* * *
On precisely the same evening as Dorro, Timmo and the Dwarves were trekking through the Deep, the door to Mr. Bindlestiff’s darkened office creaked as it was slowly pushed open. The smeltery was closed for the night, aside from a few mechanics walking about, greasing machinery, checking flues and chimneys, and making sure the gears of industry would churn ahead in the morning.
This time, there were no signs of Fibbhook about, nor Dwarves, nor in fact anyone. The same shadow that stole across the smeltery floor and up the stairs, and just now picked the door lock, now moved past high desks and stools towards its goal.
The shadow laid a leather case on the floor and unwrapped it to find an array of gently gleaming metal tools. It tried a few different devices until it selected the perfect one, the thinnest file anywhere in Halflingdom, so fine that you could barely see it. It began inserting it into the keyhole, teasing the gears and tumblers ever so gently. If there had been light in the room, you would have seen a smile on the face of this safecracker, as it so enjoyed its work.
After about ten minutes, there was a small click! and the door to Mr. Bindlestiff’s safe swung open on carefully greased hinges. The shadowy figure took only a half second to admire its workmanship. It pulled a canvas bag out of its shirt and began stuffing it full of papers from the heart of the safe. These were Bindlestiff’s most important contracts and most confidential memos. The shadow closed the safe door and made it seem like no one had been there at all.
It spun like a cat and dashed from the room, making sure to re-lock the office door as well. It scampered down the stairs, back along the wall behind boxes, and even dodged a few mechanics who were lounging around and sharing a laugh.
At last the shadowy thief emerged into the brisk night and laughed out loud. This was its greatest hour of triumph!
Funeral
Dorro and Timmo dozed off in the leeward cave, as a cold wind whipped through the Deep, but left them alone.
If they had been awake, the pair would have found the Dwarves working feverishly in the dark, gathering sticks, branches, and logs and building a complex bier in the middle of the ravine. It was tiered into three levels and reached about twelve feet high—it was testament to the building talents of the Northlanders that they could construct this edifice so quickly and accurately.
On top of the bier, the body of Wump had been carefully lifted, from Magpie to Two-Toes and Flume to Crumble, who was at the top and gently laid his deceased brother on the platform. The corpus was heavily wrapped in cloth, though Wump’s face was uncovered. The Dwarf leader bent down and gave his brother a kiss on his brow.
What woke Dorro and Timmo, however, was not something they could see, but something they heard. An enormous roar shattered the darkness, followed by several more, each progressively closer. The two Halflings both bolted awake and grabbed each other, thinking the camp was under attack by goblins. But in the glimmering light of the fire that the Dwarves had made off to the side, they saw the Northlanders working quietly and happily, paying no mind to the terrifying animal sounds.
Still, as the bookmaster and metalsmith noted, they looked up periodically, again, as if waiting for something.
“Magpie, what’s going on?” asked Dorro in the dark. “Is the ceremony about to begin?”
“Aye, that it is, Halfling. Soon enough, at least.”
Timmo chimed in, “When did you build this enormous structure? I can’t believe you did it as we slept.”
Added Two-Toes. “We’re rock hewers and engineers by nature, so constructing a small bier is child’s play for us. Only took a few hours, while you gentler creatures napped.”
Dorro felt the mild jab, but knew it was true. It would have taken twenty strong Halflings a day, much less a few hours, to build something like this in. Moreover, Thimble Downers liked to sleep at night and would have saved this project for early morning hours. If that made his kind gentler creatures, so be it.
There was another roar in the distance, but really, Dorro knew, not that far off—maybe just a few hundred paces to the north.
“What is that, Flume?” he asked, but at this point the Dwarves returned to their labors and would not speak. Within the scrubby treeline, he could sense something large moving their way, and it troubled him.
Suddenly, Crumble let out a mighty yell himself—Whoooooleeleelee!—only to be answered by a beastly rumble in the distance. The Dwarves all scrambled off the bier and grabbed unlit torches, awaiting a signal. Dorro and Timmo moved off a few paces, knowing that something was about to happen—and it did.
Looming up out of the darkness came a hulking shadow, snuffling and shaking the ground with massive foot stomps. Then silence, only broken by the eerie sound of Crumble’s voice.
Guardian of the night,
protector of our dead.
Drawn from the northern hills
to grant passage to our fallen.
Speak to me, oh mighty one,
tell me of your woes.
We commend unto you this corpus,
pray guide him safe into the night.
Speak now, Bravest One!
At that, there was a crashing noise through the shrubs nearby, and the shadow finally emerged into shape. Timmo leapt perhaps a foot in the air and dug his nails into his friend’s arm: “It’s a troll, Mr. Dorro! A mountain troll!”
Dorro was just as terrified, but also fascinated by this monster. It was no troll, he knew, but still he studied it intently.
“I’ve heard of these beasts before, Timmo, but never actually seen one. I think we have color plates of the monster. Can’t be sure, I think it’s a—”
Suddenly, the creature stepped into the circle of light next to Wump’s bier, and Timmo grabbed Dorro harder.
“See, it’s a troll!” he cried.
“Don’t be silly. That, poor Timmo, is a northern cave bear. We don’t have them anywhere around here. But my word, they’re enormous!” said Dorro, half quivering in fear and half in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
The cave bear was now roaring freely, staring at the Dwarves, each of whom now carried a flaming brand as they approached. Strangely, Dorro noticed, they weren’t at all afraid of this monster, which could have devoured any one of them in a second.
Instead, Crumble walked within ten feet of the beast and spoke to him, mumbling odd phrases in Dwarfish. In later years, the bookmaster would swear that the bear was not only listening and nodding, but also responding with quiet grumps and snorts. They were talking!
“Really, Timmo, this is most fascinating. Imagine, a Dwarf talking to a bear, and vice-versa.” Dorro was enthralled, though the metalsmith just wanted to go home and climb into his warm, safe bed. “Look!”
Now the cave bear stood on its back legs and was as tall the top of the bier. It released its loudest roar of all, one that would have been heard for many miles. Even the owls in trees along the top of the Deep flew off in fright. Crumble spun around and tossed his flaming torch up onto the bier. Instantly the other four Dwarves followed suit.
Unbeknownst to the Halflings, the Dwarves had heavily doused the wooden structure in pitch and oil, and it burst into flame. The bear dropped to all fours and stepped back into the night, though its silhouette was still visible. The brothers stood as close as possible, grins on their faces and their arms waving in joy.
“I might be wrong, Timmo, but my guess is that the fire will release Wump’s spirit from the corpus, and the cave bear will somehow commend it to the afterlife,” posited Dorro. “What I can’t understand is how the Dwarves communicate with the bear. It’s like they have a shared relationship—maybe in a sense like the way we Thimble Downers have a spiritual connection to the Great Wood. It doesn’t make sense on the surface, yet on another level, it really does.”
It was at this particular moment that the giant conflagration reached its zenith and the bier collapsed in on itself, Wump’s corpus falling into the heart of the flames and sparks shooting deep i
nto the dark. Dorro and Timmo heard the cave bear roar again, but saw it turn and speed off into the night. It was returning to the Northlands from whence it came.
The Dwarves stepped back from the flames and each of them—Crumble, Magpie, Two-Twos, and Flume—were all crying freely, knowing at last that Wump’s spirit was gone and he would walk the caves of their ancestors for eternity.