The Golden Perch Inn

[Undómë]

Rowan pulled the quilt up over her face, groaning at the bright, sharp light that flooded against her closed eye lids. ‘Prim!’ she growled from beneath her dark warm cave of covers. ‘Turn down that lantern! You want to blind me?!’

‘Oh, Rowan! ‘S’not me! Quick get up! Something’s happened!’ Prim’s voice had a disconcerted, nearly frightened tone to it.

With a groan, Rowan threw back her blankets and sat up in bed. What’s this? she thought, taking a quick look about her room. The sun was well up and the full morning’s light shown through her thin, cotton curtains. ‘Goblins take me!’ she muttered clambering quickly to her feet. ‘And they might as well as Cook’ll have my hide for laying abed so long.’

The late Spring air was still a bit brisk she thought as she reached for her robe to pull over her nightgown. She hurried toward the door intending to make her way to the kitchen when the strangeness of the whole situation made her pause. She listened carefully, cocking her ear toward where the kitchen was. No pots banging about, no chop-chop as knife struck cutting board, no scrape of spatula against iron skillet as potatoes or eggs or pancakes were turned. She raised her nose, sniffing the air. No bacon frying!!

‘What’s happened?’ she called out, running down the hall. Prim, she could see, had just gone into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her.

‘She’s just not here!’ Prim cried. ‘I’ve looked in the garden, the common room, and even her bedroom . . . just in case . . . you know, something “happened”.’

Rowan shook her head, trying to take in what Prim had said. ‘How about the pantry, or the root cellar,’ Rowan offered, grasping for some answer to this disturbing event.

‘No,’ Prim said shaking her head for emphasis. ‘Not there either.’ Her face had gone pale. ‘Cook’s gone . . . missing . . . maybe even . . . kidnapped . . .’ And with that pronouncement, Prim sank to the floor in a dead faint.

[Arry]

Will pushed open the outside door to the kitchen just as Prim fell to the floor. He pushed back his cap and scratched his head as he took in the scene. His early morning chores were just done; the stalls had all been mucked out, the horses fed and watered and new straw forked in on their stall floors. There were two of them he’d brushed and combed in anticipation of their owners leaving early. And as a last task, he’d turned all of them out to the great corral near the stable.

‘What’s this about “kidnapped”?’ he asked, fetching a glass of cold water to bring over to the prostrate lass. It was one of his mother’s cure-alls for a faint. And the one who’d gone limp could either sit up and sip at it as they came round, or, more drastically, they were drenched with it so that the chill of the water might shock them back to their surroundings.

Prim lay limp as an old bunch of lettuce as Will knelt down beside her. No amount of patting her hand or calling her name seemed to be bringing her round. Will looked from her to Rowan and shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize in advance. With a quick flick of his wrist, he splashed the glass of water full in her face.

[Rose]

Penstemon, Granny Greenhill, that is, to most folks around, had started out quite early that morning, her little cart packed with a crate of honey jars and a large willow basket filled with dried white lavender bouquets. She’d promised Rowan the lavender for the linen closet at The Perch. And the honey was for the kitchen – four nice sized jars of it; all of the apple blossom variety. Miz Cela had told her she was making honey cakes this week; someone’s birthday Penstemon thought as she loaded the clay jars in carefully.

Bumble, her dear little donkey, had been in one of his agreeable moods to day and so the harnessing and the trip itself had been accomplished with a minimum of bribes and cajolings. He halted, as she pulled back on the reins, stamping his hooves a bit and twitching his raggedy ears.

‘Yes,’ she assured him as she climbed down from the cart, She got out her yew wood walking stick from beneath the seat and walked forward to scratch his head. ‘There’s a treat for you, my dear Bumble,’ as he nosed her pinafore pocket and stamped again. She fetched out a large lump of sugar, wrapped up in a bit a thin parchment, and offered the sweet to her eager companion.

‘Now where’s that Will?’ she wondered, looking toward the stable. He was always so good about hearing the carts and wagons roll in and was usually jonny-on-the-spot about running out to help.

Granny stumped up to the little porch just outside the kitchen door and though it was not quite closed, she gave it a firm rap with her stick. Her old ears were still quite sharp and she could hear an odd assortment of voices from within, though no one answered her knock.

She pushed the door open with her stick and poked her head in. ‘It’s Granny Greenhill,’ she called out. ‘I’ve come to see Rowan and Miz Cela,’ she went on, stepping into the kitchen.

‘Oh, my!’ she cried at the sight before her. Her hand fluttered to her chest. ‘What on earth has happened?’

[Undómë]

Prim had come awake with the dowsing. Fully awake . . . and was loudly protesting Will’s extreme measures at bringing her round. She spluttered to her feet, smoothing down her nightgown, and glared at him.

‘Oh, Granny!’ Rowan waved at the elder Hobbit to come on in. ‘So sorry you had to come at such a time!’ She led Granny to the table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘We’re all in a big pickle this morning, as you can see.’ She pointed round to the cold stove, the fireless grate, the skillets empty of eggs, bacon, sausage, ham. No thick slices of bread toasting on forks by the coals. No kettle singing on the hob by the fire.

‘Cook’s gone missing.’ She stated it as a plain fact, trying to keep the rising panic she was feeling from her voice. ‘We don’t know what happened.’ Rowan put her hand on Granny’s arm. ‘You wouldn’t know where she’s gone, do you Granny?’

A face peeked through the door from the Common Room just as Rowan finished speaking. ‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rowan, but will there be breakfast coming . . . or second breakfast . . . or elevenses . . .?

[Arry]

Will could see that his attempts at apology were fruitless. Mad as a wet hen was the phrase which came to the fore of his thoughts. Best to let Prim's feathers unruffle in their own good time, he decided.

His own belly was beginning to grumble hungrily. And certainly, he reasoned to himself, the problem of Cook’s disappearance would be neither helped or hindered by a little breakfast. On second thought, he decided, it might really be helpful to eat . . . easier to make a plan and carry it out on a full belly.

‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rowan, but will there be breakfast coming . . . or second breakfast . . . or elevenses . . .?’ The voice from the doorway drew his attention.

‘Just a bit of a problem here,’ Will answered back. ‘Settle yourself in out there; we’ll bring you out a nice cuppa directly. And after that . . . well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’

[Rose]

‘My stars, no, child!’ Granny Greenhill exclaimed to Rowan. ‘I don’t have the foggiest idea ‘bout where she’s gone off to. I was expecting to meet Miz Cela here. I brought the honey she wanted for the honey cakes she told me she was planning on baking this week.’

Will's suggestions to the hungry Hobbit's questions caught her attention. 'Well, now, I can get the tea brewing if someone will get the stove lit, she said standing up from her seat. 'You girls can whip up some eggs and such can't you?'

'But first,' she said rapping her stick several times on the floor, ‘someone ought go for Shiriff Smallburrow, don’t you think. Will, how about you? And Master Boffin, has anyone let him know what’s happened?’

[Envinyatar]

By the time the Ranger had pried himself from beneath his warm quilts and limped his way into the common room, the place was abuzz with wild rumor. Clusters of small folk whispered with fierce intensity within their own little knots and exclaimed aloud to others as bits and pieces of other tales claimed their attention.

Hithadan’s eyes widened as his ears caught the excited gabble from a group near him. ‘Kidnapped! So’s I heard,’ one of the young bucks said in a rushed voice, his head bobbing up and down for emphasis. ‘Or maybe worse,’ he went on, his voice pitched lower to underscore the gravity of the happening. ‘Murdered, even, the poor old gal.’

‘’What about them wolves?’ one of the gaffers at the table near the fireplace asked, his voice rising to the fore. ‘Didn’t drag her off, did they?’ He pointed his pipe stem at one of his confederates. ‘You know she always was out in her garden first thing of a morning – picking the veg and herbs for the day.’ His friend nodded his head at the truth of the gaffer’s words. ‘Likely she was caught up in squashing those snails as had attacked her cabbage plants’ leaves. Didn’t hear ‘em ‘til they’d come right up on her.’ The elder Hobbits nodded knowingly as if this indeed had been what happened.

‘Who?’ quizzed the now uneasy Ranger. ‘Who’s gone missing?’

Before one of the old fellows could answer, the door to the Perch flew open. Backed by the bright morning light, a stout looking figure stood black in the entryway, his shadow thrown long across the wood floor.

‘Now what’s all this about Mistress Cela and her disappearance?’ the dark figure barked. ‘Not your pipe dreams and such,’ he went on, giving a meaningful look about the room. ‘Who’s really seen something, or heard such. He stepped further into the room, where the light from the morning fire picked out his features. Shiriff Rusty Smallburrow motioned for Will to come in alongside him. ‘Let’s all calm down and get this sorted, shall we. Will here’ll help me get this organized.’ He clapped his companion on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding of some sort.’ He hooked his thumbs authoritatively in his braces. ‘Be cleared up soon and we’ll all be back to enjoying one of Mistress Cela’s fine feeds.’

[Undómë]

Under the direction of Granny Greenhill, Prim and Rowan had managed several large skillets of eggs scrambled with bits of ham along with stacks of toast from what day old loaves they’d found in the pantry. Dishes of butter, pots of jams and honey were quickly assembled onto serving trays.

Under the weight of the loaded trays, the two servers made their slow way from the kitchen into the common room, just as the Shiriff concluded his little speech. ‘Begging your pardon Master Smallburrow, but maybe a nice, solid bit of breakfast might make us all think a bit clearer.’

Will and another of the lads were put to work pushing several tables together in the middle of the room. Rowan and Prim laid out the still hot skillets on thick pads, and positioned the baskets of toast near the butter, honey and jams. Pots of hot, steaming tea soon appeared, as well as towers of plates and cups and fistfuls of cutlery.

‘Help yourselves, good folks!’ Rowan cried out, though the words had scarce passed her lips as the first of the hungry patrons had started jostling along the laden table. Prim dished out generous scoops of fluffy eggs as Rowan poured out the tea.

As the Shiriff drew near her, reaching out for a cup of the hot brew, Rowan leaned in near and spoke quietly to him. ‘I think something strange happened yesterday,’ she confided, offering him the mug. ‘Miz Cela had some sort of unexpected news, bad news, I think – a letter that Hugh brought her early in the day. Now, she didn’t say a thing about it, but her face was white as a sheet as she read through it.’ She handed him a piece of toast she’d slathered with butter and a generous spoonful of blackberry jam, ‘And it was after that she seemed to go all to pieces. Not like her at all.’ She nodded her head slowly as she went on, emphasizing how “off” things had gotten. ‘Supper was late last evening . . . why, it nearly didn’t get served at all.’

[Rose]

‘What’s that you two are talking ‘bout?’ Having just come from the kitchen, Granny Greenhill looked from Rowan to Rusty and back again. She placed the basket of toast held in her gnarled hands on the table and pushed it toward the center. ‘Something about a letter . . . for Miz Cela?’ Her bright brown eyes glinted as she considered the snippet of conversation she’d heard.

‘Will, is that you . . . there behind Rusty?’ Granny poked Rowan in the side with her elbow and whispered a few instructions. ‘Here now, Will, you take this nice slice of toast and pile some of those eggs on it. And there,’ she went on, pointing at the basket of toasted bread. ‘Grab yourself another piece and settle it on top.’ She nodded toward Rowan who was making her way toward the kitchen. ‘She’ll just fetch you a nice little flask of tea . . . you like it sweet, dontcha?’

Granny didn’t wait for Will to answer, but instead turned her attention to Rusty. ‘Now I don’t mean to step on your toes, lad,’ she said to the shiriff. ‘I could just see you were thinking of doing this very thing, um hmmm. Bright lad.’

She smiled meaningfully at Will.

‘The sooner we send someone to fetch Hugh, the sooner we might know where the letter came from.’ Her voice trailed off as she offered this conclusion.

[Arry]

Will studied his toes and the worn wooden floor of the inn; studied them in a most painstaking manner. Pretending, he hoped, that it was perhaps some other ‘Will’ whom old Granny had pegged for this new task. He sighed quietly in the extending silence, then looked up grudgingly at that small excuse for a proper breakfast she’d shoved into his hand.

‘Right, then,’ he mumbled, stuffing the sandwich halfway into his mouth as he reached out to make another one. This second he wrapped in a napkin and stowed it away in his vest pocket.

‘Be off, then,’ he grumbled, taking the first sandwich from out his mouth and securing the flask Rowan now offered him in another pocket. As he turned to make his way to the door, the shiriff called out after him.

‘Might try Miz Gardenia Boffin’s place, up The Yale. She’s not got many neighbors close by, you know, and loves to have old Hugh in for a chin wag. He’s known to time his route to just about elevenses to her place. And he swears his feet hardly touch the ground as he’s drawn up by the aroma of fresh seedcake and hot sweetspice tea on the way to her door.’

His provender secured, Will made his way to the stable and fetched out Thistle, one of the inn’s quicker and more amenable ponies. Soon they were on their way west in search of the postman.

[Lilly]

Away From the Inn – Delivering the Post


‘Hold steady, Jolly! There’s a good lad.’ Hugh secured the leather satchel, still bulging with letters and packages, to the pommel of his pony’s saddle. He heaved his leg up over Jolly’s back next and settled himself in for the ride.

With a resolved sigh he gave a little kick to the pony’s flanks and hung on tightly. Jolly was a fine little companion, a stolid trouper on the post route. And Hugh appreciated him no end. But to be honest, Hugh preferred to walk with Jolly ambling alongside - the pony did not have the smoothest of gaits.

‘I hope we’re not too late for a hot mug of tea at Miz Boffin’s.’ He smiled and nodded at the thought of it. ‘And a large slice of her seedcake. Yes, indeedy do. Mayhap, two.’ He laughed aloud at the chance rhyme, startling a sparrow on a nearby alder branch. ‘Got plenty of news to share with the old gal, don’t I?

Jolly trotted along at a steady, if jolting pace. He flicked his ears now and then and made the occasional snort as if trying to participate in Hugh’s solitary converse. He was rather fond of Miz Boffin, himself. She always had a nice nosebag of oats waiting for him. He increased his pace a bit, noting, without comment, the subsequent groan from his rider.

[Undómë]

Rowan and Prim brought out two more large skillets of eggs and ham and several more baskets of toast. Then, seeing that most of those gathered in the common room had filled their plates and gotten their mugs of tea or ale, they fetched themselves their own generous helpings of food and cups of sweet, hot tea with cream. They sat down at a table near the door from the common room to the kitchen and tucked into their meal with gusto.

The Shiriff had climbed up on one of the smaller tables mid room and was entertaining questions and suggestions from the gathered crowd. ‘Now that’s a good idea,’ he said pointing his half piece of well buttered toast at Gaffer Longhole. ‘I do recall when Andwise went missing, back up in the hills. Got a nice big search party together. Broke ‘em up into smaller groups and sent ‘em out.’ He took a bite out of his toast and munched it for a bit. ‘Problem is, back then we knew in a general way where Andwise had gone off to.’ A number of fellows sitting with the gaffer nodded their heads at the Shiriff’s point. ‘Of course, we haven’t yet asked if anyone’s seen anything that could point us in the right direction,’ Rusty continued. ‘There were some reports of late of a couple of suspicious looking fellows down south along the river. Big folk, they were. Making their way in a northerly direction according to my sources.’ The Shiriff’s glance fell for a moment on the Ranger, his brow raising slightly before moving on. ‘Course I don’t know why Big Folk would be in the least concerned about Miz Cela.’

‘Well, maybe she caught them at something, or knew something about them they didn’t want spread about,’ offered one of younger Hobbits. Hamfast, it was, a lad known for his vivid imagination and ability to spin large tales from small happenings. ‘Maybe it was them that kidnapped her.’ In his mind, Hamfast was already sorting through the dire conclusions of this storyline. Master Smallburrow reined in Hamfast’s imaginings a bit saying it was best not to start tales before there was some real evidence.

‘Is there anyone here,’ the Shiriff went on, ‘who saw anything earlier this morning as they made their way to the Inn? Any little thing out of the ordinary on the road?’ He glanced round the room. ‘Or any odd noises or goings-on heard in the night here round about? It was a mild night last night . . . any of you who slept with your windows open hear something that might help us. Think hard.’ He looked at some of the younger folk who were staying at the inn. ‘Were any of you sneaking about last night, hungry or thirsty, and looking for a bit of food or something to drink. Did you see or hear Miz Cela or anyone else?’

As the Shiriff waited for someone to come forward, Rowan leaned in toward Prim. 'Let's go back to Cook's room and poke around a bit.' Prim's eyes widened at the suggestion. Rowan nudged her on the arm. 'Come on, Prim. We can't just do nothing. I'm sure if we look hard enough we can turn up some sort of clue; don't you think?'

[Rose]

‘Thick as thieves!’ Granny Greenhill pursed her lips at the sight of Rowan and Prim leaning near each other, talking quietly, their dark heads almost touching. She couldn’t make out what either was saying, but she caught the hesitation evident in Prim’s face at something Rowan had said, and then the reassuring hand Rowan laid on Prim’s arm.

That gesture seemed to bring some resolve to Prim’s tentativeness. Granny watched as the two eased themselves from their seats and made their way from the common room in as inconspicuous a manner as they could manage.

‘Now just where are those two off to, I wonder?’ Granny murmured to herself. Curious, she followed after them.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘Now where’s Will?’ Miribelle flicked the reins lightly against Cookie’s back, urging the pony nearer to the stable. Drawing up to the open stable doors, she peered in. She didn’t see Will about his morning tasks. Her ears brought no sound of him working in one of the stalls.

Stepping down from her cart, Miribelle led Cookie into the stable; unharnessed him, and secured him in one of the stalls. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she latched the door. ‘You’ll have to make do with the hay for now, my dear. When I see Will I’ll have him fix you a small bag of oats.’ Cookie twitched his tail in a seemingly irritated manner. ‘You’ll survive,’ she said in a firm voice as she turned away. Miribelle heard Cookie snort as she made her way out of the stable.

Shiriff Smallburrow was in mid sentence as she pushed open the door and entered the inn. ‘.....who saw anything earlier this morning as they made their way to the Inn? Any little thing out of the ordinary on the road? Or any odd noises or goings-on heard in the night here round about? It was a mild night last night . . . any of you who slept with your windows open hear something that might help us. Think hard.’

‘What’s going on?’ she whispered to one of the local lads who stood against the wall just inside the entryway. The common room seemed all ajumble this morning. Over there, some tables had been drawn together with skillets of scrambled eggs and baskets of toast offered buffet style – how odd! And there was the Shiriff standing on one of the tables, asking questions – odder still.

The lad whispered back that Miz Cela had disappeared sometime during the night or early morning. No one knew when, really, or even why. Now that the Shiriff was here they were trying to figure out what to do.

Miribelle frowned and shook her head. What were things coming to, to have something of this sort happen? she wondered. She thanked the lad as she let her gaze drift round the room, looking for a familiar face she might invite herself to sit down with.

[Tam Lin]

Tavaro leaned back against the wall at the rear of the room, his shoulders resting lightly against the wood. He sipped slowly at his mug of sweet tea, savoring the warm liquid. Last night he’d been hard put to sleep; too many remembrances had ridden in through his opened window, sorrows borne on the cool night wind.

He’d left the inn and walked the better part of the night, sliding through the darkness beneath the trees as silent and as swiftly as an owl. Clouds scudded across the dark sky parting now and then to bring him brief glimpses of the stars. Their silvered light gave him no comfort. Now, in the day’s light, in the warmth of this small, close room, he was glad to be in the presence of the gathered periain, taking comfort in the ebb and flow of the small ordinary moments of their lives. Even in the midst of their present predicament they were so full of vitality.

The Elf’s glance fell on a familiar face; Miribelle Rushybanks, there at the door. He stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting, motioning for her to join him at one of the tables. He sat his mug on the table top and stood waiting for her to cross the room.

[Envinyatar]

Despite the ongoing promptings from the Shiriff, no one had come forward with any tangible information as yet. It seemed the majority of those gathered in the common room this morning had proved too sound sleepers for the passed night.

Hithadan, too, had passed the night wrapped tight in slumber, aided by a cup of warmed wine infused with willow-bark powder. His leg now felt somewhat better; he was able to put weight on it without the aid of his crudely fashioned walking stick. His ankle, too, seemed less swollen. He wished now, though, that he’d foregone the remedy. Perhaps, then..... He shook his head, chiding himself for letting his thoughts drift in that manner.

He made his way to a small table at the edge of the room, positioning the chair so that he could survey the room. At the corner of his eye he caught a furtive movement inching along the back wall. Someone was making his way toward the entry way to the kitchen. The figure looked familiar – brown tattered cloak, dark green checked cap pulled low on his brow. And that slight limp, that hitch in his step as he moved his right leg forward. Mungo . . . Mungo Brandybuck. Not one of the more celebrated members of the Brandybuck family. A smalltime thief – hen stealer, egg robber, mushroom poacher. One who helped himself to the prizes found in other folks’ traps. A partial list only of his mean accomplishments.

And one of those who would most likely not have been at home, asleep, last night.....

A few more steps and Mungo would be at the door and out of the inn once he’d made his way through the kitchen. Had the Shiriff’s call for someone to step forward with anything out of the ordinary they’d seen last night spooked him? Had he seen or heard something and not wanted any questions as to why he’d been where he’d been.

Hithadan stood and called out in a loud voice. ‘Mungo Brandybuck! Stop right where you are!’

Mungo paused for the briefest of moments and then only to glare at the Ranger. He dove toward the door.

‘Someone stop him!’ Hithadan yelled, pointing his stick at the fleeing Hobbit.....

[Rose]

The ranger’s voice rang out above the general hubbub in the common room, just catching the attention of the elder Hobbit as she made her way to the kitchen entryway. Rose and Prim had already gone past the door and ducked into the hallway leading to their rooms and that of the missing cook.

Granny Greenhill stopped dead in her tracks at the man’s command, and just in time, it seemed, as the object of the ranger’s attention came hurtling toward her. Mungo had thrown his hands and arms in front of him, intending to push her out of the way. Her old limbs responded to the urgency of the situation and she managed to sidestep his headlong onslaught.

Mungo plunged willy-nilly past her. And as he did so, she raised her stout yew wood walking stick in a firm two handed grip and smacked him soundly on the backs of his knees. He stumbled with a loud oomph and went skidding a short distance on his belly.

He tried to scramble up to his feet, but Granny hobbled up to him at a rather remarkable pace for one her age and gave him a sharp thump between his shoulder blades. She stood over him, glaring as he sneaked a look up at her.

‘Wished I’d a’caught you in my henhouse, you scalliwag, that time my prize hen went missing! I know it was you, Mungo Brandybuck, so don’t you go looking all guiltless at me. And I’m betting that it was you, too, as stole those combs of honey from my bee shed.’ She shook her stick at him for emphasis.

Several of the nearby lads ran up to secure Mungo - and just in time to his calculations as it looked as if she meant to whack him once more for good measure.

‘You just march him over to the Shiriff and that ranger,’ she instructed them. ‘Wouldn’t be one whit surprised if he didn’t have a hand somehow in Miz Cela’s going missing!’

‘My stars!’ she said as they marched Mungo off. The surge of action and excitement hit her all of a sudden and she felt a bit weak in the knees. She made her way to a nearby table and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Land’s sake! That was a bit of a hullaballoo now wasn’t it?!’ She held her right hand to her chest, catching her breath.

‘Thirsty work,’ she went on, nodding her head to a Hobbit standing next to her. ‘Fetch old Gran a half pint, won’t you dear? A little something to steady the nerves.’

Her investigation of what Rowan and Prim were doing, and just exactly where they’d gone off to could wait, she decided . . . until she’d caught her breath fully and fortified herself with a bit of ale.

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place northwest of Stock

‘Well now, Jolly, looks like we're just in time!’ Hugh raised his nose appreciatively and took in the scent of fresh baked seed cake – honey sweetness, yeasty, vanilla, with a hint of lemon, he thought, in the thin icing she drizzled over it. He turned up the narrow dirt path to Gardenia’s place, a snug little dwelling tucked into the side of one of the many low-lying hills which dotted the area.

Jolly stopped just short of the raised porch at the foot of the round, bright yellow door. The door was just starting to swing open and the familiar face of Miz Gardenia peeked out, smiling broadly at both the pony and his rider.

Hugh heaved himself off the back of his little steed and eased himself down to the ground. ‘Morning, m’am!’ he called out, untying his satchel from the saddle. He fetched out a packet of letters from the satchel and thumbed through them for the two he knew were addressed to Gardenia.

As he did so, Gardenia stepped down from the porch and lead Jolly to the old oak tree which grew in her front yard. She had a little shed there, a small place where her own little donkey sheltered when the days grew cooler. For now, the donkey spent time in a fenced pen, chomping the hay Gardenia left for him each morning and drowsing beneath the oak boughs’ shade. Gardenia fetched them both several handfuls of oats and two apples each. When she’d seen to their comfort, she turned her attention to Hugh who’d hauled his satchel up on the porch and sat on the step waiting for her.

‘Go on in!’ she said to him, waving him toward the doorway. ‘I’ve got the water just off the boil. I’ll make us some tea and we’ll have a nice piece of seedcake.’ She took the letters he offered as she stepped up to the porch.

Hugh took his usual place at the old pine table and watched as Gardenia bustled about her little kitchen. ‘Sit yourself on down, Miz Boffin!’ he urged, pushing her chair out for her. ‘Let the tea brew away for a bit while I tell you what I heard from Pearl Tunnelly about Rowly Sandheaver’s wife’s brother.’

Gardenia put the cozy on the old brown teapot and set it nearby on the counter. She sat down, making herself comfortable, and leaned in toward Hugh, awaiting what news he’d gleaned along his route.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘My goodness!’ Miribelle’s face was a study in dismay and distaste as she edged herself around the commotion and over to her friend’s table. ‘What’s going on this morning, Master Tavaro?’ she inquired, taking the seat he offered. ‘I did hear something as I entered about Cook gone missing.’ She leaned over and scooted her carpetbag well beneath the chair. ‘Here I’ve only been gone the night and had hoped for a bite of second breakfast and a hot mug of tea . . . and oh my, what do I find!’ The inn in a commotion, the Shiriff asking questions, and that scoundrel Mungo laid low by dear old Penstemon Greenhill!!’

She sniffed a little as she watched him being escorted toward the Shiriff. ‘A pity, that Mungo! Shame of the Brandybucks. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been outlawed from these parts.’ She turned back toward the Elf. ‘What’s he done now?’ She frowned as a sudden thought assailed her. ‘Oh, no! Don’t tell me he’s the one who’s got something to do with Miz Cela’s disappearance!?’

As Miribelle waited for the Elf’s answer her eyes darted about the room looking for one of the servers. There were none in sight. ‘Ah well, looks like there’s no hope of that tea and breakfast now,’ she thought to herself seeing the table piled with near empty skillets and teapots scattered here and there in disarray.

[Noinkling]

Mungo stopped abruptly and yanked his left arm from his guard’s grip. ‘You got me well enough looked after, dontcha, you two?’ He snaked his right arm from the other guard’s grip and bent over a bit to rub at the backs of his legs. ‘Stupid old sow!’ he growled turning to glower at Granny Greenhill. He stood up hunching his shoulders this way and that to ease the sting of the whack she’d given him after he’d fallen.

‘Shoulda followed the first of my druthers and passed the Perch on by. Always too many busybodies here. Shoulda kept on hoofin’ it downriver; that’s what I shoulda done.’ He looked from one to the other of his guards, but neither of them appeared to be paying much attention to his ‘shouldas’.

Mungo’s cap, askew from his recent fall, slipped off his head and thumped to the floor. He picked it up and slapped it soundly against his leg, as if to knock off what dirt it might have gotten from the dusty boards. It was a vain attempt since there were layers of grime already embedded in the cap and what dirt there was dislodged was really the dust that flew up from his breeches. He smoothed back his greasy curls and shoved the cap firmly back on his head.

He glanced slyly from one to the other of his escorts, sizing up whether he might be able to escape. No chance! Both pairs of eyes were fixed firmly on him. With a resigned sigh he smoothed down his raggedy tunic and limped on toward the Shiriff and that loudmouthed Ranger.

‘Din’t do nothin’!’ he said, coming to a halt in front of Rusty Smallburrow. Mungo hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his breeches and puffed out his chest like a feisty little banty rooster.

‘Didn’t say you did, Mungo,’ the Shiriff replied. ‘Though I’m sure if I looked close enough there’d be something you’d not want the light of day shone on.’

Mungo narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘Whatcha want, then?’ he mumbled.

‘Miz Cela Brandybuck’s gone missing, disappeared,’ Rusty continued. He shook his head as Mungo started to protest his innocence. ‘Now I’m not saying you had anything to do with it. But . . . . I’m supposing you were out last night, like most nights. On business, of course.’ Rusty cleared his throat meaningfully and went on. ‘What we want to know is if you heard anything or saw anything as you were out and about. Anything that could help us find Miz Cela.’

Mungo scraped his foot on the floor and pursed his lips. ‘Mighta,’ he answered. ‘Now I’m not saying I was doing anything but passing by, but I did find myself coming up the west bank of the river last night . . . .’

Before he could continue, the Shiriff asked, ‘The river? You mean the Brandywine, yes? You were coming north up the Brandywine?’

‘Yeah, sure, the big river it was. And north. Anyways, like I was saying I was stepping along at a fair pace when I heard some voices drift over the water. I stopped, and peeked careful like out through the bushes. Was a little cloudy, you know; moon’s light was weak through ‘em. There was a boat with three fellows in it. Leastways it looked like three fellows; they all had cloaks on and the hoods pulled up. Their faces were all in the dark. One was rowing; the other two were talking, arguing some. Couldn’t hear what exactly.’ He paused for a moment, nodding his head at the memory. ‘Coulda been a female voice I heard from one of them. Hard to tell. Didn’t that Cela have kind of a low voice? Anyway, the boat and whoever was in it passed by pretty quickly – what with the current and the hard pulling of the fellow doing the rowing.’

Mungo shrugged his shoulders at the end of his story. ‘Yep, that’s about all there was to it. Like I said, they was moving like a hot knife through butter now wasn’t they?’ No need to elaborate further he cautioned himself. They only want to know about Miz Cela. No need for them to know what he’d been about at the time.

[Envinyatar]

Mungo seemed to have finished with his brief tale of what he’d seen last night. Too brief for the Ranger’s liking.....there were some details that needed to be ferreted out, he thought.

‘Now you said you were coming up the west bank of the river last night,’ Hithadan began, stepping forward toward the Hobbit. ‘Where were you exactly when you saw this boat and its passengers?’ He fixed Mungo with an expectant look, his brow raised in emphasis. A knowing little smile flitted briefly at the corners of his lips. ‘It would be most helpful, you can see can’t you? For us to know how far this party is ahead of us.’

Hithadan sat down in a chair quite near the Hobbit, his grey eyes steady on Mungo’s face.

[Noinkling]

The Hobbit pulled the cap from his head and ran a grubby hand through his hair. Followed close on by him twisting the poor old cap in his hands in a rather nervous manner.

‘Come on, now, Hitch!’ Shiriff Rusty urged. He tapped his foot expectantly on the hardwood floor. ‘You wouldn’t want us to have to be looking to hard at where you might have been and what happenings were going on ‘bout then, would you? Wouldn’t go well, if you were thought to be guilty of holding back our investigation and then found to have had a hand in something on the shady side, too.’

Mungo felt as if he were trapped twixt two snakes. Poisonous snakes. Their eyes fixing him with a hungry look. And it was no help that the ranger had tweaked a smile. He squirmed, feeling much like a coney about to be pounced on.

‘Well, right, then,’ he managed to mumble. He sucked in the corner of his lower lip considering the events of the past night. ‘You see, I was down near Hays End, now, wasn’t I . . . . and that’s when I seen what I did. The boat and those three. It was ‘round midnight, I reckon. And it was a brief look I had at them. I was high-tailing it . . . . er, that is, hurrying, you know, cuz it was going to be a long trip on foot back to Stock. Had some business here that needed to be got to.’

Mungo stopped abruptly, realizing he was heading toward them knowing some unnecessary details. What ‘business’ he’d had hoped to finish at the Inn had most likely been scared off by all this morning’s hubbub anyway.

‘So, there you have it. Don’t know much more than that.’ He settled his cap back on his head and gave a quick look about the room. Nope . . . . no hope of seeing who he needed to be seeing here.

[Rose]

Granny watched the exchange between the ranger, the shiriff, and that bad piece of work, Mungo Brandybuck. ‘Hitch, hmmmmph!’ she murmured into her mug as she raised it to her lips. ‘Oughta be “hitched” – to a wagon and drove outta these here parts.’ She took a swallow of ale and sat the mug down. ‘Though,’ she thought, shaking her head what she’d said. ‘Wouldn’t seem charitable to wish him on anybody, anywhere.’

Penstemon stood up from her chair and drew herself up as straight as her old spine and the aid of her walking stick would allow. ‘Say,’ she said aloud, emphasizing her words with a thump on the floor with her stick. ‘May be we ought to get some of the lads together, and you Master Shiriff, and go after Miz Cela. From all accounts from that fellow,’ she went on, ‘it doesn’t look as if Miz Cela were struggling against these other two. That is, if it really was her and not just some chance sighting. Be nice, though, to know where she’s got off to, wouldn’t it. And why, though that might be poming noses into places they don’t need to be. Just be good to know she’s alright.’

She looked toward the innkeeper. ‘I’m sure Master Boffin here would let out his ponies to you.’

[Mithalwen]

A waggonette drawn by a liver chestnut cob approached the inn from the direction of Woody End. Not a remarkable event in intself save that the passengers the Laicirith twins and the driver their aunt, Mithalwen, returning them to what she had drily referred to as the "scene of their crime". It had been useless to point out that if their aunt had let them explain that they had an arrangement with the inkeeper when she had recaptured the truants, they would not now have needed to have to come and apologise for breaking it. But they had grown used to apologising. Until this morning Mithalwen had silenced with a glance just about any utterances that did not start with "sorry" yet it had seemed to have done little to placate the group of pilgrims they had been travelling with until they had slipped off and made their way to the Golden Perch.

Only as their aunt had prepared to take her leave of the pilgrims, who would remain a little longer at the Woodhall, Carantilion had tentatively explained that they had been meant to be earning their keep at the inn by providing music and that they might have been missed. A tart comment about "letting more people down" was followed by the turn east to Perch rather than westwards towards Lindon. It was not the happiest party. Both twins could still sense their Aunt's wrath and it did not help that they still had not made up their differences.

The elfwoman had found her nephew Carantilion first and his attempts to warn his sister had been foiled by fact that she had ignored his attempts at osanwe kenta thinking he was merely trying to apologise. Since then the twins had been kept under close supervision and had had little opportunity to converse even if they had had the inclination. Carantilion, already haunted by the memory of their father's damning opinion that his children were good-for-nothing wastrels, and the knowledge that their escapade had only confirmed this in the eyes of his aunt and the company they had journeyed with had taken the harshest wound from the righteous anger of his twin. He wasn't used to her being cross with him and had found refuge from his misery only in sleep during their time at Woodhall. Curled up in his cloak he could wander the paths of memory where his sister was a genial companion and usually the leader of the mischief.

He sighed and gazed at Enpauriel who sat beside their aunt on the box seat. Her back gave no indication that her fury had abated and he tried to settle himself more comfortably amongst the many boxes and packages that filled the back of the waggonette. He poked into a couple of them and found various items clearly of his aunt's manufacture - all kinds of stuff made from metal or wood - household items and trinkets. His curiosity got the better of his caution.

"I have all this "stuff" with me because I was on my way to Bree to meet a trader and sell it when I got a message that my beloved nephew and niece had gone missing and would I please come directly and deal with it ... so I turned back and found you and consequently the merchant is unmet and my goods are unsold...and the reason I am selling it was that I needed to clear our space for my visitors - It is amazing how much clutter one accumulates over the yeni... These are oddments and experiments. " Mithalwen was a maker of musical instruments by preference but crafted also whatever of life's more mundane necessaries were required and was particularly skilled in delicate work. "I am not sure what I shall do with them now" . She continued as they reached the inn yard.

Mithalwen handed the girl some coins. "Enpauriel, go and find Mr Boffin and apologise, pay him for the room if he held it and arrange for rooms for us all for tonight and stabling for Bracken - and storage for the trap. Oh but offer him his pick from this lot by way of an apology too" she added inspired by the idea that there were some wooden plates that might make fine serving platters for halflings.

"Carantilion, take Bracken round to the stables but first help me down with this" - she indicated a long but suprisingly light trunk .

"We're staying here?" asked the twins united in thought and voice again at last.

"Why yes, I don't think I am quite ready to go home yet but I couldn't pretend to be shocked, disappointed and outraged a moment longer so I really had to get out of Woodhall".

"So you aren't angry?" The Cirs responded amazed.

"Well I can't say I am pleased exactly ...and while some of your party are very old friends of mine, they do seem to have forgotten what it is to be young. Compared to what your uncle Cirion and I used to get up to it all seems quite harmless - though quite inconsiderate. Besides I want to hear you play" She said having replaced the stern expression fixed since their meeting with a wide grin.

The twins exchanged glances forgetting their quarrel for a moment as they realised that there was some truth in the tales of Mithalwen's wayward past.

"But I will tell you about that some other time - Oh it is so lovely to see you again! When did you get so tall?" she added , embracing her nephew and niece - " Go and do what I have asked and I will order some food and you can tell me why you aren't talking to each other - I can understand why you didn't talk to me but that is harder to fathom."

The twins glanced at each other again and went about their separate errands leaving Mithalwen to enter the inn alone.

It had been near deserted when she had gathered up the Cirs but now there was a whole host of folk- including a ranger and one of her own kindred as well as several hobbits. Something was clearly going on and she drew less attention than she might . She put her trunk down softly by the wall and lingered by the door wary of interrupting something she didn't yet understand.

[Tam Lin]

‘Please, allow me to fetch us some tea, Miz Rushybanks.’ Tavaro made his way to the tables where the food and drink had been set out and scavenged about for a pot that was still warm. Luck was with him as he managed to find a small pot with a cozy on it and the contents still fairly hot. There were no eggs left, but he managed a plate of toast and a pot of butter and one of strawberry jam.

‘Here we go,’ he said, returning to the table with his treasures. ‘I didn’t see sugar or honey or any cream for that matter, so we’ll have to make do with just plain tea.’ He poured a mug for the Hobbit and refreshed his own. ‘I thought you might be hungry, and hoped this might just take the edge off it.’ He pushed the toast toward her followed by the butter and jam.

‘I take it you know this fellow they are talking to, this Mungo. He does look a bit on the rough side. But he’s been quite cooperative from what I could see and hear. A little plain in his facts, though.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘From what I understand, he’s not got anything to do with Mistress Cela’s disappearance, but it does seem he was out and about much of last night and did happen to see and hear something which might have some bearing on where she’s gone.’

Tavaro watched as Miribelle nibbled at a piece of toast and sipped at her own mug of tea. ‘I heard you say it was a wonder he hadn’t been outlawed from these parts. And I was wondering, what exactly you meant by that.’

A movement in blues and greys at the entryway caught his attention as he waited for the Hobbit to explain. Someone new had come in, an Elven lady. She hesitated for the moment at the door, her attention on the commotion in the common room. Tavaro wondered what had brought her to this little inn. She had brought in her own trunk, he noted; she seemed to be traveling alone. How unusual.

He turned his attention back to his tablemate. She had finished her bit of toast and had leaned in a little toward him, speaking in a low voice about the Hobbit in question. Mungo, it seemed, was a very interesting character and a notorious one it seemed in these parts. Tavaro topped off Miribelle’s mug of tea and encouraged her to go on.

[Arry]

Granny Greenhill’s remark about the availability of the Inn’s ponies proved true. Will, of course, was not available to make them ready for the search party, and so it was the Innkeeper himself who helped outfit the group. Four of the local Hobbit lads had offered to go as well as several of the Big Folk. By just a little past mid-day the stout-hearted group was on their way, heading down river as they sought for clues to the cook’s disappearance.

---------------

(Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place)

It was early afternoon by the time Gardenia Boffin’s little place hove into view. Will breathed a sigh of relief at the nearing end of his little journey. He pulled up on the rise of a lowlying hill and leaned forward along his pony’s neck.

‘Good lad, Thistle!’ he said, giving the pony’s neck a pat. ‘We’re almost there, boy.’ With a slight kick to his mount’s flanks he urged Thistle onward.

[Envinyatar]

Hithadan watched as the small party headed southward from the Inn. He itched to go, but even on horse his painful leg would have slowed them down on what was most likely to be a long journey.

Instead, he borrowed one of the horses from the stable and rode off at a quick pace east, across the river. One of his fellow rangers was in that area, he knew, and he hoped he might persuade him to go south down the river and seek out what information there might be. A ranger might pick up clues the search party could miss. And contacts along the way might prove useful in broadening what scanty knowledge they had now.

[Lilly]

(Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place)

‘Well now, who’s this come riding lickety-split up my path?’ Gardenia twitched the curtains away from the window and narrowed her eyes. ‘My, my,’ she went on, leaning as close in as she could, her nose touching against the window’s pane. ‘I’d swear it was that Will from the Perch.’ ‘You know, the lad who works in the stable,’ she went on, turning her head toward Hugh. Hugh rose from his chair and peered out the window. ‘Indeed!’

Gardenia waved him toward the door as she went to fill the teapot with more hot water. She cut a few more generous slices of seedcake and had set out another plate and mug just as Hugh was welcoming Will at the door. ‘Come on in lad and set yourself down,’ she said pointing toward his new laid place at the table. ‘You must be tired. I saw you coming at right quick pace.’ Before he could answer, she had poured him a cup of steaming tea and set a slice of seedcake on his plate. ‘What brings you up here, Will?’

Hugh sat himself back at his place at the table and helped himself to more tea and cake. Before he could take one bite or drink, his mouth dropped open at what Will was saying.

Celandine Brandybuck had gone missing! Sometime in the night, he gathered. And there was some question Will said about a letter she’d gotten just yesterday and whether it had something to do with her disappearance.

‘Now I don’t know what the letter said,’ Hugh began, putting on a very official postman look. ‘Never look into others private matters!’ he declared. Then, with a half abashed look did amend that he might just take a little peek inside if the address were smudged . . . . ‘But only enough to see who it’s going to, you know! And this one was clear as day, in a nice bold hand, too.’

He sat back in his chair, a considering look on his face. ‘It was a great, fat letter,’ he went on. ‘And there was a note on it too, on the back where it was sealed. Where it was come from, I think. And not one of your usual places, neither!’ He frowned, trying to remember.

At Will’s urging, Hugh had agreed to come to the inn and talk to the sheriff. ‘Well, maybe I’ll think of it on our way back,’ he said as he and Will prepared to mount up and head to the Perch.

Gardenia, not one to let guests go without a little something to tide them over, had quickly fixed up two napkins tied up securely with slices of seedcake within. These she handed to the two fellows once they’d mounted their ponies along with a small flask each of sweet tea.

‘Now you bring those back,’ she instructed Hugh, handing up the flasks and napkin wrapped bundles. She stood back and waved them off as they turned and trotted down the path. It was all Gardenia could do not to do a sprightly dance as she watched them disappear round a turn in the hill. Her neighbors would be green with envy at her news from the inn. She ran back in to the house to fetch her little cloak and was soon making her way to old Granny Whitfoot’s place.

[Elfchick7]

Nienna sat up in her bed and finished off her light breakfast. She felt so much better after her long sleep. Luriniel had eaten all of her food and was packing up their belongings. They both felt that Eru has truly blessed them and granted them the peace which they had been longing for since they began their long journey. Perhaps closure was not too distant for the sisters. After all, they had each spoken with another elf who had not treated them as enemies and had even sought their help.

The Shire had been a pleasant enough stop, but it was time to press on. They knew not to what, but Nienna had almost completely healed and there seemed to be some sort of trouble at the Inn. The sisters decided that they could help best by getting out of the way and being two less guests for the flustered staff to worry about. They stood and left their room to pay their room and board for the past few days. As they waited for their horses, Luriniel surveyed the beautiful Shire landscape. It seemed so quiet and simple. Eru, I beg you to grant my sister and I a quiet peaceful life, like that in this small corner of Arda. Bless us and do not let us continue to bear punishment for the wrongs of our father. Their horses were brought out and the sister finally left the Golden Perch Inn.

[Kath]

Cir had been so utterly gobsmacked by the events of the last few minutes that she almost obeyed her aunt without question. She was already heading inside after Mithalwen when her thoughts caught up with her and she remembered that she had unfinished business before she could settle back into this inn.

"Cir!" She called, turning to find her brother moving away from her. He stopped and faced her automatically and she found herself cringing at the look on his face. During the ride with their aunt Cir had had ample time to think over what had happened between them and had found herself feeling ashamed of her behaviour. They had been on the move and in trouble and trying their hardest to think only of behaving recently and though what had happened had been in her mind Cir hadn't found the time, or more accurately hadn't desired to find the time, to really think about how her brother must be feeling. She had shut herself off from him deliberately, knowing how much that would hurt him, but it was only now that she truly felt the guilt of that action.

"Well?" Came a voice, and she realised that Cir had been speaking to her. He now looked more irritated than hurt and she thought she'd better get her apology in quickly before his annoyance grew to such a level that he couldn't accept it.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out. "I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. I think you were entirely wrong not to tell me what our father said about us, we don't keep secrets from each other and especially not when it affects both of us. I know that you were upset about it and that you probably didn't want me to feel as bad as you did but you should still have said something. But when you did tell me I shouldn't have reacted like I did so I'm sorry."

The speech was hardly eloquent but the feelings in it were clear as day and Cir knew that her brother would appreciate the fact that she wasn't shutting him out anymore. She knew that she was right about this by the smile that spread across his face.

"You were being an idiot." He said, his voice slightly uncertain as he wasn't sure they were quite back to joking with each other yet.

"Coming from you." Cir replied, gently hitting her brother's arm to indicate that yes, they were alright again. She understood why Cir had acted the way he had and knew that he now understood why she had been so angry with him. She also knew her brother and knew that she would get an apology from him for his behaviour in just the way that she had apologised for hers - they were too similar for their own good sometimes. In this case though it allowed her to accept the apology and forgive him before he even gave it.

"I'm sorry too." Her brother spoke softly.

"I know." Cir replied, smiling.

[Mithalwen]

" I was an idiot too.... " the boy added the as they led the pony round to the stables, "but you are right it was too horrible to say at the time and then .... It was very wrong of me to blurt it out to a stranger".

Carantilion grimaced at the memory then perked up a little, "But Aunt Mithalwen doesn't seem to think we are so bad .. at least not yet" he amended cautiously, "she actually seems pleased to see us... so maybe Cir, we should try... not to annoy her too much and by the time we go back they might think they had imagined that we were awful... probably not Erestor though.. I don't think he will ever forgive us. " He grinned, some mischief could not be regretted.

"Mithalwen - well she is as old as the hills of course ... nearly as old as Ada, but at least she has a sense of humour... it might not be so bad, especially now you are speaking to me again. I reckon that if we don't give her too much trouble she will give us a lot more freedom. What do you think - it might even be fun?"

He paused and looked around the stable yard .... "That's odd, there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Must be all inside".

[Ilya]

Not everyone was inside.

Widlast wasn't sure exactly why he headed for the stables first, for he'd no horse. Force of habit, perhaps. The slantways walk over tufted, lumpy ground led him to the inn at an odd bent, voices whipping past him as he drew close. Tucking himself into the warm joint created by the door flung wide, he tried to find the wrinkles of his boots interesting as a piece of straw stuck in the wood grazed his eyebrow. Three weeks ago he would've been annoyed that deference had caught his heels over what turned out to be a reconciliation between two bairns, but then, wasn't that just the pommel of the whole journey? He made to run a hand through his hair before realizing that in its shorn state he would get no good of the motion, and plunged his hand into a pocket instead.

He noticed the stable was open at both ends, and figured the two little ones would forget to close the one at the farther end, as he himself would've been kicked for at their age. Without a word, Widlast ambled over to the further side, enjoying the sensation of his boots falling on stray bits of straw in the yard. He gave the door a firm, slow push and it swung as though it too were enjoying the pleasure of moving through the air. He did not look back, but heard the clack of the lock as he moved into the yard proper and towards the lighted windows that signaled an easy chair on which to place his weight.

[Folwren]

“Dear me,” Dick said, his hands on his hips as he watched the group of hobbits canter down the road. He shook his head. Bad as it was for business to have half of his customers go riding off, Dick didn’t mind in the least. He dearly hoped that Cook could be found, for no cook would mean no good food, and that would be worse business still.

He turned and re-entered the inn. A quick glance showed him a mostly empty common room. Primrose and Rowan stood on either side of the kitchen door, looking as though the shocking events of the morning had left them rooted in their places for good. Granny Greenhill, who’s sharp wits had guided them most of the way through the chaotic morning, sat near the fire, looking as though she were ready to nod off to sleep after all the exertion she had put out so far that day.

A few odd, tall figures of random elves and men uninterested apparently with the disappearances of innocent hobbit folk occupied the other corners of the room.

“Come, Prim and Rowenna,” Dick said gently. “Let’s get this mess cleared away and this room set back in order.”

The two girls sprang immediately into action and the dishes were cleared away in a twinkling of an eye. Dick took the table cloth to the door to shake out. It was only then that he noticed the tall elf who had been standing in the shadow by the door way for goodness knows how long.

“Oh, excuse me!” Dick cried in greeting. “May I help you?”

[Undómë]

Rowan nudged Prim as the Innkeeper turned away to deal with one of the guests, one of the Fair Folk. 'Psst!' she whispered drawing Prim's attention now fully. 'Help me pile up the rest of these dishes and I'll cart them into the kitchen.' Rowan glanced at Master Boffin, noting his attention was still on his business the Elf. 'I'll set them to soaking in some nice sudsy water and see about going to Cook's room like we talked about. Maybe I can find something to tell us where she's gone.'

Prim stacked the dishes nose high in Rowan's hands and followed her into the kitchen with a precarious piling of cups and cutlery in her own hands. stacking them in the big sink alongside Rowan's heap of dirt dishes, she made her way to the stove and grabbed the steaming kettle. Tucking a packet of tea into her apron pocket she walked carefully back toward the door into the common room. 'You go on, then,' she said to her friend, stopping just before she made her exit. Prim jutted her chin toward the door into Cook's room. 'I'll pass about some fresh tea and make myself look busy tidying up with broom and rag. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're busy washing up.' Good luck! she mouthed backing carefully through the door.

----------------

Where to start? Where to start? Rowan mused as she closed the door to Cook's room behind her. The room was neat and tidy, the bed made, the hand towel by the pitcher and basin stand folded just so. There were some things missing, she noted. That small picture of trees round a a swimming hole in the bend of some lazy looking river; the sunlight slanting through the trees, dappling the surface of the water. Cook had kept it on the little table by her bed.

Rowan opened the large oaken wardrobe that stood along the wall to her right. A number of blouses and skirts were gone, along with Cook's hooded cloak. All packed, no doubt, into the large carpetbag Cook had kept stored under her bed and was now missing. Small clothes were gone too from the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe. Grabbed out in a hurry, it seemed, as other contents of the drawers were pushed around and left in disarray.

The curious hobbit poked about in the wardrobe, finding nothing of any significance as far as she was concerned. As a last thought she carried the little chair from desk in the corner and set it close in front of the wardrobe. Rowan climbed up on it and ran her hands along the deep shelf. Nothing of any note, she thought. Some bandanas, a couple of hats, a single glove, missing its mate, a woolen scarf.

Wait! What’s this? Her fingers pushed up against something hard and bumpy in the back corner. Rowan eased the object out until she could get a firm grip on it. ‘Interesting,’ she murmured aloud as she turned the little shell-covered box over in her hands, admiring the pretty shells affixed to it.

Rowan clambered down from the chair, taking care not to drop the little treasure. Once firmly planted on the floor she lifted the lid and peeked inside . . .

[Mithalwen]

“May I help you?”

Mithalwen deemed that the hobbit who addressed her was probably the Landlord and addressed him as such:

"Mr Boffin, I presume? " Mithalwen paused and read confirmation and perhaps surprise in his face and continued. "First I must offer you an apology, My niece and nephew trespassed on your hospitality recently and left without warning. That was my fault. They had played truant from those entrusted with their care and my anger when I found them meant that I did not listen to their story. Consequnetly I learned only this morning that I had force them to welch on an arrangement with you. For this I am sorry and wish to make amends. "

Mithalwen took her purse from her belt. I hope that you will be able to accomodate us all tonight and perhaps for a little longer and I will pay you also for the room they left unoccupied without notice. I need stabling for one horse and if possible safe storage of a waggonette and it contents - though perhaps my niece has already spoken to you about this?" Mithalwen made a mental note to retrieve the money she had given the girl if this were the case.

"It contains examples of my craft I was taking for sale but if there is anything there you should like I hope you will accept it as recompense for the inconvenience the twins and I have caused you" .
The tall elf looked earnestly at the Landlord hoping that she had expressed her regret in a language she used seldom.

[Rose]

Granny was only cat-napping. Her sharp old ears listened to the hum of conversation in the room, much as she did to the the hums of her dear bees as they went about their daily business. Her eyes, too, though giving all appearances of being closed in sleep, peeped out from beneath those grey tipped lashes.

'Where's Miz Rowan?' she spoke softly as Prim reached out to tidy Granny's table and pour a little hot tea in her mug. Prim's vague and hazy references to 'washing up' and such, accompanied by a quickening crimson tinge to the young woman's cheeks made Granny wary of her answer.

'That so?!' the elder Hobbit said, leveraging herself up from the chair, her walking stick planted firmly on the floorboards for support. 'B'lieve I'll just go give her a hand, then.' Ignoring a few splutters of protest from Prim, Granny made her way into the kitchen.

Not finding Rowan anywhere about and the dishes piled in the sink still dirty, she proceeded toward the sounds of scuffling and ruffling about she heard from just beyond an opened door at one end of the room.

'Miz Rowan?' she called out, her yew wood stick tap-tapping her progress across the floor. 'That you, dear?'

It was indeed the Hobbit lass, who turned with a look of surprise on her face and a pair of objects held firmly in her hands. 'Why what's that?' the old woman ask drawing closer. 'A little shell covered keepsake box, yes? And that....some little carved trinket isn't it. How clever it is!' She took the wooden ship, meticulously carved, sails and oars, and smelling of some fragrant wood. Turning it this way and that she smiled admiring the workmanship.

'Oh look!' she chuckled, holding the vessel a little closer to her eyes. 'Now isn't that something!' She held it out for Rose to see. There on the deck was a small figure, unshod.....with a definite patch of hair gracing each foot.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle felt as if she were eating more than her share of toast and jam that the Elf had brought to the table. Just because you’re a bit hungry is no reason to be like a pig at the trough! she chastened herself. She pushed the little plate of toasted bread toward Tavaro, encouraging him with a small wave of her hand to take a piece. ‘Oh and just let me top up your tea, Master Elf. It’s nice and hot, what with Mistress Prim having brought round the kettle.’

She looked round the room, wondering where Mungo had gone off to. Most likely slinking like a weasel toward the door! she sniffed.

‘Do you see that Mungo anywhere?’ she asked turning back toward Tavaro. ‘Off to finish whatever mischief brought him here in the first place. Mark my words on that.’

[Arry]

Away from the Inn - but slowly on the way back

It was slow going despite the urgings to pick up the pace from Will. Hugh’s mount, Jolly, wanted to stop often and crop the grass along the roadside. And to be honest Hugh seemed quite willing to stop for a bit here and there, too - to dip into the bundle of seedcake slices and sip at the flask of sweet tea from Miz Gardenia.

At one of the halts along the way, Will got down from Thistle and walked about a bit to stretch his legs. He paused in his steps and hands on hips looked up at the postman expectantly. ‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’

[Ilya]

As Widlast approached the door, snatches of conversation whipped by him.
"Dear me! Oh! Excuse me"
"Mr. Boffin, I presume?...welch on an arrangement with you...for the inconvenience the twins... "

Civil. Far too civil for men, anyway, which meant he'd reached holbytlan country. Pivoting to take a look around, he squinted hard at the branches suspended in the still air. He scratched at his ear, picking at the thought, silly though it seemed, that he'd expected the trees somehow to be smaller. The elf was still in the doorway, traces of toast and blurred chatter pushing past her. Widlast tucked his thumb inside his belt and leaned against a post near the door. In the tales, what elves purposed or misliked they did in ways beyond mens' understanding, moving in their own time. Most like, it already knew he was behind it, toying with a stone under his boot. Best he give it room to be. The way would be neither the longer or the dustier for him having to stand and wait for the elf to move on. He caught a pair of brown eyes at the elf's elbow, belonging he supposed to the innman, who carried himself well for looking all of ten. Pushing his weight into the worn wooden post, he settled himself on waiting until the innkeeper approached him.

[Folwren]

Dick assured Mithalwen in the most animated language that there had been no inconvenience, that no apology was necessary, and she really did not need to offer him any of her handy work. “Really, ma’am, it’s perfectly alright,” he said, for the tenth time in the space of thirty seconds, “they were not of any real trouble, and keeping the rooms did not cause a bit of inconvenience, really. It is alright.

“And we have room in the stables for your pony. Indeed, all the ponies have just now been taken out! Good gracious me, what a morning this had been!” He pressed his hand against his forehead briefly with the thought and a distracted look entered and left his face quickly. “Yes, yes, the rooms are still unoccupied and Rowan can open them for you. Prim!” he said, seeing the serving-hobbit heading towards the kitchen again. “Have Rowan open the rooms for the elves here.” Prim nodded and disappeared.

“So, that is taken care of,” said Dick. “Please, enter - and welcome!” He stepped aside and gave Mithalwen a clearer entrance to the common room. The elf nodded her head gracefully and swept past him. Dick, having been aware of another customer standing on the doorstep all this while, turned to meet him.

“Good day to you, sir. Enter and welcome!”