A/N: I know what you might say, "What's with Bilbo being John Watson from BBC Sherlock all of a sudden?" I don't know, but they sort of look alike, don't they? ;)
The visit to the small, austere house of Capt. Bilbo Baggins, former officer of the Corps of Royal Military Artificers and Engineers, a veteran of the Goblin wars and a grouchy bachelor suffering from 'soldier's heart', could only be characterized as unsuccessful. Capt. Baggins grudgingly invited his unexpected guests to join him at his modest dinner, and after coffee and cordials he had listened to their proposal. Thorington spoke rather harshly and irritatedly to the veteran feeling that they were imposing, and to be honest he could see that Capt. Baggins couldn't even summon why they had suddenly invaded his home. They did their best not to trod mud on his carpets and not to pillage his pantries, but his face through the negotiation remained astounded and annoyed. He decisively refused their offer to join them on an adventure, and while the company was finishing their drinks, Thorington stepped out of the house into a small, unkempt and bare garden through a French window and lit up his cigar.
He was soon joined by McGrey, and exhaling the thick flavourful smoke Thorington asked in an irked tone, "Why are you dragging the poor lad with you, McGrey? He is quite obviously not planning to move anywhere from his warm spot, from his books and his armchair. His hands are shaking, and I suspect his limp is psychosomatic. He is in no shape to join us."
"Mr. Thorington, you allowed me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Captain Baggins." Thorington threw an askew look at the cartographer, as if trying to remind him that he had had no choice but to agree to the older man's conditions. McGrey continued, "I owe his mother a debt, she wouldn't have wanted to see her son confine himself to a tiny isolated life, with no thrill or interest to anything whatsoever. It'll be very good for him, and most amusing for me. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself."
"He'll be lost as soon as he leaves home. He should never come. He has no place amongst us." Thorington stuffed his cigar into an ashtray in vexation and walked back into the living room. The company quickly said their goodbyes, and an hour later they were once again travelling at a great speed through the waves of Cardolan Bay.
By the end of the next day their journey brought them to Last Bridge, a floating city, built upon steam powered platforms, the engines underneath the surface providing the citizens of the small but vibrant colony with heat and energy. Last Bridge was a port town, several major merchant routes intersecting in it, all sorts of people arriving and leaving it at all times. It was bursting with buoyant trade, pubs and inns, and zaestful underworld. Thorington and his crew were planning to spend a day in it, to refuel their ship, replenish their supplies, and although each of them had a personal cabin on the board of Lamiaceae, they were all looking forward to a night in a real bed in an inn. Last Bridge was famous for its assortment of lodging establishments, capable to satisfy any taste and meet the demands of any wallet.
In the evening of the day of their arrival, after Lamiaceae was settled in the docks in the capable hands of the mechanicsof the Last Bridge Branch of Durinson & Co., they were occupying a table in the common room of the biggest tavern in Last Bridge called "Gambolling Stallion". The room was full of loud voices, and although the establishment was on the expensive side, it was in no measure intended for the prudish sort of visitors. There was a lot of wine, a piano man was vigorously running his fingers on the keys in the corner, the bar maids were dressed in red corsets, their shoulders bare and skirts not covering their knees in the front. Thorington decided his crew deserved some undisturbed brisk leisure before the complicated journey, and with pleasure he watched through the rings of smoke swimming in the air how Killian, his cheeks flushed and a wide grin playing on his face, clapped the shoulder of Norison, who was finishing some anecdote from his time in New Eredluin. The jackets and vests were already unbuttoned, Philip was smiling to a pretty blonde barmaid, even Balinson seemed to be enjoying the unceremonial atmosphere of the evening.
Doctor Oinson was loudly arguing with the cartographer about the flying fish of the Southern seas, allegedly reaching in their flight the height of several hundred feet, both men taking large sips of wine, seemingly without noticing. For the shore leave everyone shed their uniform, and they were a colourful and multifarious group, Norison and Orison in the customary for their profession brown tweed vests, with tan satin lapels and thin beige ties, Killian in an ostentatious silk vest, Philip in his favourite double breasted, tangerine coloured leather jacket, Dwalinson is his braces and underarm holsters. Thorington hung his jacket at the back of his chair, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a silver chain on his blue velvet vest with silver brocade. Half an hour later, Philip was already missing from the table, having disappeared in his usual search for female company, Killian was finishing some humourous story, accompanied by Dwalinson and Dorison's booming laughter, when the entrance door of the common room opened, and Thorington saw none other but Capt. Bilbo Baggins. He was dressed in a practical dark brown travel suit, and had behind his back a neatly packed bergan. In his hand he held a cane, and when his eyes met Thorington's he clenched his jaw and definitely lifted his chin.
"I think we now have a diver," Thorington murmured, and all men turned to look at the captain at the door. He sharply exhaled and decisively marched to their table, limping more that usual. He stopped in front of the table and looked Thorington right in the eyes.
"Captain Bilbo Baggins, Fifth Underhill Fusiliers, at your service." Thorington smiled to the diver and invited him to join them at the table with a wide gesture of his hand. The captain clumsily tucked himself on the nearest chair, his face still preserving an irked expression. His nose twitched in a nervous habit, and he petulantly grumbled, "And I would like to see that contract now." Killian sitting near him laughed loudly, and others started smiling.
Balinson gave a mischievous look to Capt. Baggins through his monocle. "I obviously do not carry such important paper with me, but I assure you, Captain, everything is covered in it. The usual summary about the pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."
"Nice to know," Baggins grouched, and soon enough there was a large mug of ale in front of him. He took a large gulp and leaned back in his chair.
"So, honourable Captain," engineer Norison smiled to him over his glass, "How did you manage to catch up with us so quickly? Lamiaceae is a sprightly lass."
"Funny story in actuality," Baggins seemed to feel more uninhibited after his initial tense prickliness passed, and the second mug of ale was half empty. "I was given a lift by the most unusual crew. You wouldn't expect that much courtesy from the Zappers, but they were the most charming lot. And what a ship!" He took another sip, and his eyes shone bright. "And I can't say the company was unpleasant. They had a young woman for a captain, they were most welcoming. Wonderful dinner as well, I have to say. Apparently they have a Haradrim cook. Most enjoyable chicken stew!"
"Indeed? Not something you expect from them Zappers," Dorison grumpily mumbled.
"And yet, lovely lot," Capt. Baggins pulled his pipe out of his coat pocket, "SS Kinglet. And what a remarkable lass she was! Such a beauty, so much grace, and the glow of her copper!" His words were interrupted by a loud crack. Everyone turned to Thorington who himself was staring at his hand in shock, blood mixed with wine dripping from his palm that he cut when he crushed the wine glass in his hand.