Shire Murder Mysteries: Death of Heir
Morgil
"Murder, Master Frodo!" I said with my most sternest voice.
"I daresay it most definetely *was* a murder. Ain't no way
no Hobbit would just slip to a piece of soap, hit his head,
and drown himself in his bathtub like that - and that's a fact!"
"Silence! Sam, you ninnyhammer! Of course it was a murder.
The problem is - how to prove it?? You know very well that
the official line of the Mayor's Office is that there has never
been a case of a Hobbit killing another Hobbit in Shire - and
they intend to keep that record! If they would hear neither of
us claiming this was anything but an accident, they would
transfer us to another assignment in a blink of a Dragon's eye.
We must be cautious."
I felt slightly embarassed by this lecturing from my beloved
Master and mentor, the greatest detective ever to become
from humble Shire, Sir Frodo Baggins of Bag-End Hobbiton.
I henceforth silenced myself, and concentrated in following
the master at his work.
The victim was lying on a bench, where he was lifted after
attempts to resucitate him were failed. Sir Frodo lifted the
blanket which was covering the body, revealing a familiar
face, now barely identifiable.
"Peregrin Took, age 32. Son and Heir of the Thain Paladin.
Such a coincidence that he should die just now."
"A coincidence, Master?" I dared to ask.
"Indeed. A week from now would have been his birthday.
His coming-of-age birthday, that is. I wonder..."
Sir Frodo was interrupted by noises from the door. He
turned to look at the cause of this disturbance.
"Oh, it's you, Smeagol", he said with slight annoyment.
"What have you found?"
"Fishesss, Masster!" the odd creature responded.
"Fressh fishess, just delivered to the porch."
He was chewing one in his mouth. I quickly moved to
remove the rest from his hands, and smacked him in the
back of his head. I was about to continue, when a sharp
cry from Sir Frodo interrupted me. A hand had slipped
down from under the blanket covering the body, and
something had fallen into the floor.
It was a rubber duck...
Morgil
Anyone for Chapter 2? Count? Öjevind?
(About the background - story is set on an alternative
M-E reality, where nobody has any idea of the true
nature of Bilbo's Ring, Sauron is still preparing for the
invasion with no rush, Gollum went to Shire instead of
Mordor, and was tamed by Frodo, who got the Ring
from Bilbo and now works as a semi-private detective)
David Salo
<more...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> Chapter 1.
[cut]
> He was chewing one in his mouth. I quickly moved to
> remove the rest from his hands, and smacked him in the
> back of his head. I was about to continue, when a sharp
> cry from Sir Frodo interrupted me. A hand had slipped
> down from under the blanket covering the body, and
> something had fallen into the floor.
> It was a rubber duck...
Chapter 2.
Sir Frodo calmly bent down and retrieved the duck from the floor.
"Do you know what this is, Sam?" he said to me.
"Why yes, Sir," I answered, happy that he had deigned to consider my
opinion. "'Tis a wee rubber duckie, that it is!"
"Indeed, Sam. But what, may I ask, does this signify to you?"
"Well," I said, swallowing, for I knew that Sir was apt to ask
rhetorical questions, but then refuse to answer them until someone had
said something remarkably stupid, "I suppose it means that Master Pip,
I mean Peregrin, was bathin' with his duckie afore that the wicked deed
were done, and that he had it clutched in his poor wee hand..."
"Yes, Sam..." Sir Frodo replied in his most polished and superior
manner. "That is, indeed, what we are supposed to think. But for the
trained eye, we have here the calling card of a most diabolical master
murderer. Think, Sam. Where does this aquatic simulacrum come from?" He
liked usin' them hard words what has Quenya and Sindarin foundations,
'cos he was always hopin' we'd have to ask him what they meant.
"I dunno, Sir Frodo," I replied. "Praps you should check the
underside for a maker's mark?"
"A very plain idea from a plain hobbit, Sam" Sir said. "You have
much to learn to appreciate the sheer ingenuity of unfettered
deduction. Allow me to demonstrate: a rubber duck is made of what?"
"Why, rubber, Sir."
"And rubber - what does it come from?"
"From the sap of a tree, Sir."
"What tree, Sam?"
"Well, we uncouth gardners calls it _Ficus elastica_, Sir, but when
we're just talkin' to posh folk like, we calls it 'rubber tree'."
"Indeed. And where does this 'rubber tree' grow, Sam?"
"In the Harad, Sir!"
"And what else comes from the Harad?"
"Oliphaunts, Sir."
"Precisely. Therefore we must keep an eye out for oliphaunts. Where
they are found, there will be the murderer; elementary, really." Sir
tossed the duck at me. I turned it over; printed on the underside were
the words "MADE IN ORTHANC".
Suddenly a noise came from the distant direction of the front door
of the Great Smials. A rat-a-tat-tat noise. Someone was banging with a
stick!
Chapter 3?
Count Menelvagor
> In article <bckqhp$kcp2e$1...@ID-81911.news.dfncis.de>, "Morgil"
> <more...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>
> > Chapter 1.
> Chapter 2.
> Suddenly a noise came from the distant direction of the front door
> of the Great Smials. A rat-a-tat-tat noise. Someone was banging with a
> stick!
>
> Chapter 3?
Chapter 2.5
"Quick, Sam!" said Sir Frodo, grabbing me by the forelock and pulling
me out the door. "The hunt is afoot!" Bring the rubber duck, the
corpse, and a firkin of Longbotton Leaf's finest." It was somewhat
difficult to carry out his orders under the circumstances, but I had
managed harder assignments before.
As we rushed out teh door, with Smeagol following after and hissing
to himself in his usual irritating trade-argot, I ventured to
gasp, "Sir, don't you think the mark 'MADE IN ORTH..."
"Not now," interrupted my master. "The time for stupid questions is
past." With that, we bumped into the head shirrifs Robin Smallburrow
and Bulbo Lestrade.
"Listen, Sir Frodo!" exclaimed Smallburrow. "We ahve to resolve this
immediately! Mayor Wil Wheaton is very particular that we show it
was an accident (or possibly suicide, but that's a little Prembone)!"
"All in good time, Smallburrow," replied my master. "The processes
of deduction are not governed by the Shire's electoral calendar.
They will, however, however, be greatly expedited if my instructions
are followed to the tengwa."
We arrived betimes at the Great Smials, a splendid late-Gothic
assemblage of burrows, improved with such modern conveniences as
Arelessar Graham Bell's newfangled "voice-palantír," and of course
Gerontius's celebrated Bath-rooms. But at the moment, our attention
was rather held by Mr. Moriadoc Brandibuck banging loudly on the old
mahogany front door with his walking-stick, apparently oblivious to
the bronze knocker, in the shape of a stone-troll's head, that
adorned it.
"Ah, Mr. Moriadoc!" said Sir Frodo affably. "Would your walking-
stick happen to be of entwood?"
"Yeah, what's that to you?" retorted Brandibuck.
"Interesting, most interesting ..." murmured my master.
"Begging your pardon, sir," I ventured, "but aren't you going to ask
him what he was doing here?"
"Do not meddle in the affairs of your betters!" growled Mr. Morrie.
"Besides, waht he was doing here is only too bovious, at least to the
trained intellect," said Sir Frodo loftily. "Shall we go in?"
The aged housekeeper finally came to the door, looking oddly
bloodstained, and she admitted us somewhat grumpily. She led us down
a long, oak-panelled tunnel, passing several rather apoplectic Took-
portraits, and up a spiral staircase belittered with pipeweed-ash,
which Sir Frodo thoughtfully stuck into his pipe.
Finally we came to the Grand Elvish-Modern Bathroom.
"How would you describe the scene, Sam?" asked my master, obviously
rhetorically.
"Very wet, sir," I replied, determined to be equally obvious.
"Yes, you would," sniffed the great detective. "But the really
interesting thing is that this isn't Shire-water; it's Nurn-water."
He smirked a little.
"How in Middle-earth do you know *that*," sputtered Lestrade.
Smeagol, meanwhile, had found a catfish in the bathtub and was busily
gnawing it.
Morgil
"Count Menelvagor" <Menel...@mailandnews.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:6bfb27a8.03061...@posting.google.com...
> Chapter 2.5
<snip>
Apologios, Count-dude, but I really felt I needed to clear up
few things about this chapter, so I did a wee bit of rewrite.
I think the problem was that we hadn't really resolved the
location question earlier. Things should be more clear now...
No disrespect meant for the exellent chapter.
Morgil
Chapter 3
"Quick, Sam!" said Sir Frodo, grabbing me by the forelock and pulling
me out the door. "The hunt is afoot!" Bring the rubber duck, the
corpse, and a firkin of Longbotton Leaf's finest." It was somewhat
difficult to carry out his orders under the circumstances, but I had
managed harder assignments before. Alas, the fishes I had to leave
for Smeagol.
As we rushed out the door, with Smeagol following after and hissing
to himself in his usual irritating trade-argot, I ventured to gasp,
"Sir, don't you think the mark 'MADE IN ORTH..."
"Not now," interrupted my master. We left through the back-door
and hurried through the gardens, toward the other side of the hill.
"The time for stupid questions is past."
With that, we bumped into the head shirrifs Robin Smallburrow
and Bulbo Lestrade.
"Listen, Sir Frodo!" exclaimed Smallburrow. "We have to resolve this
immediately! The Mayor was very particular that we show it was an
accident!"
"All in good time, Smallburrow," replied my master. "The processes
of deduction are not governed by the Shire's electoral calendar.
They will, however, however! be greatly expedited if my instructions
are followed to the tengwa. Now pray follow! We are needed at the
front gate."
The Great Smials, a splendid late-Gothic assemblage of burrows,
improved with such modern conveniences as Arelessar Graham Bell's
newfangled "voice-palantír," and of course Gerontius's celebrated Bath-
rooms, was an eye-opener and no mistake. But at the moment, our
attention was rather held by Mr. Moriadoc Brandibuck banging loudly
on the old mahogany front door with his walking-stick, apparently
oblivious to the bronze knocker, in the shape of a stone-troll's head,
that adorned it.
"Ah, Mr. Moriadoc!" said Sir Frodo affably. "Would your walking-
stick happen to be of entwood?"
"Yeah, what's that to you?" retorted Brandibuck.
"Interesting, most interesting ..." murmured my master.
"Begging your pardon, sir," I ventured, "but aren't you going to ask
him what he's doing here?"
"Do not meddle in the affairs of your betters!" growled Mr. Morrie.
He turned around sharply and walked away, striking down all the
flowers that came up to his way with his walking-stick.
"There goes a sinister charcater indeed," Sir Frodo remarked, "I know
young Moriadoc from my days at the Brandybuck Hall. As a child, his
favourite pastime used to be pulling wings off of flies and political
discussions. And now he has moved from insects to Hobbits. His
shady and ruthless businesses have ruined many good families. What
he was doing here is only too obvious, at least to the trained intellect."
The aged housekeeper finally came to the door, looking oddly
bloodstained, and she admitted us somewhat grumpily. She led us down
a long, oak-panelled tunnel, passing several rather apoplectic Took-
portraits, and up a spiral staircase belittered with pipeweed-ash,
which Sir Frodo thoughtfully stuck into his pipe.
Finally we came back to the Grand Elvish-Modern Bathroom.
"See now, Sam," commented my master. "We would never have found
our way through those tunnels without a guide, not in time to interrupt
Mr. Moriadoc."
"Now, how would you describe the scene?" he then asked, obviously
rhetorically.
"Very wet, sir," I replied, determined to be equally obvious.
"Yes, you would," sniffed the great detective. "But the really
interesting thing is that this isn't Shire-water; it's Nurn-water."
He smirked a little.
"How in Middle-earth do you know *that*," sputtered Lestrade.
"Bless my kettles," interrupted the Michael Delvingian housekeeper.
"I nearly forgot - the master Thain has asked to speak with you as
soon as hobbitly possible, Sir Detective."
"Privately," she added.
"Ah, splendid," grinned Sir Frodo. "Come along, Samvais! Let us
leave these blood-hounds to mop up the floor- I mean the case."
Smeagol, meanwhile, had found a catfish from the package and was
busily gnawing it. This caught the attention of the housekeeper.
"Bejaysus, the fishes!" she cried. "Give them back, you filthy thief you!
They are to be served at dinner tonight, and the house is full of hungry
guests." She grabbed the fishes and rushed away, leaving Smeagol
clutching the floor in agony.
We followed her.
Morgilvagor
Öjevind Lång
[snip]
> Chapter 3
[snip]
> Smeagol, meanwhile, had found a catfish from the package and was
> busily gnawing it. This caught the attention of the housekeeper.
> "Bejaysus, the fishes!" she cried. "Give them back, you filthy thief
you!
> They are to be served at dinner tonight, and the house is full of hungry
> guests." She grabbed the fishes and rushed away, leaving Smeagol
> clutching the floor in agony.
> We followed her.
Chapter 4.
The old woman ran away at a speed that, considering her age, was little less
than astounding. We saw her turn a corner at the end of the passage and
disappear from sight. The very next moment, we heard the deathly rattle of a
tommy-gun and the death scream of the unfortunate domestic. We prudently
waited until the murderer had had ample time to make his getaway and then
proceeded down the passage and round the corner. To our astonishment, the
corpse we found was not that of the house-keeper. The stiff belonged to
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, the well-known socialite and family vampire.
"Gadzooks!" explained Lestrade. "What can this mean?"
"Yes", agreed Smallburrow. "Can you explain this conundrum, Sir Frodo?"
My master seemed wryly amused. With an undecipherable look in his austere
grey eyes, he scratched his chin and remarked. "Where did Sméagol go to, I
wonder? Is he still lying on the floor in the bathroom, overcome by that
strange colic which apparently overwhelmed him due to a banal removal of a
piscine creature from his prehensile extremities?
Öjevind
Morgil
"Öjevind Lång" <ojevin...@swipnet.se> kirjoitti
viestissä:waFIa.105$aD4...@nntpserver.swip.net...
<snip>
Again I find myelf in position of having to have to make
some changes before allowing the chapter to be
published...
Morgil
> Chapter 4.
>
Much to our surprise, as soon as she noticed us the old woman lifted
her skirt and ran away at a speed that, considering her age, was little
less than astounding. We saw her turn a corner at the end of the
passage and disappear from sight.
"Gadzooks!" explained Lestrade. "What can this mean?"
"Yes", agreed Smallburrow. "Can you explain this conundrum,
Sir Frodo?"
My master seemed wryly amused. With an undecipherable look in
his austere grey eyes, he scratched his chin and remarked.
"Where did Sméagol go to, I wonder? Is he still lying on the floor in
the bathroom, overcome by that strange colic which apparently
overwhelmed him due to a banal removal of a piscine creature from
his prehensile extremities?"
"But master!" I reminded him. "What about the odd behaviour of
the fast houskeeper?!"
"That is hardly a mystery, considering she left us this rather obvious
clue," laughed Sir Frodo.
He pointed at the stylish bracegirdle which was lying on the floor.
"Our mysterious housekeeper was none other then Lobelia Sackville-
Baggins, a well-known socialite and family vampire. What was her
business here, I cannot tell, though I wager we shall find out soon
enough. Now! as I recall, some of us have an appointment to see Thain."
In the long corridors of the Great Smials, we managed to lead
astray the two policemen who persistantly tried to follow us. Thus
we finally arrived to the private quarters of Thain. We explained our
business to his private secretary, who went on his way to see if his
master was available.
As he left the room, another door opened and in walked a dashingly
beautiful young Hobbit-lady in a dress that barely covered her most
astounding figures. Much to my surprise, she walked right to me and
put her hands around my neck.
"You're here to see Dad," she whimpered seductively. "I know that
you are, for I know much that is hidden, you handsome you."
"Err, ahem, Master- I mean Sir Frodo is," I said, clearing my throat.
"I am only his servant and handyman."
I might have blushed slightly, for I saw amused look on Master Frodo's
face. The little vixen in front of me giggled rather disturbingly, and
without
a warning suddenly fainted in my arms. She layed there motionless and
mumbling nonsensical words. I looked at Sir Frodo.
"Pervinca Took - age 38," he introduced to me. "One of the three
daughters of Thain. They have all the usual vices, including few they
have created themselves..."
"Master Thain will see you now!" declared the secretary, who had
arrived without our noticing him. "I shall take that, if it pleases you."
Looking neither surprised or disapproving, he lifted the semi-
unconscious lass from my hands and carried her away. Meanwhile,
Sir Frodo approached the grand mahogany door, pushed it open,
and hand in hand we entered the heart of earthly power in Shire.
David Salo
Sir Frodo disengaged his hand from mine as soon as he realized that
it was still sticky from noontide's feast of pickled kumquats. But
there was no time for arguing; the triple set of doubled doors had
opened, and we now found ourselves standing in THE PRESENCE.
I record this scene for posterity, tho' no doubt it has been set
down by finer pens than mine, both because of the impression that it
made upon me, and to impress upon all of the younger generation of
hobbits a sense of the dignity of THE OFFICE, quite apart from that of
the Hobbit who inhabits it.
It stretched a good twenty ells from side to side across the face of
the Hill of Great Smials, and the entire east wall was illuminated by a
set of great bay windows, set open, that looked out over the Great
Doors to the town of Tuckborough, which now glistered with the light of
many lamps in the gloaming.
The north and south walls were adorned with the trophies of the
hunt; between mounted crossbows (well oiled, I noticed) were hung
several stuffed brace of pheasant, grouse, and quail. On the west
wall, to the left of the door by which we entered, hung an enormous
mural depicting the Battle of Greenfields. I remember it well -- an
oil of the twelfth century, depicting a vast, storm-tossed landscape,
lit in chiaroscuro; hills of blowing grasses, with hedgerows and lines
of distant woods in the background. On the right, huddled beneath a
retreating bank of darkling cloud, stood the last phalanx of the
goblins of Mount Gram. On the left, charging up a hill under a sunlit
sky that pierced all mists, came BANDOBRAS, hero of the age, in armor
of glittering silver upon a snow-white horse, bearing a mighty hooked
club. His head was bare, and his locks of reddish-brown were long (in
the style of the eleventh century); and he laughed in the sunlight,
before the leering face of GOLFIMBUL his enemy. With characteristic
wit, the artist had painted a coney-hole (with accompanying sportive
coneys) in the foreground, some paces down from the chief goblin.
But enough digression upon this notable work of art, which, as I
later discovered, was only a reproduction of one that hangs in
Bandobras' Northfarthing manor in Long Cleeve. At the moment my
attention was drawn to the desk before me -- an ancient monument of
oak, that seemed to sag beneath the weight of papers, oil-lamps, and
inkstands that adorned it. These all but hid the hobbit behind them --
PALADIN II, the Thain of the Shire.
He was smaller and older than I had imagined him (I have his
inauguration medal in a cupboard at home), and he looked fearfully
tired. His hair was neatly combed and oiled in the style fashionable
among young men of the last century; his face, thin and pale, may once
have been handsome, but it now drooped over his work, the nose gone to
hawkishness, the eyes narrow and weighted down by great bags.
Sir Frodo at once seized a wicker chair that stood by the west wall
-- halfway across the room -- and dragged it over to the Thain's desk
and, if you please, placed his hat and walking stick UPON the desk in
front of the Thain.
The Thain looked up at this and his eyes seemed to bulge out of his
head. His face turned a deep red; I have burgundy liquors that are
paler. He began to gurgle, and I thought for sure he was going to have
a fit of apoplexy.
We were all saved by the intervention of the Thain's secretary.
"You will STAND in the presence of His Excellency" he said rather
forcefully. Sir Frodo vaulted to his feet, and the secretary removed
the chair.
I have never seen Sir look so unhappy in my life; vexed, I should
call it. He retrieved hat and stick with his left hand, while his
right clutched the fastenings of his waistcoat above the middle of his
chest. I have often seen Sir do this, and have sometimes wondered if
Sir had a boil or an abscess there that bothers him; however none of
the household at Bag End know, since Sir is unusual in that he never
allows any servant to dress him. I imagine he feels it is behind the
times; many young gentlemen dress themselves these days.
So the two men eyed each other, most distrustfully; the Thain, still
flushed, but paling; Sir, white as a ghost. The Thain at length found
his voice -- a voice weakened by too much brandy, I thought, and with a
disagreeable lisp.
"Have you found anything, damnit?" he said.
"Oh, yes, Your.... Excellency," Sir Frodo said. Sir has always had
this difficulty with producing the correct forms of address, and often
makes the oddest mistakes at home, calling an Excellency an
'Excrescency', and so on. I was glad he did not make that mistake this
time.
"There has undoubtedly been foul play," he continued.
"Who in the damned name of foul bloody Hell did it!" roared the
Thain as best he could with his brandy-weakened throat.
"It is not yet time to reveal the name of the perpetrator," Sir
Frodo said, getting some of his color back. "And yet when I tell you
that the doer of the deed was over 3'7" and proportionately strong,
left-handed, hair light to auburn, with a fondness for flavored
tobacco, and mixed up in business interests south of Sarn Ford, you'll
know everything I've picked up from a quick look around."
"Well... I suppose that's some bloody use, after all," the Thain
muttered. "Keep working at it, and fast. Those wretched boys from
the Town Hole are after us to have it declared an accident, or if need
be a suicide -- and I WILL NOT have that stain upon my House! Things
are bad enough as it is."
Sir Frodo was just about to answer -- though he looked to be taking
his time about it, too -- when we were all interrupted by a Commotion.
The bay windows, as I have said, looked east over the Doors and from
them one can see almost directly down into the square from which one
can enter into any one of the dozens of entrances that lead into the
various holes of the Smials. A long cobblestoned lane leads into the
square from Tuckborough Town -- and from that lane we could hear sharp,
striking sounds like the hooves of a horse at full gallop.
Sir Frodo dashed to the windows without ceremony and peered down; I
followed not far behind, just as the noise-maker burst into the square.
It was indeed a full-sized horse, and no hobbit-pony, which was wonder
enough; but on its back rode a giantess. Not, of course, a real giant
like you can read about in Bilbo Baggins's stories, nor even one of the
Big Folk like they have out in Bree or down South; but it was a huge
hobbit-lass, not less than four foot two if she was an inch.
She was cloaked and booted, and by the sides of her saddle she
carried a well-tended bow and a quiver full of arrows. She wore a
broad-brimmed hat, beneath which there flowed an unruly mass of fiery
red locks. As soon as she dismounted, she began -- without bothering
to speak to the footmen or the housekeepers -- to cry aloud in a voice
they must have been able to hear down in Tuckborough; nor was there any
mistaking the Northfarthing accent.
"Y'all tell that low-down, no-good, two-timin' varmint Peregrin Took
ta git hisself adown here, or I'll rassle him up mahself an' tan his
britches fer him proper, or mah name ain't Dahmin' Took!"
Count Menelvagor
--- In te...@yahoogroups.com, "iiipitaka" <dsalo@s...> wrote:
> She was cloaked and booted, and by the sides of her saddle
she carried a
> well-tended bow and a quiver full of arrows. She wore a broad-
brimmed hat,
> beneath which there flowed an unruly mass of fiery red locks. As
soon as she
> dismounted, she began -- without bothering to speak to the footmen
or the
> housekeepers -- to cry aloud in a voice they must have been able to
hear
> down in Tuckborough, nor was there any mistaking the Northfarthing
accent.
> "Y'all tell that low-down, no-good, two-timin' varmint
Peregrin Took ta git
> hisself adown here, or I'll rassle him up mahself an' tan his
britches fer him
> proper, or mah name ain't Dahmin' Took!"
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
"Will no one show the damnable woman out!" blurted the Thain. No one
did, presumably because they were intimidated by her bulk and her
lariat; and so it was that -- having tied her horse to a post
outside -- she managed to barge her way into THE PRESENCE itself.
His Excellency repeated his command, louder, raspier, and redder than
before. But the redoubtable hobbit-virago was rather a handful even
for the secretary, who muttered something unintelligible.
"Well? Where is that honky-tonkin' son-of-a-gun Pippin?" she demanded.
I hope I will not be found irreverent if I confess to having felt
more than a tinge of compassion for the old man, who was reduced to
an appalling choking fit before wheezing, "Can't you bloody tell he's
dead, you damned bloody insolent co...woman!" A couple of tears
trickled down His Ecellency's face. Despite all his efforts to keep
a stiff upper lip, it was evident that he grieved for his son very
much.
For a split-second, Miss Diamond Took was actually at a loss for
words. Then she vaulted the Thain's Desk and squishhuggled its
astounded owner, bawling, "Oh you po' thing! I'm evah so sorry!
It's awll raht, hon, it's awll raht!"
"RESPECT, DAMMIT!" the Thain somehow managed to roar. Then he rang a
bell and called for some more brandy.
"You will return to your side of the desk," said the secretary, and
Miss Took actually obeyed, though with something of an ill grace, as
it seemed to me.
Sir Frodo intervened at this point at this point; his calm,
businesslike manner helped to diffuse -- at least temporarily -- what
looked like becoming a fairly sticky situation. "Does either of you
know anyone who might have wanted Mr. Peregrin dead?" he inquired.
"Hell, ah wawnted him daid raht now," belted Miss Diamond. "But now
ah wawnna string up the good-for-nothin' scallawag that kilt him!"
"There ... will ... be ... no ... Goddamn ... stringing-up," said
PALADIN, enunciating with unusual and rather frightening
clarity. "I'm supposed to *uphold* the bloody law, not break it!"
Before Miss Diamond could reply, there was a knock at the
door. "Your Excellency, Miss Celandine Brandybuck," announced a
footman.
"Send her in," ordered the Thain.
"What, that shameless hussy!" exclaimed Miss Diamond, blowing an
indignant smoke-ring.
"At least she had the courtesy to make an appointment," huffed
the Thain.
With that the footman returned with a beautiful young lady, petite
(2'10"), perfectly proportioned, and apparently no older than
thirty. She wore a mink coat, unbuttoned so as to show a very scanty
blouse and two enormous appurtenances. Her hair was blond, but it was
impossible to tell whether it was real or not. A small leather
handbag hung over her left shoulder. In her left hand, she held an
elegant mithril cigarette-holder, which she waved about with a
certain flair; in her right, she held a beautiful lace handkerchief.
The Thain looked at her with an expression of vague disapproval,
which however softened somewhat when she curtsied like a dancer and
trilled, "Your Excellency."
"Miss Brandybuck," replied PALADIN, almost graciously.
Icily ignoring Miss Diamond, Miss Brandybuck turned to Sir and
simpered, "Sir Frodo, dahling, how perfectly chahming to meet you
here!"
My master bowed gallantly and said, "Delighted as always, Miss
Brandybuck. Your rare Moria-made cigarette-holder is quite an
improvement over the silver one you had at our last meeting. May I
ask what tobacco you use for your cigarettes? (For I see that you
have them custom-made now.)"
"Longbottom Leaf, of course, dahling!" replied Miss Brandybuck. "And
yes, dahling, I absolutely adore this cigarette-holder."
"I haven't all day to watch your damnable seductions," rasped
His Excellency. "What in the name of all damnation do you want?"
"I was wondering if Mr. Peregrin had given you the news, Your
Excellency dahling," purred Miss Brandybuck.
"Mr. Peregrin is dead, dammit!" retorted the Thain. "I suppose I
shall have to make a bloody announcement, as I'm damned tired of
repeating it." He took another swig of brandy.
"Ah bet yew did it, too, yew two-dollar tawt," exploded Miss Diamond,
unable to restrain herself a moment longer. "Yew ruined him, with
your coquettish, goldmine-saloon Marish ways!"
"Protocol, dammit, PROTOCOL!" thundered His Excellency. "No one is to
raise their bloody voice in my presence!"
Miss Celandine, meanwhile, had (far more convincingly than Miss
Pervinca) swooned in Sir Frodo's arms. Sir took the opportunity to
examine her handkerchief. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Silk. I
wonder how this somewhat financially embarrassed young lady can
afford all these exotic products -- especially when no formal trade
between the Shire and the countries beyond the Sea of Rhûn exists."
Miss Brandybuck came to at this point. "I've never been so
affronted in all my life!" she sobbed. "And when my dahling Mr.
Pippin is dead, too! Sir Frodo, dahling, fetch me some smelling-
salts from my bag, there's a dear."
As my master obeyed, surreptitiously feeling the bag as he did so,
there was yet another knock at the door. "Your Excellency, Mr.
Reginard Took is at the door," said a footman. "I don't believe he has
an appointment, sir."
"Do people think it's bloody Open House for all my most damnably
annoying relatives to inflict themselves on me?" sputtered the
Thain. "Show him out!"
"Your Excre...ellency," interposed Sir. "By your leave, I would like
to question Mr. Reginard a bit. After all, he stands to gain most
from your son's death."
"Very well," sighed the Thain. "Just this once. Send the bloody
bounder in."
Shortly, we smelt the odour of an unpleasantly pungent cigar, and
heard an effete tenor slur (evidently talking to the footman), "You
wouldn't happen to have the loan of a guinea, would you, old chap?
That would be most dashedly decent of you. I'm in a frightful bally
hole
without it."
***
Who's on next?
Morgil
"Count Menelvagor" <Menel...@mailandnews.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:6bfb27a8.03062...@posting.google.com...
> Shortly, we smelt the odour of an unpleasantly pungent cigar, and
> heard an effete tenor slur (evidently talking to the footman), "You
> wouldn't happen to have the loan of a guinea, would you, old chap?
> That would be most dashedly decent of you. I'm in a frightful bally
> hole
> without it."
>
> ***
>
> Who's on next?
ME!
Chapter 7
A gentlehobbit of age of fifty and a tad walked in and stopped
surprised on seeing our company. His nervous, intelligent eyes
explored rapidly everyone present, though they seemed to stay
slightly longer in Miss Brandybuck - and finally stopped on the
grim face of the Thain.
"Dearest uncle," he said. "Dashed luck, dashed luck, really. I
came as soon as I heard the tragic news. To pay my respects
and to offer my aid in this most difficult of time. That, and uh-
a small financial matter, of which we can discuss later."
"We'll discuss nothing until you put off that damnable cigar,"
groaned the Thain. "Then you shall answer the questions of the
detective here!"
Seemingly shaken, Mr Reginard stubbed out his cigar to an
ashtray which Sir Frodo politely offered him (of which he then
inspected, muttering his usual "interesting..."-comment).
"A detective you say?" he spoke hesitantly. "Surely now, there
cannot be any suspicion of foul play?"
"Only some routine inquiries, Mr Took," said Sir in treacherously
mellow voice. "I'm sure you won't mind..."
Sir Frodo interrogated Mr. Reginard for whole hour, but with
no results worth mentioning. Then, just when the exchausted Took
prepared to leave, Sir demanded his attention.
"Just one more question, please!" he said. "Would you be so
kind to tell us the nature of your businesses with Mr. Moriadoc
Brandybuck?"
Mr Reginard froze to his stand. Even the Thain shook off from
his dormant and looked at him sternly. Whith shivering voice he
managed to mutter: "I... I have no idea what you are refering to,
Sir...dashed...bally..." but he was not fooling anyone.
"Come now!" said Sir. "Yesterday evening, at the wine cellar
of Green Dragon Inn. You entered through the back door, met
Mr Moriadoc and spoke with him for half an hour. About what?"
"You are the devil himself!" hissed Mr Reginard. "Nobody
could have seen us! Nobody-"
"Very well, I shall tell you," he continued after regaining his
nerves. "It was a matter of rather substantial debt by me to Mr
Brandybuck. In exchange for it, I agreed to do him a favour."
"And did this favour in any way concern Mr Peregrin?"
"That I shall never reveal to anyone! I would rather die."
With this the defamed gentlehobbit marched out, before
anyone could say a word.
"How on earth did you know about that, Sir?" I whispered
admiringly to my master.
For some reason my innocent question seemed to unnerve
Sir Frodo slightly. He moved his feet around and his hand
fingered something in his jacket pocket.
"Umm, from the cigar-ashes on Mr Moriadoc's shoes earlier
today, of course," he answered after some hesitation. "How
else? But a detective is like a magician, and if he reveals all his
secrets, it would ruin the illusion - so no more questions, Sam."
Morgil
David Salo
Chapter 9
Miss Diamond would certainly have taken some exception --
possibly a quite violent one -- to Miss Celandine's last remark;
however, Sir had the presence of mind to physically interpose himself
between the two young ladies. "Your pardon, Miss Took", he said
apologetically, and then turned to Miss Celandine. "If I may, Miss
Brandybuck," he said suavely, "I would like to make a closer inspection
of your necklace."
"Why of course, Sir Frodo," Miss Celandine cooed pleasantly.
"Anything for a man of good breeding." She flashed a delightful smile
all around, which did not seem to amuse Miss Diamond, and presented the
floral pendant to Sir -- without removing it from her neck.
Sir immediately produced a cunningly wrought handglass, and set
to work examining the necklace. He viewed it intently for some time,
being as it seemed quite immersed in his subject. After a while he
turned the pendant over, snorted, and put the handglass away.
"Did Master Peregrin inform you of the provenance of this
entrancing carcanet?" he said, a bit roughly I thought.
"Why yes, Sir Frodo," Celandine answered, "though the precise
location has slipped my mind. Somewhere to the east, I believe,
Riverdale or some such name."
"Thank you, Miss Brandybuck," Sir said bowing. "You have been
most helpful. And now, if I may say so, my business here is at an end.
If the footman will call me a carriage, I should be most obliged. And
request the housekeeper to discover my servant Sméagol for me; I will
have need of him. Come on, Sam."
And with that he TURNED HIS BACK on the Thain of the Shire, and
let himself out of the room. I bowed, most apologetically, and
followed him out.
"Lor, Sir!" I said, when I caught up with him. "That was sudden.
What did you learn from all that?"
"Very little, I'm afraid, Sam," he answered, "save that the Took
family are an ignorant and insolent party of parasites on the life of
the Shire. However, as I already had assumed that (and since they are
paying extremely well), it changes my intentions in no way whatsoever."
"And what may those be, Sir?" I inquired, somewhat emboldened by
his new and unusual effusiveness. We were making our way through the
Smials to the front gates.
"To try to catch up Master Moriadoc Brandybuck before he can
reach Buckland, which is beyond our jurisdiction. He has several
hours' start on us; we will have to hurry." And indeed, he was walking
at as swift a gait as his legs would allow, so that I was forced to run
from time to time to keep pace. As we walked, Sméagol came up, took a
queer look at Sir, and loped along silently; it appeared he had had his
fill of fish.
We emerged by the Doors, passed the horse in the courtyard, and
took a long walk along the lane through the darkened grounds of the
Took estates. At length we came to a great wrought-iron gate, on the
far side of which was a street on the outskirts of Tuckborough. Our
carriage was already waiting; Sir slipped the driver a handful of
silver pennies, and since our luggage was scant, we were soon off
through the town and down the road to Stock. Sir and I rode in the
compartment; Sméagol, for reasons of his own, chose to ride on the
roof.
"So you think Master Moriadoc did it, do you, Sir?" I asked
quietly. It had not been the sort of question for the open night air;
as everyone knows, opening your mouth outside during the night will
admit all sorts of noisome miasmic vapours.
"Of course not!" Sir pronounced. "Moriadoc is too clever to
place himself detectably in the middle of such an obvious crime as
murder. Far too clever. Diabolically clever, one might say, with an
interest in every questionable activity in the Shire, but directly
connected to none. He is the Hyarmendacil of..."
Sir's classical observation was interrupted by a rough jolt as we
went over something large but soft lying in the road. He did not
resume it. At length I tried to begin the conversation again. "Well,
Sir, did you discover anything from your examination of Miss
Celandine's necklace?"
"That Miss Brandybuck has an excellent figure," Sir replied.
"Otherwise, I could only discern the Elvish words "echannen vi orthanc"
inscribed on the back of the floral ornament, to which there is no
special significance."
The carriage shuddered to a halt. Sir, looking quite cross,
opened up the side door. "What is this, driver?" he began, and then
stopped. Looking over his shoulder I could see a small stout hobbit
standing in the light of the carriage-lamps. "Are you coming from
Tuckborough?" it shouted.
I recognized the flat Eastfarthing accent immediately. It was
Fredegar, son of Odovacar Bolger, of Budgeford.
Darth This
--
_______________________________
There's no such thing as a final frontier
/LR, Stockholm, Sweden
Morgil
"Darth This" <lisa.rask@_I_HATE_SPAM_telia.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:LomMa.18586$dP1....@newsc.telia.net...
> I seem to miss chapter 8. Is it posted?
EEK! Somebody *reads* these!!?!
:)
Ahem... yes, it was posted as a new thread:
The Death of the Heir
Morgil
put-the-no-mail-...@mail.ru
>
> "Darth This" <lisa.rask@_I_HATE_SPAM_telia.com> kirjoitti
> viestissä:LomMa.18586$dP1....@newsc.telia.net...
> > I seem to miss chapter 8. Is it posted?
> EEK! Somebody *reads* these!!?!
> :)
Archie
--
WANTED: George W. Bush
NOTES : War criminal
REWARD: Eternal gratitude of humanity
RISKS : Worth the reward
Darth This
news:bdt6ft$118g3f$1...@ID-81911.news.dfncis.de...
>
> "Darth This" <lisa.rask@_I_HATE_SPAM_telia.com> kirjoitti
> viestissä:LomMa.18586$dP1....@newsc.telia.net...
> > I seem to miss chapter 8. Is it posted?
>
> EEK! Somebody *reads* these!!?!
> :)
>
I did't say I do.
:-)
Count Menelvagor
--- In te...@yahoogroups.com, "iiipitaka" <dsalo@y...> wrote:
> The carriage shuddered to a halt. Sir, looking quite cross,
opened up=
> the
> side door. "What is this, driver?" he began, and then stopped.
Looking ov=
> er
> his shoulder I could see a small stout hobbit standing in the light
of the =
>
> carriage-lamps. "Are you coming from Tuckborough?" he shouted.
> I recognized the flat Eastfarthing accent immediately. It
was Fredegar=
> , son
> of Odovacar Bolger, of Budgeford.
Hi, y'awll, this is Pre...
<signs of a struggle>
Sorry about that; must have been a computer glitch or something ...
nazwaz, feel free to comment, suggest improvements, etc.; I'll post
to AFT tonight or tomorrow (EST).
CHAPTER THE TENTH
"Yes, Mr. Bolger, as a matter of fact we are," said Sir Frodo,
briskly. " I would be interested to hear the motive of your curiosity;
but first I must ask whether you saw anyone pass by here recently.
A Mr. Brandybuck, perhaps?"
"No," replied Mr. Bolger, curtly. "Though I saw Morrie a couple of
days
ago, talking to that Folco bastard. Has he married Pearl yet? It's
been
seven months since the Thain banned me from the Smials for being
'rude,'
and I've had no luck in finding out anything since then." His
monotonous
accent grated on my ears, and I heartily wished we had stayed in the
Westfarthing, where folks are more natural.
"Pearl is as yet unwed," returned Sir. "But a calamity has struck
the Took family. For Mr. Peregrin Took, of whom so much was
expected, is now dead. But perhaps we can find a more comfortable
place to talk? It is beginning to rain, and I have a few questions I
wanted to ask, if it's convenient, Mr. Bolger."
"Very well," said Mr. Bolger. "We'll go to The Golden Perch. The
innkeeper is a friend of mine."
The remainder of our journey was relatively short, but unpleasant.
The coach was not really built for three, and Mr. Bolger was a hobbit
of some bulk. A nasty drizzle beat against the vehicle's exterior,
so that I felt sorry for the driver and pony; Smeagol, on the other
hand, seemed to take pleasure in it. The road was appalling, and the
coach jolted about uncomfortably. Were it not for the rain, one might
have found the landscape to possess a certain savage charm, although I
for my part prefer the comforts of a well-policed (and wooded) region
like the Westfarthing where I was raised. In any case, the rain
removed
any sense of the picturesque. The only advantage the climate afforded
was in keeping away the ruffians that doubtless infest that part of
the world.
"Great country!" said Mr. Bolger with enthusiasm. "No trees!" We
merely grunted in reply.
Before long, we reached the miserable collection of huts that
comprised the village of Stock. The inn was instantly recognizable
as being the only building that was not constructed of wattle-and-
daub, but of stone. Neither wood nor brick seemed to be known in
those parts, though I believe that is changing now. The inn had a
rather dingy sign consisting solely of a crudely drawn picture of a
yellow fish; Smeagol seemingly took an unhealthy interest in it. The
inn itself was not terribly inviting, nor did its charms increase
when we entered and found it almost empty, save for one or two
unsavory-looking characters who gave us ugly looks, and it was quite
bereft of decorations or adornments, or at any rate of anything a
Westfarthinger could recognize as such. The furntiure had apparently
neither been improved nor replaced since the demise of the Old Took.
I could not but wonder why Mr. Bolger, one of the wealthiest hobbits
in the Shire, would choose this place for a tête-à-tête.
The innkeeper bowed on seeing Mr. Bolger, and wordlessly led us to a
private room, where we ordered a dinner of boiled beef and potatoes
and a pitcher of Eastfarthing's Finest, which to my palate tasted
rather like dirty water; but a little of it apparently unloosed Mr.
Bolger's tongue. After we lit our pipes (and I'm bound to admit that
the tobacco of the Easfarthing is decent), he spoke with remarkable
freedom.
"I suppose I'm sorry Pippin died," said he. (I gave a start at this
casual way of referring to Mr. Peregrin.) "But he was a bastard,
even apart from the rumour that he was two-timing women left, right,
and centre. But I'm thinking more of the abominable way he treated
me and Pearl, withholding consent to marry as he tried to auction her
off to the highest bidder, exploiting the pride of his puppet the
Thain." He paused to quaff some more of the local stimulant.
"What, sir, pray, was the exact nature of your relation to Miss
Took?" inquired my master.
"Steamy," replied Mr. Bolger. "Literally. Those saunas we used to
take together ...!" Here he uttered a low moan of pleasure that my
late Lalian-Ferumbrian sensibilities found mildly indecent. I stared
into my cup awkwardly. "Some say she's cold, but they don't know
her!" added Mr. Bolger. "Once she had allowed me to sit in her
presence ..."
"But the Tooks didn't approve," remarked Sir.
"Damned bastards, no," growled Mr. Bolger. "But what do I care? I
love her! I want her!" He banged his left fist on the table,
getting a splinter for his pains. Having removed it and puffed at
his pipe irritably for a few moments, he continued, "They preferred
one of Reg's circle -- I can't really say "friends" -- Folco. A
despicable sharper who never lost a hand of whist when he was the
dealer. I tell you, he may be rich and of noble blood; but that Boffin
bastard is no gentlehobbit."
"The reason for your hostility to Mr. Boffin ...?" asked Sir Frodo
almost brusquely.
"I told you," replied Mr. Bolger, *quite* brusquely. "He's a bastard,
a thief who only wants Pearl for her lands but doesn't give two dams
about her heart. I don't think he knows what the word 'heart' means.
Fits in perfectly will the decadent political climate that brought
that filthy little parvenu to the Mayorship."
At this stage, the door to the private room suddenly opened. "Who
dares to disturb us!" bellowed Mr. Bolger.
Morgil
"Count Menelvagor" <Menel...@mailandnews.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:6bfb27a8.03070...@posting.google.com...
> "I told you," replied Mr. Bolger, *quite* brusquely. "He's a bastard,
> a thief who only wants Pearl for her lands but doesn't give two dams
> about her heart. I don't think he knows what the word 'heart' means.
> Fits in perfectly will the decadent political climate that brought
> that filthy little parvenu to the Mayorship."
>
> At this stage, the door to the private room suddenly opened. "Who
> dares to disturb us!" bellowed Mr. Bolger.
Chapter 11
Ted Sandyman, a rat-faced little hobbit entered the room and gave
malicious look to Mr.Bolger. I had never liked the appearance of the
miller's son, and ever since he managed to obtain a slight amount of
power as Mayor's aide, his attitude has left much to hope for as well.
"I hear you, Bolger," he said in nasty voice. "I also heard your
previous comment about His Greatness. Perhaps /he/ would also like
to hear it, yes?"
In a way I pitied him. It cannot be easy for a creature of his nature
to live, knowing that Dark Power seldom hired hobbits to it's service.
Poor Mr.Bolger had gone all pale, but bravely held his ground.
"Go ahead and tell him then, you squeelpigeon," he cried. "I have
said worse things about your precious Mayor, and to his face as well."
He lifted himself from the chair as promptly as a hobbit of his stature
only could and strolled toward the door.
"I'm afraid we shall have to finish our discussion some other time,
Sir Frodo," he said to my master on his way. "The air here has gone a
bit too sour for my liking."
He left the room, refusing to pay any more attention to the sleazy
hobbit standing in doorway, who now got all our attention.
"Well, master Sandyman," said Sir. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
In most disrespectful manner Sandyman let my master wait for an
answer, while he picked up a chair and sat down lifting his feet on the
table. The likes of him had a tendency to gain some kind of childish
pleasure when the circumstances gave them opportunity to 'show off'
for those of more noble birth.
"I bring a word from His Greatness the Mayor," he said - enjoying
his moment. "The Mayor has recieved a full report from officers
Lestrade and Smallburrow, and based on the information given by
them the death of one Peregrin Took has now officially been declared
to be a tragic accident. Sir Frodo is hereby ordered to cease any and
all investigations concerning the matter. Furthermore, should Sir Frodo
or anyone else continue the investigations, or in any way indicate that
a crime was involved, they shall be prosecuted for Obstruction of
Justice and Disturbing the Peace."
Hearing these words I had sprang up and stared at master Frodo
with shock and disbelief. Much to my surprise Sir himself seemed to
remain calm, and even slightly amused.
"Perhaps the Mayor wishes to think so," he responded to sneering
Ted. "But I sincerely doubt the Thain would be so easily persuaded
to see things his way."
"Ah, but he already has!" laughed Sandyman. "The Mayor took care
of it himself. Thain knows what is good for the Shire - and what's
good for himself!"
This did not please my master, or perhaps he just lost his patience
dealing with a lowlife such as Ted.
"I have no more words to spend for lackeys and crooked servants,"
he snapped. "I shall go to Micheal Delving and settle this thing with
the Mayor personally."
"Go ahead and try!" grinned Sandyman. "You won't find him there.
His Greatness is spending the weekend as a guest of his good friend
the Thain, and he wishes not to be disturbed."
"He shall be disturbed wheter he wishes it or not..." my master said,
when he was interrupted by the noises from the hall. We hurried to
look, and saw that a group of hobbits had entered the inn. With them
they were carrying something that was covered with large sheet. Their
leader approached us.
"I'm glad to find you here, Sir Frodo," said Saradoc Brandybuck,
Lord of the Brandy Hall. "I know we have had our differences in the
past, but I am in dire need of your help. I need you to find out who
did - /this/!"
He pulled off the sheet, and all who were present shouted in
terrified shock. On the stretchers, pierced by many arrows, lay the
dead body of Moriadoc Brandybuck. With trembling hand, Saradoc
took hold of my master's shoulder and whispered:
"Look how they have murdered my son!"
Morgil
David Salo
<more...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> "I'm glad to find you here, Sir Frodo," said Saradoc Brandybuck,
> Lord of the Brandy Hall. "I know we have had our differences in the
> past, but I am in dire need of your help. I need you to find out who
> did - /this/!"
> He pulled off the sheet, and all who were present shouted in
> terrified shock. On the stretchers, pierced by many arrows, lay the
> dead body of Moriadoc Brandybuck. With trembling hand, Saradoc
> took hold of my master's shoulder and whispered:
> "Look how they have murdered my son!"
Chapter 12
With a single gasp, the patrons of _The Golden Perch_ arose. Among
them was Sir Frodo Baggins, who sprang at once to the body and knelt to
examine it.
I should note, at this point, that although Sir Frodo is not a
current practitioner of the medical art, nonetheless he possesses a
deep and vast knowledge of various types of sicknesses, poisons,
wounds, and the stages of decomposition of corpses, which I can say is
matched by very few, even among those in the healing profession, within
the Shire or -- dare I say it -- as far as Bree. To me, as his
assistant, he has confided many secrets of the trade; which, together
with the herbal lore passed down from my Gaffer, has left me no
incompetent physician in my own right; though to date my practice has
mostly been upon farm animals, babies, and small children.
Sir Frodo called me to his side. "Gamgee," he said, using what we
of the household call his 'public manner', "Gamgee, can you tell me how
long it is since death?"
I felt the corpse -- and a bloody, gruesome business, it was too --
and ascertained its temperature and rigidity. "Body cold, Sir," I
said. "Blood may be pooled on the underside of the corpse, but it is
difficult to tell with all this bruising. The body is in an advanced
state of rigor mortis. I would hazard, Sir, about twelve hours."
"Right you are, Gamgee!" Sir said. "Now consider: it is at present
almost three in the morning on the 22nd day of March, a Thursday -- a
quite indecent time for drinking in a public house, if you ask me.
And when, may I ask, was the last time we saw young Mr. Brandybuck
alive?"
"Why, yesterday, Sir! He looked as fit as a fiddle."
"The time of day, Gamgee."
"Well, the sun was some ways past the zenith when we came to the
Smials, Sir; so I would reckon that it were almost three."
"2:48 p.m. precisely by my watch, Gamgee!" Sir Frodo said with
delight. He had finally managed to show his superior knowledge of
details, a fact that afforded him great pleasure. "Which implies that
he died within an hour after departing from our sight. Rather unusual,
I should say. Now, can we positively identify the corpse?"
This was not, as it ensued, as simple matter. Not only was the body
stuck through with arrows, but it also appeared to have been stepped on
by the iron-shod hoof of a horse or pony, as well as run over by
carriage wheels. The face was livid and disfigured; the skull,
severely fractured. But there was no doubt that the hobbit in question
was Mr. Moriadoc's size and build. To remove all doubts, I reached
into the corpse's waistcoat pocket to see if there was any type of
identifying matter on his person; I removed a large and expensive gold
watch.
"Anything of interest there, Gamgee?" Sir asked. I opened the case
and puzzled out the scratched and stamped writing on the inside. "It
says 'M. Brandybuck'". "Also 'Made in O...'"
"'Tis me son!" keened the Master of Buckland, Saradoc Brandybuck. I
looked up, taking this first opportunity to scrutinize the local
potentate closely.
In the eighth century of our reckoning, the rule of the Oldbuck
Thains was overthrown by a combined uprising of the populace and the
aristocracy, led by the glorious Isumbras Took (first of the name).
The Oldbucks in the Shire disappeared from history; but the head of a
cadet branch of the Oldbuck family escaped, with his retainers, across
the Brandywine into the narrow strip of land between the river and the
forest. Holding the Brandywine Bridge and the river ferries, and with
the assistance of some elements of the Eastfarthing, they established a
tiny chiefdom which has, ever since, been a source of trouble for the
Shire.
It is true that a peace of sorts between the Shire and Buckland has
held for a long time; but the change in name to Brandybuck (to escape
the odium associated with the name of Oldbuck) has not changed the
roguish character of this people. The area we were in -- Stock, and
the lands of the Marish south as far as Rushey -- were nominally part
of the Shire, but were in fact a kind of no-hobbit's-land in which
locals could appeal to the authority of Thain or Master at will. As a
result, Stock and Rushey are pervaded by an atmosphere of lawlessness
which, I am afraid, the Bucklanders do not discourage.
Saradoc, son of Rorimac, called "Scattergold" from his habit of
freely spending money to win others over to his point of view, was a
fitting scion of his line. He was short -- not more than two inches
over three feet -- squat, squint-eyed, freckled, with curly reddish
hair turning to grey and white. Not the least displeasing aspect of
his face was the dark stubble that sprouted on his chin, an atavistic
display common, as I discovered, to many of the people of this region.
But most unfortunate of all was his wretched dialect -- barely, I
thought, true Westron at all.
"Give me that," Sir Frodo said abruptly. I handed him the watch.
"As I thought," he said. "Stopped at twenty-eight past three
precisely." He looked at the Master. "Where and when was the body
found?"
"Hit were nay lang sin -- tway, three ooers gane -- at t'crossrades
abooven 'Oodhall."
Sir Frodo frowned a little. He removed a scalpel from his pouch,
opened the waistcoat, and began to slice through the shirt near one of
the arrows that was relatively undamaged. The arrows - there were four
of them -- were fletched in goose-quills dyed green and seemed to be
rather long, though only one was unbroken. Sir Frodo removed the arrow,
and handed the grisly instrument of death to me. "Gamgee," he said,
"would you mind standing up and holding the arrow beside you, in your
right hand, point to the earth?"
I did so. I am a hobbit of average height -- six inches past three
feet. The feathers of the arrow, with the point on the ground, were
high enough to tickle my chin. Sir Frodo and I exchanged glances. I
could see, in my mind's eye, a horse in the courtyard of the Tooks, a
quiver full of green-fletched arrows hanging by one side of the saddle.
Sir Frodo nodded, but said nothing to me. "Wrap this body up
again," he told the Master's men. "Put it in a room up above. I want
the room guarded and no one to disturb it until morning. And my
companion here, Mr. Gamgee, will need some sleep. Prepare rooms for
both of us, and let the ostler send to wake us by ten. Now, if I can
have a word with Mr. Sandyman..."
The Eastfarthing hobbits looked around at each other dully. There
was no sign or word of Ted. Outside, the sound of pony-hooves could be
heard clattering into the distance.
Count Menelvagor
> Chapter 12
> Sir Frodo nodded, but said nothing to me. "Wrap up this body
again," he
> told the Master's men. "Put it in a room up above. I want the
room guarded
> and no one to disturb it until morning. And my companion here, Mr.
Gamgee,
> will need some sleep. Prepare rooms for both of us, and let the
ostler send
> to wake us by ten. Now, if I can have a word with Mr. Sandyman..."
The Eastfarthing hobbits looked around at each other dully.
There was no
> sign or word of Ted. Outside, the sound of pony-hooves could be
heard
> clattering into the distance.
My thanks to Morgil and Tripitaka for assistance in creating this
monster.:-)
Chapter the Thirteenth
"There goes our man," observed my master. "I fear it will not
be long before the Mayor learns of all that has happened here.
Tomorrow we shall see, or hear, what he thinks of it. For now,
however, we should go to bed."
I fell asleep as soon as I got to my room, for I was overcome
with weariness. It had been a long day. I awoke briefly in the
middle of the night, to hear the plangent strains of an accordeon
next door. The pitter-patter of rain on the window formed a some-
what dissonant counterpoint. It was my master's wont to focus his
mind through music, when struggling with a particularly complex
mystery; and so I assumed it was now. I knew better than to disturb
his rêverie, and therefore returned to bed, where I quickly drifted
back to sleep.
I was awoken at thirteen minutes past ten in the morning by a knock
at the door. "Quick, Sam!" came my master's voice. "The cabriolet
awaits us, and we must not dawdle!"
"What about breakfast, sir?" I inquired groggily.
"You will have to eat speedily," he replied.
Alas, my breakfast was cut short when the innkeeper's wife arrived
to inform us that Mr. Moriadoc's pony had just wandered into the
stables.
"Weemin shun stayn i'r kitchen!" commented Mr. Brandybuck.
Ignoring this kernel of wisdom, Sir Frodo and I hastened to the
stables to take a look at the pony. It was a mare, dappled and
rather stout, and richly saddled. From her saddle there hung a
woollen bag brocaded with the Brandybuck coat-of-arms (a knife
hanging over a bag of money in a black escutcheon); it was stained
with blood.
Sir rushed to the scene with alacrity, examined the bag with his
handglass,and opened it. He found some gold coins marked with a
white hand ("white" being actually truesilver), various papers,
provisions, and several different brands of tobacco. "This," said
my master, holding a pinch to his nose, "is the fabled /nimphelas/,
the white weed of Ithilien! I'll hold onto it." He took a little
and put it in his pipe, but, much to my chagrin, would not permit
me to try any. He did, however, toss Smeagol some fish from the
bag, which the latter consumed voraciously.
"Master," said I, changing the subject, "this is a lovely pony.
Do you think we could adopt her? I shall name her Lumpella!" I
scratched her nose affectionately; I am very fond of animals.
"We shall have to see what the Master of Buckland says about that,"
repled Sir. "But I don't see why not."
I went back into the inn and hurriedly finished my breakfast before
darting out the door.
I noticed, as I left the inn, that the coach outside was a good
deal larger than the one in which we had arrived. "The Master of
Buckland has procured this vehicle for us," explained Sir, "and
he has allowed us to borrow the pony, at least for now. He and
the body are coming with us. We must show the Mayor that there
have indeed been murders. But first we must halt on the way while
it is still light, to examine the place where the body was found."
"Smeagol will guard the body, yess he will!" croaked that worthy.
"No he won't!" I exclaimed, hotly.
"Gamgee is correct, if somewhat overheated," said Sir Frodo. "You
may stay on the roof. It will be more prudent to keep you a safe
distance away from the remains." Smeagol obeyed, though with an
ill grace as it seemed to me; and as was his custom when it was
sunny, he held an umbrella over his head.
The rest of us climbed into the vehicle, Mr. Brandybuck in the
middle, my master to his right hand, and myself on the left. The
body kept us rather melancholy company in the luggage compartment
in back.
"Ee seint min laddies aroondt ta asken them folk quhat thye kens,"
said Mr. Brandybuck. "Ee'll getten hit oot'n theen rascals gif
hit's the laist thing Ee dew!" I cringed at his dialect, for the
Buckland Dative is a terrible thing to behold.
"The local tradition of omertâ will be hard to break," observed
Sir Frodo. "But Your Ho...Highness is in a better position to do
so than any of us." There was just the slightest tinge of irony in
my master's tone, but Mr. Brandybuck seemed impervious to irony.
"They murthered me son!" he howled somewhat repetitively.
"Someone killed someone, at any rate," said Sir with deceptive
obviousness. "Who, and why, and where, and was it really a
*murder*? These are the questions we must answer." He would say
no more.
I did not find the Eastfarthing landscape all that much more
inviting in the sunshine than I had in the rain the night before,
although it did evince a certain dryad loveliness, and some of
the wildflowers were quite beautiful.
On my master's orders, we stopped at the Crossroads and inspected
the surrounding area. It was covered with grass; there were a few
stumps, and one lone tree that had been brunt hollow by lightning.
All my master and I could find were some pieces of rope. The rain
had washed away all other clues; there was no trace of blood.
"Fascinating," murmured Sir.
A few pieces of rope seemed insignificant to my modest intellect,
so I grumbled, "Well, sir, we look like a bunch of ninnyhammers;
there can be now doubt about that. There's nothing here!"
"Do not give up so easily, Sam!" retorted my master. "Smeagol!
Do me a favor and look around on the ground for anything at all
out of the ordinary."
"Yess masster!" said Smeagol eagerly. He got on all fours and
snuffled about on the ground for quite some time. I tapped my
foot impatiently, as I thought the whole exercise rather useless;
but in the event, I was mistaken.
"There are pony prints in grass, masster," said our eccentric
companion at length. "Mostly wasshed away, hobbitses wouldn't
see them. But Smeagol ssees, Precious, I used eyes and fetts and
nose and hands in the wild, before I met masster. Pony came running
here from wesst, something heavy, very heavy falls on ground next
to tree."
"Excellent!" said Sir Frodo. "This is very useful indeed. You see,
Sam, it is elementary: Mr. Moriadoc was not killed here, but in
Tuckborough. His pony brought his corpse hither; made skittish
by the rain, the quadruped ran into the tree, dropping the body
on the ground."
"Your powers of deduction are nothing short of astounding, sir!" I
gaped.
My master smiled indulgently and continued, "Now, let us inspect the
tree." Smeagol capered delightedly, and then pawed a bit until he
found a silver locket under one of the roots and handed it to my
master.
It contained a portrait, but I could not make out whose. Sir merely
nodded thoughtfully and put the locket in his pocket (where the gold
coins and other items had already gone), motioning me to get back
into the cabriolet. We continued without further incident until we
reached the Great Smials.
We were met at the door by a very grumpy footman. "His Excellency
is very busy at the moment and will not receive visitors without
an appointment," he snapped.
"Ee'm the Maister o' them Bookland an' me needs nay appintmint!"
said Mr. Brandybuck. The footman frowned, and things might have
gone ill had not my master promptly intervened.
"I have urgent business with His Excellency and with the Mayor,"
he said. "New evidence about Mr. Peregrin's murder has come to
light. I must ask that you admit us forthwith, without announcing
us. And for this I have my good reasons, which the Thain will
understand. In precisely fifteen minutes, you and the cabman must
bring in the contents of the luggage compartment to the Thain's
office. And you, Mr. Brandybuck, will you do me the favor of waiting
outside until it is time to bring in the body?"
Such was the authority of my master's voice that neither the footman
nor the cabman durst gainsay him, and even Mr. Brandybuck consented
readily to follow his wishes. That being settled, he signalled to
Smeagol and myself that we should follow him.
We entered the Smials and hastened down the corridor to His
Excellency's office, my master gesturing to us not to make a sound.
At the door to the office, we encountered another footman, who
silently withdrew after Sir had whispered in his ear. We stood
outside the door and listened.
"I will have no more of this damned interference!" the Thain was
wheezling, even more grumpily than usual.
"Your Excellency, my dear sir," remonstrated a smooth, pleasant
baritone -- not unlike my master's voice, but more mellifluous.
"I deeply sympathize, as I have protested several times, with this
loss not only to Your Excellency, but to the whole Shire. But, my
dear sir, I must also look to the peace and tranquillity of the
Shire and to the proper administration of Justice. To that end, if
Your Excellency will excuse me, I cannot countenance these unfounded
accusations and rumours."
"His Greatness is surely correct," added a rather higher voice that
I could not place. "Let us consider that the deceased would not
want dissensions to poison the commonwealth. Let us instead carry
out the late Mr. Peregrin's wishes, and make his sister happy in
this time of grief. Let us not delay the wedding further."
"You will at least have the decency to wait until after the period
of mourning before pressing your suit, Boffin!" sputtered the Thain
in his inimitable rasp.
"Yes," said a very clear and bright, but rather sharp feminine
voice. "I must mourn my poor departed brother and also make certain
arrangements regarding the administration of our estates."
"But surely that is too great a burthen for a lady to carry out
wihout assistance," said Mr. Boffin gravely.
"The time is now," whispered my master, and he knocked on the door
forcefully.
Morgil
"Count Menelvagor" <Menel...@mailandnews.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:6bfb27a8.03071...@posting.google.com...
> My thanks to Morgil and Tripitaka for assistance in creating this
> monster.:-)
We deny all charges!
> Chapter the Thirteenth
> "Yes," said a very clear and bright, but rather sharp feminine
> voice. "I must mourn my poor departed brother and also make certain
> arrangements regarding the administration of our estates."
>
> "But surely that is too great a burthen for a lady to carry out
> wihout assistance," said Mr. Boffin gravely.
>
> "The time is now," whispered my master, and he knocked on the door
> forcefully.
Chapter 14
We marched in without waiting for an answer. The Thain paled with anger,
but when he recogniced my master, a strangely relieved look came to
his face. The others present did not seem as pleased.
Folco Boffin stood on the side of the Thain's great desk, holding the
hand of Miss Pearl Took, who, I observed, did not appreciate the
touch all that much. There might still be hope left for old Fredegar, or
whomever this strong willed damsel should decide to prefer, I thought.
Behind them I noticed the Thain's ever-present personal secretary.
The foul stench should have told us from the moment we walked in to
the Smials, that Ted Sandyman would be around. He was crouching in
one corner, glaring from Sir to me as if looking for a way to escape.
As usual, I had to restrain myself from punching him on the nose.
There was no time for such amusements now.
An all too familiar figure had stood up from a comfortable chair
in front of the Thain's desk and turned to face us. His unpleasant face
was as always - exept when speaking to gullible crowds, or hobbits
with great influence, turned into a scornful grimace.
"What is the meaning of this outrageous disturbance?" he demanded
loudly. Such was they way we were greeted by 'His Greatness', Mayor
Lotho Sackville-Baggins.
It was Folco Boffin who had pushed through the demand that the old
Mayor, Wil Whitfoot should be declared incompetent for mayorship
due to his gross obesidy. When the election campaining had begun,
it was discovered that Lotho had much more gold then anyone would
have thought possible, and he was distributing it generously among
lesser folks. Nobody seemed to know from where these great riches
were coming from, and much to the dismay of the upper classes and
indeed all the intelligent hobbits, he had won by a landslide of
votes.
As the new Mayor stepped into the office, good things had become
to happen also for Mr. Boffin, and he had soon achieved a position
which abled him to ask Thain for his daughter's hand in marriage. But
although the Thain did not disapprove, it was generally noticed that
he did not try very hard to persuade the reluctant Pearl to accept.
In the middle of all this had been the deceased brother Peregrin,
who at first had supported the aspirations of his old friend Folco,
but only recently had turned his way to oppose the proposed marriage
with most strongest terms.
Sir, ignoring the rude ethiquette breach of the Mayor, spoke
directly to the Thain. "Prey excuse this intrusion, your Exellency, but
we bring urgent news considering your son's death. It seems there
has occured yet another murder, which I belive is linked to the
first one."
"Fairytales and slanderous lies!" interrupted Mayor Lotho, as Thain
was about to speak. "There is only one tragic accident - no murder,
nevermind two. Shame on you cousin Frodo, for insulting the grief
of this most noble of Hobbits with your scandalous accusations. You
have always been a disgrace of the family - you and your mad-as-a-hat
guardian Bilbo."
"Last night the body of a hobbit killed by arrows was found at the
Crossroads and brought to Stock, where I inspected it," Sir answered
calmly.
"Ha! That will be easily disproven!" said Lotho turning to the Thain,
and continued. "Your Exellency, it is obvious that this 'master
detective' is making up these rediculous claims in order to make
himself appear important, and to ruthlessly abuse your sorrow.
He undoubtedly knows that in your wisdom, you have accepted the
impartial investigation of my best shirrifs, which concludes that
your son did die due to unfortunate accident - and is now making up
stories to inhense your grief and to create doubts. But I can
promise to you that he shall face full legal consequenses of such
dispicable actions."
"You said you could prove this?" Thain said with suspicios look.
"Most definetely! It so happens that my trusted aide, Mr Sandyman,
was in the village of Stock last night, and he can obviously reveal
the truth. Ted! Step forward and tell us if anything Sir Frodo says
is true."
Wishing very much that he was someplace else, the rat-faced creep
walked slowly to Mayor's side. Not daring to face the Thain or Sir
Frodo, he kept his eyes on Lotho and spoke with hesitation.
"No sir- uh, your Greatness. Everything was peaceful in the village
of Stock last night, when I delivered your message to Sir Frodo."
Triumphant look came to Lotho's face, but the Thain seemed still
uncertain. "Well, Sir Frodo," he said. "Have you anything to say for
this?"
Sir did not speak, and his being seemed to express the deepest
embarassment. The triumphant look on Lotho grew stronger, and even
the cowardly Ted seemed to regain some of his confidence. Malicious
look appeared also on Folco Boffin's face, but Miss Pearl seemed
doubtful.
"I don't know what to say," Sir finally spoke. "My whitness seemed
completely credible. Here he comes now."
By his signal I opened the door just in time to let in the Master of
Buckland, who had grown tired of waiting outside. Carrying in his
arms the body which we had brought with us, he proceeded to toss
it on the Thain's desk.
"Look how they have murdered my son!" he cried as in last night,
and as last night, managed to produce several shocked expressions.
Brave Folco looked as he was going to be sick, but to my surprise
Miss Pearl observed the body quite calmly.
"Mr. Sandyman must have missed his arrival in his haste to return
to your side, dear cousin," Sir explained cheerfully to Lotho who
was grinding his teeth with anger, but seemed to regain his confidence
rather quickly.
"This obviously changes everything," he explained. "A thorough
investigation has to be made to determine the cause of death."
"The arrows are still sticking out of his body," Sir pointed out
helpfully.
Miss Pearl took the floor with clear and balanced voice. "Those
arrows look similar to ones cousin Diamond uses. She is the only
hobbit I know who is strong enough to draw them."
Sir said nothing, but Lotho jumped on this statement like a starving
dog to a bone.
"Sandyman!" he commanded. "We shall talk more about your
erroneous testimony later, but first seek out officers Lestrade and
Smallburrow. Tell them to arrest Diamond Took and bring her in
for questioning!"
Morgil
David Salo
<more...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> Sir said nothing, but Lotho jumped on this statement like a starving
> dog to a bone.
> "Sandyman!" he commanded. "We shall talk more about your
> erroneous testimony later, but first seek out officers Lestrade and
> Smallburrow. Tell them to arrest Diamond Took and bring her in
> for questioning!"
Chapter 15
"Yes, do that," murmured Sir Frodo, as he sank into one of the large
upholstered armchairs that lined the walls. He lit his pipe, and soon
a thick, pungent aroma filled the Thain's office.
The Thain would have been livid, of course, if it were not that he
was already preoccupied with the corpse which, most unceremoniously,
dominated his desk. The Thain's secretary moved to remonstrate with
Sir Frodo, but Sir shot him what we at Bag End call THE GLANCE.
But THE GLANCE was at this moment turned mostly upon Sir's cousin
the Mayor, who now occupied a chair at the far end of the office, and
was in close consultation with Ted Sandyman, who soon went off to
summon the Shirriffs. I marked him now, not having seen him except on
the hustings at the White Downs Free Fair back in '19. He was not
unlike my master, being about the same height and build; though his
hair was fairer and lanker (a trait of the Bracegirdle family), and he
had a heavier, doughier face, white except where it was pockmarked by
the unfortunate pustules that had afflicted him since youth.
We waited. Ted returned, and took a seat by the Mayor. The
secretary, with the assistance of Mr. Boffin removed the dead body from
the Thain's desk to the floor. Pearl Took took a seat beside her
nearly apoplectic father and put one arm about him by way of
consolation. The Master of Buckland was on the floor next to the
corpse, alternately weeping and cursing, while my master seemed lost in
some curious private rêverie. "There Anduin the river ran..." he
muttered. "Past leagues of grass untrod by man, down to a sunlit sea.
There untold miles of meadow'd ground 'twixt vale and mount were hemm'd
around; and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where
blossom'd many an incense-bearing weed..." He would respond to no
words of mine, so I simply took a seat, between Sir Frodo and the
Master of Buckland, and once again observed the Thain's office, lit as
it was now by the broad light of day.
My eyes now fell upon those busts of the Thains of old, forefathers
of the present occupant, that were curiously perched upon brackets near
the ceiling at various points around the walls. I recognized each of
them; many was the time when I had cut out their portraits from Old Mr.
Bilbo's books of history (which he had acquired at great expense, but
never read); and I fondly recalled my boyhood days when, moved by the
romance of the past, I had daydreamed myself in the company of these
ancient upholders of all that was truly hobbitane.
Here, practically above my head, was the ruffed and saturnine
countenance of Isengrim II; there, to the left of the door, was the
long-haired, long-nosed, and generally long-faced visage of the
unfortunate Isumbras III, in whose time the Shire suffered both from
goblin invasion and from the terrible deprivation of the Long Winter,
in which the old Thain had himself perished. To the right of the door
was the curly-wigged image of the happier, but morally dubious,
Ferumbras II, now known mostly for his interminable numbers of
mistresses. Further down the wall I could see the birdlike profile of
Fortinbras I, "The Thrifty Thain", who had built up the Took fortunes
but squandered the residual power of the Thainship by refusing to call
up Shire-Moot or Shire-Muster (on the grounds that there was no
emergency and no need for revenue).
In the far corner loomed the white-peruked presence of Gerontius,
"The Old Took", whom Old Mr. Bilbo could remember from his younger
days. It was in this very room, as I recalled, that the Old Took used
to sit, staring out the windows, not moving, not speaking, barely
touching the food that was handed to him. There followed, along the
opposite wall, the blank and uninteresting faces of Isengrim III and
Isumbras the IV, both plump and curly-haired (for periwigs had gone out
of fashion in their day), and then the stern, swarthy, and sideburned
countenance of Fortinbras II. There followed an empty bracket; I was
not sure who it was intended for, as the very next bracket, over in the
far right corner, was the broad-faced bust of the last Thain (second
cousin to our present one), Ferumbras III.
I was in the process of forming a very probable conjecture as to the
meaning of the bustless bracket, when a shadow fell between me and the
object of my contemplations: no less a shadow (in both importance and
bulk) than that of 'His Greatness' the Mayor. His attentions were not,
of course, addressed to me, but to my master Sir Frodo.
"So," came the silken voice, weighted down with sadness, "murder
*has* been done in the Shire. A terrible, terrible thing to happen in
our time. And such a shame that it had to be precipitated by one of my
own family, consumed by lust for fame and glory. No, the assumed
headship of a house not rightfully his was not enough for Mister Frodo
Baggins" [here his voice began to rise more loudly] "even a knighthood
was not enough! No... he had to be bigger than all that. He *had* to
be the first to solve a murder in the Shire."
Lotho Sackville-Baggins turned to face the others in the room, who
had raised their heads at the noise. He strode before the body lying
on the floor -- directly in front of the Thain's desk -- and placing
his right hand on his bosom, gestured floridly in the air, and began to
declaim, as if he were standing on a cider barrel.
"There are those," he said, "who will always be jealous of the
great. Those who will always try to drag down those who have worked
long and tirelessly for the betterment of all with sniping and
ill-considered criticisms. They themselves contribute nothing; but,
driven mad by their envy, they will always pour poison in the ears of
the weak-minded." He reached behind him and helped himself to a sip
from the Thain's glass of brandy.
"And here we see the results. A fine, well-regarded scion of a
noble family -- the flower of our excellent neighbours, the Bucklanders
(may the peace between the Shire and Buckland never falter) -- done
terribly to death.
"We know who did the deed. The arrows" [he gestured, very
generally, toward the corpse at his feet] "themselves give away the
murderess -- precisely the same arrows that I saw in the quiver of Miss
Diamond Took's saddle outside. But" [he took another sip] "let us not
be overly quick to pass judgment upon a poor girl whose nerves had been
shattered by a belief in false rumour and scandal.
"Miss Took's hand may have pulled the bowstring. But behind that
hand lay cunning, deceptive fingers -- a black hand that threatens to
spread destruction throughout the Shire.
"Why did Miss Took seek to destroy Mr. Moriadoc Brandybuck? The
answer is only too clear. Her blood -- of a naturally hot, intemperate
sort -- had been stirred to anger by the false allegations of MURDER
that had been set abroad by the LIES of a scoundrel. Yes, I dare say
*scoundrel* -- for truth must come before the honour even of one's own
blood. Truth, whose servant I am, bids me point to the one who set in
motion this train of evil."
Lotho turned his whole body to his left and extended his left arm,
index finger pointing toward Sir Frodo. "There he sits! Oblivious to
the irretrievable damage he has done the community, smoking --
*smoking* his noxious weed disrespectfully in the Thain's presence.
Pretending to solve "crimes" -- mostly invented by his ingenious but
twisted brain -- he lights a keg of powder" [there was some shaking of
heads at this unusual metaphor] "under us all. For was it not Mister
Frodo Baggins who insisted -- quite against all the evidence -- that
Mr. Peregrin Took had been the victim of foul play? Was it not Mister
Frodo Baggins who, as I have been told, falsely insinuated to the
high-strung mind of young Miss Took that her fiancé had been murdered,
rather than simply being the victim of a regrettable accident?
Knowing, as he must have known, that the poor girl would be likely to
perform any sort of hasty action? The wheels of justice shall turn,
as turn they must -- but they shall not fail to reach the true begetter
of such evil actions: that black heart, that most sordid of minds, that
utter villain: Mister Frodo Baggins. And if he should rouse himself
long enough from his somnolence to take those words as a gentleman
ought, I can only say -- I and my second" [he gestured at Ted Sandyman]
"are ready to give him satisfaction!"
"THERE'LL BE NO DUELS, DAMMIT!" roared the Thain, leaning over the
desk to snatching his glass of brandy back from Lotho's hand. The
Mayor turned and bowed politely to the Thain. He strode over to Sir
Frodo, who had sat through the peroration unmoved, and stood in front
of him. His voice had changed from silken to sneering. "Have you
nothing to say, Cousin?"
"That you are an ass, Cousin Lotho," Sir Frodo drawled, taking the
pipe from his mouth and looking back at him with unfocused eyes. "Are
you not aware that Miss Diamond Took has been lodged at Great Smials
since 4:12 p.m. on the 21st instant? And then when she arrived, she
was entirely ignorant of Master Peregrin's death? And that in any case
she would have had not the slightest reason to associate that death
with Moriadoc Brandybuck?"
Lotho brushed these questions aside with a wave of his hand, caught
them between his thumb and forefinger, and squashed them like flies.
"These are irrelevant details," he said majestically.
"She could've heard of it earlier," said Ted.
"Exactly," said Lotho. "The news was buzzing abroad..."
"It was a closely kept secret at the Great Smials," Sir Frodo
remarked. "The only outsiders who knew were you and your cronies."
"Servants will talk, though," Ted said. "If she got here earlier,
she'd have heard all about it. Maybe she *was* here, in the
morning..."
"Precisely," Lotho chimed in. "Miss Took arrived in the morning and
heard about the death from some stableboy or other. Mister Frodo's
talk of murder was in the air... Miss Took became violently angry..."
He paused, groping for words.
"Then Mr. Moriadoc left," Sandyman helped out.
"Then she saw Mr. Brandybuck leaving. Her poor, confused, feminine
brain automatically connected the two events..."
"Especially considerin' Mr. Moriadoc's reppytation. Or the
reppytation Mr. Frodo's been tryin' to give him!" added Ted.
"Hot with anger, she pursues him..." Lotho went on. "She catches
him in the woods and shoots him dead before he can offer an
explanation! Then she returns to Great Smials..."
"And makes a great big show of not knowin' nothin' in order to
impress everybody," Sandyman finished with a sneer. Then he began
clapping. "Good work, Your Gretness! Why you've solved this one
directly. Much better work than 'Mad Baggins' there!" Ted began to
study what looked like inkstains on his hairy forearm, and continued
somewhat haltingly. "You're the Greatest, Chief! The Clouds of
Ignorance are distilled -- uh, dispelled, by the penetrating Light of
the No-Leg of the Shortest, uh, Sharpest Mint in the Shire! He who
renders our ex-sixpence boreable, the illubivating Sum of Inelegance,
the Breadywine of Fops!" [Those who will undertake to represent this
passage in /tengwar/ will have a better appreciation of Mr. Sandyman's
difficulties -- ed.] The Mayor cut Ted off with a wave of his hand and
took an opportune bow, to very limited applause (from Ted and Folco
Boffin).
"You're quite mistaken," Mr. Frodo said. "I was there when Mr.
Moriadoc left; Gamgee here can bear witness to this fact..."
"As if anyone would listen to *that* lackey," Sandyman said, in a
_sotto voce_ that was not very _sotto_.
"And Miss Diamond Took was nowhere around. It is not an easy matter
to conceal a horse on the premises of Great Smials; nor, for that
matter, Miss Took herself. What evidence do you have that she *was*
here earlier than 4:12 p.m.?"
"We'll see," Lotho fairly snarled. He pointed at the corpse. "Let's
see what this Took wench has to say about *this* evidence! You won't
be able to protect her then!"
At that moment, we were all interrupted by noises in the hall: loud
and unmistakable shouts.
"Yew git yuh weed-pickin' hands off me, you kinfounded li'l
vahmints!" came the loudest of them. "Ah'm a-comin', right on mah own
duhn tahm! Now gyit!"
With that the door burst open, and Lestrade and Smallburrow tumbled
in (the last seeming to fairly fly through the air) and landed on the
office floor at my very feet. The round door behind them was filled
with the furious presence of Miss Diamond Took, red hair flowing down
behind her, clad in a plain smock (which showed her to some advantage,
I thought), with the sleeves rolled up well above her elbows revealing
a remarkably well-developed set of arms. I have wrestled for the ram
at fairs in my time; but though I acquitted myself well, I would not
swear to my willingness to grapple with those sinews, feminine though
they be. The Mayor, who was excessively close to the Fury, retreated
posthaste to the far wall of the room.
Miss Diamond was, I am afraid, about to seize hold of the two
constables once more, when her eyes caught sight of the body with the
arrows protruding from it. A study must be made some time upon the
effects of a sudden shock on the circulatory system, which I fancy
might have no small benefits for the medical world. Until that study
is made, I can only remark that I was struck by the speed with which
she altered color: from a burning crimson blush, to the palest white.
Her fists flew to her cheeks and remained bunched up against her face,
and there was a faint sound of gasping for air.
At this, my master fixed Miss Diamond with a glassy stare, and said,
"Why don't you have a seat and compose yourself, Miss Took?"
The Mayor and Ted leaned forward, the better to scrutinize Miss
Diamond -- whom they had, of course, not encountered earlier. Folco
Boffin was sidling slowly but steadily toward Miss Pearl Took, who
ignored him but fixed Miss Diamond with a steely gaze. The Thain was
much preoccupied with ordering the papers on his desk -- a task that
had occupied him, interrupted only by drains on the flask of brandy,
for the past ten minutes.
The Master of Buckland, on the other hand, was all activity.
"Murtheriss!" he cried, and it took both Officers Lestrade and
Smallburrow to restrain him, a job they performed competently and
which, it seemed, was quite agreeable to both of them.
Miss Diamond, on the other hand, paid no attention to the patently
murderous intentions of Master Saradoc, but sat quite still, quietly
crying under the bust of Ferumbras II. Words gradually escaped her.
"Ah.... din't... *mean* ta kill 'im! Ah mean, ah shore did, but ah
din't think ah *did* do it! And now he's DAID! An it's all mah
fowt!"
There was a loud and unmistakable laugh from Ted Sandyman. I looked
across the room and saw Lotho Sackville-Baggins gloating.
Sir Frodo, ignoring this, crossed over to Miss Diamond and took a
seat by her side. "There now, Miss Took. Why don't you just take a
deep breath and tell us everything you can remember about yesterday."
"Ah... ah don' know ef ah kin!"
"Well, let me help you," Sir replied. "You were riding along the
road to the Great Smials. You were anxious and disturbed about your
relations with 'Mr. Perry,' as you called him. Perhaps you had heard
something that heightened your fears... then, all of a sudden, there
was Mr. Brandybuck, riding his pony along on the road to Stock."
"Yeah," Miss Diamond said. "Anny draws rein in frunna me, anny sez,
'howdy, Miz Took!' An' Ah sez, 'Ah ain't got tahm fer yew! Ah'm in a
hurrah! An' thenny doffs 's hat, real predintious-lahk, an' sez, 'Mr.
Brandybuck, at ya suvvice.' Raht inna middle a' the road, like!
"So Ah sez, 'git ya dam' reah off the road, or Ah'll rahd ovah yew!'
Ah wuz that much inna hurrah, ya see?" Sir Frodo nodded, and let the
clearly distressed damsel continue.
"Anny sez, 'Goin' ta Grit Smahls, are ya?' An' Ah sed, 'Yeah, but
whut's thatta yew?' Anny sez, 'Well, don' blame me eff'n yew fahn'
things a maht troublesome up there. Ya maht fahnd out as how yew got
some commatition!'"
"Well, that got me kahna mad, so Ah rahds mah hoss Fyahbran' raht up
agin his pony, an the pony dumps him inna ditch fuh that! Then Ah jis'
turns Fyahbran' aroun' an laffs at him, with mud on 'is coat. Well, he
looked plenny mad then! But he don't say nuthin, jis' gets raht back
on 'is pony. An' he sez -- Ah remimbah the zac' words lahk it wuz
taday -- 'Madam,' he sez, 'You will, soon, regret the day you ever
heard the name of /Brandybuck/.' An' thenny draws up, slowly, an' then
*slashes* at Fyahbran's ligs with 'is stick; an wahl Fyabran's
a-rearin' up, he takes off downa road intah the woods.
"Well, Ah wuz so mad, that I grabbed mah bow an' fahred off four
arrahs aftah him. Ah wuz jis' trahna skeer 'im, Ah swayah! But Ah
giss Ah keeled 'im -- keeled 'im DAID!" And with that she began to
bawl again, with her head on Sir Frodo's shoulder.
"One more thing, Miss Took," Sir said calmly, offering her his
handkerchief.. "Do you remember what time this happened?"
"Wal, yeah, Ah reckin ah kin," she answered, dabbing her eyes with
the handkerchief. Ah remimbah a-hearin o' them bells a-ringin' three
down Pincup way, an' I wuz thinkin' ah wuz gettin' near ta Tuckburrah.
An it was mebbe fifteen minutes later that Ah ran intah -- HIM." She
pointed a shaking index finger at the corpse on the floor.
"Well, that's it!" Lestrade exclaimed. "Open and shut case.
Smallburrow, bind the prisoner's hands; we'll take her to the Lockholes
by carriage."
"One moment, if you will, Shirriff Lestrade," said Sir Frodo. "I
still have a few questions, for something is certainly amiss here.
Miss Took, you are a hunter, are you not?"
"Ah kin knock down a stag from fahv hunnerd yards!" she said
promptly -- not, I thought, helping her case much.
"And you're familiar with the results of your shot -- with the
appearance of the dead animal?"
"Ah reckin -- Ah kin gut an' skin a deer in a half hour flat!"
"So would you say that this looks like your work?"
Miss Diamond, for the first time, opened her eyes wide and looked at
the arrow-studded corpse. "Ah... ah dunno. It looks kahnda funny."
"Funny? How does it amuse?"
"We-all, kahnda how them arrahs is stickin' in 'im. It looks funny.
Ah ain't nevah seen no body look like that before."
At this, Master Saradoc arose and hurled himself toward Miss Diamond
once again, only to be tripped up by Robin Smallburrow, who now found
himself obliged to perch upon the Master's stomach.
"You are right, Miss Took." Sir Frodo arose, put one hand inside
his waistcoat pocket, and began to talk to himself as he paced back and
forth between the corpse and the Thain's desk.
"We are *meant*," he said, "to think that this hobbit died of
bowshot. But a longbow such as Miss Took draws is a powerful weapon.
In the right hands, such an arrow can pierce chain mail. If Miss Took
had indeed shot Moriadoc Brandybuck, the arrows would, more than
likely, have passed all the way through him. At least, striking flesh,
they would have embedded themselves up to the flights. But *these*
arrows have only penetrated halfway."
"Well, that's nothing," objected Shirriff Lestrade. "They could 'ave
'it a bone or something."
"Indeed," Sir Frodo said, "They *could* have. But in this case they
did not. If you will examine the entry-points of the wounds yourself,
you will find that they are, twice between the ribs, once in the belly
-- that one has been removed by my companion Gamgee, by the way -- and
the fourth in the groin, passing through the pelvis into the mesentery.
In no case has a bone been touched or damaged by the arrows, which is
unusual in itself.
"As a final detail, I should point out that the watch -- bearing the
name 'M. Brandybuck' -- found on the body was stopped at 3:28; about
the time, or soon after, Miss Took met a Mr. Brandybuck on the road. I
took the liberty of examining the watch last night. It turned out to
have sustained a heavy blow or jar, which loosened one of the springs;
the crystal was also cracked. *Yet there were no arrow wounds or
punctures on or near the waistcoat pocket where the watch was found!*"
A low murmur of puzzlement ran around the room. Sir Frodo allowed a
flicker of a smile -- which, I suspect, only I could have detected --
to cross his face. He was, I have often suspected, a frustrated
thespian, and never felt better than when acting a rôle in front of a
crowd. They were in suspense now, waiting to find out what he would
reveal; he had them all in the palm of his hand.
"This hobbit here -- Mr. Brandybuck -- did not die from arrow
wounds. He was, rather, first beaten -- rather badly, I'm afraid --
until he lost consciousness. Following that, he was pierced with the
arrows which Miss Took had shot after her unwelcome interlocutor -- but
they were inserted by hand. Blood loss and sepsis did the rest, in
fairly short order. The body was then placed on a pony which was
allowed to gallop free, to make it look as if Mr. Brandybuck had been
shot while riding. In other words, ladies and gentlemen: Miss Took is
guilty of nothing more than a hot temper. She has been, to use the
underworld phrase, 'framed up'."
There was a collective exhalation, breaths, including mine, having
been held during this triumphant exposition of the deductive method.
Only Master Saradoc was, as ever, out of form.
"Weel than," he said rustically, "hwoo hay din thiss'n fooel
murther? Ee maun hay'n me rivanch, ee maun!"
"All will be made clear," Sir Frodo said coolly and (I thought)
somewhat optimistically. "There is one other related matter, which
only awaits the appropriate moment for its revelation..."
At that, the door flew open, and a young woman with the Took nose
and the Took coloring burst in. "Daddy, Pearl!" she cried. "Haven't
you -- hasn't anyone seen Pervinca? She never came to bed and she's
been gone all night!"
Count Menelvagor
> There was a collective exhalation, breaths, including mine, having
> been held during this triumphant exposition of the deductive method.
> Only Master Saradoc was, as ever, out of form.
> "Weel than," he said rustically, "hwoo hay din thiss'n fooel
> murther? Ee maun hay'n me rivanch, ee maun!"
> "All will be made clear," Sir Frodo said coolly and (I thought)
> somewhat optimistically. "There is one other related matter, which
> only awaits the appropriate moment for its revelation..."
> At that, the door flew open, and a young woman with the Took nose
> and the Took coloring burst in. "Daddy, Pearl!" she cried. "Haven't
> you -- hasn't anyone seen Pervinca? She never came to bed and she's
> been gone all night!"
--- In te...@yahoogroups.com, "Menelvagor the Enervator"
<houyhnhym@y... wrote:
--- In te...@yahoogroups.com, "Menelvagor the Enervator"
<houyhnhym@y... wrote:
Son of Gnu and improvised Cahpter
Chapter the Sixteenth
"Well, dear sister," said Pearl with a frown, "whom I love despite
your lack of courtesy in failing to curtsey once to me as the eldest
and twice to the Thain. This is indeed a trying state of affairs,
and one that could have bee prevented or mitigated had you done your
duty and always kept her in sight. This negligence has been
noted."
Folco shuffled his feet awkwardly, but said nothing.
"You are but a little older than me, and even if you *are* the
eldest, and I must wait to marry and always take second place and
call myself 'The Hon. Miss Pimpernel' while you glory in the
style, 'The Hon. Miss Took,' still you have no right to use me so.
especially at a time like this when we should be a comfort to each
other. I'm so distressed, I need a chair or I will faint
directly."
She succumbed to the feminine malady and burst into an effusion of
tears.
"You will give up your seat to the Hon. Miss Pimpernel and you will
extinguish your pipe immediately," said the secretary to Sir Frodo.
Lotho subtly sneered. My master attempted to shoot the GLANCE
again,
but the tobacco (if tobacco it was) had dulled its effect. He rose
with a mild gesture of irritation, and put out his pipe.
"Enough!" growled the Thain. "Will someone tell me what the bloody
hell happened to my daughter?"
"I believe Mr. Boffin may be in the best position to answer that,"
said Sir,
looking directly at Mr. Folco Boffin.
Mr. Boffin, despite his evident nervousness, managed to respond
levelly: "What
exactly are you implying, Sir Frodo?"
"I think you know very well, Mr. Boffin," retorted my master. "Since
you
know precisely where -- and how -- Miss Pervinca spent last night, it
stands
to reason that you are fully informed as to her present whereabouts
as well."
"Bear in mind that His Greatness has severely increased penalties
against slander,"
said Mr. Boffin arrogantly, but he held his hands together to keep
them from shaking.
"And I will not hesitate to enforce them, Cousin," said
Lotho. "Pray
do not make the catalogue of charges against you even longer than it
already is. His Excellency may view calumnies as a small matter;
but
we in Michel Delving are perhaps less indulgent. My advice to His
Excelency would to leave this investigation in the hands of those
best qualified to carry it out, rather than intervening in matters
beyond his purview and allowing knighted charlatans to poison the
commonwealth."
"You're in my office, and it's my son who died, so don't be so
damned insolent," growled the Thain. "Sir Frodo may have bad
manners, but at least he has made *some* damned discoveries, which
is
more than your wretched Shirriffs can say. So let him continue!"
Lotho bowed with simulated respect, though from my vantage point I
could perceive the hint of a scowl on his already rather unpleasing
features.
"Mr. Lotho is quite correct," said my master with a smile. "The
investigation should indeed be left in competent hands, which is why
he and
his semiliterate toady had best stop interfering. Now, to return to
the
matter at hand: I regret to have to inform the Hon. Miss Took that
while
courting her, her fiancé has been pleasuring himself with her
sister."
"I have never been so insulted in my life!" thundered Folco. "You
shall
hear from my lawyers, and, if His Greatness knows his duty, from the
police as well." He made as if to leave, but my master held up a
hand.
"One moment, if you please, Mr. Boffin," he interposed, "Can you tell
me
if you recognize this painting?"
He removed from his pocket the portrait Smeagol had found at the
Crossroads. It was invisible from my standpoint, but I confess I
was
shocked when I later managed to get a view of it. I have heard tell
that such may be found on the walls of The Prancing Pony, a den of
vice that defiles the city of Bree. But that any self-respecting
Shire-hobbit should have perpetrated such an obscenity was beyond
belief -- although I am bound to confess that I was not wholly proof
against the desires of the flesh. For this painting depicted a
nude
hobbit-lass in the most indecent conceivable position, and a very
realistic rendering it was. It was signed on top "Hi Folkie XXX
Pervi," and in the lower right-hand corner there was depicted a
small
fox.
All this, as I have said, was beyond the field of my vision; but it
was only too manifest to His Excellency and to Mr. Boffin. The
Thain
went bright red and choked on his brandy for several minutes before
blurting out: "I will not tolerate the display of indecent bloody
pictures
of my daughter in my office!"
"I beg Your Excrescency's pardon," said Sir with a bow. I gasped,
but luckily His Excellency was distracted and did not observe the
manglng of his style. "It is not my wish to distress you. Nothing
but an unfortunate necessity, I assure you, could have led me to
this
course of action." He then turned to Mr. Boffin and said: "I
repeat,
Mr. Boffin, do you recognise this picture? Did you not induce Miss
Pervinca to pose for it and sign it? And have
you not been seducing her all along, even while paying court to her
elder sister Pearl, whom you wanted only for her money?"
Mr. Boffin turned as white as a sheet, but stammered a completely
uncovnincing "No."
Sandyman muttered, "I need a smoke, I need a smoke ..." while Lotho
rolled his eyes and looked as if he were praying for an end to his
tribulations in this sublunary earth.
My master calmly relit his pipe, and replied, as matter-of-factly as
if he were mentioning the time of day, "You're lying. The
name 'Folkie' is enough by itself. But there is more. Did you not
paint a rather fine prospect of the Brandywine River, that hangs in
the Mathom-house in Michel Delving?"
"I did," replied Mr. Boffin, some colour returning to his face. "And
very fine it is, too."
"So it is," nodded Sir Frodo with a deceptive smile. Then he turned
to the Hon. Miss Pearl Took, and inquired, "My lady, you are quite a
connoisseur of the art of painting, I believe. Have you seen this
fox in the lower right-hand corner?"
"Yes," she replied coolly. "It is the same one that is found in the
Brandywine landscape in Michel Delving to which you just referred."
"Exactly the same," said my master, folding his arms triumphantly.
He complaisantly took another draw on his pipe.
"Very well, I painted it," said Mr. Boffin, a little too
loudly. "And yes, since I suppose everything must come out now, we
were lovers, we have a secret hideaway in the Green Hill Country, a
quite
charming cottage as a matter of fact, where we get together and make
passionate love. And yes, I asked her to sign the painting, telling
her, 'I
want your beloved name on this painting, that I may press it to my
bosom.'
But I did it all for love! If His Excellency had been less rigorous
in insisting
that the Hon. Miss Pearl marry first, I might have married Miss
Pervinca and
made her an honest woman. But how the devil did you get it, Frody?"
"Mr. Reginard Took gave it to Mr. Moriadoc Brandybuck," replied Sir
Frodo, ignoring the disrespectful nickname. "You had showed it to
Mr.
Reginard, had you not?"
"Yes, I had," admitted Mr. Boffin. "We were drinking together. It
was a sort of cruel way of rubbing in my good fortune; Reg always
had
appalling luck with women. I didn't think he was intelligent enough
to steal it."
"GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU DAMNABLE
VICIOUS SEDUCER!" roared the Thain.
"With Your Excellency's permission, I am not yet finished with Mr.
Boffin," interposed Sir, extinguishing his pipe as if by way of
mollifying the Thain.
His Excellency promptly ordered his secretary to dispatch guards to
the Green Hill Country, commanding them to conduct Miss Pervinca back
to
Great Smials by any means necessary. The secretary bowed low and
departed
in an agony of haste.
"What more do you want?!" snapped Mr. Boffin. "Shall I remove my
own
clothes for your edification and amusement?"
"That will not be necessary," said my master drily. "But if I am
not mistaken, it was not passion alone that led you to paint the
unfortunate but lovely object of your affections. Indeed, although
you speak of
love, I doubt that a man of your character knows what love is. I
fear you
wanted Miss Pearl Took for her money and power, and Miss Pervinca for
the
satisfaction of your baser physical needs. You did not get her to
pose for that
picture by gentle words, as you claim, but through the deceitful
administration of
narcotics. To be precise, you induced her to become the subject of
your artistic
talents by plying her with Ithilien Pure obtained from a certain Mr.
Moriadoc,
whereof some powder was still on the portrait when my servant Smeagol
found it.
Ithilien Pure looks to the untrained eye like ordinary pipeweed, but
is in fact far stronger in its effects. It would reduce an
inexperienced
user to a catatonic state, rendering her highly responsive to
suggestion.
I recognized the symptoms when I met the charming Miss Pervinca
yesterday.
Who knows how long you have kept her addicted, thus subjecting her to
your will in the most despicable manner!"
His Excellency first went pale, and then fairly turned purple. But
Sir Frodo interposed, "My apologies for these distressing
revelations,
Your Excellency. Alas, I fear the worst is yet to come. For, as I
will
soon show, Mr. Boffin painted her not out of love, or even very much
in
the way of lust, but blackmail."
"Lies, lies!" screamed Mr. Lotho, but Folco merely licked his lips
and tried, unsucessfully, to speak.
Sir ignored Mr. Lotho and resumed his magisterial performance. "Now,
if I may ask Miss Pearl Took a question" -- he bowed -- "Mr. Peregrin
at first
supported Mr. Boffin's suit, did he not?"
"Yes, he did at first," replied Miss Pearl Took. "But their
relations rather cooled, I do not really know why, after my late
brother
took that hunting vacation in the Green Hill Country."
Sir Frodo bowed again, and resumed: "Green Hill Country, ladies and
gentlemen. Did Mr. Peregrin discover your little love-nest there,
Mr. Boffin? And therefore he no longer favoured your suit. So you
purposed to blackmail Mr. Peregrin Took into supporting your marriage
to Pearl with Miss Pervinca's beautiful likeness?"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," said Mr. Boffin, wearily
waving his left hand. "He opposed; I painted her so I could
blackmail him
into supporting me, with the purpose of becoming head of both the
Boffin and
Took families and quite possibly the most powerful Thain in history,
but I
guess *that* scheme is all washed up, isn't it, thanks to you. Or
*no* thanks."
The contrast between Mr. Boffin's earlier unctuousness and his
present reckless disdain
was astonishing. He snarled at the Thain, lit a cigarrillo and
brandished it like a stiletto,
shouting: "What the hell? I suppose I may as well confess that she
was underage
(28 to be precise) when I first enjoyed her embraces, that I wrote
passionate love-letters,
saying, 'Dearest Perv, I think of you every night as I lie in bed
aching with desire, I long
for the time when we can be together away from your *bloated old
windbag* of a father
and your *shrewish old maid* of a sister ..." He leaned on the
Thain's desk and blew
copious drafts of smoke from his cigarrillo.
"Pressing your wretched suit with my eldest daughter while seducing
my youngest,"
hissed the Thain furiously, actually standing up for the first time
in my experience.
"YOU ARE BLOODY NEVER TO BLOODY SHOW YOUR BLOODY FACE IN THIS
HALL AGAIN!"
"Yes, you had better go, Mr. Boffin," hissed Pearl. "You had really
better go."
"Very well, Your Excellency," said Mr. Boffin. "You still rule in
this Hall, and if you order
me to leave it, I will. But don't be surprised if it's a while
before Pervi returns to your
tyrannical roof. And in the Shire, your dynasty's days are
numbered, and your power
in eclipse. Soon you may wish you had been less arrogant. Just one
more thing, though:
I did *not* murder Pippin!"
Lotho smled cruelly to himself at this, after having spent almost
the entire conversation
scowling. Mr. Boffin spat on the floor in front of His Excellency's
desk, and fairly turned tail.
"Two things I still don't understand about all this sir," I
ventured, after a brief pause during
which a maid wiped the floor. "Why did Mr. Reginard steal the
portrait, and how did you
know that it was he who gave it to Mr. Moriadoc?"
"When I questioned Mr. Reginard earlier," returned Sir Frodo, "he
revealed that he was in debt to Mr. Moriadoc for a substantial sum of
money.
So much for the motive. As for *how I knew* ... did I not tell you
that a true
detective never reveals all his tricks? Yes," he muttered to himself,
"Mr. Morrie's
rôle is becoming clearer and clearer ..."
"Spreik respaictfullich o' min daid'n soon!" interjected the Master
of Buckland. "An' tha
hasnae yit shawn that he wasnae kilt be yonner harridan." Here he
pointed wildly at Miss
Diamond, who seemed still in a state of shock.
"That is easily refuted," replied Sir, lighting his pipe yet
again. "Indeed we have already shown that
Miss Diamond was framed; and why would she want to frame herself?
But this raises another, even more interesting question: have you
definitely identified the body as that of your progeny, Mr. Moriadoc
Brandybuck?"
"Aye!" responded Master Saradoc forcefully. "O's coorse I kens min
aan'n soon! An' he haes the Braindibick coot-ter-arm o's'n reet'n
airm!"
"From the minute I saw the body, I thought something was wrong,"
murmured Sir Frodo thoughtfully.
"The Brandybuck coat-of-arms ... hmmm ... Aha! Elementary! It was the
small pine stick in the corpse's hand that raised my suspicions. Mr.
Moriadoc always went about with an entwood walking-stick that he had
obtained
in his travels, as we saw when we found him at the door of this
esteemed
Dwelling. But the Mr. Brandybuck before us seems never to have used
an entwood
walking stick; or if he did, the usual stains are completely absent.
Indeed, if I am not mistaken it is not Mr. *Moriadoc* Brandybuck
whose remains adorn -- somewhat morbidly -- His Excellency's
Chambers, but a completely different M. Brandybuck. This is Mr.
*Merimas* Brandybuck, whom the Family expelled for his support for
reunion between Buckland and the Shire. And Mr. Merimas is the
brother of Miss Melilot, childhood sweetheart of Mr. Everard Took,
who in turn is Mr. Reginard's brother. I believe," he added,
drawing slowly on his pipe, "I believe I am starting to see a
pattern."
Count Menelvagor
> David Salo <ds...@NOTREAL.net> wrote in message news:<160720031111326794%ds...@NOTREAL.net>...
Gnu and improvised Cahpter Rides Again
(Made one or two slight changes.)
Chapter the Sixteenth
"Well, dear sister," said the Hon. Miss Pearl Took with a frown,
Excellency would to leave this investigation in the hands of those
Lotho smiled cruelly to himself at this, after having spent almost
the entire conversation
scowling. Mr. Boffin spat on the floor in front of His Excellency's
desk, and fairly turned tail.
> His Excellency promptly resumed his seat and ordered his secretary to ispatch guards to
the Green Hill Country, commanding them to conduct Miss Pervinca
back
to
Great Smials by any means necessary. The secretary bowed low and
departed
in an agony of haste.
small pine stick in the corpse's hand that roused my suspicions. Mr.
Morgil
"Count Menelvagor" <Menel...@mailandnews.com> kirjoitti
viestissä:6bfb27a8.0307...@posting.google.com...
> Menel...@mailandnews.com (Count Menelvagor) wrote in message
news:<6bfb27a8.03072...@posting.google.com>...
> *Merimas* Brandybuck, whom the Family expelled for his support for
> reunion between Buckland and the Shire. And Mr. Merimas is the
> brother of Miss Melilot, childhood sweetheart of Mr. Everard Took,
> who in turn is Mr. Reginard's brother. I believe," he added,
> drawing slowly on his pipe, "I believe I am starting to see a
> pattern."
Chapter 17
"This is preposterous!" cried Master Saradoc. "Of course I can
reckennice minh aawn son! He's there and dead, and I don't care
about your wild theories. All I care about is revenge!"
"You don't seem too thrilled about the idea that your son might
be alive," insinuated the Thain.
"Master Saradoc is no fool Your Excellency," said Sir Frodo.
"He understands very well that if his son is not the victim, it can
hardly mean anything else but that he is the one behind the evil
deed itself, and therefore the most probable candidate for Mr.
Peregrin's murder as well. Which, at worst, could lead to a war
between Shire and Buckland.. And war is bad for his businesses."
"Would not sound impossible to me," said the Thain, glaring
dangerously at the Master, who returned the courtesy.
"Nevertheless," continued Sir. "It is hardly the only explanation.
Clearly Mr. Moriadoc came here with the purpose of blackmail. He
then had to leave before accomplishing his goal. Afterwards he was
settled to meet someone further away on the woods. But as a
naturally cautious hobbit, he had asked his old compainon
Mr. Merimas to cover his rear. Alas, the encounter with Miss
Diamond delayed him, and Mr. Merimas rode alone to the meeting,
which turned out to be an ambush. He was struck down, and then
stabbed with arrows to make it look like a hunting accident. The
murderer, who did not know Mr. Moriadoc personally, thought he
had killed the right hobbit, but could not find the portrait, which
was the purpose of the assasination."
"If Folco knew Mr. Moriadoc had the portrait, he would be the
most probable suspect," remarked the Thain. I noticed with
pleasure that His Exellency now seemed to take every word of
my master as announcement from Aman. "But he would not have
mistaken Mr. Moriadoc's identity."
"Indeed not," said Sir. "But whoever wanted Mr.Moriadoc dead
would most likely have used outside help to do the deed. In fact -
Miss Diamond, as the arrows seem almost identical to ones you
use, would you mind telling us where do you get yours? If I'm not
mistaken, they are not made by hobbits, are they?"
"Raht yew are, Sir," the halethian woman responded, scratching
her head in most manly fashion. "Mah arrahs are made special
ordered by Gondhir the Smith, a blind dwarven refugee who lives
in the village of Bree. But if that nasty Moriadoc wanted to frame
*me*, he could simply have used the arrows which I shot aftah him."
"There is something I don't understand," said the equally dubious
Miss Pearl. "If the body does not belong to Mr. Moriadoc, then
how was he carrying the portrait of my sister? I can understand the
other belongings you found were put there to mislead investigators,
but if the portrait was the reason for the murder..."
She interrupted in the middle of her sentence and turned to look
at her father with a somewhat frightened expression.
"My dear ladies," cried Sir. "You simply overshadow the menfolk
here in the noble art of deduction. Miss Diamond, though it does
not please Master Saradoc, that possibility can not be overlooked.
And Miss Pearl, you're most correct to suspect that Mr. Moriadoc
would not have given up the portrait voluntarily. But neither would
anyone who could be considered to have killed him. Therefore we
must look for an alternative answer. One which would also explain
why the body was found halfaway to Buckland. It must be that the
body was *brought* there, for some unknown purpose, perhaps
even to be hidden, but the unexpected lightning strike ruined that
plan, and left not only the body, but also the portrait for us to find.
The rain had washed off most of the tracks, which explains why
my servant Smeagol failed to notice that *two* ponies had ridden
to the spot. The rain, the lightning bolt, skittish pony - no wonder
Mr. Moriadoc failed to notice the loss of the portrait."
Mayor Lotho lifted himself from his seat. ""How in Middle-earth
do you propose to prove all *that*, Cousin? All I can see is lot of
assumptions and leaps of imagination, but barely a single solid fact
to support them. These 'theories' you have made of the course of
actions - secret meetings in the woods, bodies logged around,
stabbed with arrows - are laughable! Most entertaing fantasies they
are, but hardly anything else. Or would you not deny, dear Cousin,
that in fact, you simply do not have any idea of what really happened
in that place?!"
"Indeed I would not deny that," said Sir, looking directly at Lotho.
"There are too many foul players involved in this foul play, for us
to create a complete picture as of yet. But when all facts have been
revealed, the truth will come to be known as well."
The insinuation in his words was obvious, and Lotho paled with
anger.
"I have had enough of this charade," he said. "Your Exellency,
I beseech thee one more time: Abandon this madness and your
selfish urges. Think what is best for your loyal subjects. Think
what is best for the Shire!"
The Thain did not speak.
"So be it! You shall live to regret this. People of this land have had
it with the likes of you, and your outdated methods of governing.
A New Age is coming, and a new age calls for new ideas. The time
of honoring yourself will soon be over." The Mayor collected his
troops and prepared to leave the scene.
Sir smiled and blew a complacent smoke-ring in Mr. Lotho's
direction. "It is regrettable that your attempt at an aristocratic
alliance has fallen through, Cousin," he said. "Henceforth you will
be obliged to rely on demagoguery alone."
Mr. Lotho bit his nails in chagrin. "To hell with aristos and made-up
knights!" he once more shot from the door before leaving.
"Insolent dog!" growled the Thain from behind his desk.
"Yet I fear those are not just empty words, Sir Frodo. There is
a growing unrestness among the peasants and lower classes,
and it gets worse with each bad harvest. And now there's this
scandal upon my house as well. I'm taking an awful risk here,
Sir Frodo. I only hope you can bring this case to a satisfactory
ending. Easy it will not be, while that scoundrel cousin of yours
owns the ears and minds of the people. But whatever aid you
need with your investigaitons, the resources of this house are
at your disposal."
"For now my investigations are over," said Sir.
"What conclusion have you reached then?"
"It is not yet time for final conclusions," Sir replied. "There
are still few pieces missing from the puzzle. For now I shall
depart to my home at Bag End and put my small grey brain
cells to work. Right now, all I ask for both you High Sires
is a little patience and good faith. In time, all your questions
shall be answered - that is all I can promise."
The mood of the great reception room of the Thain was quiet,
almost mystified, as my master bowed correctly and with
no further ceremonies left, with myself following his example.
At noon we finally returned home to Bag End. After my
chores of preparing the dinner and a nice relaxing bath for
my master, I was hoping to have rest of the day off for
spending some quality time with my wife and daughter. But
the day had one more surprise restored for us...
As I was adding hot water for the bath, to reach the precise
temperature my master requested for his baths, I heard him
calling me with a voice unlike any I had ever heard him use.
"Samvais Gamgee, come here at once."
I rushed to the bedroom from where the voice had come,
and halted at the door. Pervinca Took was lying in bed,
holding the sheets to cover her nakedness. A wicked smile
played on her face, and she licked her lips hungrily.
"Ohh, don't be so freaked out," she giggled. "I just wanted
to ask you a favor, and made myslef comfortable while
waiting for you. There's nothing indecent in my intentions."
"What a relief," Sir said, with barely noticeable sarcasm.
"Pray, then what are your intentions?"
"I heard you have Ithilien Pure," she said whiningly. "Folkie
won't give me any more and I *really* need a fix! I promise
I can make it worthwhile to you."
Morgil
Banazir the Jedi Hobbit
I glanced over at Sir, half expecting him to offer the younger
Miss Took a bit of the /nimphelas/ he had salvaged from the
saddlebag of the late Merimas. Instead, he reached into a
side closet and withdrew several items: a deerstalker cap, a
large meerschaum, and a dressing gown. As Sir was already
clothed in a bathrobe I wondered if he were about to change in
the very presence of the bemused-looking Pervinca; but to my
intense relief he tossed the gown languidly onto the bed and
turned his back to her. "Kindly get dressed, Miss Took", said
Sir, in as cold a voice as I have heard him use with a woman.
"I shall send for a coach to take you back to your father's
house."
At this, Pervinca became incensed, and I could see that she
was not accustomed to being spurned in this fashion, especially
with strangers present. I averted my eyes as she dressed,
flushing hotly and with not a few aspersions on Sir's breakfast
habits. I quickly withdrew to a side tunnel and busied myself
with preparing a cold plate of evening fruit and cheeses. At
length Pervinca breezed past me as if I were a ghost, and
paused in the foyer just long enough to fix Sir with a hard
look. "You'll live to regret this yet, Frodo Baggins... in
more ways than one!" she whispered breathily. The explosive
exhalation I heard as she removed from Bag End was, I realized
belatedly, my own.
"Quite a willful young woman, is she not, Gamgee?" asked Sir
nonchalantly.
"I should think that an understatement", I replied. I wondered
if her sister were even a pale shadow of the younger Miss Took
- in which case, I reflected, her future husband would have
his hands quite irrefutably full with her.
After Sir and I had taken refreshment and sat reading quietly
for another half hour, both of us retired. I slept fitfully,
dreaming inexplicably of casks of wine hurtling across Master
Bilbo's wine cellar and smashing against its far wall.
=*=
I awoke with a dull pain in my left eye. Not being a
superstitious hobbit, I thought nothing of it and arose to start
breakfast. After elevenses I bade Sir a good day. After paying
my respects to my Gaffer, mother, and youngest sister Marigold
at Number Three Bagshot Row, the comfortable hole where both of
my brothers and my two elder sisters had spent their youth, I
returned to Number Four. While I was doing my best to keep up
with Sir and keep us both from ending as the late Master
Peregrin had, my wife Rose had been looking after the Gaffer,
Mari, and our small daughter.
A sweet-visaged little child with red-gold curls toddled
awkwardly into the main tunnel to welcome me, followed by her
mother. "Willow! How have my ainur been?" I exclaimed,
sweeping both into my arms. Willow had learned several new
words in my absence, all of which I was sure she would
undoubtedly share with her imminent younger sibling. With
quiet happiness she placed my hand on her mother's gravid womb
and whispered excitedly to each of us in turn.
"What is it, Samwise?" asked Rose earnestly, searching my eyes.
I realized that I had not managed to hide my growing anxiety
about the apparent lethargy in which I had left Sir. Briefly
I recounted what had ensued since the week before, then went
into my garden to collect some vegetables for supper.
A week passed without event as so many weeks in Hobbiton were
wont to, before that fateful night when Master Peregrin's body
was found. I visited Sir each afternoon but he always sat in
the main hall of Bag End with the window shade drawn. The
small paintings of Master Drogo and Madam Primula, rest their
souls, sat on the mantelpiece as always. I noticed that they
had a fine sheen of dust on them, which surprised me as Sir
was in a habit of wiping them in his nervous states. Try as I
might, I could not elicit more than a word or phrase of
acknowledgement regarding Merimas' death or Peregrin's. I was
struck by Sir's uncharacteristic terseness.
At home one episode in particular drew my attention. One morning,
Willow looked up from playing with some candles and odds and ends
that Rose had given her and asked when Master Pip was coming to
play with her again. I could hardly remember more than a single
visit he had paid to Underhill in Willow's lifetime; as far as I
remembered, Peregrin had abruptly stopped visiting around the
time Fredegar Bolger had (when he had heard what Rose and I
planned to name our first child). Clearly Will knew and
remembered him, though. I sighed and replied that it would be a
long time before we saw Master Pip again, longer than I could say,
and that was a fact.
=*=
As the week wore on I continued to look in on Sir, but he
seemed sunken deeper into thought on each visit. Finally on
Friday I went over in the morning at Rose's behest, to
discuss some ideas I had had on my own. Sir seemed in his
usual high humor this time. "Gamgee! What brings a Took to
Bag End on a midsummer's Friday?" Before I could manage a
credible reply, he answered for me: "Miss Pearl Took is on
her way here and will sup with us tonight. Think on it,
Gamgee."
"But what can it mean, Sir?" I asked, bewildered. "The last
time we saw her, she was in quite a state of discomfiture
over the precipitous and humiliating departure of Mr. Boffin
from Tuckborough..."
Sir bit at his meerschaum thoughtfully as the sweet odor of
Ithilien's finest wafted through the air. "How often have I
said to you, Gamgee, that when you have eliminated the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be
the truth? It is ever thus."
As I was puzzling at this, the housekeeper brought in a spot
of second breakfast. I continued to muse throughout the day
at what Miss Took might require of Sir, while he himself sat
unperturbed. At length a waggon pulled up to the gate. I
could see Miss Took's familiar figure as she pushed past the
old and well-worn sign reading "No Admittance Except On Party
Business" that had drastically changed meaning in the past
four years.
I helped to prepare dinner, sending Sméagol off to catch a
brace of small coneys and dig up some potatoes from my Gaffer's
garden. When he brought these back, I asked him to bring me
some basil and tarragon, but at this he balked, seizing one of
the uncooked rabbits and darting out the door of Bag End.
We sat down to an unhurried supper. Afterwards, Sir and I
stood on the portico of Bag End with a snifter of brandy and a
couple of Longbottoms. When we returned inside, Miss Took was
in an obvious state of agita. "He's gone!" she exclaimed, and
burst into tears.
"Mr. Boffin is missing, then? I feared it was so." murmured
Sir with finality.
"What?" I ejaculated. "Sir, this is terrible news! What
can it mean? Can he have flown?"
"In good time, Gamgee", drawled Sir in his maddeningly calm
tones.
"It's Father, I just know it!" exclaimed Pearl. "Oh, I just
know it! And if he could do this to that scalawag Folco, I
can't think what he could do to a Brandybuck! Oh, I can't bear
it any longer!"
"Do not be hasty", said Sir. "I can avoid being seen if I wish,
but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."
--
Banazir