Life with my uncle turned out to be far different than I had imagined. Unlike the stories I had heard of the eccentric elf who ran around causing justice, chaos, and mischief wherever he went, Uncle Finneus, behaved like a hermit. During the first week, I lived with him, he didn’t leave the house once, though mail and deliveries arrived every day. Aside from the deliveries, Uncle Finneus filled his days playing the bagpipes, reading, and smoking strange-smelling concoctions from his pipe.

I tried to be more civilized than my eccentric uncle, being sociable and the like. However, I encountered a few issues. The first was that the sprawling metropolis terrified me. It was my first time in a city, let alone Glueburn. The mass of buildings and people was unlike anything I had ever seen. I would go out for walks to try and adjust to the new environment with the weekly allowance my mother sent me for food. I met a few nice people, but the difference in race made me unsure of how to approach making friends. That is not to say, in any way, that I harbored any hatred towards any of the creatures I met in the city. I just wasn't sure how to act around them. After all, unlike in the elven forest where everyone was an elf, I had not seen another one of my kind other than my uncle since I had arrived here.

The somewhat normal life I was adjusting to changed one particular afternoon a few weeks into my stay at 102 Golden Trout Lane. It was close to three, and I had settled on the couch in the drawing room reading "The Magic of the Codex," a book Uncle Finneus demanded I read before the month was up. It was a dry book focused on analyzing and comparing the ancient Elven language and Dragon speech. I had a glass of wine to help me get through it, as after a week I was only close to finishing chapter two of thirty.

A knock at the door provided a much-needed excuse to put the book down. When I opened the door, I was met by a bedraggled Dwarf, panting heavily, with his hands on his knees. "Is this the Burgeon residence?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes, it is. Might I ask who you are?" I inquired.

The dwarf offered a sweaty and rather disheveled-looking bow. “I’m Robert Darq. And I am in dire trouble. I must speak to Finneus Burgeon. Please?”

Following the elven tradition of hospitality, I opened the door wide. “Please come in. Would you like some tea?"

I led the dwarf into the drawing room and sat him down before going to inform Uncle Finneus, who was locked away in his study. After notifying him about our guest, I set about making tea. When I returned with the drinks, Uncle Finneus was sitting silently in his high-backed armchair. He nodded in my direction, a silent acknowledgment, as I handed out the tea to our guest and then to him, and took my seat. Once settled, Uncle Finneus turned to the dwarf, "What's happening at the mine in Tradverd?"

"How did you know that's where I'm coming from?" gasped the dwarf.

Uncle Finneus turned and winked at me. "It is unimportant. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us what’s going on?”

The dwarf nodded, gulping down his tea. He looked at us with wide eyes before collecting himself. "My name is Robert Darq, you can call me Bob, and I’m a foreman at the Tradverd Iron mine. It all started a few months ago with the disappearance of Derick, one of the miners and a friend of mine. He vanished in the middle of the night without telling anyone. The workers had been talking about going on strike because the owner refused to raise their hazard pay. So, I assumed Derick had deserted to find better work in the town next over. The town of Bark has a silver mine, and sometimes they trade workers between us. It’s not agreed upon between the two mines or anything, but when it does happen the contracts, and such, get sorted easily enough. Anything, that is what I thought was happening.

Then another worker disappeared a week later, and another disappeared again, I thought those two had either gotten lost in the mines or had deserted. But the disappearances kept happening, and the space between them shortened every time. By last week, someone was vanishing every night. I talked to the bunkmates of the men who disappeared, but they were of no help. According to them, the victims were there one minute and gone the next.

The shit was getting creepy, and I started to panic. I called up the big boss for permission and then hired eight bodyguards to watch the camp at night. These guys were battle-hardened professionals, let me tell you. The captain of the group had a scar that ran the length of his face and wore an eyepatch, so you know they knew what they were doing.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Uncle Finneus.

The dwarf looked at my uncle, confused. “Why do I say what?”

Uncle Finneus waved a hand, “Why do you say that they must have been professionals? Were you recommended them by a guild or some past customers of theirs?”

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Bob, who had appeared confident in his storytelling up until this point faltered, “Well, no but like I said, they looked fearsome. They definitely had experience in fighting.”

“How did you even end up hiring them?” asked Uncle Finneus with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, well. You see, I was in the carriage making my way into the town of Trafford to go to the mercenary guild office when I met them on the road.”

“You met them on the road, and hired them then and there?” \

“Well, yeah.” Replied the dwarf.

Uncle Finneus sighed and covered his face with his hand, “That’s enough on the bodyguards you hired Robert, please carry on with the story.”

The dwarf appeared to want to defend his decision, but carried on anyway, “So I hired the group, but then yesterday when I awoke in the morning, they were gone, along with another miner. This time, there were blood trails. We formed a search party, but we found not a single trace of anyone or anything because the blood trails disappeared after only a few hundred yards into the forest. I didn’t know what to do, but I remembered my grandfather always telling me that if something inconceivable happened, I should go find Mr. Finneus Burgeon. So that’s why I’m here. Can you help me?”

He finished his story with a pleading look towards Uncle Finneus. "Who do you suspect is behind these disappearances? Does the owner of the mine have any enemies that could be doing this to attack the profits of the mine?" asked Uncle Finneus. “Has he angered any wizards in recent times?”

Bob shrugged. "One does not gain land contracts without making a few enemies. But none that would be capable of something like this. His enemies are petty noblemen and merchants, not powerful enough for this. If it’s magic, it’s something I’ve never even heard of. And if it’s something else..." The man shivered unconsciously. "I don’t think I want to meet it. Honestly, there is no explanation I can think of aside from the monsters in bedtime stories my mother used to tell me when I was a wee lad."

"Who is your grandfather?" asked Uncle Finneus.

"Edward Darq. He owned a jewelry store in Glueburn."

"Ahh, I remember it well," said Uncle Finneus, lighting his pipe. "Your grandfather’s jewelry store was being robbed. Nothing too crazy, just a jewel here and a jewel there. But it was digging into his profits. And with the economy what it was ninety years ago, it looked like he would have to close down. In the end, there wasn’t much of a mystery. His rival was a good-looking man, and after a couple of questions, I deduced that his wife was not only stealing from him but also having an affair. And it was with his rival no less. It was elementary stuff. The wife did not do a good job covering up her actions, and I didn’t even have to be there to know what was going on. How is your grandfather, by the way?"

"His store couldn’t survive with all the losses, and after a messy divorce, he killed himself," replied the dwarf.

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He did not seem like a bad creature," replied Uncle Finneus.

"It’s all right. It was years ago. Now, will you take my case?" asked the Dwarf.

Uncle Finneus rubbed his chin. "It doesn’t seem like much of a mystery. It’s fine. I guess I’ll do it for your grandfather’s sake. We’ll set off for Tradverd in the morning. Right now, I need to send off a few letters to check some things."

After the dwarf left, I decided to ask the burning question that had been on my lips for the entirety of the conversation. "So, how did you know he was from the mine in Tradverd?”

Uncle Finneus glanced up from his writing and shook his head at me sadly, “Have you not learned anything from the books and conversations we’ve had over the last week? The deduction, Bartholomew, deduction.”

This annoyed me, as Uncle Finneus had been repeating the same thing over and over again for the last week while looking at me like I was an idiot when I couldn’t understand. “Would you mind walking me through how you deduced it?” I asked with a sigh.

Uncle Finneus set down his pen, “Sure, but first, let me ask you, what did you notice about the dwarf?”

I looked up at the ceiling, trying to think back on the person who had been sitting in that very room no more than five minutes ago. “Well, first off, he seemed tired and thirsty. I noticed he had dark rings under his eyes. His clothes were dirty as well,” I spoke.

“That is a start, but you need to look deeper. What can you tell me about his face?” asked Uncle Finneus, who was now back to writing his letter.

I paused, thinking. “Umm, he had a short beard. I already mentioned the dark circle under his eyes. He had greying hair? I don’t know what I am missing, Uncle Finneus.”

“See, you can observe what I do, but cannot make the connections. Don’t worry. It takes practice. I’m sure you’ve read about dwarves before, right? They’re known for their large beards. Well, dwarven miners are either clean-shaven or keep their beards short. They do this in case poisonous gases are being released from the depths of the mine and they have to wear masks. Large beards don’t let the mask seal, anyone stupid enough to keep their beards long will not survive long in a mine.

Adding the fact that his clothes were wrinkled as if he had just been on a train ride, the fact he had run the entire way, and the mud on his pants had the distinct red tone of clay found in the Tadverd area. It was easy to assume they had come with great urgency about a situation that was happening in the Tradverd Iron Mine.”

“But didn’t Bob say that there is a silver mine in the area as well? Couldn’t he have been from there?” I asked.

Uncle Finneus shook his head. “I am aware of the mine. But most silver miners are known to have a bluish hue on their skin. I believe the proper term is argyria. Bob did not have any sort of bluish tint; thus, Bob couldn't have come from a silver mine.”

When Uncle Finneus held his silence, I asked, “Whom are you writing to?”

“I’m checking in with the towns north of the mine to see if they had an uptick in missing persons two months ago,” said Uncle Finneus.

“What does that have to do with the miners?” I asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Why don’t you go pack? We’ll leave for Tradverd tomorrow morning,” said Uncle Finneus. “Be excited Bartholomew, the fun is about to start.”