The Golden Perch Inn

[Rose]

‘Thick as thieves!’ Granny Greenhill pursed her lips at the sight of Rowan and Prim leaning near each other, talking quietly, their dark heads almost touching. She couldn’t make out what either was saying, but she caught the hesitation evident in Prim’s face at something Rowan had said, and then the reassuring hand Rowan laid on Prim’s arm.

That gesture seemed to bring some resolve to Prim’s tentativeness. Granny watched as the two eased themselves from their seats and made their way from the common room in as inconspicuous a manner as they could manage.

‘Now just where are those two off to, I wonder?’ Granny murmured to herself. Curious, she followed after them.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘Now where’s Will?’ Miribelle flicked the reins lightly against Cookie’s back, urging the pony nearer to the stable. Drawing up to the open stable doors, she peered in. She didn’t see Will about his morning tasks. Her ears brought no sound of him working in one of the stalls.

Stepping down from her cart, Miribelle led Cookie into the stable; unharnessed him, and secured him in one of the stalls. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she latched the door. ‘You’ll have to make do with the hay for now, my dear. When I see Will I’ll have him fix you a small bag of oats.’ Cookie twitched his tail in a seemingly irritated manner. ‘You’ll survive,’ she said in a firm voice as she turned away. Miribelle heard Cookie snort as she made her way out of the stable.

Shiriff Smallburrow was in mid sentence as she pushed open the door and entered the inn. ‘.....who saw anything earlier this morning as they made their way to the Inn? Any little thing out of the ordinary on the road? Or any odd noises or goings-on heard in the night here round about? It was a mild night last night . . . any of you who slept with your windows open hear something that might help us. Think hard.’

‘What’s going on?’ she whispered to one of the local lads who stood against the wall just inside the entryway. The common room seemed all ajumble this morning. Over there, some tables had been drawn together with skillets of scrambled eggs and baskets of toast offered buffet style – how odd! And there was the Shiriff standing on one of the tables, asking questions – odder still.

The lad whispered back that Miz Cela had disappeared sometime during the night or early morning. No one knew when, really, or even why. Now that the Shiriff was here they were trying to figure out what to do.

Miribelle frowned and shook her head. What were things coming to, to have something of this sort happen? she wondered. She thanked the lad as she let her gaze drift round the room, looking for a familiar face she might invite herself to sit down with.

[Tam Lin]

Tavaro leaned back against the wall at the rear of the room, his shoulders resting lightly against the wood. He sipped slowly at his mug of sweet tea, savoring the warm liquid. Last night he’d been hard put to sleep; too many remembrances had ridden in through his opened window, sorrows borne on the cool night wind.

He’d left the inn and walked the better part of the night, sliding through the darkness beneath the trees as silent and as swiftly as an owl. Clouds scudded across the dark sky parting now and then to bring him brief glimpses of the stars. Their silvered light gave him no comfort. Now, in the day’s light, in the warmth of this small, close room, he was glad to be in the presence of the gathered periain, taking comfort in the ebb and flow of the small ordinary moments of their lives. Even in the midst of their present predicament they were so full of vitality.

The Elf’s glance fell on a familiar face; Miribelle Rushybanks, there at the door. He stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting, motioning for her to join him at one of the tables. He sat his mug on the table top and stood waiting for her to cross the room.

[Envinyatar]

Despite the ongoing promptings from the Shiriff, no one had come forward with any tangible information as yet. It seemed the majority of those gathered in the common room this morning had proved too sound sleepers for the passed night.

Hithadan, too, had passed the night wrapped tight in slumber, aided by a cup of warmed wine infused with willow-bark powder. His leg now felt somewhat better; he was able to put weight on it without the aid of his crudely fashioned walking stick. His ankle, too, seemed less swollen. He wished now, though, that he’d foregone the remedy. Perhaps, then..... He shook his head, chiding himself for letting his thoughts drift in that manner.

He made his way to a small table at the edge of the room, positioning the chair so that he could survey the room. At the corner of his eye he caught a furtive movement inching along the back wall. Someone was making his way toward the entry way to the kitchen. The figure looked familiar – brown tattered cloak, dark green checked cap pulled low on his brow. And that slight limp, that hitch in his step as he moved his right leg forward. Mungo . . . Mungo Brandybuck. Not one of the more celebrated members of the Brandybuck family. A smalltime thief – hen stealer, egg robber, mushroom poacher. One who helped himself to the prizes found in other folks’ traps. A partial list only of his mean accomplishments.

And one of those who would most likely not have been at home, asleep, last night.....

A few more steps and Mungo would be at the door and out of the inn once he’d made his way through the kitchen. Had the Shiriff’s call for someone to step forward with anything out of the ordinary they’d seen last night spooked him? Had he seen or heard something and not wanted any questions as to why he’d been where he’d been.

Hithadan stood and called out in a loud voice. ‘Mungo Brandybuck! Stop right where you are!’

Mungo paused for the briefest of moments and then only to glare at the Ranger. He dove toward the door.

‘Someone stop him!’ Hithadan yelled, pointing his stick at the fleeing Hobbit.....

[Rose]

The ranger’s voice rang out above the general hubbub in the common room, just catching the attention of the elder Hobbit as she made her way to the kitchen entryway. Rose and Prim had already gone past the door and ducked into the hallway leading to their rooms and that of the missing cook.

Granny Greenhill stopped dead in her tracks at the man’s command, and just in time, it seemed, as the object of the ranger’s attention came hurtling toward her. Mungo had thrown his hands and arms in front of him, intending to push her out of the way. Her old limbs responded to the urgency of the situation and she managed to sidestep his headlong onslaught.

Mungo plunged willy-nilly past her. And as he did so, she raised her stout yew wood walking stick in a firm two handed grip and smacked him soundly on the backs of his knees. He stumbled with a loud oomph and went skidding a short distance on his belly.

He tried to scramble up to his feet, but Granny hobbled up to him at a rather remarkable pace for one her age and gave him a sharp thump between his shoulder blades. She stood over him, glaring as he sneaked a look up at her.

‘Wished I’d a’caught you in my henhouse, you scalliwag, that time my prize hen went missing! I know it was you, Mungo Brandybuck, so don’t you go looking all guiltless at me. And I’m betting that it was you, too, as stole those combs of honey from my bee shed.’ She shook her stick at him for emphasis.

Several of the nearby lads ran up to secure Mungo - and just in time to his calculations as it looked as if she meant to whack him once more for good measure.

‘You just march him over to the Shiriff and that ranger,’ she instructed them. ‘Wouldn’t be one whit surprised if he didn’t have a hand somehow in Miz Cela’s going missing!’

‘My stars!’ she said as they marched Mungo off. The surge of action and excitement hit her all of a sudden and she felt a bit weak in the knees. She made her way to a nearby table and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Land’s sake! That was a bit of a hullaballoo now wasn’t it?!’ She held her right hand to her chest, catching her breath.

‘Thirsty work,’ she went on, nodding her head to a Hobbit standing next to her. ‘Fetch old Gran a half pint, won’t you dear? A little something to steady the nerves.’

Her investigation of what Rowan and Prim were doing, and just exactly where they’d gone off to could wait, she decided . . . until she’d caught her breath fully and fortified herself with a bit of ale.

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place northwest of Stock

‘Well now, Jolly, looks like we're just in time!’ Hugh raised his nose appreciatively and took in the scent of fresh baked seed cake – honey sweetness, yeasty, vanilla, with a hint of lemon, he thought, in the thin icing she drizzled over it. He turned up the narrow dirt path to Gardenia’s place, a snug little dwelling tucked into the side of one of the many low-lying hills which dotted the area.

Jolly stopped just short of the raised porch at the foot of the round, bright yellow door. The door was just starting to swing open and the familiar face of Miz Gardenia peeked out, smiling broadly at both the pony and his rider.

Hugh heaved himself off the back of his little steed and eased himself down to the ground. ‘Morning, m’am!’ he called out, untying his satchel from the saddle. He fetched out a packet of letters from the satchel and thumbed through them for the two he knew were addressed to Gardenia.

As he did so, Gardenia stepped down from the porch and lead Jolly to the old oak tree which grew in her front yard. She had a little shed there, a small place where her own little donkey sheltered when the days grew cooler. For now, the donkey spent time in a fenced pen, chomping the hay Gardenia left for him each morning and drowsing beneath the oak boughs’ shade. Gardenia fetched them both several handfuls of oats and two apples each. When she’d seen to their comfort, she turned her attention to Hugh who’d hauled his satchel up on the porch and sat on the step waiting for her.

‘Go on in!’ she said to him, waving him toward the doorway. ‘I’ve got the water just off the boil. I’ll make us some tea and we’ll have a nice piece of seedcake.’ She took the letters he offered as she stepped up to the porch.

Hugh took his usual place at the old pine table and watched as Gardenia bustled about her little kitchen. ‘Sit yourself on down, Miz Boffin!’ he urged, pushing her chair out for her. ‘Let the tea brew away for a bit while I tell you what I heard from Pearl Tunnelly about Rowly Sandheaver’s wife’s brother.’

Gardenia put the cozy on the old brown teapot and set it nearby on the counter. She sat down, making herself comfortable, and leaned in toward Hugh, awaiting what news he’d gleaned along his route.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘My goodness!’ Miribelle’s face was a study in dismay and distaste as she edged herself around the commotion and over to her friend’s table. ‘What’s going on this morning, Master Tavaro?’ she inquired, taking the seat he offered. ‘I did hear something as I entered about Cook gone missing.’ She leaned over and scooted her carpetbag well beneath the chair. ‘Here I’ve only been gone the night and had hoped for a bite of second breakfast and a hot mug of tea . . . and oh my, what do I find!’ The inn in a commotion, the Shiriff asking questions, and that scoundrel Mungo laid low by dear old Penstemon Greenhill!!’

She sniffed a little as she watched him being escorted toward the Shiriff. ‘A pity, that Mungo! Shame of the Brandybucks. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been outlawed from these parts.’ She turned back toward the Elf. ‘What’s he done now?’ She frowned as a sudden thought assailed her. ‘Oh, no! Don’t tell me he’s the one who’s got something to do with Miz Cela’s disappearance!?’

As Miribelle waited for the Elf’s answer her eyes darted about the room looking for one of the servers. There were none in sight. ‘Ah well, looks like there’s no hope of that tea and breakfast now,’ she thought to herself seeing the table piled with near empty skillets and teapots scattered here and there in disarray.