Thimble
Down, by Pete Prown, is a fantasy adventure novel,
written to challenge and engage young adults ages 10 to 18. The book is recommended for readers who
enjoy The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The
Wind in the Willows, Redwall, Artemis Fowl, and other timeless tales set in
landscapes and cultures that bring to mind England, Ireland, Scotland, and the
British Isles.
Thimble Down is a country village where death and
malice lurk the quiet lanes. When the vile, drunken Bing Rumple acquires a
gem-laden treasure, violence begins to follow him everywhere. Where did Bing
find such a precious jewel, and worse, is someone willing to kill to possess
it? In this fast-paced adventure, the village bookmaster, Mr. Dorro, and his
young companions Wyll Underfoot and Cheeryup Tunbridge are in a desperate race
to find the answer—before death comes to Thimble Down.
Thimble
Down is the first book in the “Chronicles of Dorro”
young adult mystery series, which follows Dorro, Wyll, and Cheeryup, on their
exciting, but dangerous, mystery adventures.
Amazon
reviews:
“A
fun read. Choose your favorite chair and settle down for a lighthearted,
fast-paced tale of thievery and intrigue in the faraway and long ago village of
Thimble Down. You’ll meet some unlikely heroes among the town’s inhabitants,
the “Halflings,” who love a good mystery almost–but not quite–as much as they
enjoy their creature comforts. This book is part mystery and part fantasy with
a tasty smattering of cooking, gardening, and fishing tips thrown in. Enjoy!”
“Perfect
for the tween in your life. Ordered this book for my twin, 12 y/o nephews for
Christmas and they both devoured it. Can’t wait for the next one!”
Thimble
Down is available on:
and
Barnes & Noble (http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/thimble-down-pete-prown/1114056025?ean=9781624883408).
Pete Prown is a noted American writer of Young
Adult fantasy books, as well as a magazine and book editor, and journalist.
He’s written both fiction and non-fiction books, including THIMBLE DOWN and a
series of instructional titles about guitars. Also a talented musician and
recording artist, his Guitar Garden music is available on CDBaby.com and
iTunes. For more information, go to http://peteprown.com/
Excerpt
from Thimble Down
by Pete Prown
The next morning, Bing Rumple was in full
stride. He’d been walking in and out of shops, a chop house, pony stables, and
many of the other burrows and houses that composed the center of Thimble Down,
bragging about his exploits in the east. With his brother Farroot and Bill
Thistle following him like a pair of leering weasels, Bing was enjoying his
moment in the sun.
“How do you kill a ferocious goblin?” A
youngling had just asked him this very question, and now he was preparing a
grandly entertaining response. “Why, you can do it many ways, my boy-o,” he said in a tough voice, but
trying to stifle a grin. “You can stick him in the throat with an arrow at
fifty paces, or sneak up from behind and garrote the bugger with a sturdy piece
of rope. Me, I generally just cut ‘em to pieces with this elvish saber. Look!”
he said, drawing the glimmering blade out of his scabbard, “you can even see
bits of dried, black goblin blood, and burnt flesh in the crevices.” At this,
the Halfling children screamed with a mix of fright and glee and ran off to
tell their horrified mothers. Bing and his pals roared with laughter.
As he expected, most people in Thimble Down had
never even seen a goblin or troll up close. “What do they look like? Do they
have bloody fangs?” asked young Tom Talbo, quivering with delight. Bing seemed
to think for a moment before replying, “Oh course they do, young sir. And they
have large bulbous eyes, thick grey-green or black skin covered with festering
sores, long muscled arms, and meaty hands with claws on the end. They are
fearsome to be sure, and if you get too close, they can shred yer intestines in a mere flash.” Bing
embellished his tale each time someone asked. He’d never been a celebrity
before, and he rather liked it.
“The worst of it was when me ‘n’ the lads were
trapped with an elfin hunting party, pinned down by about a hundred and fifty
goblins that outnumbered us mightily,” he rambled on. “We were on the top of a
small bluff with goblins and trolls all around us. The elves fought valiantly,
but we saved the day. Let me tell you the whole story.”
“Ya
see, goblins hate fire, and by a stroke of fortune, the top of the bluff was
covered with dry, dead brambles and bushes. So I braved a rain of goblin arrows
and ran over to the elf chieftain. I said, ‘Toldir’—that was his name—‘go ask
yer men to gather all the brush and big rocks possible, and arrange them on
rim,’ I says. Of course, Toldir got pretty steamed at me for calling his
warriors Men, because of course, elves ain’t Men and Men ain’t elves, if
you reckon my meaning. But in the heat o’ battle, these things happen. Anyway,
the elves did as I asked, and soon the entire edge of our bluff was ringed with
brush and big boulders. I’ll hand it to them elves—they are strong and can move
quick-like, especially in a pinch.”
“As a further stroke of luck, the elfin hunters
had leatherskin bags filled with deer and musk oil from their recent kills,
which we used to drench the brush. At Toldir’s command, the oil was lit afire,
creating a massive inferno around the perimeter. I gave a shout of ‘Heave-ho!’
and we used sticks and logs to push the big rocks and flaming brush over the
lip and down onto the enemy, who were stricken with terror. Those goblins that
weren’t killed outright by the boulders and stones were hit with the flaming
brambles and verily burst into flames. And any demons that escaped this hell
were soundly stuck with deadly elvish arrows or, might I modestly say, by the
edge of my sword as we charged down the hill to destroy the enemy. With the
goblins either dead or in complete disarray, our troop was able to escape and
rejoin the larger elf forces to fight another day.”
“Huzzah! Hurrah for Bing!” applauded his
audience. Bing, Farroot, and Bill tossed handfuls of pennies into the crowd to
curry their favor even more, driving the children mad with joy. Still, some of
the older Halflings at the edge of the crowd couldn’t put the image of the
sniveling Bing Rumple of yester-year out of their minds. “How could that
miserable excuse for a Halfling be such a hero?” they thought. But in general,
the village folk were greatly entertained, and this was a great boon to local
merchants who hadn’t seen crowds this big since the harvest festival of the
previous year. Up and down the hard-packed dirt lanes in Thimble Down, sellers
were bringing their wares into the open air, especially pies, cakes, and any
variety of dried, candied meats on a stick, which only cost a penny or two and
were gobbled down rapturously.
Many in the crowd were also ogling the
gem-encrusted brooch pinned on Bing’s left breast. Indeed, more than
a few secretly began to covet it. Among them was one Halfling who decided—at
that very moment—to steal it.
Even if it meant someone had to die.
