[piosenniel]

The night had turned cool, or so Holly thought. She sat on the stone bench and shivered. Olo threw his cloak over her shoulders and offered her the skin of water from his pack. No one spoke, and not even the sere leaves on the pear trees rattled in the night breezes to disturb the quiet. There was one sound . . .

Clink . . . clink . . . clink, clink . . . Holly turned her head to the left, and there sat Bird, on the end of the bench, counting out the coins. ‘What are you doing? Trying to attract Maladil out here to see who’s grabbed some of the family fortune?’ The Hobbit’s voice was whispery, though the cool water had quenched the burning feeling, making it easier to talk.

‘Maladil, Shmaladil!’ snorted Bird, scooping the thirty three coins into a small leather bag. ‘He’s busy with the show Gandalf’s putting on out front.’ She laughed as she tied the strings tightly round the bag’s neck. ‘Poor Poppy! She’s the one you should be worrying about. Little git got talked into some glorious scheme of carrying the Elven gold to Maladil. She’s probably the one’s going to end up as gooseberry jam on the parquet floors.’ Bird shook her head, black hair flying in the breeze. ‘If she’d only lis . . .’

The three companions turned to her as one. ‘If she’d only listened to you she’d be in much better shape!’ came their sing-song voices.

‘Well, I can see old Birdie’s wisdom is not appreciated in this crowd.’

Holly’s laugh came out in a series of short harsh barks, ending with a cough. ‘Better shape, Bird? Look at us. I’m sporting a necklace of nasty purple finger prints from that disgusting creature and you’re wearing his innards all up and down the front of you. It’s sheer luck we aren’t all dead!’

She hoped it was only a trick of moonlight and weariness, but as she said the word ‘luck’ a familiar gleam crept into Bird’s eyes. ‘Luck.’ said Bird, caressing the sound with her tongue. ‘Now that is just the word I was thinking of.’ She ran toward the small gate in the northwest corner of the grounds’ wall, calling out to them that she would be right back.

Volondil, leaning on his blade, watched her retreating figure and sighed. His side was beginning to ache, and he was weary from their encounter with the Mewlips. Olo sat down near Holly on the bench, his chin resting on his blackthorn stick, planted before him in the ground. A very short time later Bird reappeared, her hands empty of the leather sack.

‘Well here’s my plan.’ she said in a rush of words. Just another gold find or two like the one in the smithy, and they would be set for quite a while. They would go back in the northern door, but this time they would turn right, down the corridor which headed south. ‘And if we find any more heavy iron doors, heavily bolted we pass them right on by.’ Bird stood, hands on hips, looking at the silent trio.
‘That is your “plan”?’ came the incredulous voice of the Hobbit. Bird nodded her head ‘yes’. ‘And you don’t see any problems with it?’ Holly picked up Volondil’s blade and held it to her chest. ‘Just kill me now. Here, underneath the stars, and get it over with.’

Bird knocked the tip of the blade from Holly’s vest. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. You said it yourself, that we were lucky tonight. And I think you’re right.’ She hauled the Hobbit up with her hand. ‘Come on. Let’s get going.’

Volondil led, followed by Bird and Holly. Olo brought up the rear. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could vote on this, is there?’ he said as they entered the doorway and turned right. ‘Seems like your feet have already voted for you.’ whispered Bird back to him. ‘Just stick close to Holly. Things are going to work out fine.’

It was dark as they turned to the left and stood before a closed door. Volondil tried the handle and it opened easily, giving them entrance to an inner hallway. Olo resigned himself to this foolhardy mission, and opened the hood of the lantern just a little more to see what lay before them . . .

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]