The Golden Perch Inn

[Folwren]

“Dear me,” Dick said, his hands on his hips as he watched the group of hobbits canter down the road. He shook his head. Bad as it was for business to have half of his customers go riding off, Dick didn’t mind in the least. He dearly hoped that Cook could be found, for no cook would mean no good food, and that would be worse business still.

He turned and re-entered the inn. A quick glance showed him a mostly empty common room. Primrose and Rowan stood on either side of the kitchen door, looking as though the shocking events of the morning had left them rooted in their places for good. Granny Greenhill, who’s sharp wits had guided them most of the way through the chaotic morning, sat near the fire, looking as though she were ready to nod off to sleep after all the exertion she had put out so far that day.

A few odd, tall figures of random elves and men uninterested apparently with the disappearances of innocent hobbit folk occupied the other corners of the room.

“Come, Prim and Rowenna,” Dick said gently. “Let’s get this mess cleared away and this room set back in order.”

The two girls sprang immediately into action and the dishes were cleared away in a twinkling of an eye. Dick took the table cloth to the door to shake out. It was only then that he noticed the tall elf who had been standing in the shadow by the door way for goodness knows how long.

“Oh, excuse me!” Dick cried in greeting. “May I help you?”

[Undómë]

Rowan nudged Prim as the Innkeeper turned away to deal with one of the guests, one of the Fair Folk. 'Psst!' she whispered drawing Prim's attention now fully. 'Help me pile up the rest of these dishes and I'll cart them into the kitchen.' Rowan glanced at Master Boffin, noting his attention was still on his business the Elf. 'I'll set them to soaking in some nice sudsy water and see about going to Cook's room like we talked about. Maybe I can find something to tell us where she's gone.'

Prim stacked the dishes nose high in Rowan's hands and followed her into the kitchen with a precarious piling of cups and cutlery in her own hands. stacking them in the big sink alongside Rowan's heap of dirt dishes, she made her way to the stove and grabbed the steaming kettle. Tucking a packet of tea into her apron pocket she walked carefully back toward the door into the common room. 'You go on, then,' she said to her friend, stopping just before she made her exit. Prim jutted her chin toward the door into Cook's room. 'I'll pass about some fresh tea and make myself look busy tidying up with broom and rag. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're busy washing up.' Good luck! she mouthed backing carefully through the door.

----------------

Where to start? Where to start? Rowan mused as she closed the door to Cook's room behind her. The room was neat and tidy, the bed made, the hand towel by the pitcher and basin stand folded just so. There were some things missing, she noted. That small picture of trees round a a swimming hole in the bend of some lazy looking river; the sunlight slanting through the trees, dappling the surface of the water. Cook had kept it on the little table by her bed.

Rowan opened the large oaken wardrobe that stood along the wall to her right. A number of blouses and skirts were gone, along with Cook's hooded cloak. All packed, no doubt, into the large carpetbag Cook had kept stored under her bed and was now missing. Small clothes were gone too from the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe. Grabbed out in a hurry, it seemed, as other contents of the drawers were pushed around and left in disarray.

The curious hobbit poked about in the wardrobe, finding nothing of any significance as far as she was concerned. As a last thought she carried the little chair from desk in the corner and set it close in front of the wardrobe. Rowan climbed up on it and ran her hands along the deep shelf. Nothing of any note, she thought. Some bandanas, a couple of hats, a single glove, missing its mate, a woolen scarf.

Wait! What’s this? Her fingers pushed up against something hard and bumpy in the back corner. Rowan eased the object out until she could get a firm grip on it. ‘Interesting,’ she murmured aloud as she turned the little shell-covered box over in her hands, admiring the pretty shells affixed to it.

Rowan clambered down from the chair, taking care not to drop the little treasure. Once firmly planted on the floor she lifted the lid and peeked inside . . .

[Mithalwen]

“May I help you?”

Mithalwen deemed that the hobbit who addressed her was probably the Landlord and addressed him as such:

"Mr Boffin, I presume? " Mithalwen paused and read confirmation and perhaps surprise in his face and continued. "First I must offer you an apology, My niece and nephew trespassed on your hospitality recently and left without warning. That was my fault. They had played truant from those entrusted with their care and my anger when I found them meant that I did not listen to their story. Consequnetly I learned only this morning that I had force them to welch on an arrangement with you. For this I am sorry and wish to make amends. "

Mithalwen took her purse from her belt. I hope that you will be able to accomodate us all tonight and perhaps for a little longer and I will pay you also for the room they left unoccupied without notice. I need stabling for one horse and if possible safe storage of a waggonette and it contents - though perhaps my niece has already spoken to you about this?" Mithalwen made a mental note to retrieve the money she had given the girl if this were the case.

"It contains examples of my craft I was taking for sale but if there is anything there you should like I hope you will accept it as recompense for the inconvenience the twins and I have caused you" .
The tall elf looked earnestly at the Landlord hoping that she had expressed her regret in a language she used seldom.

[Rose]

Granny was only cat-napping. Her sharp old ears listened to the hum of conversation in the room, much as she did to the the hums of her dear bees as they went about their daily business. Her eyes, too, though giving all appearances of being closed in sleep, peeped out from beneath those grey tipped lashes.

'Where's Miz Rowan?' she spoke softly as Prim reached out to tidy Granny's table and pour a little hot tea in her mug. Prim's vague and hazy references to 'washing up' and such, accompanied by a quickening crimson tinge to the young woman's cheeks made Granny wary of her answer.

'That so?!' the elder Hobbit said, leveraging herself up from the chair, her walking stick planted firmly on the floorboards for support. 'B'lieve I'll just go give her a hand, then.' Ignoring a few splutters of protest from Prim, Granny made her way into the kitchen.

Not finding Rowan anywhere about and the dishes piled in the sink still dirty, she proceeded toward the sounds of scuffling and ruffling about she heard from just beyond an opened door at one end of the room.

'Miz Rowan?' she called out, her yew wood stick tap-tapping her progress across the floor. 'That you, dear?'

It was indeed the Hobbit lass, who turned with a look of surprise on her face and a pair of objects held firmly in her hands. 'Why what's that?' the old woman ask drawing closer. 'A little shell covered keepsake box, yes? And that....some little carved trinket isn't it. How clever it is!' She took the wooden ship, meticulously carved, sails and oars, and smelling of some fragrant wood. Turning it this way and that she smiled admiring the workmanship.

'Oh look!' she chuckled, holding the vessel a little closer to her eyes. 'Now isn't that something!' She held it out for Rose to see. There on the deck was a small figure, unshod.....with a definite patch of hair gracing each foot.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle felt as if she were eating more than her share of toast and jam that the Elf had brought to the table. Just because you’re a bit hungry is no reason to be like a pig at the trough! she chastened herself. She pushed the little plate of toasted bread toward Tavaro, encouraging him with a small wave of her hand to take a piece. ‘Oh and just let me top up your tea, Master Elf. It’s nice and hot, what with Mistress Prim having brought round the kettle.’

She looked round the room, wondering where Mungo had gone off to. Most likely slinking like a weasel toward the door! she sniffed.

‘Do you see that Mungo anywhere?’ she asked turning back toward Tavaro. ‘Off to finish whatever mischief brought him here in the first place. Mark my words on that.’

[Arry]

Away from the Inn - but slowly on the way back

It was slow going despite the urgings to pick up the pace from Will. Hugh’s mount, Jolly, wanted to stop often and crop the grass along the roadside. And to be honest Hugh seemed quite willing to stop for a bit here and there, too - to dip into the bundle of seedcake slices and sip at the flask of sweet tea from Miz Gardenia.

At one of the halts along the way, Will got down from Thistle and walked about a bit to stretch his legs. He paused in his steps and hands on hips looked up at the postman expectantly. ‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’

[Ilya]

As Widlast approached the door, snatches of conversation whipped by him.
"Dear me! Oh! Excuse me"
"Mr. Boffin, I presume?...welch on an arrangement with you...for the inconvenience the twins... "

Civil. Far too civil for men, anyway, which meant he'd reached holbytlan country. Pivoting to take a look around, he squinted hard at the branches suspended in the still air. He scratched at his ear, picking at the thought, silly though it seemed, that he'd expected the trees somehow to be smaller. The elf was still in the doorway, traces of toast and blurred chatter pushing past her. Widlast tucked his thumb inside his belt and leaned against a post near the door. In the tales, what elves purposed or misliked they did in ways beyond mens' understanding, moving in their own time. Most like, it already knew he was behind it, toying with a stone under his boot. Best he give it room to be. The way would be neither the longer or the dustier for him having to stand and wait for the elf to move on. He caught a pair of brown eyes at the elf's elbow, belonging he supposed to the innman, who carried himself well for looking all of ten. Pushing his weight into the worn wooden post, he settled himself on waiting until the innkeeper approached him.