“There you are, Winderiver! I’ve been looking for you all day!” exclaimed Hiram Bindlestiff, his face red and stormy. “What kind of operation are you running here? Imagine, a village with a sheriff who hides all day!”
Wearily looking up from the desk in the gaol, “Mr. Bindlestiff, your insults won’t win you favor here. I’ve only just returned from a mission to the Great Wood. I’ve traveled many miles, and I’m very tired.”
“That’s none of my concern, Winderiver. What is important is the fact that my office was burgled! Your so-called Pie Thief has returned.”
Dorro stood up quickly. “He did? What did the villain get?”
“My important papers, for one thing!” barked Bindlestiff. “These are confidential documents, Winderiver, and if I don’t get them back, I’ll have the Mayor on your back.”
“Why would he want papers? Until now, the thief has only taken material goods: clothing, money, tools … pies!”
“That’s for you to figure out, Sheriff,” he added snidely. “If you catch him, I’ll ask the Mayor for the maximum penalty. A good public hanging is what I’d like to see! And there’s a reward, too—ten gold pieces for whoever returns my stolen papers. Make sure that gets around the village.”
At that, Hiram Bindlestiff stormed out of the gaol, something Dorro mildly appreciated. He loathed that pompous windbag, but still he had a duty to perform, exhausted as he was. The bookmaster took a long draught of water from a ewer on the table and went back to check on Sheriff Forgo. The lawman had lost quite a bit of weight, but Dorro noted he was resting comfortably, as if having an afternoon nap. He honestly thought Forgo looked a little better, and prayed it was true.
* * *
Dorro’s first stop was the smeltery, where he flagged down Fibbhook, the bullish foreman who had tossed the angry bookmaster out on his rear end not a week earlier. He still had not forgiven the thuggish overseer for manhandling him, but he had a job to do and accordingly asked to see the crime scene.
“Come back for more?” snorted the big Halfling with a nasty smile, but he became serious when informed of the nature of Dorro’s visit. “Happened upstairs in the boss’ office. Your Pie Thief broke in last night sometime and walked off with the contents of his safe, easy as … pie. If I’da been here, I woulda grabbed the rat and snapped his neck. No rat like a dead rat, I always say.”
“Charming,” murmured the bookmaster. “So he crept up these stairs, jiggered the door lock, and cracked that safe in the dark. It would be easier, of course, if you told me what was in the safe—there might be clues there.”
“I can’t tell because I don’t know,” growled Fibbhook. “Mr. Bindlestiff keeps his personal business affairs to himself. I’m his foreman. My job is to make sure the workers are working, and if not, to get rid of them and get new ones. And if it takes a nasty poke in the ribs to make someone work faster, I’m not above that either. I have many skills that the boss finds useful.”
Thinking Fibbhook a big, dumb animal, Dorro decided to move on and see if there were any thoughts in his head: “Who do you think the Pie Thief is?”
“I don’t know who your silly village thief is, but I knows who pinched the boss’ papers. It was that Dwarf boy and those two pesky kids—the girl and your nephew!”
“Now see here, sir! My Wyll is not a thief!” snapped Dorro.
“Oh yeah? Then why did I catch them sneaking around here not three days ago?” said Fibbhook with a growing smile as he realized Dorro didn’t know a thing about it. “Oh, the lad didn’t tell you, that’s it. Well he did, and I done caught him, that bratty yellow-haired girl, and the Dwarf chap Orli, right where you’re standing.”
Dorro’s mind was racing. Wyll, you fool, why didn’t you tell me? And what made you do such a thing? But he already knew—Cheeryup. Dorro loved the girl dearly, but knew that her combination of brains, ambition, and energy made her take risks, as he’d learned in the past few months. And sweet, guileless Wyll Underfoot would follow her anywhere. He was mad for her, even if he didn’t know it.
“What did you do to them—you didn’t get violent, did you? Remember, I’m the sheriff now!”
“Calm yourself. I didn’t do a thing. I just told them to get lost. That Dwarf said something about giving them a tour, but now I see it was just a ruse. I should have stayed around to catch the little rats in the act.”
“Let me be off and question the Dwarves. It may be that we can close this unfortunate chapter quickly.” Dorro wanted to get to the Dwarves before anyone else could. That way, he could manage the whole blasted matter, and better still—keep Wyll and Cheeryup out of it!
* * *
Scant minutes later, Dorro found himself deep in the smeltery, in a hot, steamy area where several vats of hot liquid metal were simmering over hot coals. One wrong step and Dorro might find himself in the vat—at least, he mused, it would be a quick death.
He tread through the steam carefully until he found his quarry, the Dwarves, who were near the back of this particular cavern, huddled in a group and talking quietly. Presumably they were still grieving for the loss of Wump. How they were awake and working, Dorro did not know, as he was worn and could have slept right there on the floor. He coughed to get their attention.
“Ah, friend Dorro,” said Crumble warily. He knew the bookmaster was not here on a social call. “What can we do for you?”
Dorro relayed the details of the theft, as told to him by Bindlestiff and Fibbhook. Finally, he delivered the coup de grâce—Fibbhook’s accusation against Orli and the children. At first, Crumble said nothing. His face was grim and set like stone, as were those of his brothers. The boy merely looked away.
“As much as I’d like to bury my fists into the face of Mr. Fibbhook, we are Dwarves of honor and do not lie,” said the head Dwarf. “It is true that my Orli and your younglings were found in Mr. Bindlestiff’s office. When we found them, we were angry, and we may have scared your young friends, Mr. Dorro, but rest assured, we never harmed them. Orli, however, was punished in the way of our folk, and trust me, it was not pleasant.”
The younger Dwarf still did not make eye contact, staring off into the depths of the caverns. Still, he was listening to every word. And he was not surprised when Crumble asked the next question: “Boy, did you take the papers? We’ve already caught you there once. Did you shame us again by stealing from the boss on the very night we were off burying your Uncle Wump?”
Orli said nothing, but slowly stood and looked at his father. “I did not steal any papers.”
“Why did we catch you there before?”
“Because Cheeryup wanted evidence that the smeltery was poisoning this village. I—”
Crumble interrupted, “She charmed you with her Halfling ways, didn’t she? Didn’t she!”
Dorro knew that, like Wyll, poor Orli had feelings for the girl. It was there on his face.
Crumble continued, “I don’t like what you’ve become, my son. Since we’ve come to Thimble Down, you’ve lost your Dwarfish honor. Now you want to steal things that proved that what we do—our very work!—is bad. And all for the affections of a little girl. And a Halfling, no less! You’ve brought shame on us, Orli, all of us.”
“I didn’t steal anything, though I tried once,” cried the boy. “My tools aren’t even sophisticated enough to crack that safe.”
“Whether you did or did not is not relevant anymore,” said Crumble, his voice cracking with sadness. “It’s that you tried to in the first place, all in the name of putting your own feelings ahead of the needs of your own family. And it’s clear that we must leave this village, Dorro. My son has done enough damage and needs to return north to relearn what it means to be a Dwarf. He has apparently forgotten.”
Dorro merely nodded and left. He didn’t really think Orli stole the papers, but he would interrogate Wyll and Cheeryup. Like Crumble, he was embarrassed by the actions of his young friends and would tell them so. In his heart, he knew he was also to blame.
I’m too soft on Wyll, he chided himself. And I give Cheeryup too much leeway. I’m supposed to be the grownup here, but all too often, I’m just as foolish and immature as they are. Or worse!