[piosenniel]

27 Nárië

Cook bent down and pulled open the door to the oven. Ten fine, fat loaves of wholegrain bread were already lined up neatly on cooling racks along the long counters that ran on either side of the stone sink. They would be needing plenty, she thought for the bands of searchers still out looking for Angelica’s boy. She had already sent Hob to the storage room by the smokehouse to bring her a nice big ham. And now she had him busy with the fine edged carving knife, slicing off thin pieces of ham for the sandwiches later.

She took a clean broom straw and tested the doneness of the muffins she was baking for breakfast. Blueberry, blackberry, and apple-currant were pulled from the oven, their crusty sugar-browned tops glistening in the lamplight. She set them to cool in their pans for a little while, then popped them free of their cups and lined them up on racks alongside the bread.

It was quite early in the morning, still dark outside, the time of day Cook liked best. The Inn was quiet, the guests still sleeping. Only Hob was there, skillfully slicing the ham. They worked quietly, each at his own task, exchanging few words, and then only as needed to get the food for the day readied.

Hob, done with the carving, piled the ham on a large platter, covering it with a clean napkin and set it in the cooler. ‘Don’t wake the girls, Cook. I’ll go out and see to the eggs,’ he said, pulling on his woolen coat, and taking up the egg basket with his hand.

‘Leave some for the two broody hens to sit on,’ Cook told him as he reached the door. ‘I’m going to be needing ten plump little pullets when you get done with that. I’ve got a taste for baked chicken with taters and carrots tonight. Might as well get on with providing for their replacements.’ He nodded and went out the door, letting in a little of the chill morning air.

‘Brr! That breeze is cold this morning. Any chance for a cup of tea?’

Cook gasped and turned round quickly at the question, the heavy brass damper hook raised high against the possibility of an intruder. She dropped the hook down to the stone floor with a loud clunk. ‘Miz Pio!’ she exclaimed, on hand over her thumping heart. ‘You mustn’t go sneaking up on me like that, especially these days. You gave me quite a turn!’

Pio had backed away from Cook, standing just out of reach of the long metal tool, a surprised look on her face. ‘I did not mean to frighten you.’

‘No, of course you didn’t, dear. It’s just the old nerves are shot ever since I heard about those kidnappings near Frogmorton, and now the Big Folk have taken one of our own little ones.’ Cook pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and busied herself with making a pot of tea. ‘I’m real jumpy now. Not sleeping too well. I keep hearing strange footsteps as I lay dozing, but when I wake there’s no one to be seen.’ She placed a generous pinch of tea leaves in the bottom of the clay pot and filled it to the brim with water just off the boil from the kettle on the hob.

Cook pointed to a chair at the kitchen table and bade Pio sit down. Fresh bread, cut thick, spread with sweet cream butter and swirls of honey appeared on a plate in the middle of the table. Cook brought over two steaming mugs of tea and placed one in front of Pio. She put a slice of the fragrant bread on a small plate in front of the Elf, and took the other for herself.

‘Eat up!’ She smiled at Pio and took a large bite of bread, washing it down with a swig of tea. ‘Those babies need some good food. Eat up!’

Hob came in, the basket now filled with large brown eggs. ‘I’ll take a cup of that tea, if you don’t mind,’ he said, rolling up his shirt sleeves and giving his hands a thorough scrubbing. A few moments later, mug in hand, he was sitting at the table with them discussing the events of yesterday.

Every little detail was rehashed, including all the stories they had heard from the patrons at the Inn. Some they discounted and some they nodded their heads over. What they found most puzzling was why the Big Folk wanted to take the children.

‘You think we’d get a note or some such, saying they want something in return.’ Hob shook his head as he said this. ‘But not a word. They can’t be so mean as to just want to frighten us, can they?’

Cook turned to Pio with a question. ‘Your mister, what does he think of all that’s gone on? Can he fathom why they’re doing this?’ Hob looked across the table, also waiting for her answer.

‘These are evil Men,’ she said carefully. ‘Their minds are clouded, their hearts turned toward shadow. Darkness follows them and steals its way into the Shire, bringing sadness and grief.’ She pulled her shawl round her shoulders fending off the sudden chill that crept into the room. ‘Mithadan is nothing like these men. He will aid you, as he can. As will I . . .’