One: The Richest of Robberton

Robberton is a village you could walk through without noticing it's there. All the dwellings are underground and the disguised chimneys only smoke at nighttime. You might see a lot of holes between stones and tree-roots, but that isn't so strange in rough woodland terrain full of animals that live in holes. Technically, robbits are not much different from animals. After the village, you'd meet a lot of 'homeless' child beggars with large cute eyes on their dirty faces. They would crowd the path so that you couldn't proceed without stepping on them, and if you did, you'd be amazed how fast they were replaced by angry mothers and fathers threatening you with various sharp-pointed garden tools. As mentioned, Long-Ears don't weed their carrot patches, but they do keep their tools very sharp.

The definition of a proper village includes an inn. Like the houses, the Robberton inn is underground. All you'd see is a dry old oak with lewd images and rude words crudely carved on the trunk, although not above human waist level. The biggest image is the robbit equivalent of a sign above a door – it features a woman in a shameful position. The name of the place is the Inn Between.

Robbits farm no grain and have no beer or bread except what they steal or beg. Their wine is made of Sweet-and-sour apples and forest berries, and they also brew a kind of mead from potatoes and carrots.

One fine autumn evening, at the Inn Between, old bandit-turned-beggar Hamburg Yankee was talking about his third most favourite topic, his employer Guido Gaggings. The two others are better unmentioned.

'I swear, it's no honest begging-gets he's got his hole stuffed with. Beggars get no jewelled cups or sharp swords, unless the king happens to pass -'

Hamburg was interrupted:

'Hookie Yankee, it's no king that sits his dirty backside on the throne for all he wears a crown. You'd better not call the usurper 'king'.'

The speaker was the only politician of Shirwood, a place that therefore has no politics because the minimum of politicians required for proper politics is two. The youth is called Robin Hopper, because of a peculiar running gait shared with several other members of the Major family. Hamburg scolded him:

'C'mon, Robin! I'll talk outlands stuff if it gets my cup filled, if not I'll talk whatever the more generous folk like.'

This got him an instant refill of wine and another promised, because his audience had an interest, professional or otherwise, in the fortune of Guido Gaggings.

'Thankee kindly, genteelmen. No interruptions now and I'm sooner done than drunk. As I was saying, unless the usurper happens to pass through, a Long-Ears such as Master Gaggings'd never get his hands on the kind of wealth he obviously has. Treasures by the coffin and paintings on the walls! Fancy clothes that actually are his size, with matching gold buttons. And matching is the furniture as well, believe or not. It must be that he's inherited not only the looks but also the skills of his mother's Taker relatives – although where precisely has he got his hands on such property I'll never guess. Nimblefingers indeed, the whole lot at Taker Manor, the girls as well it seems.' Hamburg Yankee was a Hairie, although his beard had lost much of its former volume. What he actually did to earn his keep from Master Gaggings people had learned the hard way not to ask. As long as they had unanswered questions, Hamburg could be sure of an audience at the Inn Between.

'Mind you, I have never actually seen him do a single unpeaceful act, unless one counts that he lodges visitors – outsider visitors such as dwarfs and that funny wizard of his. Never thought I'd see anyone claiming to be a wizard with such a young face and a total lack of beard. Then there is the strange business with that Frida girl. A pretty little robbit-lass, but hardly a relative, a cousin's daughter or somesuch and raised by the Wineweenies at that. Not exactly respectable company for a bachelor to live with. I wonder what reasons Guido had for adopting her – no money sure was involved, as the Wineweenies of Willowbanks are such a clumsy lot they hardly deserve to be called Nimblefingers at all. The only thing they're rich in are good looks and Frida Gaggings has enough for a beggar's dozen of Hairie girls.'

'Aw, that's no' fair!' Exclaimed the waitress, one Gidda Hairylegs.

'But no more talk of Frida, because she isn't the one celebrating a fiftieth birthday tonight. We all know how rare that is for a robbit – at least all of him, as my right hand can testify.' Hamburg, pushing sixty, banged the table with the hook attached to the stump of his arm.

'No, old Guido is having a party. A secret one, which means you haven't heard about it from me. Some dwarfs came up, and the wizard fellow, but that was only to be expected. What I haven't figured out is why he invited a bunch of Frida's pals as well – such as Richie Taker and Willie Sacker, yes, the Sacker-Gaggings heir himself, and Wendy Wineweenie, Frida's cousin. Even my kids got an invitation, but not me, not old faithful Hookie. You understand now why I must drown my sorrows. Innkeep! More wine!'

'Let's see your money first.'

'Put it on Master Guido's account. It's his fault I'm here.'

'Mr. Gaggings has no account.'

'Whadda queer old geezer.' Hamburg looked around expectantly with his best proud begging-stare.

'I'll pay if you tell us more about the foreign guests.' The offer came from Robin Hopper.

'Who cares for them? We wanna hear about the ladies!' Someone shouted, but as there was no liquid exclamation mark following, Hamburg refused to notice.

'Well, there were four dwarfs I saw and some rich ones I didn't, if you get my drift. These four wore armour and carried axes and warhammers. And before sunset the wizard came along, knocking the secret knock and everything, so I thinks it's one of my kids and opens the door saying 'Sammy, how many times have I told you -' but I looks up and a bit more up since he's so tall, the wizard is. He smiles at me and finishes my sentence with '- not to play with the door? I might know if my name was Sammy, but it isn't.' And he crawls in past me without as much as introducing himself. I shout him the directions to the dining room, as it's the only one big enough for him not to break things. When I get there I find the dwarfs have wandered there although I specially told them to stay in the kitchen. I really don't like this young wizard. Gunbald was better although he only ever did fireworks. The new one's good at getting folk into trouble but not out of it, some say he made Guido the richest gent in Robberton. Much good did that do him; I'm the only servant he ever had that didn't steal a thing from him. And do I get invited to the party? The rich are never generous. I wonder why he invited Taker and Sacker, though. Worst team of burglars that have plagued this village in my lifetime. I know young Sacker has ears to shame a donkey, but his heart is in his purse. Taker ain't bad as Nimblefingers come, but has trouble keeping his fingers off other people's property. Always generous, though, that must be said for Richie Taker. And a genteelman with girls, if mine are to be trusted. Not that he's looking their way; it's Frida Gaggings he's got his eyes on. The only thing Sacker has eyes for is Gagg End; his mother's got the whole family obsessed with the place. Every week or so they try some stupid plan to drive Guido and Frida from their home – last time it was by smoking them out! They did get out, by the back door, and arranged a neat ambush with my boys.'

'Hamburg! You're dawdling! The cup you hold was for telling about the foreigners.'

'It's also very much empty. Fill it, and my words are yours, master Robin.'

'I will, and you had better tell me everything you know. Innkeep, more wine for old Hookie!'

'Thankee kindly. The dwarfs, and wizard too, you say? Well, the dwarfs were a horrible lot. Not the worst sort, mind you, such as will kill you as soon as they sees you, but such as would not know what 'surrender' means. Fight back, they would, if anyone was foolish enough to attack. You see, they had helmets on with horns and spikes that would pierce an honest Hairie who was doing his business right through before he could say 'Drop yer weapons!'…' The more Hamburg Yankee drank the more he fancied his old profession.

'And as for the wizard, he's the exact opposite of old Gunbald. Young, aloof, thin and beardless, foreign manner'd and a complete jerk. May be as wise as Gunbald was simple, but his wisdom's like those dwarf helmets – a cruel sharp spike in his head. Gunbald had a heart, a greedy and impolite old bastard heart, the sort of heart this heart of mine could have a drink with!' Hamburg thumped his chest so enthusiastically that he actually spilled some drops of wine on his hand - the left one, since the hook was no good for thumping or holding a cup. He licked them off.

'Did he bring a weapon?' Robin asked.

'Of course he did. You think he could get this far into Shirwood unarmed? Are my relatives squirrels or what? A weapon, aye, in addition to a staff with a head fit for a club – not a society I mean but the sort you hit folk with – in addition to that, he had the longest sword I ever saw a wizard carry.'

This caused a lot of conversation in the bar room.

'Were there magic runes on it?'

'Stupid, it must have been inna hilt!'

'No, maybe he brandished it!'

'Did what?'

'Bran-dis-hit – like this.' The speaker demonstrated with an imaginary blade.

'Was it on the left-hand side?'

'Are you sure it was a sword not a sabre?'

The questions came from eager young robbits who were unfortunately not wealthy enough to offer Hamburg a drink. Robin Hopper appeared to be lost in thought. Old Hookie Yankee stood up and bade good night to everyone. To his disappointment nobody asked him to stay for one more drink. He walked up Robberton Hill, a tree-covered ridge with a row of hidden holes beside the grand, luxuriously hidden entrance of Gagg End Manor. If he strained his ears he could hear the faint echoes of laughter and song drifting up through secret chimneys and airshafts. He sighed.

Inside Gagg end, the night was young and the fun just beginning. There were pretty Nimblefinger dancers, with long hair on their scalps only, and skilled Long-Ears musicians beating a fast rhythm out of their instruments. These hadn't all been drumming instruments when the party had been commencing and the players sober enough to pronounce 'commencing'. The table was laden with as wide a variety of food as possible; food bought from thieves and beggars, and some made in Shirwood. There was Sober-Elven sweetbread, Angry Dwarf Vodka, and some foreign fruit, abandoned by a Drunk Elf, which had a suspiciously mouldy appearance. There was Long-Ear Carrot Cake, Shirwood wine, wild berries, and smoked horse steak made from a human knight's faithful but lame mount.

Guido Gaggings was having the time of his life, seated beside a goblet of vodka and a tired dancing-girl. The dwarfs were trying to teach everyone a song that contained nothing but twenty different words for 'gold', thirty for 'diamond', and fifteen for 'platinum'. Earlier in the evening, Willie Sacker, who was now unconscious but probably alive under the table, had asked a dwarf named Erotias whether it was true that dwarfs were greedy and avaricious. Erotias' reply had been a barehanded blow hard enough to cause Willie's present state, followed by the words:

'Nothing beats a robbit in greed, unless a dragon does, and in avarice Sober Elves are peerless.'

'It is true, at least, that dwarfs act first and explain later.' Frida had commented.

'Would you like a private sample, miss Gaggings?' At that, Frida had blushed. That was before she and Wendy Wineweenie had a drinking competition. Wendy was now snoring beside the silent Willie.

Frida Gaggings was young, drunk, merry, and the prettiest girl in the room. She was just about to stand on a table to make sure everyone noticed not only these facts but also her new shoes. Too bad her uncle Guido had a similar plan, albeit for a different reason. He was obviously about to make a boring speech or a fool of himself by some other means. Frida hoped he wouldn't sing.

'Good guests, I beg silence!' Stronger words a Long-Ears gentleman could hardly utter. Whatever Guido Gaggings begged, he got. The means were anyone's guess.

'First of all, I thank you for the gifts I've received for my half a century birthday. Second, I beg you remember today is also the day my adopted daughter Frida becomes twenty and thus of age. Remember her with many gifts of friendship! As she is of age, I now name her my heir. Tradition demands I give her a personal decoration to symbolize the transfer of property. Frida, step here and receive my lucky earring from my hand.'

Frida obeyed and reached up when Guido opened the lock of a heavy golden earring. His ear, which everyone had assumed was born lopping, sprang up as erect as the other one.

'Not your hand, Frida, your ear. I want to put it on myself.'

'But I have no holes on my ears!'

'You need none.' Guido sat down on the edge of the table and took hold of Frida's small, humanlike ear with his fingers. He then snapped the sharp spike of the earring through her earlobe.

'Ouch! That hurt!'

'Now you do have a hole. And my lucky earring that I believe is the source of my wealth. Never let anyone take it from you. Frida Gaggings, Gagg End is yours.'

'Thank you, uncle Guido! Are you sure you won't regret this?'

'Why would I – I'm sure you'll let me stay and spend my old age in your care, Frida darling.'

'But – I – you – do you mean I inherit you today? Not sometime in the future?'

'Of course, Frida. Didn'tjust say so?'

'Oh, uncle Guido! Thank you!' And Frida kissed her elderly relative on the cheek, causing him to blush.

Frida thought she had never been so happy in her life. Suddenly she was no longer a poor orphan taken in by a relative, but the rightful owner of Gagg End. She would live like a lady, and people would envy her instead of pitying.

'Richie, dance with me! Someone pour a bucket on Wendy!'

'A bucket of what?' A dwarf asked.

'Anything that won't smell too bad, she's too drunk to care! Where is Sammy Yankee when I need a servant?'

'I'll be your servant if you want me to, Frida.' Richie Taker looked her straight into the eyes.

'I'd rather be your friend. Servants are supposed to be silent and obedient, and the Yankee kids are good at that – certainly take after their mother rather than their blabbermouth of a father. We'd have invited him to the party, but he'd spend the next week gossiping about it at the Inn Between. Sammy is actually too obedient to be any company – I bet the whole Yankee lot is in bed by now, since their mother tells them to. Can you think anything more boring? I mean, at nineteen Sammy is no baby but sure behaves like one all the same.'

'Yes, I can. That'd be Tommy Yankee. You noticed he didn't come although you invited him? He told me it was because he was making a new rope and wanted it finished tonight.'

'Really?

'Oh yes, which reminds me that I must warn Willie to follow the path when he walks home. Tommy often tests his traps in the meadow where the Sacker family have a secret hoard.'

'Yes, he's told me. He knows there is a hoard somewhere thereabouts, so he sort of makes bargains with the Sackers he catches.'

'You mean Tommy does it on purpose? I thought he is but a hunter.'

'Well, what would you expect from a relative of Hookie Yankee?'

The music drowned Richie's reply – apparently the band had decided it was time for a traditional robbit victory dance, wild, frenzied, and above all loud. The young Nimblefingers soon had trouble keeping up with Frida's steps. Finally the musicians started another tune, slow and sticky like syrup. There were probably lyrics too, something about forbidden love no doubt, but whoever had stolen the tune hadn't bothered with the sober-elven gibberish. Richie knew an opportunity when it hit him in the face, usually sooner.

'Frida, I'm glad you invited me. Weren't you worried me and Willie might come in business?'

'That's what we invited four dwarf bodyguards for.'

'Ha! So that's why my comrade got what he deserved so fast!'

'Actually, Erotias is not a guard. He is a king. Sort of. Uncle Guido did some favour to him and got the earring as reward.'

Richie reached out to touch the famous golden ornament. Frida shoved him away so forcibly that he lost his balance.

'Hands off, Taker!' And she ran away before anyone would see the tears in her eyes.

Wendy stared after her friend:

'Wha' th' blazes did 'a do, Richie?'

But she got no answer, since Richie was asking the same question himself. He was a burglar, not a pickpocket; surely everyone knew it was a different trade entirely.