As a private eye, I like to be inconspicuous. As I entered Hobbiton,
though, I knew I stood out like . . . well, like a Man among hobbits.
Round hobbit faces watched me as I walked down the main road toward the
tavern. Tiny hobbit children followed me at a distance like a flock of
curious lambs.
Humans enter the Shire for only two reasons: first, to buy, sell, or trade; or second, because they're too stupid to know they're not welcome. I decided to go with the second reason. My Mama always said I wasn't a bright one, so I figured it wouldn't be too hard to convince the hobbits of that.
I was wearing travel-stained clothes and a few days' worth of scruff on my face. One of my exes says I look better when you can't see my whole face. I walked into the tavern, which was just barely big enough for me to stand up in, and smiled my stupidest smile at all the wide eyes fixed on me.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked a voice near my knees. I looked down at the prettiest hobbit maid you'd ever want to see. Tiny, but with enough curves for a girl twice her size and blue eyes that had probably won every male heart in the Shire twice over.
"Much obliged, little mistress," I said, faking a country accent. "I've been traveling long, and I was wonderin' if I could perhaps get meself a decent hot meal and a sip or two of ale, if you don't mind."
She gave me a smile to break the heart. "We've got a table for the big folk over this way," she said, and I followed her to a table just large enough for maybe two Men to sit at. "Have a seat. I'll bring you out an ale and food. The portions will be small to you, no doubt, but there'll be lots of them. I never met a Man who could eat as much as some of these." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at a rowdy party of young hobbit men.
I watched them while the hobbit maid went for my food. There was a table full of older hobbit men, with one younger hobbit among them. The old men were talking, but the young one had his eyes on the pretty hobbit maid who'd talked to me. He had it bad, I could see.
Suddenly, there was a commotion. I thought it was the beginning of a hobbit bar brawl at first, but then I saw two young hobbits climbing up onto a table to sing a drinking song. Another hobbit lad danced around the table with his hands full of mugs while they sang.
"Those lads." The pretty maid had reappeared with a full tray and clambered up onto a wooden box to be tall enough to serve me. She unloaded a half-pint of ale and plates of cheese, bread, meat swimming in gravy, potatoes, and vegetables onto the table. "They always get drunk and end up making fools of themselves. Their headaches come morning will serve them right."
"You're a hard-hearted one, little mistress," I told her. Just then I caught her stealing a glance at the young man sitting with the older hobbits. "But not too hard-hearted. Is he your sweetheart?"
She giggled and winked, and a sweeter giggle and wink you've never known. "We're working on it. Enjoy your meal, sir. My name's Rosie, so you call me if you need anything else, see?"
Barliman Butterbur could learn a few things from these hobbits was what I thought when I dug into my meal. It was the best food I'd had since my second wife packed up and left, and the ale tasted like Eru's own private reserves.
I was giving half an ear to the older hobbits' conversation. Strange folks abroad, war brewing-it sounded to me like the gossip around the Prancing Pony. Then one of them made my brain stand up and take notice.
"You're beginnin' to sound like old Bilbo Baggins!" he said. "Cracked, he was."
"Young Mr. Frodo here," said another one. "He's crackin'!"
"And proud of it!" said a young voice.
I'd found him without even trying. Sometimes, you just get lucky, I thought as I turned a little to get my first good look at Frodo Baggins.
Little did I know that luck wasn't on my side.
Next time: Frodo Baggins and the Mysterious Visitor!
Humans enter the Shire for only two reasons: first, to buy, sell, or trade; or second, because they're too stupid to know they're not welcome. I decided to go with the second reason. My Mama always said I wasn't a bright one, so I figured it wouldn't be too hard to convince the hobbits of that.
I was wearing travel-stained clothes and a few days' worth of scruff on my face. One of my exes says I look better when you can't see my whole face. I walked into the tavern, which was just barely big enough for me to stand up in, and smiled my stupidest smile at all the wide eyes fixed on me.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked a voice near my knees. I looked down at the prettiest hobbit maid you'd ever want to see. Tiny, but with enough curves for a girl twice her size and blue eyes that had probably won every male heart in the Shire twice over.
"Much obliged, little mistress," I said, faking a country accent. "I've been traveling long, and I was wonderin' if I could perhaps get meself a decent hot meal and a sip or two of ale, if you don't mind."
She gave me a smile to break the heart. "We've got a table for the big folk over this way," she said, and I followed her to a table just large enough for maybe two Men to sit at. "Have a seat. I'll bring you out an ale and food. The portions will be small to you, no doubt, but there'll be lots of them. I never met a Man who could eat as much as some of these." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at a rowdy party of young hobbit men.
I watched them while the hobbit maid went for my food. There was a table full of older hobbit men, with one younger hobbit among them. The old men were talking, but the young one had his eyes on the pretty hobbit maid who'd talked to me. He had it bad, I could see.
Suddenly, there was a commotion. I thought it was the beginning of a hobbit bar brawl at first, but then I saw two young hobbits climbing up onto a table to sing a drinking song. Another hobbit lad danced around the table with his hands full of mugs while they sang.
"Those lads." The pretty maid had reappeared with a full tray and clambered up onto a wooden box to be tall enough to serve me. She unloaded a half-pint of ale and plates of cheese, bread, meat swimming in gravy, potatoes, and vegetables onto the table. "They always get drunk and end up making fools of themselves. Their headaches come morning will serve them right."
"You're a hard-hearted one, little mistress," I told her. Just then I caught her stealing a glance at the young man sitting with the older hobbits. "But not too hard-hearted. Is he your sweetheart?"
She giggled and winked, and a sweeter giggle and wink you've never known. "We're working on it. Enjoy your meal, sir. My name's Rosie, so you call me if you need anything else, see?"
Barliman Butterbur could learn a few things from these hobbits was what I thought when I dug into my meal. It was the best food I'd had since my second wife packed up and left, and the ale tasted like Eru's own private reserves.
I was giving half an ear to the older hobbits' conversation. Strange folks abroad, war brewing-it sounded to me like the gossip around the Prancing Pony. Then one of them made my brain stand up and take notice.
"You're beginnin' to sound like old Bilbo Baggins!" he said. "Cracked, he was."
"Young Mr. Frodo here," said another one. "He's crackin'!"
"And proud of it!" said a young voice.
I'd found him without even trying. Sometimes, you just get lucky, I thought as I turned a little to get my first good look at Frodo Baggins.
Little did I know that luck wasn't on my side.
Next time: Frodo Baggins and the Mysterious Visitor!