“What the heck are you doing here?” Gadget was miffed at being awakened by a noisy gaolbreak. “Good gravy, it must be past midnight.”
“Ummm … we’re visiting the prisoner?” said Wyll, clearly short on ideas.
“Inside the cell? With the Sheriff’s stolen keys in your hands?” Perhaps not the smartest deputy in the world, Gadget was finally catching on. “You’re trying to bust yer chum out, ain’t ya?”
Wyll and Cheeryup looked awkwardly at each other. It was the latter who spoke first: “You’re right, Gadget. Wyll can’t stand having me incarcerated, so he came to free me. It’s the truth, I swear!”
“And I bet the Dwarf boy is outside standing guard. I’s right, ain’t I?”
“You are, Gadget,” said Wyll sadly. “I ’spose you’re going to lock us all up now.”
“It would make my life easier t’were I did,” mused the razor-thin deputy, rising from his bunk. “And ol’ Forgo would think his Gadget a top-notch lawman, maybe as good as his esteemed Bosco. I hear about that bloke every day, I do.”
“Well, Bosco was one of a kind,” noted the girl. “You have big shoes to fill, Gadget, but you’ll get there in time. I know you will.”
“That’s alright, Miss, but I’ll make my own pair of shoes. I don’t wanna be Bosco, Part Two anyway. I’m Gadget, Part One, if you catch my meaning.”
“I think we do,” nodded Wyll. “Do you want me to get Orli back here and you can lock us all up together? I promise not to make a run for it, not with Cheery still here. I’ll take my lumps this time.”
“No you won’t, young man.” Gadget sounded serious, as if he were going to lose his temper.
“Beg pardon?” Wyll and Cheeryup were both confused.
“Get going, you silly geese! And be quick about it or the Sheriff will wake up.”
“You mean you’re letting us go, Gadget?” The younglings were flummoxed.
“Of course, you ninnies,” laughed Deputy Pinkle, folding his arms and relaxing. “I know you didn’t steal anything from that nasty ol’ Bindlestiff. I ain’t as dumb as I look, and further, I know that three kids couldn’t burglar ol’ Bindler right under his big, fat nose. Even if you did, there are guards on duty at all times in the smeltery—they’d have stopped you for sure. Nah, I think it were an inside job, like. Maybe that rotter Fibbhook.”
“Why would Fibbhook steal the papers?” wondered Cheeryup, but suddenly they all noticed something else—Sheriff Forgo had stopped snoring.
“Gadget! Who in St. Borgo’s name are you talking to back there?” It was a sleepy, groggy Sheriff, howling from the front office.
“No one, Sheriff, just prattling on to myself,” lied Gadget. “I like to pretend I’m an actor onstage—right now, I’m a Battle Dwarf about to fight a pack o’ goblins!”
“Good grief. Just watch the prisoner and keep yer trap shut,” grumbled Forgo. “I bet those boys are miles away by now, but just in case, keep your eyes peeled.” They heard the Sheriff flop back on his cot and roll to his other side. A few loud snores and grunts followed.
“Look, little Miss, you and yer pals should skedaddle before Forgo comes back here himself. Pop out the back door and get your Dwarf friend. Skooch!”
“Thanks mate—we owe ya one!” was all Wyll said as he grabbed Cheeryup’s hand and dragged her from the cell. Within seconds they were out the door, had found Orli, and were bolting back towards the river, running and laughing in the darkness.
Meanwhile, Gadget Pinkle waited in the dark until he heard Sheriff Forgo’s snoring settle to a steady rhythm. “Ach, he probably won’t even remember this in the morning,” mused a satisfied Gadget. “But just in case, I need to prepare my alibi.”
At that, the deputy picked up a ceramic mug and cracked it soundly over his own noggin. Mission accomplished, the red-headed deputy slumped back down on the bunk, blissfully unconsciousness for the rest of the night.
* * *
“Where are we going, boys?” Cheeryup was pleased to be out of gaol, but less sanguine about heading off into the woods in the dark.
“Oooo, we have something special to show you!” crowed Wyll.
“Maybe you do, Wyll Underfoot, but you have some apologies to make first!” The girl was mad, even in the dark.
“For what?”
“For running off and leaving me alone, you nincompoop,” raged Cheeryup. “I had no idea where you and Orli went off to, but you left me to fend for my mother, not to mention Mr. Dorro, who looks like he’s about to cry whenever I see him.”
“Good!” snapped the sandy haired boy. “That’s what he gets for calling me a thief and a liar.”
“I’ll grant you that Mr. Dorro was a little harsh on you that evening, but you need a little more backbone,” she ribbed. “Stop being so sensitive! Wyll, I’m sorry you lost your mother and I know Mr. Dorro can be difficult at times—if not exasperating—but he means well and provides for you very nicely. For pity’s sake, you live in the nicest burrow in Thimble Down!”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” moped the boy.
“That’s because it is true, Wyll Underfoot,” said Cheeryup, who always called her friend by his full name when she irked with him. “And don’t think I’m not ticked at you too, Orli!”
The hulking Dwarf lad averted his eyes from Cheeryup’s fiery gaze. “Now, tell me about your discovery.”
“We’re almost here, so we’ll just show it to you.” The trio stumbled down the embankment to the edge of the River Thimble and kept jogging northward at a steady pace.
“Here!” shouted Wyll as he and Orli began removing brush. They found a few cinders still hot and quickly relit their brands. The boys headed deeper into the cave, and Cheeryup followed, ducking into the fissure after them.
“Oh my ...” For the first time in about an hour, the girl had run out of things to say.
“You know what this is, right?” asked Wyll. “Orli found it when he was rooting around in the cave.” The Dwarf boy grinned with pride.
“It’s the Pie Thief’s cache, isn’t it?” said Cheeryup meekly. “This is a major breakthrough, boys. Look—there’s Mrs. Fowl’s pie tins, Dowdy Cray’s wagon axel, and even the dress my mum sewed!”
“He was a busy one, weren’t he?” added Orli. “This is my Uncle Wump’s drinking flask and Uncle Two-Toes’ pocket knife!”
“What are we going to do?” chimed in Wyll.
“We could do two things.” Cheeryup put her hand to her chin and looked serious. “Either we can stake out the cave and try to catch the Pie Thief ourselves, or we can go tell the Sheriff and have him do the dirty work.”
“But what if ol’ Bindlestiff’s papers are here. Shouldn’t we snatch those for ourselves and go show ’em to Uncle Dorro?”
“That’s a longshot, Wyll. We don’t know if the Pie Thief actually stole them and if he—or she—did, it may take days to find it in all this mess.”
Crash!
The children froze in place as they heard a thundering noise in the front of the cave. Then shouts—they knew they were no longer alone. “Get them ruddy kids!” bellowed a hoarse, echoey voice, followed by thundering footsteps that reverberated off the hard stone walls. “They’re in this bleedin’ cave somewhere; check every nook ’n’ cranny.”
Wyll, Cheeryup and Orli began looking for an escape route, but seeing nothing, Wyll stepped up to the girl and whispered in her ears: “Hide!”
Cheeryup shook her head no, but his eyes blazed with violent intensity, so she dashed to a corner and covered herself with some of the Pie Thief’s stolen clothing and concealed herself deep under the pile.
A greasy head poked through the chasm opening. “In here, boss! We got ’em!” A moment later, several other Halflings scrambled through the hole, including one they recognized: Fibbhook, the evil foreman at Bindlestiff’s Smelting Works.
“Ain’t this a purty picture—two rotten kids and their treasure, all neat in a bundle. Good work tracking ’em, boys. These rats are the Pie Thieves, and now we can bring ’em back to Sheriff Forgo for their crimes. But first we’ll have a look around and see if that bratty girl is here. And we can grab a few treasures for ourselves, too. Find that lass!”
The tough workers from the smeltery fanned out and started poking through the stolen goods. “She’s not here!” yelled Wyll, “Cheeryup bolted when she saw the cave—said she weren’t going into any dirty hole in the wall. Plus she had no idea Orli and I are the Pie Thieves.” For his part, Orli said nothing and just looked at his feet in shame. “How did you find us anyway?” wondered Wyll.
“Oh, my spies have been following you rats for days,” snarled Fibbhook. “We knew you had run away from yer precious Uncle Dorro, but hoped you would lead us to the location of Mr. Bindlestiff’s stolen papers. Rest assured, we’ll turn this cave upside down to find ’em. Now you two sit on the ground and shut yer gobs. When we’re ready to go, we’ll tie you and march you back to the gaol. Sheriff Tubby-Guts will be more than pleased to see you and hold you lot over for trial. And Mr. Bindlestiff will give us each a raise for bringing you in.”
An hour later, Fibbhook and his henchmen had ransacked the stolen treasure and picked out a few easily sellable items each. They failed to find the missing papers, nor did they discover Cheeryup, who had burrowed even deeper into the pile. The gang finally grabbed the boys and hauled them off into the night and ultimately to the Thimble Down gaol. Finally, they’d adjourn to the Hanging Stoat for some beers and chops to celebrate.
* * *
After a quarter hour, a pile of clothing stirred in the rear of the darkened cave, seemingly of its own volition. A small girl emerged and began to make her way out of the chasm. There was more—under that pile of clothes she had found a canvas satchel containing a sheaf of pages. It was too dark to know exactly what they contained, but Cheeryup had a hunch; she was fairly certain she clasped Mr. Bindlestiff’s stolen documents to her chest as she began making her way home.
In the pocket of her dress was yet another clue, this one a bit more mysterious. In time, however, she felt it might help lead her to the real Pie Thief.