Benegar stared at me for a long moment and seemed to realize how dire my expression was. He looked chagrined and offered, “‘Well, maybe not murder, but they sounded very serious, and I’m afraid it won’t be long before their plans come to fruition!”
I straightened and sucked in a long breath through my nose. Releasing it slowly, I then asked him, “Why do you think that if you didn’t hear them actually say they were killing someone?”
The hobbit made a face. “‘I was crouching down in the mud here, looking for turtles, when two shabbily-dressed Men came wading out to the island!” He then offered, with barely contained mirth, “Much better than you managed, might I add.”
“There could still be a murder out here,” I growled at him.
He waved his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “They looked like they didn’t want to be seen and kept peering over their shoulders back in the direction of Bree.” I glanced back that way, myself. When I turned back to him, Benegar had a brief look of outrage. “I thought at first they were here to look for turtles at my prime turtle-catching spot,” he declared, his features morphing into something more serious as he kept going, “but then they started talking. And their words!” He widened his eyes. “Oh my!”
Did they say they’d stolen a hobbit’s lunch? I wanted to snipe at him. I held my tongue, though. I’d heard a song while in Bree about some stupid hobbit asking a minstrel for help in a so-called dire mission to force some brigands to return stolen goods – that turned out to be the hobbit’s lunch. “I’m braced for the shock,” I told him instead.
He didn’t seem to notice. “They spoke of a group that has infiltrated Bree and is gathering strength, watching and waiting. And when they are ready, they are planning a surprise for the village, one the Bree-folk will not soon forget!” he exclaimed in worry.
I frowned. “What exactly did they say?” I didn’t want to jump too quickly on something a hobbit might have said. They weren’t exactly the folk known for keeping a level head over the same matters that Men and Elves did. Remembering the fighting dwarves at the lake, I also had to admit hobbits had better tempers than they did, by far.
Benegar fretted for a moment and looked toward the ground as he gathered his thoughts. “Let’s see… ‘Quick-wit Culver’s sharpening his blade,’ the seediest looking Man said, ‘and Twisted Garret has all the rope we’ll need.’ They left after that, but not before discussing the password the infiltrators use to get into their hideout.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line as he looked up at me.
“You’re right,” I replied. “That… doesn’t sound good. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a nickname like “Twisted Garret” who wasn’t a violent murderer.” Pot, kettle, black, my own inner voice scolded me. You associate with some fine people. I knew as soon as I’d said it that I had outed myself, but Benegar’s expression never changed to show that he’d caught on. “By the way, Benegar, I’m Morchandir.” I didn’t offer my hand, though. It was still damp and the hobbit’s was covered in muck. “What did they say the password was?” If anyone could infiltrate these men, it would be me. Wasn’t I virtually one of them already?
“It’s ‘Another infiltrator is here!’ and if you say it to their door-man, you can get inside and stop this before they are ready!” the hobbit told me enthusiastically. “Their hideout is in Bree, south of the High Stair, and their door-man stands out front. Stop them, Morchandir!”
I sighed. “What is so popular about that area of Bree?” I shook my head. “Look, your uncle wants you home right now. I’d find a pair of armored trousers, while you’re at it.”
He blinked up at me with a blank look. “What? Why?” he asked.
“Because he’s probably going to switch your bottom for leaving the turtles in his shed, knowing how afraid of them he is, and not mentioning you’d done so.” I tried to sound dismayed instead of amused and somehow managed it. I had a son, after all. “They escaped and scared him witless.”
Benegar grinned widely. “Oh, that’s fabulo… I mean,” he said, composing his features into a contrite expression, “terrible! Simply terrible! I had no idea they would do that and only meant to keep them there for a little while. I swear I meant to tell him before I left! He was sleeping, though.”
“Well, Mandrake would’ve only given you a silver and fifty copper for all of them, regardless,” I informed him. “It seems to be the flat rate.”
The young hobbit’s brows crunched together as he frowned. “It took me hours to get them! Only a silver and fifty copper, you said?” At my nod, he threw up his hands. “Nevermind this turtle business, then. I won’t stay out here where murderers come to plot any longer just for a silver and some change!”
I jerked my thumb back toward Bree. “You’ll need to work on that sorry look before you get to your uncle’s place if you want to avoid his mighty wrath.” I then added, “Though if you tell him about the dangerous people you met and how they frightened you back to his home, he might forgive you.”
“Good thinking.” He pointed. “Don’t walk back the way you came. There actually is a shallower path you can wade across, big as you are, that goes around just over here. That way you won’t dunk yourself again.” He then squinted up at me. “Did you know, I’ve heard that hobbits in the Shire can’t even swim? How d’you like that business?”
I moved past him to start wading through the water. “Neither one way or the other. None of my concern.” I stopped and turned around to face him. “You want a lift?” I asked politely with a motion to my shoulders.
He eyed them and shook his head. “Best not. I’m already muddy as a pig in a sty. The swim will do me good.”
I breathed a little easier and nodded at him. “Hurry home, young m… hobbit. There are men out here like the ones you overheard who would take great pleasure in harming someone like you for sport.” I sloshed through the water a step, two steps, and then felt around with a foot to keep from repeating my earlier drop.
Benegar rolled his eyes slightly. “Yes, father,” he replied sarcastically. Looking back, he then muttered, “Just one more pass. Just in case the turtles are here…”
His words drove a little spike of longing through me. My own son hadn’t said those two words to me in that tone yet. He was still too young to try. Gloomily, pouting, grudging, those I had heard, and happily as well, but not with the same edge as I used for others. Or that Benegar had used on me, just then. All the same, it reminded me of Leith and why I was doing all of this. I didn’t want my son becoming me.
The ride back to Bree was long enough, but I had to go back to the Pony to change and ask for someone to launder my clothing for me while I had gone. I washed myself as best I could to rid myself of the lake water’s stink before dressing once again and heading once more toward the southern parts of Bree. As I approached the area of the High Stair, I realized it was just down and around the corner from Sig Mandrake. My brief concern vanished as I stopped, tied my horse securely, and walked toward a rough-looking man near a doorway.
His gaze sharpened as I approached. “State your business or move along,” he growled.
Something about me must have spooked him slightly since he shifted backward when I moved in close enough to whisper to him. I loomed over him when I did so. “Another infiltrator is here,” I stated gruffly to him.
He leaned back after I’d spoken. “What’s that? ‘Another infiltrator is here?'” He frowned at me suspiciously and then shrugged. “Okay. I don’t recognize you, but our group is pretty large by now, so that doesn’t surprise me. As many as it takes, am I right?” He laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
“Right,” I answered. I tried not to give anything away and I most certainly didn’t stop looming as much as I already was.
“We might have chosen a better password, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, “but at least it’s easy to remember.” He motioned at the door. “Lots of people are already inside. I let in Quick-wit Culver, and Twisted Garrett, and a few of the others. I will escort you inside, then return to my post.” He turned, opened the door, and let me take it from him so that I could shut it behind us. He waited for me on the other side, dark as it was, and then moved on. I should start with him, right here, I thought to myself grimly. Nice and silent, before he can warn the others inside. I could hear them talking and moving around through the entrance just beyond. I had my knife out halfway from its sheath before I slid it back in place. No, I told myself. Find out what’s happening first. How many there are. How much danger the town is in.
As we passed through a doorway into the lit area beyond, one of the men, with a knife in his hand, spotted the door guard and asked, “Otis! What are you doing? Get back to your post! It’s almost time!”
I ducked slightly as I came from behind the man. Activity in the room ceased as they all looked at me in confusion, the speaker included. Otis motioned at me and said, “He knew the password, Culver. He’s here to help us.” He nodded me forward before leaving once again.
The sounds of various preparations began to start up again slowly as the leader stepped toward me. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you sure you’re one of us?” he asked warily, eyeing me up and down. “This has been a long time coming, and I don’t want some outsider spoiling it.”
“Why would I want to spoil anything?” I countered. “You need all the help you can get, don’t you?”
He grunted and nodded once. “Folk won’t soon forget what we do here today, not if my name’s Quick-wit Culver. Which it is! ” He laughed and I couldn’t help but think it sounded a little stupid. Hur-hur-hur. I resisted the urge to mock him, especially when he flashed his little knife so proudly. “You see this blade?” he asked with a smirk, eyes fastened on it as he set his fingertip on the point. “I can slide clean through anything I set my mind to, that’s how sharp both edges are: the blade and my mind!”
“Fascinating,” I grated. I could have you dead before you even knew it if I wanted.
“I’ve been cutting things all morning, and I’ll cut more before the day is through! See if I don’t!” he promised with a wag of it toward me. I had to fight the urge to retaliate with it so close to me. “Go into the main room and see if Garrett is all set up. There isn’t much time left.”
Main room? I wondered as I looked toward the only other exit besides how I had entered. I took a last look at Culver and strode away. Entering the much larger second room, I noticed far more of the infiltrators had collected within. Garrett, I noted. Which one is Garrett?
A man, not as ruddy haired and with it falling across his forehead besides, stood by an open crate. He seemed more worried than I would have expected a murderous brigand to be. “I have not yet unpacked my ropes! They will hold, I am certain, but I need more time! There are a lot of things we still need to hoist!” Twisted Garrett, I noted. I moved to the crate and spotted the ropes within. “Oh, after all this planning, to be undone at the last for a lack of time! I saw how sharp Culver’s knife has become! If I don’t hurry he might use it on me next!”
“He sent me to help you,” I greeted him. He looked up and over, then up further, at me and his eyes widened slightly. “What is it we’re hoisting? I might have the advantage in that respect.”
He blinked at me. “You… whoo… Yes, I think you have the advantage,” he agreed. He pointed toward the crate. “These should be laid out and ready so that we can hang-” he began.
He was interrupted by Culver’s frantic voice. “We’re out of time! He’s here!” he cried, and the whole room seemed to go berserk. Brigands started tossing things into crates and trying to clear up the area or finish what they’d started. Garrett wailed, “Oh no! All is for naught!” and slapped the lid of the crate back on top of it.
I looked from one place to another in bewilderment. “Who….?” I tried to ask Garrett, but he scurried to Culver’s side. Someone from the Watch, I realized with horror. It must be! I’m about to be taken in by the guards here and charged with something I had no part of! I looked around for an escape route – a window, a back door, a cellar, anything – but had only gone two steps when a figure appeared through the doorway.
Blonde and average in every way, he looked around at everyone inside, who had frozen in place, and asked with great curiosity, “What is going on, friends?”
As if on cue, the other infiltrators all called out, “Surprise!” and “Surprise, Artie!” and “Happy birthday!”
I felt a wash of relief pulse through me that was then followed by a flare of indignant anger. How dare these brigands and ruffians not intend on murdering people in Bree? Rope? Knives? All for a birthday party? I refused to believe it, even as Artie declared, “Will you look at this? All of my friends have gathered to surprise me with a birthday celebration! I cannot believe it! Thank you, everyone, thank you!”
Culver appeared with a tray of bread to offer it to Artie. “I have been cutting thick slices of crusty bread all morning! Help yourself, Artie!”
“What?” I couldn’t help letting the word slip out as I stared at the platter. “That’s what you’ve been cutting and…”
It got worse. Twisted Garrett came up to Artie’s other side with an apologetic and frustrated clenching of his hands. “I was going to hang up some decorations with my ropes, but I ran out of time!”
I immediately looked over at the crate haphazardly covered by its top. I had the very real, very violent urge to take the rope and hang them all from the rafters before storming out. “Hoisting,” I growled in disgust.
“Do not trouble yourself, Garrett!” Artie assured him happily. “I need no decorations. I just need my friends about me!”
I had to take a hard, close look at this Artie fellow, then. I wasn’t sure how a man who looked so average knew such obviously vile characters as the brigands around him. I wanted to know what he had been doing to make their acquaintances, let alone befriend them, but I didn’t have the chance to ask. “I almost forgot the main course, Artie!” Culver announced. “What good are thick slices of crusty bread without anything to dip them into?” I looked over at him and felt my head start pounding so that I heard my heartbeat in my ears. Don’t you dare say it, I thought to myself. I could already feel a headache starting. “We all chipped in some coins to purchase a large order of turtle soup from Sig Mandrake’s well-known shop,” Culver said with a wide smile. “He should be here with the soup any moment now!”
My hands flew up as I turned away. “This is… ridiculous…” I said, much to their confusion.
“Well, I suppose it should have been here before now,” Garrett agreed after seeing my reaction. “But there’s no need to be hostile about it.”
“What is taking him so long with the soup?” Culver asked with a frown, turning to look toward the door. “Do you think he’s been held up by the size of the pot? We did ask for a large amount, and people have been bringing him turtles since yesterday.”
Artie shook his head. “Maybe he’s had trouble finding someone to help him bring it here, or he’s had to make two batches and can’t carry them both?”
I rested my hands on the edge of the nearby table as I struggled to regain my temper. “Three silver,” I said under my breath. “Three bloody silver, ruining my new clothes, chasing turtles and hobbits in the mud, for a birthday party…?”
The sound of hurried boots on the floor heralded the arrival of the last person I wanted to see, as if conjured up by my words and thoughts of mayhem. “I am so sorry, everyone! I couldn’t do it!” Mandrake said as he came in.
I straightened and slowly turned around to face him. He seemed surprised to see me there. “Couldn’t do what?” I asked in a deceptively level voice.
He flailed his hands around. “It, Morchandir!” he replied desperately. ” After seeing all of those little turtles, with their tiny shells and their little snapping beaks, I just could not bring myself to turn them into soup!”
“Oh, you should’ve called me,” I answered through clenched teeth. “I could’ve done it.” Really thinking of twisting off some heads right now, as it is, I wanted to say.
I couldn’t, however, because Mandrake wasn’t done ruining my day. “I brought them here, tied up in a sack given to be my Grobo’s nephew. I left them over by the door.”
I looked back at him so fast I thought my neck might snap. “Hold on, Benegar? When did he do that?” I demanded.
“Oh, it was after you left yesterday,” Mandrake assured me. “Before you went to fetch him for Grobo today at the Everclear Lakes.”
“Oh no,” I groaned. He knew they weren’t murderers, I realized with growing frustration. They were throwing a party! He knew all along!
Sig pressed onward. “Perhaps we can return them to the wild, and my customers will forgive me for not making good on our deal.” He looked toward the brigands hopefully even as he spoke to me. “I will refund their coin, of course!” he added hastily.
No, no you won’t, I wanted to say to him, knowing that he had probably paid me and every other turtle-catcher out of the money he’d received for services not rendered. I didn’t, though, because I could hear the faint yet growing sounds I had been dreading I would hear for the last few moments. Hollow clacking. Scratching. Scraping. Almost a rumbling noise, like stones being jostled together in a bag. Sig picked up on it as well and screwed up his face. “Hmmm… do you hear something?” he asked the room, uncomprehending.
Turtles, dozens and dozens of them, spilled out of the storage room to pour into the one where we stood. The infiltrators danced around shrieking as the wild, frightened creatures snapped and lashed out, trying to find somewhere to escape to, before ducking into their spiked shells. One or two of the women hopped up onto the tables to get away from them while Mandrake looked miserable.
“Benegar,” I told him in a matter of fact way, “has a tendency to play pranks on people using turtles. I’m very sure that he made the hole in the bag at Grobo’s, and if he gave you a bag to carry them in, he made one in that one, too. Or them.” Turning to look down at him, I asked Mandrake, “Would you like to make hobbit soup instead? I happen to know a good place to get one.”
“Disappointed?” I heard Artie exclaim with a laugh. When I turned my attention that way, I noticed that he seemed to be talking to Garrett. I could guess what he’d just been asked that I’d missed. “Absolutely not! I don’t care much for turtle soup, in the first place. And look at all those little fellows, running around like they own the place!”
Artie turned more serious. “Perhaps they should! I have a spacious home not far from here, and I understand that the mayor has been known to turn a blind eye to the keeping of numerous pets within homes in Bree. I could give these little snapping gentle-turtles a fine home!”
“Gentle my ar—hey!” I replied, dancing back as one of the accursed beasts yet again tried to nip at me through my boots. I cocked back my foot to launch it across the room with a kick before thinking better of it.
But Artie was nodding slowly, as if the idea he’d had was the answer to the world’s problems. “They will stay with me! It’s settled!” He slung an arm around Culver’s shoulders and beamed. “This is the finest birthday of all! I have been surprised by my old friends, and have acquired numerous new friends! Man and turtle alike!”
I gave him a long-suffering look from behind my mask. “You’re mad,” I said, shaking my head.
The blonde man laughed and came to me. “What’s your name? I will show you to my home. You can help carry some of my new, beaked friends!”
“Joy,” I responded with a hint of a whine. “Just what I always wanted. Friends with beaks and insanity.” When Artie looked as if he might reply, I noted, “Joy isn’t my name. Morchandir is my name.”
He laughed. “I was about to ask why your parents disliked you that much.”
I snorted but couldn’t help the slight smile that crossed my face at his riposte. On the other hand, I had to admit privately, only the lunatic members of society, beaked or otherwise, might be able to accept me as their friends, given everything.
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