[Hookbill the Goomba]

The air was heavy in the Mountain, despite the sounds of mirth mixed with frustration coming from the few remaining casino rooms. Smilog and the others wandered along the corridors seeking any way to bring them back to the conference room. Most of the signposts and maps with "You are Here" written on had been broken or destroyed in the moving of the Mountain. The Dwarf stroked his long beard and hummed with frustration.

"I begin to loathe this mountain," he muttered, "It was once good and a homely place, especially after the Dwarves had carved out the lower halls, but since Roggie turned it to his own uses it has lost its charm."

"Did the dwarves build the labyrintttthhh?" asked Tollin, suddenly getting flashes of his old self, but slapping his own face in order to get rid of it.

"That?" mused Smilog, "No. No I don't think so. It looked Mordorian to me. Orcs, most likely. You remember how easily those walls fell down. If it was Dwarf make, it would take a thousand men a thousand years to crack the walls." He grinned and almost laughed at the thought until, all of a sudden; he was tripped over by a small man with a scowling face.

The man was short, only a little taller than Smilog, with no beard or, indeed, any hair at all, it seemed. He was dressed in a long black robe with red lining and he carried a great halberd in one had while the other gripped a scroll tight. "You!" he cried, "murderer! Wretched Dwarf! I've been searching for you!"

Smilog sat up and shook his head; he examined the man carefully and said, "Do I know you?" The fury that covered the face of the man made even Tollin step back while The Barrow Wight leaped to the floor and covered his face.

"You wretched fool!" the man shouted, "you killed my son! Ten Months ago! When Roggie had you looking after his Orc and Haradrim re-education establishment!"

"I-" stuttered Smilog, "I don't remember any of that. I have no idea of what you're talk- WAIT! It's all coming back to be now!"
...

____

Ten Months earlier...

A rather frustrated and slightly grimmer Smilog sat at a desk in a small office filled with bookshelves and paintings of Roggie that he had tried to tear down but had been unsuccessful. A man with a tremendous locks of hair down to his ankles stepped into the room. He was dressed in the manner of the Haradrim and had a great hat of many colours upon his head. "You wanted to see me?" he said.

"Ah, yes..." grumbled Smilog, "Mr... erm... Palthwait?" The man nodded, "well, I'm afraid it's your son. He's been in a spot of trouble recently."

"Oh dear," sighed Palthwait, sitting down, "if he's in bother, I'd like to nip it in the bud right away." Smilog grunted and put his newspaper down.

"Well, Mr. Palthwait," said Smilog, lighting a pipe, "he's always in trouble. He never joins in the sports and activities. He never enters into the spirit of the establishment and it's been weeks since anyone has seen any work from him." Mr Palthwait shook his head and sighed, "Quite frankly, Mr. Palthwait, if he wasn't dead, I'd have him expelled." Palthwait nodded and then thought for a moment, before the words sunk in.

"I beg your pardon!" He exclaimed.

"Yes," grunted the Dwarf, "Expelled!" He blew a smoke ring over the man's head, "He's lying in the houses of healing now, stiff as a bone. And this is very much typical of his current behaviour. One minuet he flying around like a paper kite, the next he's immovable and starting to smell."

Blinded by rage and confusion, Palthwait stood up and slammed his fist on the table, shouting, "What happened? How did he die?"

Smilog raised an eyebrow, "Is that important?" he asked, Palthwait nodded, "well," he continued, "he was caught eating in the corridor. I administered a beating, during which he died. Now, the reason we have a no eating policy is quite simple. It's taken us ages to get rid of the rats in Mordor and we don't want litter attracting them back. So each student carries a card with which-"

"You beat my son to death?" cried Palthwait, now consumed with fury.

"Yes." said Smilog flatly, "I must say, I find your morbid obsession with your son's death quite disturbing. But anyway," Smilog stood up, "my work here is done. Today is my last day and I'm going off to another project this afternoon." he left the room and walked down the corridor running through, in his head, the list of things he needed to do that evening.

"I’ll get you for this, Dwarf!" cried the man, "You'll pay! £4.50! And more!"

_____

Back in the 'present' day or whatever...

Palthwait stared at Smilog with a confused look, "How did you remember something I said if you weren't even there?" he asked. The Dwarf did not reply, instead he made use of this distraction to run with all his might down the corridor, swiftly followed by Tollin and The Barrow Wight.

"You killed his son?" asked Tollin, "was that necessary?"

"I don't know!" cried the Dwarf as he flew down a flight of stairs they had just found, "It was a long time ago."