[piosenniel]

To be honest, Halfred did not want to talk to any of the Big Folk. The Elf seemed scornful of him in his previous encounters with her, and on the verge of menacing, in fact. And as for the Man, he seemed dangerous, too, in his own way. The Shiriff sat at the table in the Inn that Prim had led him to, and sipped thoughtfully at his ale.

All he needed to know, really, was whether the Man had been out of the Inn at the time of the kidnapping of Angelica’s son. He drummed his fingers on the table, considering who might have this information. Halfred raised his hand and waved Prim over to him. If anyone would know it would be her or Cook. A few words with Prim and the two of them were soon heading to the kitchen to speak with Cook.

Two half pints later, and a plate filled with bread and cheese, mustard and thick sliced ham, and Halfred was satisfied that, indeed, Mister Mithadan had never left the confines of the Inn.

‘In fact,’ said Cook, serving him up a generous wedge of Shire apple pie with clotted cream to fill in the empty corners, ‘Mister Mithadan has been quite ill and practically bed bound all this time.’

‘Perhaps I should just check in on him then,’ said Halfred, rising from his chair.

‘Oh, now I wouldn’t be doing that, Shiriff!’ Prim tugged hard on his sleeve until he was once again seated. ‘He has some horrid spots on him. All over him. Itchy, too!’

‘And a terrible fever – been nigh burnt up by it,’ commented Cook, pouring Halfred a frosty glass of hard cider to wash down the last crumbs from the pie.

‘Oh, and don’t leave out that phlegmy cough of his. Poor man can hardly breathe for it all.’ Prim bowed her head and shook it sadly. A moment later she had her hanky out and was coughing into it vigorously.

Halfred drew back from her, wondering if the contagion was spreading. His eyes strayed to Cook, who stood by the hearth scratching herself on the back energetically with a long wooden stirring spoon. He felt his temperature rising, he was sure, and a tickle began to nag at the back of his throat.

The stout Hobbit stood up quickly, knocking over his chair. It clattered on the floor, and Prim rose to help him set it upright. Halfred backed away quickly as she approached, and in doing so bumprd into Cook. He began to feel a certain prickly sensation creep up and down his limbs, as if litlle bumps were just on the verge of popping up. Halfred checked his forearms quickly, and heaved a sigh of relief when he found no spots appearing.

Gathering up what dignity he could muster in his hasty retreat, he bowed quickly to the obviously afflicted women, and raced out the door and to the stable, saying he wished them well.

Hob came into the kitchen a few moments after seeing the sheriff off, only to find Cook and Prim doubled over with laughter. Once they had caught their breaths, they told him what had happened, and he joined in the merriment at the poor Hobbit’s expense.

‘Serves him right,’ said Cook, ‘thinking that Miz Pio and her Mister would have anything to do with this bad business of the kidnappings. He needs to turn his eyes elsewhere and find the real kidnappers, he does! Halfred’s a fool if he thinks he’ll find the culprits here in the Inn. Our little joke, though, should keep him away for a while!’

The sound of their merriment masked the soft footfalls that drew near.

‘Keep who away?’ came the quiet voice.