The Lost Ones

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used facetiously. Any resemblance to action persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2016 Pete Prown

Cover background illustration: © Unholyvault | Dreamstime.com

Copy editors: Robin Beaver, James N. Powell

Cover design: Baxendell Graphics

eISBN: 9781543909111

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Dramatis Personae

Preface: An Infamously Hot Summer

A Wedding

Parched

The Antiquarian

Whither Billiken?

The Driver Spike

In the Garden

Bosco Goes South

A Slice of Pie

The Calamity

Grand Opening

Up the Gangplank

The Bumbling Badger

The Water Wolf

Esmond's Doubt

Longleaf

Class Begins

The Dress Down

A Wrong Turn

Fist in the Face

In the Hold

The Closet

Profits for the Company

A Clouded Mind

Ransomed

Dorro Defamed

Gold

River Bank

The Unthinkable

She Knows Too Much

Prisoners

Forgo Gets the Boot

A Letter from the Captain

Fresh Meat

Remembering

What Sheriff Bilge Said

Wizened Hands

Meeting of the Two Companies

Web of Evil

Battle Plans

The Diversion

A Brush with Death

Mothers and Brothers

The Lost Boy

Stormwatch

Cataclysm

Salt and Brine

A Rueful Dawn

Brighter Days

Acknowledgments

Read the entire series

The Chronicles of Dorro

Thimble Down (book 1)

Devils & Demons (book 2)

The Lost Ones (book 3)

Death of a Dwarf (Book 4)

Goblin War (Book 5)

… and don’t miss the thrilling novel:

Master Blacke

Dramatis Personae

At the Library

Dorro Fox Winderiver: Bookmaster of Thimble Down (door-oh, winn-da-river)

Wyll Underfoot: Dorro’s nephew (will)

Cheeryup Tunbridge: Daughter of the village seamstress

In the Village of Thimble Down

Sheriff Forgo: The law in Thimble Down

Bosco, Dumpus & Porge: Forgo’s deputies (bah-scō, poor-gǎ)

Bedminster Shoe: The village scribe

The Mayor: Mayor and magistrate of Thimble Down

The Parfinn Family: A large family that runs the Bumbling Badger tavern

Mr. Timmo: The metalsmith

Mr. Mungo: Owner and barkeep at the Hanging Stoat tavern

Farmer Edythe: A local farmer and Mungo’s wife (edith)

Nurse Pym: The local healer and midwife

In the Village of Water-Down

Netfiddle: The Mayor

Bilge: The Sheriff

Capt. Larkey: Captain of the Calamity

Lt. Fysto: The 1st lieutenant (fist-oh)

Longleaf: Larkey’s port agent

Coal: A barmaid at the Sea Dog Tavern

Preface: An Infamously Hot Summer

Out of the frying and into the fire. That is what the Summer of 1721, A.B., seemed in fair Thimble Down—the heat was unbearable, and our entire village on edge. Yet its denizens soldiered on, tending water-ravenous crops as best they could and, just as often, slaking their thirsts in the local taverns and alehouses. Halflings are rather predictable in that way.

As for the village bookmaster, a certain gentleman named Dorro Fox Winderiver, the Summer passed as it usually did, his work at the library mixed with tranquil angling on the River Thimble and a bit of gardening at home (though the heat had a profoundly unpleasant effect on his phlox and zinnias, much to his displeasure).

Conversely, this same heat and humidity kept the fish active and, on July the 21st, Mr. Dorro landed the biggest fish of his life, a magnificent twenty-pound pike that nearly pulled him into the river. He wrestled the creature to shore and even found a few Halflings to witness the weighing, confirming the catch for the village record books.

After christening the fish Big Otto (after his maternal great-grandfather), Dorro set the beast free, all in the hope of catching him again someday. Wyll and Cheeryup—Dorro’s ward and the lad’s closest friend in the world, respectively—also spent their days at the river, swimming and laughing, just as younglings should.

Despite the fierce heat, Sheriff Forgo—the principal lawman in these parts—passed July and the beginning of August in relative bliss. Crimes were few and far between, and most Thimble Downers were too hot and grumpy to create much of a ruckus.

Instead, Forgo and his deputies, Bosco, Porge, and Dumpus, passed the days checking wells to make sure levels hadn’t dropped precipitously, as well as peeking in on elder citizens to make sure they were comfortable.

Forgo and Dorro also stopped by to see Old Hob, the village’s oldest and wisest citizen, and asked if he was doing well (the elder gent was a key player in our last adventure, Devils & Demons). Of course, they could never refuse Hob’s cool teas and sweet cakes, which became another compelling reason to visit.

But like most Thimble Downers, Sheriff Forgo looked at the vast blue sky and relentless sun, wondering if it would ever rain again. He knew local farmers were concerned about the Fall harvest, whereas villagers well understood that wells and springs wouldn’t gush forever without replenishing. It was in this context of worry and doubt that the latest malfeasance occurred in the village, which I shall now relay.

As usual, I ask your pardon for the liberties I have taken with the narrative of the tale. These are due solely to my deficiencies as a chronicler. Dear reader, please forgive me.

We begin our story on the wonderful day of Mr. Mungo and Farmer Edythe’s wedding and, surely, all was bliss. And yet…I’m sad to say, the village’s darkest days arrived not long after. What had Thimble Down done to deserve such ill tidings? To this day, even I can’t say with any confidence.

Thus begins our wrenching tale.

Yours in literary kinship,

Mr. Bedminster Shoe, scribe, Ret.

November 13, 1773, A.B.*

(*After Borgo, first king of the halflings)

A Wedding

"Thank goodness they decided to have the ceremony by the river."

Dorro was sweating profusely in the rising August sun, though it was barely half-past nine in the morning. Around him young Wyll Underfoot and Cheeryup Tunbridge, along with a host of Thimble Downers, helped set up the festivities.

There were streamers hanging from the trees, tables laden with cool, tasty foods for the brunch, and freshly cut ditch lilies, hydrangea, and phlox by the score, carefully set in vases of water to keep them bright in the heat.

Stop yer grumbling, Winderiver, and help me spread out these doilies! It was hard to envision the word doilies springing forth from Sheriff Forgo’s lips, but there it was. The beefy, large-bellied lawman of Thimble Down was hard at work—and as overheated as anyone else. "Mungo and Edythe are our friends and this is their big day, so shut yer cakehole and get doily-ing!"

Dorro harrumphed and started spreading white snowflake-shaped doilies amongst the table settings, all in anticipation of the marriage of Mr. Mungo and Farmer Edythe, a day many in the village thought they’d never see. Amazingly, Mungo had found the courage to ask for her hand at the end of June and, less surprisingly, Edythe had said yes.

As for the preparations, Mrs. Fowl brought a number of her famous meat pies to the party, while Millin and Nutylla Parfinn (and their copious number of children) brought ample foodstuffs from their tavern, the Bumbling Badger. Dorro had contributed as well, bringing five jugs of his famous cider, all squeezed from apples picked the last Fall from the orchard his grandfather Lorro had planted generations earlier.

Mr. Dorro, since we’re almost done, do you mind if Wyll and I grab a quick swim before the ceremony? said a perspiring Cheeryup, Dorro’s assistant at the library as well as one of his favorite young people. We’re awfully hot!

The bookmaster merely waved her away, which was as good as an aye to her. In a shot, she and Wyll sped towards the water, while Dorro continued fussing with the table settings and muttering unhappily to himself. There was a sudden clamor and various shouts, whoops, and whistles: Dorro knew that the happy couple must be arriving, along with the Mayor, who would soon perform the ceremony.

Might you need any assistance, Mr. Dorro? It was Bedminster Shoe, the village scribe and Dorro’s occasional library manager. Bedminster also chronicled the bookmaster’s various adventures, which he claimed he would publish someday. The notion amused Dorro, but his vanity was also pleased by the attention.

Surely, Mr. Shoe, said Dorro. What’s new in your ink-blotted world this warm Summer?

As you might guess, there isn’t much business transpiring, so my calligraphic skills haven’t been called upon for contract work. There have been a few deaths, so I’ve written a few memorials for the village archives, as well as a few wills for our aged residents. Nothing exciting, except…

"Except what?" uttered Dorro, raising an eyebrow at Shoe’s pause.

Well, we have a new literary figure in town, added Bedminster with quiet excitement. A most impressive fellow!

Do we now? You must tell me more, added the bookmaster, now feverishly folding napkins and spreading out the silverware.

He’s a most august gentleman by the name of Mr. Rufus Lickspittle and he’s just opened a bookstore on the High Street. And what a bookstore! Mr. Rufus has bedecked it with wonderful volumes of Halfling literature, poetry, and history—books and scrolls we don’t even possess in the library, if you don’t mind me saying. Bedminster Shoe was nearly salivating at this point.

I’m wondering why I didn’t hear of this sooner. After all, I am the village bookmaster! sneered Dorro with obvious distain. Though to be honest, I have been busy with wedding preparations and haven’t been to the library much.

It just happened this week—Mr. Rufus rolled into town and opened up shop almost overnight. He’s only been there a day or two. And there’s more!

Really? asked Dorro with increasing displeasure. Pray, do tell me.

We now have an artist! An acquaintance of Lickspittle’s has also moved into the village and taken a studio on Little Featherdrop Lane, near the Bumbling Badger. His name is Esmond Pie, and he says he wants to paint a portrait of everyone in Thimble Down, especially the younglings. His formal pictures of children are quite renowned throughout the Halfling counties, so I’ve heard.

We’ll see about that. In my mind, the library is the center of culture in Thimble Down and I don’t see how the arrival of these two gents, however esteemed they seem, will change that. I do wish I had been notified of their arrivals earlier, Shoe.

It was clear to Bedminster that Dorro felt not only threatened, but was also a bit jealous of these new performers on the cultural stage of Thimble Down. Shoe promptly apologized and moved off to help Sheriff Forgo finish hanging the last of the streamers. A heartbeat later, there were hushed whisperings that the ceremony was about to begin.

It suddenly dawned on Dorro that he had forgotten to tell Wyll and Cheeryup, who were off swimming in the River Thimble. He dashed off towards the shore and in a second, found himself standing on a big, round rock overlooking the river and flapping his arms like a madman. Children! Hurry! The wedding is about to start. Hurry!

The younglings waved back and began to swim back to shore. Dorro turned to hop off the rock onto dry land when there was a sudden disturbance in a large shrub to his right. Fearing a giant wolf or bear would lurch out of the foliage to devour him, the bookmaster flailed away with his arms and lost his balance.

"Noooooooooo—" was the only word to escape his mouth before Dorro, dressed in his finest breeches, leather shoes, and green velvet jacket, slipped and back-flopped straight into the river.

Splash!

Oh dear, Mr. Dorro, are you okay? ’Tis only I, your friend Dalbo Dall, asking if you knew when the wedding was going to commence. But I’m glad to see you’ve cooled off in the nice water. So clever of you. It was Thimble Down’s much-loved, but rather daft vagabond, who had been napping on the other side of the bush and decided to peek through to see who was talking.

"Dal-bo…" replied Dorro, sitting in the water on his soggy bottom while the children rushed up beside him giggling. They tried to help him up, but the bookmaster angrily stood up and made directly for the wedding party, his silver-buckled leather shoes squishing and squashing the whole way. Still laughing, Cheeryup winked at Dalbo and bade him quietly follow.

Alas for poor Dorro, Mr. Mungo had asked him to recite one of Edythe’s favorite verses of Halfling poetry during the ceremony and there was no way to back out. As such, the bookmaster recounted Bodurdo’s beloved sonnet Of Thee Whom I Love So Dearly in front of the happy couple and about seventy fellow villagers, all of whom were snorting riotously. The wet, dripping clump of duckweed on Dorro’s head did not further aid the situation either.

In later days, Mr. Dorro would never recall the marriage ceremony of Mungo and Edythe with much fondness. Yet throughout the village, the bookmaster’s recitation was remembered with mirth, especially when a green, dappled frog poked its head out of Dorro’s breast pocket mid-sonnet and began croaking a merry tune in accompaniment.

Parched

It was now well into the evening and the wedding festivities had wound down. A good time had been had by all, even to a degree by Dorro once he’d dried off, danced with Cheeryup, and Wyll, and congratulated the new couple. It had been lovely service, too, despite Mungo’s incessant crying—he did love a good wedding, even if it was his own.

Finally, the crowd gathered for a send-off dinner by the banks of the River Thimble, and thence the newly christened Mr. and Mrs. Mungo departed in a cart that was to take them past the ford. At that juncture, a boat was awaiting and would convey the pair to their honeymoon destination, the popular waterfront village of Water-Down, about fifty miles downriver. In all, the day had been a magnificent success, despite Dorro’s incident at the river.

While the children played hide ‘n’ seek in the surrounding woods, Dorro sat at a wooden table with Sheriff Forgo and a few of his deputies. There had been pipes and ale aplenty that evening, and more than a few cups of the ol’ honeygrass whiskey, to the point where no one was feeling any pain and there were gentle grins all around.

"…so as I was thayin’, slurred Forgo, this heat wave hathz gotta end or we’ll be in trouble! The wells are startin’ to dry up and that’s bad for business."

Sheriff, you’re starting to sound like Osgood Thrip, lamented Dorro with a smile. Since when have you become a busy merchant? Around him, the deputies snickered, too.

"I’m just thayin’—that’s what Thrip would say!" snarled the lawman.

I think, my dear Sheriff, you miss Osgood.

"Hardly! Osgood Thrip wuz a pain in my bunions. Still, he did bring a certain color and excitement to Thibble Down."

He’ll be back soon enough, waxed Dorro. The family’s exile is almost over, and Osgood and family will be back to their nefarious ways, I’ll wager. I do hope Lucretia’s better and thinking more clearly. He was referring, of course, to Lucretia Thrip’s near-murderous attempts on his own life two months earlier, and her subsequent breakdown.

"Ah Winderiver, maybe you are sweet on fair Lucretia after all. All that chasin’ each other as children. That ess-plains it!" guffawed Forgo, joined in by Bosco, Porge and Dumpus.

That’s hogwash. How dare you? By this time, Dorro had flushed a delicate shade of beet-red in the cheeks, which was getting deeper by the second. The chorus of laughter surrounding him didn’t help.

Sensing an impending explosion, Forgo waved his deputies down and changed the subject. So—you’ve heard about the new members of ol’ Thibble Down?

Yes, replied Dorro icily. A bookseller and a painter. So what?

"So nuthin’. I thought you’d be interested in these artsy, fancy types, more your speed than mine. The bookman is called Rufus Lickspittle—a tall, spindly fellow with a chin beard and big eyebrows. Makes quite an impression and is quite confident he can make his bookstore thrive. Says his collection of books for young folks will be quite a sensation—Lickspittle is even offering to read exciting adventure books to bring the tykes in. Clever, that."

Oh, we’ve been doing that for years, Forgo.

"Does anyone [burp!] show up?"

Not many, said Dorro ruefully. But we do get a handful every few weeks.

"Rufus says he wantz to enrich the young folks’ minds and improve the community. He’s very civic minded."

Sounds fishy to me. What is the library for if not to improve our village? grumbled Dorro.

You should meet this here painter, too, added Forgo. "He’s a quiet chap, this Esmond Pie. Also quite in favor of ‘improvin’ the arts, he sez—wants to paint everyone and at real good prices, too. He might offer art classes of his own. Imagine that: a new bookstore and art teacher in one week. Thibble Dibble will be the cultural capital of the Halfling kingdom!"

I shall pay them a visit this week. I want to welcome them to our village and build a bridge between our respective institutions. For the betterment of the children, of course.

Of course, Windy-river, of course—no one more qualified than you, said Forgo with a small grin. It had been exactly the answer he’d been hoping for.

***

"Sheriff! Sheriff!"

Forgo and Dorro suddenly looked up from their conversation. Making their way through the party revelers, the pair could see a woman headed their way in the flicking light of candles and hanging luminaries.

Sheriff! Please help me! It was Brenda Bunkins, wife of a wagon-cart drover in the village.

What is it, Brenda? Is someone hurt? asked Forgo.

No, but I can’t find Billiken. He’s been missing for hours. Brenda was referring to her son, a small boy who, along with his friend Jemmy Flea, was noted for his robust imagination. In fact, he was frequently to be found in pursuit of pirates and often in the most unlikely of places, such as in the pantry or under his cat, Mr. Bobo.

I’m sure he’ll turn up, Brenda. Billiken is a little rogue and off chasing ruthless privateers somewhere.

Mrs. Bunkins looked mildly consoled. "I don’t know, Sheriff. Billi is never late for dinner. Ever. He may be a pirate hunter by day, but come suppertime, he’s in his chair and calling for me to bring him a ‘fresh shark steak and a tankard o’ grog, matey!’"

Give it another hour or two. I’m sure Billiken is just making Mr. Bobo walk the plank somewhere. And if he isn’t, I’ll be back at the gaol within the hour. You can find me there.

Brenda smiled palely and left, hoping to find little Billi at home by now. But she wasn’t sure he’d be there. In the pit of his stomach, neither was Sheriff Forgo.

The Antiquarian

The air was clear and still that morning after the wedding, yet boding of the inevitable heat to come, when Dorro walked into the village from his comfy burrow, the Perch. Even with the humidity, as well as a bit of a headache from the wine, there was nothing quite like a Summer’s morn in Thimble Down.

A few tree leaves were beginning to crisp up in the swelter, yet also mounds of blue and pink hydrangeas to admire, as well as Rose of Sharon. The trees were abundant with birds, as the warblers, blue jays, orioles, cardinals, and wrens gathered at that time of day to tweet and whistle about their adorable hatchlings, upcoming vacation plans, and where to get the best prices on worms.

Still, Dorro noted, the grass was beginning to turn brown and some blossoms looked a little wan.

We do need rain, he fretted. We do indeed. But looking up he saw a clear blue sky with nary a cloud in sight. Yet it shan’t rain on this day, Dorro thought, casting a baleful glance at the sun still rising in the morning sky.

As was his custom, the bookmaster stopped off at the round, freestanding structure that served as the village gaol, to see if he could glean any useful bits of information from Sheriff Forgo or one of the deputies. Dorro simply loved to know facts and trivia about his fellow Thimble Downers. Not that he was a gossip, mind you (well, surely a little), but he used this wealth of information in his investigations and to understand the larger, beating pulse of the village.

It was in this capacity that he aided Forgo in solving mysteries and, indeed, the Sheriff fostered this exchange of information. He knew that if lawman could get the bookmaster’s mental gears turning, there was a good chance he could come up with solution to a particular problem. It was a fair exchange, he reasoned.

Dorro poked his head inside the gaol. Hullo? Anyone here? He heard a little shuffling in the rear of the building, and soon the rotund frame of Sheriff Forgo emerged; most likely the lawman had been sleeping off the honeygrass whiskey of the prior day.

What brings you round today, Winderiver? he said, warming, knowing full well why Dorro was there.

Just checking on the state of affairs in our sweet hamlet, Sheriff. Any problems with the heat and dryness?

Sitting down at his desk, Forgo replied groggily, The well in the center of Thimble Down is down by half, and the one by the Hanging Stoat is low. And the one in Fell’s Corner is just about dry. Some folks brought up muddy water yesterday, which is a bad sign. Pretty soon, we’ll have to start rationing or Halflings will have to trudge to the river to get their washing done.

No, no, that won’t do, groaned Dorro. Not good for our fishy friends or the water fowl. We must find a solution. What are our neighbors saying?

I’ve heard from the constabularies in Nob, Upper-Down, and West Upper-Down, and all have reported the same darn issue. We simply need rain—there’s nothing else for it!

Let me research in the library today to see if this has happened before or if there are any solutions to be found. I’ll stop by and visit our new bookseller, this Mr. Lickspittle of whom everyone is speaking so highly—then we’ll see what kind of operation he has going, I dare say. Perhaps he’ll know how to fix a well! the bookmaster sneered.

The two exchanged goodbyes and Dorro continued on his way to the library to meet up with Wyll and Cheeryup, and then stroll over to this new shop of