Tag: fanfiction

“I can’t believe it, Morchandir! This has been the best birthday ever, and now I have so many new friends to share this home with! Look at all the little fellows!” Artie crowed gleefully as he spread his hands wide.

I stared at the huge pit in the middle of the man’s floor in his home. It had dirt, rocks, and plants in it – and, now, dozens of tiny turtles. “Why did you have this in your home to begin with, Artie?” I asked, flabbergasted. “That’s not normal.”

“Oh, I wanted a small vivarium,” he explained with a wide smile.

I narrowed my eyes. “A… what, now?”

“Vivarium,” he repeated. “Like an indoor garden. Anyway, they aren’t well known outside of the elves’ homes, and even then, I’ve only ever heard of noble elves having them. I figured I would try to cultivate one here, and I’m so happy that I did!” He grinned at me. “That party was such a terrific surprise and must have taken so much planning! Thank you for being a part of it, my new friend!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d gone there for the express purpose of slitting throats and shanking spleens to foil a potential murder and assault on members of the town. I just smiled as best I could beneath my mask, awkward as I felt, and tried to play it off. “It was nothing, trust me.”

He peered at me for a long moment, head canting to one side, and made a little sound in his throat. “Why do you wear that mask, anyway, Morchandir? Isn’t it stuffy and uncomfortable?”

“Extremely so,” I agreed. “But it protects my identity when I have to do things that… I can’t chat about at this point.”

He looked disappointed; however, it wasn’t at my lack of information or my mask itself. “You shouldn’t be doing those things,” he scolded me. “You could get into serious trouble for them and then what would you do?”

“Be hanged, most likely.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug helplessly. “If I’m lucky.”

He waved his hands at me ferociously. “That’s the point, though! You shouldn’t be doing anything that might get you a one-way trip to the gallows. Nothing could be worth that.”

My son’s face flashed through my mind and I shook my head. “There are plenty of things that are worth dying for,” I protested firmly.

“Dying for,” he agreed. “But not recklessly and stupidly so. Not when you have people who need you and count on you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

I pointed at the turtles. “They take after you,” I replied drolly. “You should see the bites I have on my new boots from these little monsters.”

He brightened up. “Oh, they’re nothing! Just wait until you find one that’s regular-sized!”

I blinked. “Regular… sized?” My hands came up to gesture in a vaguely gourd-shaped way. “Like… a pumpkin?”

He sucked on his teeth a moment. “Well…” he drawled, “if you take legends and stories to heart, they’re bigger than horses.”

I frowned and looked down at the turtles in their little home. “These things?” I asked in disbelief.

“Some types are prone to getting large, I’m told.” He shook his head. “But that hardly matters. I doubt you’ll find any around Bree! Even up in Nen Harn or the Midgewater Marsh. Plenty of giant spiders and goblins, though, that much I do know.” He beamed. “And walking trees, if you believe that!”

“Oh, I’d believe it,” I muttered, recalling the sting of roots slapping at me through my trousers. “I’ve had to… kill? Destroy? A few? I don’t know if that’s murder or just aggressive gardening.” I stirred. “I hate to cut this short,” I lied, “but I have to get going, Artie. It’s gotten late and I would like to get a room at the Pony before they’re taken.”

He nodded quickly. “Sure, sure! I should see about finding something for my new little friends to eat, anyway. Don’t want them nibbling at my sleeping toes in the night.”

I hesitated again. “They eat people?”

He laughed. “These little ones, no. Bugs and other things. But those big ones? There’s no telling. They’re big enough to eat whatever they feel like eating.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Visions of turtles big enough for giants to ride on filled my head momentarily before I shoved the images away. I could see why Grobo might be terrified of them even at their tiniest. I had to wonder if perhaps he’d been threatened by a giant one at some point, though I also had to admit that giant to a hobbit might not be giant to a Man or Elf. “Happy birthday, again, Artie. I’ll hopefully see you again before your next one.” So long as I didn’t have to infiltrate his friend group and stab them all to death as a present.

By the time I returned to the Pony, evening had fallen over Bree once again. I paid for my room and care for Neeker overnight before settling in with my things. I decided on a nice, hot dinner and listening to one of the minstrels playing in the commons before heading to bed would probably help me relax.

It was the stupid “Leland’s Lunch” song again and I rolled my eyes. Fishing out some coin, I flagged down one of the servers and ordered a pint of Barliman’s Best, given I had never had it. I had the urge to drink something after the day that I’d had. To be honest, I had the urge to drink a copious amount of something after the day that I’d had.

I lifted the mug of ale for my first sip and blinked in surprise. It was frothy and had a slightly sweet, toasted undertone. I could feel myself relax immediately at the taste. It really was one of the better beers that I’d had in my travels thus far. I was suddenly glad that I had some extra money to spare. “Mandrake shorted me,” I growled into the mug. “Three silver doesn’t even buy me a good beer at the Prancing Pony. I should’ve picked his pockets too while I was at it.”

I wasn’t much for wine or cider. My second round consisted of a Blind Troll Stout simply because of the name. It wasn’t as good as the first drink but for a stout, it was bloody brilliant. By the time I’d finished it, the minstrel had begun to sound good and my head had begun bobbing without my knowledge. It didn’t actually take long for the world to start shifting around me and sounds to blur, and that was before I’d finished my second Barliman’s Best.

I have no idea what I told one of the women in the room, but I do remember pulling off my mask at one point and perhaps dancing on a table with her. I staggered back to my room mostly unable to function and slept before I could even shift my position to get comfortable.

When morning arrived, I woke with a splitting headache. My mask had fallen to the floor from my extended hand. I felt as if a wagon full of stones had run me down and when I went to wash my face, I hissed at the pain. Touching my cheek, I felt it swollen and found a mirror. I hadn’t been punched, but I also had no idea who had managed to reach so far up to hit me. I went for breakfast and encountered a surprise. “Morchandir,” Butterbur called to me as I moved for an empty table. I knew from the sound of it that he wasn’t simply hailing me in a passing fashion.

I halted, turned, and made my way to him with curiosity bubbling within me. “Butterbur,” I greeted in turn with a gentle nod and a quiet voice. “Do you need something?”

“Mm. This came for you just a bit ago. One of the Mayor’s men delivered it.” He offered a small, rolled scroll as a message. “Need some water in you, by the looks of things.” He chuckled. “Daisy gave you quite the slap when you kissed her. Fell right off the table, got up, kissed her while she was up there, and she whacked you a good one!”

I stared at him for a long moment before replying, “I think I’ll have that water, sure.” That explains the swollen face this morning, I noted privately. I took the small rolled note and broke the seal as I turned and made my way back to the table I had chosen. I knew the innkeeper would want to know what was inside, but I didn’t want him to find me potentially having a hard time reading the words. Within, the note read, short and sweet:

Morchandir,

I ask, at your convenience, that you visit me in the Bree Town Hall. I wish to thank you personally for attending to an issue that has long plagued the folk of Bree. I hear that it was by your hand that the haunting of our town is ended, and I wish to see the hero of Bree for myself.

Graeme Tenderlarch, Mayor

It took me a few moments to read through the handwriting. Once I did, I blinked and frowned at the message. “I guess the mayor really did hear about it,” I muttered to myself. Straightening slightly, I rolled the parchment back up and tucked it away so that I could order my food and drink. I would have to stop by before I left Bree to find Saeradan and Radagast. Who knows? I told myself as I hurriedly ate. Maybe he means to reward you somehow. More money was never a bad thing.

Eggs, however, seemed to be. I sipped my water slowly and fought the urge to be sick for a good half hour before I finally visited Polly Leafcutter, the healer, for something to soothe my ills.

I headed out to the town hall after tucking away my laundered clothing and saddling up Neeker. Just a short meeting here and I’ll be on my way, I promised Gandalf mentally. I don’t think the world is ending anytime in the next hour, at least. If it was that crucial, Gandalf himself would have taken care of things. To be honest, though, while my head pounded and my stomach flipped and flopped now and then, I rather hoped it would end in the next hour and put me out of my misery. I would need to avoid Barliman’s Best as if it were a plague-bearing wight from here on out. Delicious yet devastating.

By the time I was shown upstairs in the town hall, I was ready to be gone on my mission. The short, dark haired man with a trimmed and neat moustache looked up from his ledger as I halted uncertainly near him. “Ah, there you are,” he said as he set his quill aside and rose to his feet. I didn’t ask how he knew who I was. The mask said it all. “However did you manage to drive out the spirit, Morchandir? I’m dying to know.”

“Not too far with that dying bit or I might need to put you back into your tomb as well,” I replied smugly. At his avid expression, however, I realized he was serious about wanting to know. “Well, it began when I had to travel into the Barrow-downs for a completely different purpose,” I offered politely. I knew this would take a little while and that I couldn’t tell him everything.

He seemed shocked. “You went there alone? What manner of mischief sent you in there?”

I grimaced slightly. “Nothing that I can reveal at this time, I’m afraid.” He didn’t seem willing to push the issue, and so I continued. “I came in from the west, through the Old Forest, and traveled the Old Barrows Road up over the ridge on that side…”

“The Old Forest, too?” he demanded, sitting back on his heels. “No, no, I won’t ask. I’m sorry, continue, please.”

I explained to him how I had met a wandering shade near the Dead Spire who had asked for my aid, which I had given, and how it had led me from one thing to another in the barrows before I managed to return to Bree. “The ring I returned to his wandering brother allowed the spirit haunting the alleys in the town know that all was well and he could again rest,” I concluded. “Which is what he did, as did the other shade.”

“Arthedain,” the Mayor marveled. “Such a long time ago in our history, but Bree existed back then even when the kingdoms around it shifted and changed.” He fell silent for a moment before continuing. “I had thought the reports of the haunting were drunken ramblings,” he admitted. “Imagine my surprise when I was approached by the gate Watchers at the South-gate. They told me it was you, Morchandir, that quelled the spirit once wandering the alleys of Bree.

“For that I am in your debt, as is this town. Please, accept this as a payment for your deeds, which until now had gone unnoticed.” He held out a small pouch to me. I brightened considerably as I took it from him. “Eight silver and 80 copper. I wish it could be more,” he finished. “I hope that you’ll forgive me for that.”

“Considering I spent most of yesterday catching and hauling turtles for Sig Mandrake for no reason and made three silver, I’ll take it,” I said as I secreted the little satchel away. Plus the whole night spending that silver and then some to get drunk, I added. I wouldn’t let the Mayor know that part.

He bid me farewell, and I exited the town hall. I took Neeker around and up toward the west gate before riding out of it and to the right down a dirt road that stretched forever, it seemed. I didn’t know how far I would need to ride to find the man; however, a cabin appeared just by the road. Not hidden enough, I remarked to myself as I rode past. The one I wanted wouldn’t be easy to spot, I was sure. Not impossible, but not openly sitting and inviting people to approach, either.

I searched and rode up and down the road for at least two hours before giving up and heading back toward Bree itself. As I passed the cabin again, I found not one but two people outside: a Man and a dwarf. Slowing Neeker to a halt nearby, I hailed them. Instead of a polite response, the taller man growled, “I am short of officers, newcomer. If you are here to aid me in my fight against the outlaws in the Bree-fields I welcome you without reservation. My friend Lofar may have need for you as well.” He nodded to the dwarf nearby in introduction. “If not, you’d be wise to move on to the town or be on your way.”

“Are you always so hospitable,” I drawled, “or are you making an exception for me?” I glanced from him to his dwarf companion. “I wonder if you’ve seen Radagast around lately?”

“Who?” grunted the dwarf, Lofar. That answered my question immediately.

I sighed. “Never mind. I’m searching for him.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Why should I be moving on? Is it the brigands that are out here? I’ve encountered some already, actually.”

“Those men may have taken your friend, Radagast,” Lofar informed me with a jerk of his bearded chin toward the area behind me across the stream. “I wouldn’t put it past the blighters! Chief Watcher Grimbriar, here, has been doing everything he can.”

“Except patrol, it seems.” I knew I was being difficult. I couldn’t help it. They were law enforcement officials.

Grimbriar made a sound very close to a true growl at my words. “My job is to guard Bree. I don’t have the men to waste patrolling the countryside, but of late I’ve had reports of brigand-raids near and around the town. I need someone to look into these rumors, and I’ve coin to spare for anyone willing to help.”

Don’t do it, I warned my avarice. You have enough money to last you a bit. Don’t fall for the trap.

“There’ve always been a few outlaws in the hills and dales north of town, but it seems that recently they’ve grown both more numerous and more bold. If you can find out what is going on, it would be appreciated.” Don’t you dare! I thought with slowly grinding teeth. “Careful though. Once these outlaws would flee any armed man, but now they are more prone to attack without warning.” If you don’t tell him you’ll pass on this and move on, I began to think, only for Grimbriar to finish speaking. “The farm across the road seems to be overrun by the brigands…you could start your investigation there,” he stated with a point toward it, as if I had already agreed.

I turned and looked the direction of the farm for a long moment. “Pay, you said?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “Just to have a look there? Do you want me to count the number of them? Bring one back to you? What is it you’re after?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to tell you to look for,” Grimbriar admitted. “If you encounter and defeat any brigands, or if you can search Dogwood’s Farm nearby, maybe you can discover something that will tell us why they’ve become more hostile. That would be a start.” He smirked up at me as I turned back to him. “You mentioned already having met a few of them. It shouldn’t prove terribly difficult, surely?”

I snorted. “Right,” I replied. “Neither was catching turtles, and yet…” He gave me a strange look and I shook my head. “There were a few leaders that I had to take care of for Adso at his camp a day or two ago. Are you sure that the brigands are still a threat today?”

Grimbriar hesitated and then shook his head slightly. “I haven’t received complaints in the last two or so days, it’s true,” he said. “Have you, Lofar?”

The dwarf grunted. “I have not, Grimbriar. I do have my own problem I’m willing to pay someone to help me with, however.” He peered up at me. “It seems that no sooner did I set my latest blade out to cool, than someone stole it!”

“However will I sleep at night?” I asked as I leaned down to rest my forearm against the horn of my saddle.

He scowled. “I didn’t see who made off with the sword, but I suspect it was one of those Man-smiths working out at Thornley’s. Their craft is nothing like dwarf-craft, and likely their jealousy of my workmanship moved one of them to steal my blade.” At my silence, he continued. “If I were to ask them about my blade, they would just ignore me.” He wagged a thick finger at me. “You though, by the look of you, are a great warrior.”

I looked down at myself from behind my mask. “Are you serious?” I demanded as I looked back up at him.

Lofar seemed to acknowledge I had a point from how his head canted to one side a fraction and his eyes narrowed. He was in for a copper, in for a gold, though. “Mm. All the same. If you were to ask them about my blade, they’ll be honest with you. You’re one of them. How about it, can you find my stolen blade?”

“Look, not all Men are very trusting of other Men.” I gestured toward Grimbriar as an example.

“They’ll still listen to you before they will me,” he said stubbornly.

I sighed and straightened. “Fine, why not? I had to be in this area anyway. Thornley’s site, you said?” At his nod, I turned Neeker around once more. “Left or right side of the stream?”

“Right,” Lofar explained. “It turns off to the left before it reaches the work site and meets the Everclear Lakes.”

I slowly turned back to look at him. “What?” he asked after a moment, looking confused. “Nothing,” I answered as I set off down the Greenway. If I wind up wet one more time… I swore silently.

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.

“This gelding is straight from Hengstacer,” the man near the southern gate told me as he slapped the animal’s rump. “Worth every bit of the 500 silver I’m asking, too! All the Hengstacer animals are.”

“I know.” I did, too. Second only to the Rohirrim, Hengstacer often brought in people from Eregion and beyond when they had a big sale planned during the year. Just hearing about an auction could do it. I had been with a caravan as a guard when word of one rippled through the merchants in Dale. I had never seen the rhythm of negotiations turn aside so quickly on both side with the new information. “Pretty sure they’re worth at least two or three gold if they’re part of the best stock, though.” I nodded at the horse the man was trying to sell off. “I just need one that isn’t going to be put down half a day out of Bree when its leg bone snaps under the weight of a rider. For 500 silver, I’m expecting that from a basic Hengstacer gelding.”

He leaned against the animal’s side. “And you’ll get it, too. Ol’ Hengstacer doesn’t only breed for show. Everyone knows that.”

“But not everyone has a Hengstacer horse for sale,” I countered. “Other than Hengstacer. How do I know it’s from where you say?”

He pushed the air at me as if to placate me. “I sell all of my horses with the papers they came with originally,” he assures me. “I buy them with that evidence, and when I sell them, I sell them with it as well. The paperwork goes with them along with the bill of sale.”

I looked toward the gelding once more. It was average sized, dark as sin, and seemed docile as a lamb. “What’s its temperament?” I finally asked. “Is it fit for a novice rider or an experienced one? Someone in between?”

He seemed to think that he had me, but the joke was on him. I paid him for the gelding with the silver in its pouch that I had brought along just for this purpose and went with him as he counted it out nearby. 500 silver. Half of the gold coin Mandrake had given me. The other half would go toward its tack and some supplies.

At least, it would’ve had I not promptly picked the salesman’s pockets for his gold while he remained distracted. Two for one. I happened to like my nimble fingers.

We shook on the deal, he handed me all of the parchments that I would need, I signed off on it, and everything found itself tucked away in my pockets. I had done business with the man sans mask – what would it look like for a masked man to try buying things, anyway? – but I put it back on as I collected my new investment’s lead rope. “Let’s get you dressed,” I told the dark bay horse. “And me, as well.” I still needed some better clothing and perhaps even some light armor if I meant to go gallivanting around like an idiot intent on endangering himself. I decided the horse’s name would be Neeker. It seemed better than the one that came on its pedigree papers.

I still found myself interested in the turtle situation even after the gelding had a good bridle, bit, and saddle fitted and I had what I wanted to wear plus some extra in the saddlebags. Every silver, I reasoned, is one less silver I’ll need to pay for things on the road. With that in mind, I turned Neeker north and followed the cobblestone road out to the Staddle gate. I found that my new gelding had a gait worth all 500 of the silver I had paid for him. He may not have been as expensive as some fine nobleman’s palfrey or a Rohirrim’s destrier, but he seemed to have enough stamina and speed, and most importantly sturdiness, to take me wherever I needed to go. He had a fine temperament, neither too hot nor too docile, that suited me just fine.

I found myself trotting down a familiar enough road in Staddle. I nodded at Constable Tanglerush as I neared her. “Hail, Morchandir. What brings you back to our neck of the woods?” she asked me with great curiosity.

I drew Neeker to a halt. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Grobo Dogwart lives?” I countered. “I’m on an errand for someone and need to get there.”

“Ah.” Tanglerush seemed amused for some reason. “This wouldn’t happen to do with his nephew, Benegar, and a large sack of turtles, would it?” At my heavy sigh and simple nod, she chuckled and pointed down the road west. “He’s one of Eldo’s neighbors, actually. Head that way and you can’t miss his hole.”

I knew more or less where I might be headed if Swatmidge was Grobo’s neighbor. Making a wide berth around the Widow Froghorn’s home lest she spot me with yet another task to try and win Eldo’s affections, rather than the other way around now that he had changed his mind, I finally slowed Neeker and halted him outside of the home I had been pointed to. Once dismounted, I knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

The hobbit who answered the door seemed fretful to say the least. He blinked and moved his gaze from where a normal man’s head might be to where mine sat further above. “Oh my!” I wasn’t sure if the exclamation had to do with my height or his current state of anxiety. What had him so afraid? “Are you here about the… the…” His voice dropped and filled with utter dread. “The turtles?” he whispered in horror, as if the very word might have been “Sauron” instead. “Please tell me that’s why you are here!” he begged, near tears.

A giant Man wearing a strange mask and black clothing knocks on your door, I thought, and you’re more terrified of turtles and want him to take them away? “Yes,” I replied simply. “Sig Mandrake sent me.” I had no idea how to feel about the situation other than to pity the poor hobbit. It had to be quite the fear.

The cavernous sigh of relief from Grobo confirmed my idea. “Good, good! You have no idea what that means to me!” He wrung his hands as he peered up at me with unshed tears. “My nephew Benegar collected a bunch of turtles and has apparently been keeping them in my shed.”

“He didn’t tell you he left them in there?” I blurted out. Nothing about this situation made any sense to me. Why am I finding all of these… these… odd situations? I wanted to demand of whatever powers that might be residing nearby.

He shook his head vehemently in answer. “I went in there this morning to fetch some supplies for breakfast, and what do I see?” His hands flailed toward the shed and I glanced that way, too. “Tu-tu-turtles everywhere!” he stammered, once again unable to get out the apparently hateful word. “They must have used their horrible little beaks to loosen the tie on the bag, and they have scampered loose!” He made little pinchers with his fingers at the mention of the beaks before clasping the sides of his face with his fists and shaking his head, almost his whole body, in a “no” fashion.

I just stared at him for a long moment before attempting to say, “I don’t think turtles scamp—”

He barged on obliviously in his panic. “They are crawling all around the shed!” he told me with a rising pitch of hysteria. “Do me a favour and pick up the bag inside the shed, then gather up the turtles! Let me know when you have done it. I am so scared of tu-tu-turtles I cannot stand to do it myself!” And with that, he scurried inside and shut the door but for a crack to peek out at me. “Oh, hurry and get them out of here!” he wailed, closing the door firmly afterward.

I turned slowly and walked to the shed, a smaller hole near Grobo’s larger one, and cautiously opened the door to peer within. Turtles didn’t immediately assault me, and I opened the door all the way to step in, closing it behind me. “Mandrake had better have more than a silver piece for this,” I grumbled as I let my eyes adjust.

I walked from the smaller front room to the larger one connecting it. My eyes quickly found the sack with a small hole torn out near the top and the severed rope that had held it closed lying nearby. I’ll need another length of twine to bind it fast once I collect the turtles, I reasoned and stepped inside the room to see if I could find said material. The sound of claws on the wooden floor, and of small creatures moving around bumping into things, confirmed Grobo’s words about the interlopers still being inside.

As if my boots on the floor, given I wasn’t being quiet at the moment, had startled one of them, the sack itself began to scoot over the planks away from me, most likely caught on one of the spines of the turtle’s back. I watched it go for a long, amused moment before turning back to the shelves and crates and boxes in the place. The hobbit had food stored here but also a few other items. Rope was one of them. I found some smaller, yet strong twine and secured it just inside my waistband near my belt for the time being. While I stood there, however, I realized I could burgle a bit of food while I was at it for my troubles.

Even as I thought it, I felt a set of quick nips along my ankles atop the new boots I had bought earlier that day. I hopped from foot to foot momentarily as I cursed, causing the turtles to shutter themselves away inside their shells to protect themselves, and finally said aloud, “Little biting blighters. I’m glad you’re bound for soup! Stop it!”

I strode to the still-scooting sack and pulled it up. The turtle beneath came free and landed with a solid rattle against the planks on the ground inside its shell. Shaking open the sack, I grasped the creature gingerly with one hand and stuffed it back into the burlap held in the other. Turtles first, I reasoned. Food second. Not in the same bag, though.

I moved around the room plucking up shells with turtles hiding inside them to replace them in their container, stooping low to get them at times when they decided to try for a low-lying opening that they couldn’t fit through. They weren’t exactly geniuses. One was even stuck, and I had to pull it out with a hammer as if it were a nail in order to get it back where it belonged. By the time I had finished, the bag, much larger than the one I had used previously, had notably more than six so-called tiny turtles inside – and only then did it occur to me. Why had Benegar come to Staddle to hold these things in his uncle’s shed instead of taking them directly back to Mandrake? Sig Mandrake’s home was far, far closer than he would’ve had to walk or ride to get from Halecatch Lake to west of Staddle, then from there to the Mud Gate area of Bree, and then all the way back.

Either there were places other than the lake to find the blasted things and we had all been bamboozled, or else these weren’t the right kind of turtle. Grobo’s nephew had done it on purpose, regardless.

I tied off the bag once more and, after a last check of the shed to make sure I hadn’t missed any, settled myself that there were eight of the things and no more. I found a smaller bag and filled it with some of the foods that I knew would keep easily in the store, tied it off, settled it on Neeker’s back opposite the hobbit’s line of sight once I had emerged from the shed, and called it a fair trade. As I approached the hobbit’s door, I heard Grobo talking to himself loudly within: “Terrifying little beasts! I cannot stand turtles! Their tiny little snapping beaks, their tough little shells, their deceptively-quick legs! I cannot stand them!” I knocked on the door, curtailing his litany, and waited for him to peek out through a crack once more. “That’s the turtle-carrying sack, is it?” His wary tone left no room for imagining his feelings about the objects within.

“It is,” I told him, hefting it up further for him to see out of a sense of perverse delight and pettiness.

He drew back and nearly shut the door at the motion, only opening it slightly up again when I lowered the bag to my side. “They are in there?” His face screwed up. “Oh, I can hear them plotting to escape again! The tiny little monsters!”

I looked down at the bag in my hand. It had no motion whatsoever to it given the turtles were all retracted in terror. “They aren’t that tiny,” I finally replied with a mild sense of defensiveness, wondering at the hobbit’s sanity if he could “hear them plotting” anything at all.

“Can you imagine how horrible it would be if they grew any larger than this?” He shuddered so violently the door rattled in his hands. “Oh, I cannot bear it! They are bad enough at this size!”

I took a moment to regard him once again through my mask and the crack in the door. “You… do realize they fold up inside the shell if you make a loud noise at them, don’t you? They aren’t exactly lethal to you.”

“I don’t know what Benegar was thinking, keeping them in my shed. He knows how I feel about turtles!” he cried in frustration.

I shook my head. “Did one kill your parents when you were a child or something?” I motioned before he could answer. “Your nephew probably did this as a prank on you, sir. The only place you can find these turtles is closer to the man wanting them than here. And if he knew that you were afraid of them…”

Silence followed, and then: “Blast that boy!” The scowl on Grobo’s face was clear enough for me to see even without the door being all the way open. “I should… should….” He trailed off and the scowl moderated to a frown. “You know, I haven’t seen my nephew Benegar since he left that bag of turtles in my shed. I hope the boy has not gotten himself into some turtle-related mischief!”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “They haven’t exactly eaten him, I’m sure. They hardly even nipped at my boots when I was in the shed with them.”

The sound of disgust he made at the thought almost had me laughing. I barely contained it. “Return that bag of turtles to Sig Mandrake at his shop in Bree,” Grobo demanded so fast that he nearly tripped on his own words, “and see if he has heard any more news of my nephew.” The door then shut firmly and with finality without an offer of payment in sight. I even waited a few more moments just in case the hobbit decided to open up again because he’d forgotten.

I secured the bag of beasties to the saddle so that their spines wouldn’t hurt Neeker or me and made off toward Bree with them. Food for the journey, I consoled myself as I thought about the other bag on the saddle. I at least had that, even if it might not last long.

My arrival at Mandrake’s home and the subsequent discussion left a great deal to be desired, however. “I just dragged a herd of turtles out of a hobbit’s shed while he nearly screamed and ran from them,” I told Mandrake with my fist clenched around the fee he’d paid me. “And you’re giving me one silver and fifty copper again for it?”

My flat tone had him baffled. “Well, yes. What else would I offer to you for your hard labor?” He motioned as if waving the topic away. “I did see the boy not long ago. He said he found a place where he’s sure to catch twice the turtles anyone else has caught and ran off to prove it.” He sighed and shook his head slowly. “I told him there were no turtles to be found at the place he described, as I have only ever seen frogs there, but he insisted.”

I grunted and pocketed the silver and copper. “He might be on to something. If it wasn’t just a prank on his turtle-hating uncle, this Benegar might have found a nest of these things somewhere other than Halecatch Lake. If he found them in one area, maybe he found them in another or thinks he can.”

Mandrake shrugged slightly. “If you are looking for him, you can see for yourself, I suppose. He was going to an island in the middle of one of the Everclear Lakes, north-west of Bree.” He tapped the tabletop with the blunt end of one finger in thought. “I doubt he’ll find any trouble out there from the turtles, like his uncle Grobo fears, but the number of brigands in the area might be a different story.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t think they’d hurt a young hobbit, would they?” I asked, knowing that they most certainly would. Because you would, if the pay was right, I told myself darkly. They’re worse than you are. They might just do it for fun. “Don’t answer that,” I stopped him. “I know the answer.” I nodded at him. “I hope you find the rest of the little shelled bothers you need for that soup.”

I left and turned Neeker toward the north to ride through the gate and find the east road out of Bree once more. Once out of the West Gate, I followed the road to the Greenway, followed it to a ford in the stream alongside it, and then rode more northeast toward the other lake there. I slowed as I finally came close enough to spot the banks with their reeds and cattails along the shore. I didn’t see any sign of Benegar at first. Dismounting and leading Neeker near his bridle, I peered out toward the island in the middle of the lake and sighed. “I’m getting soaked again,” I told the gelding.

I let him crop grass and tied the reins safely out of the way before removing my boots and cloak. “These were new clothes, too,” I growled amidst a string of invective. Wading out as far as I could, I hoped that the lake wasn’t that deep. My hopes vanished as I took a step too far and fell in past my head, still wearing my mask, and thrashed to the surface, sputtering. I swam to the island, walked out, and stood barefoot in the mud for a few moments, dripping.

I heard mad cackling laughter from nearby and swiveled around to glare at the source. A young hobbit rolled around on the ground with tears in his eyes, hairy feet patting the ground, until I greeted him with a cool, “Benegar Longbottom, I presume?”

He finally sat up, wiping at his eyes, and managed to reply breathlessly, “Oh dear… it seems that I was mistaken.” He calmed further, taking deep breaths. I noticed his clothing was just as wet in the way of one who had been out here a while so it could dry a bit more and stick to the skin. I wasn’t looking forward to that eventuality and hoped I could wash them back at the Pony before I had to leave. “There are no turtles here.” He got to his feet, took a deep breath, and stared at my tall figure with his hands on his hips. “There is something worse!”

“What could be worse than no turtles?” I heard myself ask. If only Grobo could hear you now, I told myself. “Other than being soaked through.” I shook out my hands and removed the gloves on them so that I could wring them out.

I caught him looking around quickly. He beckoned to me, leaned in close, and whispered, “Murder!” My hands froze in their motions as I looked up at him slowly. Turtle-related mischief, indeed. “Oh, bloody hell,” I sighed in resignation.