Death of a Dwarf Read online

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  No sooner had they exited the Hanging Stoat than the three ran into a pair of Thimble Downers arguing furiously.

  “You’re ruining my business, ya interloper!”

  “That’s tough, my friend. Not our fault you haven’t kept up with the times.” By this time, the first Halfling had already thrown his first punch, catching the second on the chin.

  Dorro instinctively threw his arms around Wyll and Cheeryup and drew them away from the brawlers, who were going at it tooth and claw.

  “Your rotten smeltery is ruining our village,” shouted Bog the Blacksmith, who’d moved in a few months earlier. “I’m sick of your foul, black smoke!”

  “Maybe you’re just too weak for this line of work,” sneered the second chap—Silas Fibbhook, the foreman from Bindlestiff’s smeltery. “Why don’t you try needlepoint or something more suited to your talents?”

  At that, Bog charged Fibbhook and tackled him around the midriff, causing both to go down in a heap. Sadly for him, the latter was faster and a mite stronger, as he flipped Bog over and began pummeling him in the face. “If you can’t take the competition, get out of Thimble Down. You’ve gotta learn that only the strong survive.”

  By this time, Mr. Mungo had already come out, alerted by the noise and yelling.

  “Oy, this is bad for my business, so knock it off!” A big man, he grabbed Fibbhook from behind and pulled him off Bog as if he were a stinkbug. He stood between the two, in fact quite bravely, and held the two fighters apart. “There’s no more fighting at the Hanging Stoat or its environs. We’re a respectable establishment now. And if anyone disagrees, they’ll get a poke from me!”

  “Or me!” chimed Mungo’s equally burly missus, Edythe. And certainly, a poke from Farmer Edythe could do some serious damage, as everyone knew, inspiring the pugilists to retire.

  “I’m not done with you, blacksmith,” hissed Fibbhook as he disappeared into the darkness.

  Mungo and Edythe helped Bog to his feet, his face contorted with rage. “Mark my words, everyone, that smeltery will be the end of Thimble Down. It’s not natural. It’s filling the air with black smoke, and folks are getting sick. Mark my words!” he bellowed before he too headed for home.

  The crowd of villagers standing there, along with Dorro and the younglings, all stared at one another. No one knew what impact the smeltery was having on the air or general health of the place, but everyone felt Thimble Down was changing and becoming more modern. Problem was, no one knew if that was a good thing or not.

  The Grippe

  “G’morning, Gadget,” Forgo said as the young deputy ambled into the gaol. “What’s the word in the lanes?”

  Scratching his mop of dull red hair, he paused for a few seconds, but had a thought, “Did you hear about Mrs. Leery?”

  “No, what, happened?”

  “She came down with the cough a few days ago.”

  “So? Lots of Thimble Downers have this damnable flu.”

  “Yeah, but this lady is dead,” murmured Gadget. “Don’t remember any folks dying from the plain ol’ flu.”

  “She died?” Forgo stood up like a bolt. “Why, Mrs. Leery babysat me as a youngling. Poor, dear lady ….”

  “And another oldster in Fell’s Corner is on the verge—a certain Milvis Tanner. I heard he won’t make it to see another dawn. Coughin’ himself inside out, they say.”

  “I vaguely know him—keeps to himself. Still, that’s a shame. Nurse Pym must be exhausted.”

  “’Tis true, I have seen her bustling all over the village these days.”

  The door banged open and none other than Nurse Pym herself strode in. “Forgo! I need yer help. Now!”

  “Now calm down, Jessie and take a seat!”

  The nurse shot him a baleful eye—no one called Nurse Pym by her first name. She only let her long-deceased parents call her that many years ago and, since then, it was reserved for only her closest friends. Forgo, who knew her as Jessie back from their childhood days, pulled out a chair and gestured for Thimble Down’s foremost healer to park it and shut it. She quietly sat down, though still glaring at the Sheriff. “What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the …?” Pym let it die on her lips. “Are you pulling my leg, Forgo? I’ve got over thirty sick Halflings of all ages in bed with this cough and they ain’t improving. And they’re all over the place, so I’m being run off my feet. If I get the so-called Grippe, we’re done—there’s no other healer in town.”

  “What do you think the blight is caused by?”

  “Hell if I know, Sheriff,” said Pym, adjusting her beefy profile on the chair for more comfort. Indeed, she was right—if she got ill, Thimble Down would be in grave danger; in some ways, she was its most important citizen. “It must be a virus blown in from the country by traders. But I’ve given patients my famed nettle soup, along with cranberry and oak-leaf tinctures, and none have shown signs of improvement. You’ve heard about Mrs. Leery, no doubt. By tomorrow, we could lose another one—maybe two.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with this smeltery?”

  Nurse Pym scratched a few of the hairs on her chin. “I’m no scientist, but it makes some sense. Halfling lungs aren’t made to suck in black smoke, but sure enough, most of ’em smoke pipes like chimneys anyway. But that’s the finest pipe weed from Nob, not a fog of smelted metals and ores.”

  “If you need more help delivering medicines, you can use my cart and my pony, Tom. He’s slow, but reliable. And speaking of slow but reliable, feel free to employ Gadget as well. He’s a good lad.”

  Gadget perked up at the sound of his name. “Huh? What? Who?”

  Lowering his voice, the Sheriff added, “Maybe not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but still useful.” Nurse Pym smiled back.

  “I’ll take you up on both. Gadget, come with me. I have ten Halflings who need my soup and tincture right away. If you can deliver them for me, it would do a world of good for these old bones.”

  The ever-affable Gadget Pinkle grinned and nodded, happy to be of help. Not the brightest lad, again thought Sheriff Forgo, but he could grow into something more. Like Bosco. A cloud briefly passed over his eyes, but he shook it off and quipped, “That’s our plan for the moment. Jessie—I mean, Nurse Pym!—please keep me apprised of the sick. Hopefully, there won’t be any more deaths.”

  Pym looked grim for a moment. “Oh, there will be, Sheriff. You can count on it.”