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It was the wee hours of the day and still dark and still cold. Cook’s eyes popped open once again. There was something about this night that had her all at sixes and sevens. She’d drifted off briefly after the warm cup of wine only to find herself awake again thinking about this and that and listening to sounds in the Inn. Even back in her snug little room she could hear the great doors opening and closing and the tramp of feet, however light, on the floorboards of the Common Room.
Perhaps it was the party, she thought. Today, after all, was to be the day. She lain in bed, eyes closed running the list through her mind. Most was done. They’d only need wait for the sun to come out and dry away the passing drizzle and the muddy mess it would leave behind. The tables could all be placed outdoors then, the lines spread on them, and the flowers sat round. Master Samwise and his family were coming late in the afternoon. He’d be the one to officiate, so to speak, at the tying of the wrists and the writing down of the names in his great record book. And his lovely rose had promised several mushroom pies from her kitchen to grace the food table.
More feet in the Common Room and the buzz of a few voices as the ledger was signed and the money exchanged for lodging. She could hear someone in the kitchen itself, looking through one of the drawers. Cook lit her little lamp and got up, pulling on her thick robe. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out poking her head out of her doorway.
‘Just me,’ came the hushed voice of Ruby. ‘Miz Aman’s asleep and I’ve got up to see to some more travelers who’ve come to the Inn. Where’d we put those extra candles we got in just yesterday? I need them for the guests.’ The two Hobbits fished about in two of the little crates stored in a corner of the room soon finding the needed tapers. Ruby went off to see to the guests while Cook, looking longingly toward the comforts of her warm bed put the kettle on to boil.
‘Might as well get to the bread making long as I’m up. Be baked by dawn if I start it now.’ She made herself a large pot of strong, sweet-spice tea and poured a large mug of it. ‘But first I’ll just fortify myself with a bit of tea . . . oh, and of course,’ she chuckled, looking down at the old tabby who mewed plaintively at her. ‘Of course . . . a bit of warm milk for you, little mistress.’
A thought came to her as she sat at the table sipping from the steaming mug. ‘What with all the comings and goings-on tonight, I hope the lodging fees were gotten from all the newcomers . . .’ Not that she thought most travelers were bent on getting a room for free . . . but her long years at the Dragon had taught her it took a careful husbandry of the funds to keep an Inn afloat . . .
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