[Envinyatar]

Cook was sitting at the small table in the middle of the kitchen when Derufin returned from the stables. He’d set Merrimac to cleaning out the stalls, after leading the horses and ponies out to the large fenced pen beneath the oak tree. Breakfast was well under way, and he grabbed a plate for himself, filling it with eggs and four slices of toast. He plopped himself down in the chair opposite Cook and poured himself a steaming mug of tea.

‘You eat like a Shire lad!’ said Ruby, nudging him on the arm as she passed through the kitchen with a tray of eggs and ham for those coming into the Common Room. Derufin grinned at her, mumbling around a mouthful of eggs, ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you!’ He reached for the pot of gooseberry jam and spread it thickly on his toast.

‘Imzi’s not come down yet?’ he asked Cook, who sat with her feet up on a nearby chair. She was busy making a list of some sort, her quill flying over the paper. ‘What?’ she asked, looking up with a frown on her face. ‘Oh, Imzi . . . no, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her this morning.’ She gave Derufin a considering look. ‘Leave the poor lass alone, you hear. Let her sleep in. I’ve plans that will keep her busy for the rest of the week.’

Derufin gulped and craned his neck trying to see what was on Cook’s list. Naught but to do it, he cleared his throat and spoke in a firm voice. ‘I hope my name is not on your list, Mistress Vinca,’ he began in his most charming manner. ‘I have my own plans for the week. The old caretaker’s cottage at the end of the property . . . I was hoping to . . .’ His explanation was brought to a halt by an exclamation of approval from Cook and the sight of her crossing off a section of her list near the beginning.

‘Excellent, my dear,’ Cook said, patting him on the arm. ‘I’ve sent for some of the local lads – the ones good with hammer and saw and that sort of thing. They should be here just before second breakfast. A promise of food and drink and a dance with Buttercup at the end of the week and they were more than willing to come.’

‘A dance with Buttercup? End of the week?’ It was Derufin’s turn to frown.

‘Why, the handfasting. As soon as Zimzi’s family arrives we’ll get to it! I have it all planned and well in hand.’ She stood up and whisked away his nearly finished breakfast. He started to protest, but one look at her steely eyes was enough to know it would be no use.

‘Now out you go,’ she said, pushing him toward the back door. ‘Get your tools and ladders out to the cottage; the lads are bringing a wagon load of lumber. We’ll need to get the repairs done in the next few days – the girls and I will be wanting to do a bit of decorating, you know . . . before you and the missus move in.’

Derufin’s head was awhirl with Cook’s instructions as he strode across the back yard of the Inn, heading toward the old cottage near the pond at the edge of the Inn property. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of four strapping Hobbit lads in a long wagon turning up the path to the Inn. Two sturdy Shire ponies pulled the lot, the bells on their harness jingling merrily.