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Three more hours brought them to the Great East Road. Madoc had never been to the Green Dragon Inn, so at the first opportunity he stopped at one of the little holdings near the crossroads and had Gorbadoc ask for directions. Gorby came running back, his breath misting in the cold air. ‘They said it was just up the path to the left, not very far at all.’ Gorbadoc climbed into the back of the wagon and making his way to the front of the wagon bed, leaned over the back of the seat. Edging his shoulders between Madoc and Estelle, he rubbed his cold hands together and pointed out the way to the Inn.
Madoc pulled the wagon into the Inn yard. The stable-boy came out and offered to see to the ponies. ‘You go into the Inn,’ he told Madoc and the other Hobbits. ‘Innkeeper’s got a nice little fire going. Warm you right up!’
Estelle was helped down by Gorbadoc, and he fetched her pack and his into the Inn. Madoc handed out the rest of the packs, then taking his own, tromped up the steps to the great door. He stomped his feet to knock the snow and dirt from them; then, gave his cloak a twitch to knock off the dust of the road from it. Pushing the door open, he stepped in quickly.
The Hobbit blinked as he stood in the entry way, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light in the Inn. Most of the Hobbits were standing near the fire, a serving girl passing among them passing out hot tea and mugs of ale. Madoc put his pack on the floor just inside the door, and taking off his cloak hung it on one of the pegs by the door. He was just moving off toward the fireplace, when a voice from one of the little booths near the wall spoke up.
‘Well, if it isn’t another Hobbit, come down the road to taste the Dragon’s ale!’ He motioned for Madoc to come over to the booth. ‘’From Tookland, I hear, laddie,’ said the old gaffer as he eyed Madoc. ‘Sit down, sit down, and rest your bones. Peony will bring us another pot of tea.’ One of the serving girls had come to the table with a kettle of hot water and filled up the pot. She took a clean mug from one of her apron pockets and plunked it down in front of Madoc.
‘Nice to see you all,’ she remarked, saying that they had had very few travelers in the past month. ‘Aye, that’s true,’ agreed the gaffer pouring them both a cup of tea. He pushed the small pot of honey toward Madoc, and leaned in confidentially toward him.
‘We did have one, though, just a few days ago. Came here from Frogmorton, he did.’ Peony shook her head at the gaffer’s words. ‘White as a ghost, he was,’ she whispered. ‘Said he’d run like the dickens the last few miles. Said he heard something following him.’ ‘Yes, and he told us he’d found tracks crisscrossing the road as he came west on it,’ the old fellow said.
Madoc frowned at their words. Tomorrow they would be on the road and going toward Frogmorton. It would take them several days to get to the Inn there – The Floating Log. He looked up at Peony, noticing that several of the other Hobbits from Tuckburrough had gathered round. ‘What sort of tracks?’ Madoc asked.
The gaffer took his pipe from his mouth and poked Madoc on the arm with it. ‘Looked like wolves . . . or so he thought . . .’
There were murmurings among the Tookland Hobbits at the old man’s words . . .
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