by Pete Prown
* * *
“Hello, Mr. Dowdy? Are you here?”
Wyll and Cheeryup stepped cautiously into the dim, musty shop of Dowdy Cray, the wagon builder of Thimble Down. All around his workshop were stacks of lumber, beams, and half-made wheels, as well as buckets of iron hardware to bind them all together.
Dowdy worked most days with Bog the Blacksmith, who forged all the metal himself to Dowdy’s exact specifications. Without these two gents, commerce in the village would grind to a halt and merchandise would have to be moved by pony, mule, and on the backs of Halflings themselves. In a very real sense, wagons drove the economy of their world and, as such, Dowdy and Bog were two very busy fellows.
“I’m here, young folks, but I’m up to my elbows in work. I don’t have time to chit-chat.
“We’re sorry, Mr. Dowdy, but we’re just trying to gather the facts of Mr. Dalbo’s death, hoping to find some information that will help Uncle Dorro.”
“I’ve told Sheriff Forgo all I know, as has Bog. Heck, Forgo was right there the whole time, so he knows it all. But it’s funny you’re here,” continued Dowdy. “There is one chap who knows a bit about Dalbo and it’s his wagon I’m a-fixin’ today. You can find him in my back room—he’s been weepin’ and carryin’ on all day.
“Honestly, it’s getting on me nerves!”
