Wyll and Cheeryup slunk into the library for their first class in a week. They’d been absent during Dorro’s trial and departure, but finally, Mr. Timmo said he’d had enough and shooed them out the door of the Perch. Worse, they hadn’t made progress delving into the mystery of the heartwood.
Mr. Shoe brought the students to attention, and took the twenty or so younglings through lessons on Havling poetry (they were discussing the early sonnets of Bodurdo); arithmetic; letters and writing; and natural philosophy.
Bedminster was a fine teacher and rarely boring, but today, neither child could muster any enthusiasm for his tutelage. When he dismissed the class, they sighed with relief and made for the exit. Perhaps they could find Minty Pinter and ask him more questions about the life and times of Dalbo Dall.
“Tut, tut, you two stay behind! I need to speak you.”
The twelve-year-olds groaned and sat down at their desks while the rest of the children streamed out into the snow to play. “But Mr. Shoe, we just want to ….”
Bedminster shushed Cheeryup with a wave of his hand.
“Come, pull your benches to my desk. I have something important to show you—it’s about your little puzzle.”
“What puzzle?”
“What puzzle, sir? Learn how to properly address your elders, young man—haven’t I taught you anything? Now, as I was saying, this conundrum … I spoke with Minty the other day and he filled me in about this heartwood of yours.”
Cheeryup looked sour. “We haven’t made progress, Mr. Shoe. We’ve asked all over the village and no one has a clue.”
“We’re stumper’d, sir.”
“That’s stumped, not stumper’d,” corrected the academic. “Anyway, I didn’t work in this village as a scribe for twenty years to be deterred by a lack of witnesses. I’ve been doing a little research in the archives myself.”
With a mildly conceited sniff, Shoe began leafing through some folios on his writing desk and finally pulled out a single parchment sheet.
“Here it is! I was looking through old letters that I’d crossed-referenced by subject matter and found a few interesting ones, especially this one. Shall I read it to? It’s written in a rather archaic form of olde Havling, an older variation on contemporary Halfling script. Let me begin.”
Wyll and Cheeryup stole glances at each other and secretly smiled. This was their first break.