[Arry]

The wind was growing chill as they walked to the Inn. Thick clouds scudded across the sky, making the afternoon seem colder as they obscured the western sun. Andwise and Derufin quickened their steps, anticipating that soon there would be rain. And, indeed, even as they closed the Inn’s kitchen door behind them, the fat drops had begun to fall.

‘Don’t you be tracking mud or dirt on my floors, Misters,’ Cook said as she stopped them at the entrance, her wooden spoon pointing to the rough woven mat spread out beneath their feet. Dutifully the two, wiped their feet and boots thoroughly before daring the clean, oak wood floor. Satisfied, Cook directed them to the large kitchen sink to wash up. Like schoolboys they waited her approval, which she gave with a quick nod of her head, before they passed through the kitchen’s swinging doors and into the common room.

Aman stood behind the bar, pulling the handle on the ale keg with a practiced ease as she held several half pint mugs with one hand and filled then brimming to the top one after the other in a quick arc. Buttercup was there, waiting with a large serving tray. The weather had driven a great many into the comfort of the Inn, and all of them, it seemed, were thirsty. Giving a wink to the Innkeeper, Derufin grabbed two of the pint mugs and handed one to Andwise. The Hobbit led the way to a table near the fireplace, close enough that they might put up their legs and warm their feet on the hearth.

Pipes were got out, and filled, tamped, and lit. The little ritual conducted in silence until the satisfied ‘ahh’ of exhalation after the first pull at the pipestem. Mugs were raised, and good wishes made to the other. They fell then, in companionable quiet, to looking about the room at the other patrons. The survey punctuated by sips of good brown ale and the fiddling with one’s pipe that is the main part of the art of smoking.

Buttercup brought them a small plate of ham with cheddar and pickle rolls to stave off any hunger pangs until supper would be served. Andwise helped himself to one, along with a refill to his mug, then pushed the plate cross the table to Derufin. He was feeling quite relaxed at the moment, his tongue loosened with the Dragon’s brew. The usual veil of reserve had been rent a bit, and he found himself inclined to talk.

He looked over the top of his mug with a recollective twinkle in his eye, and nodded his head at Derufin. ‘I remember the day my missus and I were handfasted,’ he said, chuckling at the man. ‘Lovely party. All the family there and half the Shire, or so it seemed. Nearly ate us out of house and home. Thank goodness the ladies had brought loads of meats and breads and cheeses and desserts . . . all trying to outdo the other, of course,' he confided . . . 'and the Inn had given a barrel or so of ale to quench the thirsty horde.’ He took a long pull at his mug and waved at Buttercup to bring the pitcher. ‘And music,’ he went one. ‘A small group of local lads played for us on the lawn round the Party Tree. We danced, my missus and I, until our feet were blistered.’

‘Sounds good to me!’ laughed Derufin, taking the pitcher of ale from Buttercup and setting it on the table. She raised her brows at him, saying, ‘Best you be able to walk to your room, Master Stabler. You’re too big for us poor Hobbits. We’ll just throw a blanket over you wherever you fall if you get too wobbly from the drink!’ She grinned as she spoke, then went on her way.

‘Now when the night had grown long,' Andwise went on, 'we bid the guests goodnight and went off to our own snug little bed . . . thinking to settle down. Our poor tired heads had barely touched the pillows when the awfullest racket you can imagine began just outside our window . . .’ Andwise paused to relight his pipe and wet his throat before continuing on.

Derufin’s brow puckered. He leaned across the table, wondering what sort of beast had laid siege to the house.

‘No beast,’ returned the Hobbit, chortling; the memory of throwing open the shutters to confront caterwauling making him laugh aloud. ‘It was the shivaree! We’d forgot all about it, we had!’ His laughter stopped short at the perplexed look on Derufin’s face. ‘You’ve heard of it? The shivaree? You've that custom where you’re from, right?’