Sheriff Forgo’s snoring could have woken the dead.
Wyll, Orli, and Dalbo were crouching outside a dimly lit window by the gaol, discussing ways to break in and purloin Cheeryup, who was stewing in a back cell.
“This is gonna be easy!” laughed Wyll. “Ol’ Forgo is right unconscious and ain’t gonna wake ’til morning. I’ve been in his gaol before, and it’s a lark to break free.”
“If you say so, Wyll. I’ve never done this before.”
The Dwarf boy was nervous, but Wyll’s carefree demeanor proved reassuring.
“In that case, you won’t be needing little Dalbo.” The wanderer stood and made to leave before Wyll and Orli grabbed his filthy jacket and pulled him down again. “Oooch! I ain’t made of stone, you know! Dalbos can break if you mishandle ’em!”
“You got us into this mess, Dalbo, and you’ll be the one to fix it!” snarled the normally placid Wyll.
“Meaning what, young sir?” demanded the tiny Halfling.
“Meaning that you’ll sneak in there with us to get our Cheeryup out! You get the key from Forgo’s belt and meet me in the back. Understand?”
“I’m no thief, Master Wyll!”
“You’re a troublemaker, Dalbo, that’s what you are. You will do as I say, or I will tell everyone in the village that you’ve given up the drink and don’t need their extra pennies anymore. Then you’ll have to get a job like everyone else!”
“Why, yer a nasty boy, Wyll Underfoot! Crafty, too, just like yer uncle,” fumed Dalbo Dall. “But I appreciate your wily nature—ye be a sneaky fox like Dorro, and that’s an admirable trait when yer in a pinch. So I’ll tell you what; I’ll pinch thems bleedin’ keys, but then I’ll be off like a shot. What ye do after that is no o’ my business! Ol’ Dalbo is a wily fox, too, and before you know it, I’ll vanish into the woods. Deal?”
Wyll extended his hand in the near-darkness.
“Deal.”
* * *
Their first stumbling block was the door to the gaol. Forgo had locked it before falling asleep, which was unusual for him; normally the gaol was open all day and night. For a moment, Wyll was afraid that the Sheriff had been expecting a breakout, but shook that idea away. Fortunately, he knew a fine lock picker, and that person was crouching next to him.
“Orli, didja bring that tool with you?”
Wyll could see Orli smiling in the dark, as he fished something out of his pocket. He quietly attacked the lock, twisting and jabbing the long, thin tool into the slot.
Click. Clack. Click-clack!
Orli quickly held his finger to his lips and squeezed on the knob. Gently the door swung inwards by a few inches. Happily, they still heard Sheriff Forgo sawing away in his sleep. Wyll cocked his head at Dalbo and disappeared into the pitch-black interior; the wanderer reluctantly followed while Orli stood watch outside.
Inside, everything moved like clockwork. Dalbo stole through the darkness and gently lifted the keys off Sheriff Forgo’s belt. Indeed, the vagabond was so light and soft on his toes that he moved without making a sound; for a second, Wyll wondered if he were the Pie Thief. No question, if it wasn’t for the drink and laziness, Dalbo would have been a formidable criminal, he figured.
Moments later, the diminutive being crept into the hall leading to cells in the back and handed the keys to Wyll, holding them tightly so they didn’t tinkle and make noise. “Good lad,” was all that Dalbo whispered before he turned on a penny and disappeared back out the front door.
True to his word, Dalbo Dall was gone, slipping down the lane. To a casual bystander, this shadow would appear no more than a cat going for a midnight ramble. Within minutes, Dalbo was off into the Great Wood where he planned to stay until things cooled down in the village.
Back in the gaol, Wyll continued with his plan. He snuck further into the building, listening with each step. He heard light breathing in the back and instantly knew that Cheeryup was asleep. This tousle-headed boy was also light on his feet, nimbly dodging a bench and a tray of dirty dinner plates on the floor—the remains of his friend’s supper.
He deftly unlocked her cell and moved to her bedside as softly as possibly. “Cheery!” he whispered in the dark. “Cheery, it’s me, Wyll!”
In a heartbeat, Wyll saw her eyes reflecting in the dark.
“Took you long enough! Is Orli here, too?”
“That’s gratitude for ya,” said Wyll, knowing how sharp Cheeryup Tunbridge’s tongue could be. “Yes, he’s outside on guard.”
“Do you have a plan at least?”
“Of course, we do! We’re runaway adventurers, Orli ‘n’ me. A-course we have a plan!” snarked Wyll, not sure if he really did have a plan or not. “But we have to move.”
“One more thing, Wyll Underfoot!” the girl snapped.
“What? We don’t have much time …” Wyll felt Cheeryup give him a big, wet kiss on the cheek and an even bigger squeeze.
“Thank you, Wyll. You are my best friend, you know.” Wyll was glad she couldn’t see him blushing in the dark. “Okay, let’s go.”
The pair turned to leave the cell when a match ignited in the adjoining cell. Wyll and Cheeryup watched the match move in the air and touch the wick of a candle. A hand lifted the candlestick in the air as if by ghostly magic and came towards them. The younglings clasped hands in fear as the flame moved closer and closer, another hand pushing the cell door open and floating towards theirs.
Finally, the light illuminated a face in the dark, the one they’d completely forgotten about in the adventures. A sound cut through the shadows, the leery voice of a man-child who’d been suddenly awakened and sounded grumpy: “What the heck are you two doing here?”
In the same breath, Wyll and Cheeryup both gasped, “Gadget Pinkle!”
In all his haste, Wyll had forgotten about the deputy. The jig was up.