[piosenniel]

Aman looked startled and almost dropped the small crate of miruvor she had brought in to stack behind the bar. She felt a hand on her elbow, as Cook reached out to steady her.

‘Here, now! You be careful with that cordial. Miz Pio will be wanting to serve it up when Naming Day comes for the twins.’

Cook placed the platter of wild mushroom pasties on the bar and helped the new Innkeeper to set her load securely on the small table behind the bar.

Vinca Bunce, affectionately know as Cook to the regulars at the Green Dragon, was a Brandybuck on her mother’s side, and somewhere back in her family history, a drop of the Took blood had crept in. She was tall for a Hobbit, and built big and sturdy, with an air of command about her that hearkened back to Bullroarer.

She was an accomplished cook – having to meet the needs of the ever expanding roster of visitors to the Inn, and she ran the kitchen with an iron hand. Gentle when need be, she had an eye to detail and was not above telling the Innkeepers who came and went what was ‘done’ in the Inn and what was not.

It was, in fact, often her promptings which set Miz Pio on the ‘right track’. And Pio had long ago learned to rely on her sense of what needed a bit of spicing up or toning down when it came to dealing with the heavy traffic in the Green Dragon.

She set Aman to unloading the crate and turned to answer the person who had posed the request for the room. Hands on hips, she eyed her up and down.

‘So, you’ld be wanting a room then, miss?’ Cook waved one of the maids over as she hurried by with an armload of freshly washed and folded linens.

‘Ruby, show this young woman up to the corner room. Miss Gilly and Miss Rose have moved out, and it would suit her I think.’ She turned back to the visitor. ‘Has two nice windows – one faces west, the other north. You can keep an eye on things that way.’ Ruby stood by patiently as Cook leaned on the bar and addressed the traveler again.

‘That’ll be 5 silver pennies a week. Payable in advance. Meals included. You pay separate for your drinks.’ She raised her brows at the would-be guest.

‘Now, what was your name, and where do you come from? I’ll just put that down here in the Inn Log.’ She dipped the quill in the inkwell at the side of the log book, wiped it carefully once, and waited . . .