The Seventh Star Inn

[Rimbaud]

Afetr depositing some takings with the exceptionally tall barman, Rimbaud pushed his way into the kitchens. He almost laughed to see the short, hairy-footed Hobbit struggling with the great plates and mugs of the Inn. Perched on a stool, all red-cheeks and puffing, the sight was highly comical and many of the staff in the kitchen were barely concealing grins.

"There, there, good master," he exclaimed. "It seems you have more than earned your keep."

Gamba scrambled down and peered anxiously up at the grey-clad Innkeeper. He rather suspected what was coming.

"Time for you to dry your hands and face your friends again," said Rimbaud sternly, but a twinkle in his eye belied his words and for a moment it seemed he would tousle the young hobbit's unruly mop of curls, but instead the blue-eyed man pivoted on his heel and made a swift egress from the bustle of the kitchens.

Gamba looked at the wooden door to the common room, swinging shut after Rimbaud, with some trepidation.