppose, you may dispose the body.”
“We’d like to take care of his corpus our own way, using our Dwarf methods.”
Mulling it over, “Certainly, that seems acceptable, as long as it won’t cause any risk to public safely. You’re not going to burn the corpus, are you?”
Crumble seemed perplexed. “Well, of course we’re gonna burn it, you daft fool! We’re Dwarves! We burn anything we can get our hands on. But rest assured, we will take our brother Wump far, far outside your village and perform our farewell ritual in a place where no Halflings will be harmed.”
That seemed to satisfy the Sheriff Pro Tempore. “May I come along and observe? I promise not to intrude. And Mr. Timmo I’m sure would find it of great interest.”
Crumble glanced at his brothers skeptically, but said, “Yes—but don’t interfere! This is a sacred ritual and few, if any, non-Dwarves have ever seen it. Come—and keep your mouths silent!”
Dorro nodded and knew that it was time to withdraw, leaving the Dwarves alone to deal with their grief. “Timmo, let’s retreat to the gaol and compare notes. There are lots of things to discuss. And after the funeral, Crumble, what will you do next? Go home?”
“Don’t be absurd, Halfling. We will hunt down my brother’s killer and cut his still-beating heart from his chest while he watches helplessly.” But adding with a grin, “At least, that’s what we usually do.”
* * *
Orli spent much of the afternoon in the company of his father and uncles, alternately sad and angry. By late in the afternoon, he decided to go for a walk—alone. He left the worker’s guest burrow where the Dwarves had been living (rather unhappily; it was no match for the vaulted caverns and spectacular mines and caves they called home to the north), and the big boy was happy merely to be out in the fresh air.
Orli rejoiced in the crisp Autumn air, though he sensed cold rain on the way, and looked at the maples, oaks, and ash trees changing colors before his eyes. The squirrels were busy stowing away nuts and seeds, while birds were departing for warmer climates, save the crows and owls, that didn’t mind frosty weather. Although Thimble Down was no match for the Dwarf Kingdom of the north, Orli generally liked the Halflings and the provincial charm of the place.
Still, he was very angry at one of them. Granted, Orli deserved a whipping for not confessing why he, Wyll, and Cheeryup had been poking around Mr. Bindlestiff’s office. And his Pa had been right as well—if they’d been caught by Halflings, the Dwarves would have lost their positions at the smeltery. But Wump whipped him with too much glee, he felt; it went beyond the realm of punishment. His uncle had enjoyed the beating, almost sadistically.
Why his father hadn’t interceded wasn’t clear to Orli; perhaps it was just a matter of pride. Over time, he’d forgive his Pa, but the Dwarf boy had never loved Uncle Wump and Wump had never returned any affection. He was mean and spiteful, nothing like his jolly brothers Flume, Two-Toes, and Magpie.
“I’m glad he’s dead!”
This remark shot out of Orli’s mouth so fast he didn’t have time to stop it. He looked around to make sure no one heard him, but there is was: he felt pleasure in his uncle’s demise. Orli knew he should feel guilty about it, but he didn’t.
Wump was a bad egg that deserved to be broken. He didn’t know who killed him, but wondered, Could my father have done it for his beating of me? He let that thought hang there for a minute, too. If he did it … I would be proud of him. I would!
Just then, voices rang out from down the lane. They were children’s voices, and he knew instantly it was Wyll and Cheeryup. “Oy, Orli, slow down! We want to talk to you!”
Breathlessly, they caught up, and Cheeryup even gave the boy a quick hug, much to Wyll’s dismay. “We just heard!” she said. “We’re so sorry about your poor uncle.”
“Yes, well, it is done,” Orli said curtly.
“Still, he was your family. You must be heartbroken,” she continued.
“We are Dwarves, Cheeryup—once a Dwarf is dead, it’s final. We will always remember Wump in our hearts and minds, but that’s it. He is gone from us.”
Perplexed, the girl continued rattling on. “I’m sorry anyway, and if we can help out, you will ask us, right? I also want to apologize for bungling the break-in yesterday. I shouldn’t have made us wait and you got punished for it.”
“Why apologize to me? You should apologize to Wyll?” snapped Orli.
“Wyll? What does he have to do with it?”
Orli spun around and loomed menacingly over Cheeryup. “You’re such a stupid little girl! Your friend Wyll—the one who cares and protects you—told you it was time to leave the smeltery, but you didn’t listen. You think you’re the smart one, yet you treat him like a dog. He is your protector; I’ve seen that over and over, and he stayed even though he knew trouble was coming.”
“Me, I’m a Dwarf and can take the simple beating from a whip. But what about the way you beat Wyll with your blistering tongue? Who mends him? So don’t apologize to me, silly, foolish child. Apologize to Master Wyll!”
At that, Orli turned on a heel and stomped off up the lane, headed back towards his uncles’ burrow. Cheeryup, frozen with horror and shock, slowly crumpled and let tears roll down her cheeks. She looked to Wyll, who looked away just as quickly; they knew Orli was right, though telling her so was cruel.
Cheeryup ran. She ran away from Wyll as fast she could in the other direction, crying and cursing herself for being such a fool. Shame flowed like hot lava in her veins, a sensation she’d never felt before. It burned her savagely, and she knew this was her punishment.