As per Dwarf custom, Dorro learned, bodies of the dead were not allowed to be sent to the afterworld until a full week after their death. He asked Magpie about this and the problems of, a-hem, preservation, but the Dwarf said in the Northern Kingdom, there were many caves that remained cold, even into the warmer months of the year. There were no worries of degradation of the corpus, and they were further swaddled thickly to prevent any meddling by small, nibbling creatures.
Further, the weeklong delay was given to the corpus to settle any debts—material or spiritual—he or she had incurred in life. Sometimes money changed hands, whereas other times, Dwarves who wronged by the deceased might come speak with the family and try to find some peace and closure. Dorro found this ritual highly civilized and wished the Halflings had thought of it first.
Thus enlightened, the bookmaster and his friend Mr. Timmo found themselves trekking into the Great Wood on a cold, windy morning with the solemn Dwarves—Crumble, Flume, Two-Toes, and Magpie—who carried between them the expired body of their brother Wump (Orli was feeling ill and stayed behind).
The Northlanders said not a word, but their thoughts were loud. They were alternately sad and bereaved, and angry and vengeful. As Crumble had told him a week earlier, when they found the Halfling who killed their kin, that villain would suffer a most painful death at their hands. Every time Dorro thought of this, he got a shiver down his spine.
By late morning, they broke their journey for a few minutes, allowing the two Thimble Downers to rest their achy legs and tuck into a second breakfast. The Dwarves lit up their pipes and sat against green, mossy rocks and trees, listening to the birdsongs above.
Dorro and Timmo brought out some handkerchiefs in whose folds they had stolen away wedges of cheese, seed-crusted bread, and plenty of apples and pears. Sated, they moved on, moving briskly to the northeast until they came upon a place Dorro knew well—the Deep.
The Deep was an amazing natural chasm, a depressed fissure in the earth that ran for several miles through the forest. But unlike its arboreal high ground, the sides and bottom were strewn with boulders, gravelly beds, and tough, twisted trees and shrubs that somehow found the will to survive in such an inhospitable environment. (Earlier that year, Dorro had experienced one of the most frightening episodes of his life in the Deep and had not been eager to return. It was recounted in the earlier tale, Devils & Demons.)
Another hour passed as the troupe maneuvered down a rocky, bramble-strewn pathway to the bottom of the chasm, one made all the more difficult since the Dwarves were carrying a corpus. But both Dorro and Timmo noticed something fascinating along the way—the Dwarves began to whistle and sing to themselves. There was even some playful banter and a few jokes.
Finally, he could bear it no longer, and nudged Two-Toes. “Why is everyone in such a jovial mood? We’re going to your brother’s funeral!”
The Dwarf chuckled, whispering, “That’s because of the rocks—they’re like old friends to us. Remember, we live in caves amongst rock and boulders and massive stalactites, so this is a relaxing place for us. Your so-called Deep is beautiful and makes us feel good. My brothers and I feel like we’re at home.”
Dorro and Timmo both nodded, but to them, the Deep was among the least hospitable locales in all Halflingdom. A bitter wind shot through the canyon right to his bones, and the scenery was nothing short of barren. “Timmo, do you know what kinds of rocks these are?”
“No idea, Dorro,” admitted the shy metalsmith. “Do you know, Mr. Crumble?”
“Eh? The rocks? Oh, this is sturdy schist, but it’s shot through with veins of agate, opalite, calcite, and gypsum!” replied the Dwarf, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “’Tis a fine spot you have here, my Halfling friends. And look—there’s a wondrous shelf of dolomite!”
“I must admit, Crumble, my knowledge of rock-lore is limited,” admitted Dorro.
The Dwarf kept talking about various rocks he saw and why he liked them. “Ooooo, I’d love to spend a few weeks here, taking souvenirs and cracking boulders with my hammer. It would be a lovely vacation for me.”
“Dare I ask why we’re here, Crumble? Are you going to inter your brother in one of the caves along here?”
“No, don’t be daft, Mr. Dorro, with all due respect,” said the head Dwarf. “We have an appointment in a few hours, and thence we will perform the ritual.”
Dorro said no more, shooting Mr. Timmo a look of apprehension. Again the troupe pressed forward, the Dwarves becoming ever more silent as the sun began to set. They moved ever north, towards their unknown goal, breaking now and again to give the Halflings a little rest. Dorro and Timmo kept their coats and scarfs fastened tightly as the northerly wind began to blow colder and harder. The two were even more shocked when wet snowflakes began to fall, whipping their faces in the howling wind.
“I say, gentlemen, we’re going to need to stop for the night at some point, aren’t we?” asked Dorro hopefully. “We’re not as rugged as you.”
Crumble looked back at him grimly. “We let you come as long as you didn’t interfere or say anything. Those were your words. We still have a ways to go.”
At that, the Dwarves turned and continued marching and the two Halflings had no choice but to follow, despite sore legs and rumbly tummies. Timmo fished in his bag and came up with two more cheese wedges, which they devoured quickly, but it wouldn’t keep them full forever.
After another two hours, Magpie—who was far in the lead—shouted out something in Dwarfish that neither of them understood. The other Dwarves became anxious and doubled their speed. In short order, they arrived at a flat, gravelly bit of ground near a chasm wall, one that had a sheltering outcrop above. It wasn’t snug, certainly, but was better than being out in the open.
The Thimble Downers were pleased to see the Dwarves put down the corpus of Wump and begin gathering wood. In just a few minutes, they made a large pile of sticks and logs from the debris-filled floor of the Deep, and built a fire for food and warmth. They were invited to sit and toast their hands and toes, while Two-Toes produced a sumptuous supper from his bag—venison, oat cakes, cheese, brown ale, and a variety of nuts and fruits.
Soon all the Dwarves and Halflings were happily seated around blazing fire, enjoying each other’s company and discussing anything but the matter at hand. Yet Dorro noticed, they were waiting for someone.
Or some—thing.
* * *
On precisely the same evening as Dorro, Timmo and the Dwarves were trekking through the Deep, the door to Mr. Bindlestiff’s darkened office creaked as it was slowly pushed open. The smeltery was closed for the night, aside from a few mechanics walking about, greasing machinery, checking flues and chimneys, and making sure the gears of industry would churn ahead in the morning.
This time, there were no signs of Fibbhook about, nor Dwarves, nor in fact anyone. The same shadow that stole across the smeltery floor and up the stairs, and just now picked the door lock, now moved past high desks and stools towards its goal.
The shadow laid a leather case on the floor and unwrapped it to find an array of gently gleaming metal tools. It tried a few different devices until it selected the perfect one, the thinnest file anywhere in Halflingdom, so fine that you could barely see it. It began inserting it into the keyhole, teasing the gears and tumblers ever so gently. If there had been light in the room, you would have seen a smile on the face of this safecracker, as it so enjoyed its work.
After about ten minutes, there was a small click! and the door to Mr. Bindlestiff’s safe swung open on carefully greased hinges. The shadowy figure took only a half second to admire its workmanship. It pulled a canvas bag out of its shirt and began stuffing it full of papers from the heart of the safe. These were Bindlestiff’s most important contracts and most confidential memos. The shadow closed the safe door and made it seem like no one had been there at all.
It spun like a cat and dashed from the room, making sure to re-lock the office door as well. It scampered down the stairs, back along the wall behind boxes, and even dodged a few mechanics who were lounging around and sharing a laugh.
At last the shadowy thief emerged into the brisk night and laughed out loud. This was its greatest hour of triumph!