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"Bill Ferny," Falco sneered. "A rascal and a foul miscreant if ever there was one. I'd have liked to bean him on the shnoz with a ripe red apple myself, and I praise the Mayor of the Shire for having done so!
"But Ferny. He put hisself in charge of a lot so he'd have less real work to do. He liked ordering others around, looking busy while not doing a thing and winding up with the best of everything into the bargain. When old Will Whitfoot got thrown in jail, who do you think took over his place? Silly thing to do too, since he could barely fit through the front door, but that didn't stop Ferny. He knew what he wanted, or at least he knew what he thought must be hiding in the farrest back cupboards of Whitfoot's larder, and he'd crawl on his hands and knees to satisfy his greed.
"And he wasn't above injuring hobbits neither. That's what made me maddest of all, and ready to see him done in by another. Now now! I know that's not a nice thing to say or think of another, but it's what I thought. I surely wouldn't do him in myself unless it be in battle or to save my own neck, which I'm mighty fond of don't you know.
"But about injuring hobbits. It always had to be tricksy because the ruffians didn't want to get the hobbits roused up, so everything was done careful to make sure the blame couldn't be pegged to any one person. That's why Ferny always did his worst through his men.
"And them southern men were the worst."
Falco paused to take a long drink from his ale cup.
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