“What’s this? What’s this I hear?” An indignant Hiram Bindlestiff half dragged the Mayor to the table where Dorro and Crumble were sitting and demanded answers. “Did you just say that your lad Wyll has fled with the Dwarf boy?”
“So? What it’s to you, Bindlestiff?” snorted Dorro, pulling himself up to his full height of five solid feet tall and looking down his nose at the insufferable pair.
“Why it’s everything, Winderiver.” The smelting mogul was positively gleeful. “See Mayor—I told you!”
The Mayor shrugged. Dorro still didn’t see what Bindlestiff was prattling on about. “What is everything?
“Just this: my man Fibbhook caught those boys at the smeltery, along with that bratty girl they follow like puppies. They were sneaking around the stairs by my office just a few days ago. At night!”
“They were merely getting a tour from Orli.”
“Oh really?” crowed Bindlestiff. “Well, one of your Dwarf friends was here at the Stoat the other night and let slip to some of my workers that they had caught the younglings that very same night, just after they broke into my office. Do you deny it?”
Crumble stared at his brothers—he knew one of them had too much ale and blabbed, but there was nothing to be done. The die was cast, yet he said nothing in their defense.
“Your silence is as good as proof, Dwarf!” triumphed Bindlestiff. “Ah look, there’s Sheriff Forgo. Forgo! Over here, man!”
The Sheriff slowly ambled up, already knowing that this wasn’t a good scene. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Just this, lawman. We have proof that the Dwarf boy Orli and Winderiver’s lad broke into my office. And my office was subsequently burgled, and valuable papers stolen from my vault.”
“Well, it’s not exactly proof,” drawled Forgo slowly.
“It’s probable cause! That’s all I need” roared Bindlestiff. “Mayor, do something!”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Sheriff. As Mayor and chief magistrate of Thimble Down, it’s my official duty to instruct you to arrest those boys on sight.”
“And that bratty girl!” chided the fuming smelter.
“Yes, I’m afraid Miss Cheeryup Tunbridge must also be brought in for questioning, Sheriff.”
“She’s but a wee girl, Mayor,” pleaded Dorro, though to no avail. He looked to Forgo as if this were some sort of cruel joke, but saw the grave look on his friend’s face. “Please, Mr. Bindlestiff, these are just children!”
“They are thieves and scofflaws. I expect to see wanted posters up around Thimble Down by daybreak, Forgo, and that little witch in your gaol. Are we in accord, Mayor?”
“Make it so, Sheriff. This is out of my hands.”
About the table were a quite a collection of sad, miserable faces—Dwarf and Halfling alike. Except for one who was grinning quietly to himself.
Little, however, did the gloating Bindlestiff know how lucky he was. Were it not for the presence of the Sheriff, several folks, including a handful of Northern battle-Dwarves, would have leapt up and thrashed him within an inch of his life. It would be doubtful he would have smiled after that—nor been able to for several months.
* * *
Orli and Wyll crept through the village in the moonless night, making their way towards Cheeryup’s burrow. It wasn’t late, but neither wanted to be spied—they were enjoying their status as dangerous runaways far too much. They tapped on the Tunbridge’s door, but no one answered.
“That’s a bit odd. At this time of night, Cheery would be home tending her mother,” mused Wyll. “I hope everything is okay with the old girl—she makes the best muffins in Thimble Down.”
“All is not well, Master Wyll,” said a creaky little voice in the darkness, causing Wyll and Orli to leap a foot in the air. “’Tis only me, lads. Just poor Dalbo.”
“You scared the tar out of us, Mr. Dalbo!” said Wyll, clutching his chest. “What happened?”
“Ermmm, yon friend Cheeryup is, sad to say, a guest in Sheriff Forgo’s gaol.”
“Wha..?” screamed the boy as quietly as possible.
“’Tis true. She was detained for stealing the contents of Mr. Bindlestiff’s safe. And I fear there’s a warrant for the arrest of ye boys as well.”
Orli leapt in, “We never stole anything!”
“But rumor says you were caught trying to break in,” continued Dalbo Dall. “The general thinking is that ye went back a second time and were successful.”
“But Mr. Dalbo—this was all your idea! You told us to do it!” cried Wyll.
“I did suggest going to Bindlestiff’s office, and truly I carry some guilt about that fact. I never should have interfered.” The village wanderer looked sullen in the dim, reflected light of the evening. “Nor did I foresee the Sheriff hauling the poor girl to gaol and her all ballin’ and cryin’. Maybe I should go back to me woods for a while and stop being such a nosey busybody.”
“Mr. Dalbo, you’re up to your neck in this! And where’s Mrs. Tunbridge?”
“Ach, she’s still in the hands of the Grippe, so Nurse Pym moved her to an infirmary she’s set up. There are now twenty Thimble Downers in the same sad state. Now, I’ll just be moseying along …”
“No you won’t—grab him, Orli” The giant Dwarf boy clamped his meaty hands on Dalbo’s shoulders. “We have a mission first.”
“And what be that, young Master Wyll? Oooch, yer squeezing me shoulders too hard!”
“You’re coming with us to crack Cheeryup out of gaol. Right now!” The look on Wyll’s face was grim and set.
“Oh poor Dalbo! Why do I always get myself into these messes,” moaned the tiny vagabond as Wyll and Orli lead him down the lane in the darkness, their hands firmly clamped on each arm.
There was going to be a gaolbreak!