[Arry]

Andwise and Otho to the rescue . . .

‘So you’re from Tuckburrough, are you?’ Andwise Banks dipped his pipe into the old leather pouch he used for pipeweed, then offered it to his new acquaintance. The two men were silent for a moment as they went through the ritual of tamping and lighting the pipes to their satisfaction. Soon little orange glows and wraithlike smoke punctuated the shadows about the table where the two Hobbits sat.

‘Aye,’ returned Otho Bracegirdle, picking up the conversation. ‘That’s where I hang my hat when I’m home. But much of the time I’m traveling the Shire, far as Bree, too. Trading in spices and herbs and that sort of thing. That’s how I got to know dear Vinca,’ he said fondly, nodding toward where Cook stood talking with a few of her lady friends.

Andwise smoothed out his face at the fond mention of Cook by Otho. He, too, admired Cook, but truth be told, the woman was quite formidable in his estimation. He barely stopped himself from saying, ‘Good luck on that one!’

The spoke about inconsequential things, trading little stories of this and that. Mostly they just enjoyed the small pleasures of someone to chat with, a good pipe to smoke, and a fresh mug of ale to please the tongue and tingle the toes with its drinking.

Otho had just offered his pouch of tobacco for a second pipeful when two young lads came running pell-mell from the side of the Inn and stopped, gasping, at his and Andwise’s table. ‘Here, now, lads,’ said Andwise recognizing the two boys. ‘What’s got the wind up you?’

In fits and wheezes and excited gesturings it was learned that someone had been found in the stable . . . a Hobbit lady . . . ‘No sir, dunno who it is. But Miz Hawthorne’s sent us to fetch someone to help get her into the Inn.’ Andwise raised his brows at Otho and the two of them walked quickly back to the stables.

As they had been told, Hawthorne was there, chafing the hand of the Hobbit who had fainted dead away. The poor thing’s eyelids fluttered but did not open and she looked so pale. The two men eased her onto one of the horse blankets, and grabbing the ends, carried her as gently as they could in the sling. ‘Let’s bring her into the kitchen,’ huffed Andwise as they carried her up the front steps and into the common room.

The two lads were dispatched to get a nice warm blanket from one of the servers while Hawthorne and the men propped the lady in Cook’s wingback chair, her feet resting on the hearth of the small fireplace.

‘Otho,’ said Andwise, as they stood looking at the woman now wrapped in a blanket. ‘Perhaps you had better fetch Cook . . .’