"How - did - you - know - that -" Mirwold managed at last.
"I told you I had read the appendices," I said proudly.
"Actually, no, you didn't. And what's an appendice?"
"It's the thing that comes at the end of a book that nobody reads," I explained.
"I can't quite picture it," hesitated Mirwold, but he kept looking at me with what I was hoping was a mixture of newfound respect and awe. It was coming, I could tell. He would open his mouth and those magical words would float out of it: "You are a genius, Candace." And all would be slow motion and twinkly light-shots and I would slowly fade back into my own world after learning an important life-lesson.
Like most perfect things, it was not to be. Instead of praise and admiration, all that was aimed towards me was a black-feathered arrow, which hurtled suddenly and unexpectedly through the air to land deep in a nearby tree. We were being attacked by orcs! Englas, Fadrornion and Mirwold hastily took cover and peeled out their swords. I panicked and stood rooted to the spot, gasping and choking.
For some reason, I had always thought that being a halfways moderately good person would compensate for a complete lack of fighting skills. It always does. Nowhere else have I ever heard of a situation where the heroine completely freaked out after being ambushed by evil creatures, although it could just be the fact that I don't read much non-fiction. True, sometimes they get into perilous situations that require their being rescued by tall, handsome elf-warriors. And sometimes they just start slowly and mess up at first, like Frodo and friends on Weathertop. But they all manage to pick up mysterious fighting skills somewhere along the line. But I, I did not even act in a self-preserving manner. I just stood there, frozen, sure of only one thing, which was that my death was very imminent. I closed my eyes and swayed back and forth dizzily. The sound of fighting began to surround me, and of grunty snarls. I opened one eye cautiously only to see that an orc was coming straight at me, rusty sword raised. Mirwold was standing calmly looking at it and me through the bushes. I squeaked in fear and annoyance - why wouldn't he do something?
Suddenly a ringing cry pierced the air. Both the orc and I looked up in horror. Mirwold had vanished. But before me hovered the most disturbing sight I have ever seen: a giant nose, orangish and wreathed in smoke. "An ack-Boback! An ack-Boback!" shrieked the orcs in fear. They fled in one direction. Englas and Fadrornion fled in the other. Me, I didn't even have the strength to run. I swayed, teetered and fell into the bushes. Desperately I crawled deeper into my bush in a vain attempt to hide from the great nose that smelled all, piercing perfume, deodorant and air-freshener. This was the end. This was really the end. I reclosed my eyes and waited.
The end did not come, however. Instead, Mirwold did. "I guess it's just us now," he said, helping me to my feet. "Those orcs won't be coming back any time soon."
"W-what about the nose thing? And Englas and Fadrornion?"
"They'll be fine. We're only about a day's walk away from civilization."
I glared at him. The evilness of the man! We had probably been walking in circles the whole time, and he knew it! Then my benevolent side took over: "We have to warn the villagers about the orcs!" I exclaimed, "Or they will all be killed!"
Mirwold laughed. "I don't think these orcs are going to attack any villages. I think they came here to find me."
"Find you? But why?"
Instead of answering my question, Mirwold turned his attention towards the arrow, which I now realized had a piece of parchment secured tightly around it, which he carefully untied, unrolled and began to read.
"What does the scroll say?" I asked, trying to lean over Mirwold's shoulder.
"Well, obviously it's not in English, so what you're doing isn't going to work particularly well, but I'll try and translate it for you. I believe that in your language it would run something like this: 'Dear Cousin Bob, would you please fill in for a few months for the Mouth of Sauron, he's going on a vacation this summer in Rhûn and I need a replacement. With Evilest Regards, The One Who Must Not Be Named.'"
"I still don't get it," I hesitated.
"It's always the same story. When they can't get the Mouth of Sauron, the hotshot big name PR guy, they call in the Nose of Sauron. But do they ever give the Nose any credit for the hard work he puts in over at Mordor Central? Do they ever say thank-you for everything you've done for us, O ever-tireless and excellent Nose of Sauron? One would think, but noooo, it's all don't get comfortable, don't mess with the Palantir, don't leave your junk all over the place for wraiths to trip on. In fact, they even go to great lengths to cover up his presence, which in my opinion completely defeats the purpose of having a subordinate body part at all." Mirwold scowled bitterly.
"That's not what I meant," I tried to explain, even more confused, "What do you have to do with Bob the Maia's mail and the Nose of Sauron? And where did that nose thing come from anyway?"
Mirwold sighed impatiently. "Isn't it obvious? Floating nose, me, letter to Bob?"
"Are we being followed by the evil nose of Bob or something?"
Mirwold bashed his head repeatedly against a convenient tree. "I am Bob, you idiot!" he shouted. "Do you have no logical deduction skills whatsoever?"
"Oh," I nodded, more confused than ever, not even sure whether he was insane or merely crazy. "You don't look like a nose."
"Thanks," said Mirwold sarcastically, "It's a great relief to know. I suppose it is pretty complex for you mortals to understand, but try to think of it in terms of Sauron. As I'm sure you somehow know, he's a giant floating eyeball. But remember, he wasn't always a giant floating eyeball. He used to walk around just like you and I are doing right now."
Suddenly something clicked. "You mean you're not really human? That nose was you?"
Mirwold shrugged. "I guess you know the truth about me now."
"I told you I had read the appendices," I said proudly.
"Actually, no, you didn't. And what's an appendice?"
"It's the thing that comes at the end of a book that nobody reads," I explained.
"I can't quite picture it," hesitated Mirwold, but he kept looking at me with what I was hoping was a mixture of newfound respect and awe. It was coming, I could tell. He would open his mouth and those magical words would float out of it: "You are a genius, Candace." And all would be slow motion and twinkly light-shots and I would slowly fade back into my own world after learning an important life-lesson.
Like most perfect things, it was not to be. Instead of praise and admiration, all that was aimed towards me was a black-feathered arrow, which hurtled suddenly and unexpectedly through the air to land deep in a nearby tree. We were being attacked by orcs! Englas, Fadrornion and Mirwold hastily took cover and peeled out their swords. I panicked and stood rooted to the spot, gasping and choking.
For some reason, I had always thought that being a halfways moderately good person would compensate for a complete lack of fighting skills. It always does. Nowhere else have I ever heard of a situation where the heroine completely freaked out after being ambushed by evil creatures, although it could just be the fact that I don't read much non-fiction. True, sometimes they get into perilous situations that require their being rescued by tall, handsome elf-warriors. And sometimes they just start slowly and mess up at first, like Frodo and friends on Weathertop. But they all manage to pick up mysterious fighting skills somewhere along the line. But I, I did not even act in a self-preserving manner. I just stood there, frozen, sure of only one thing, which was that my death was very imminent. I closed my eyes and swayed back and forth dizzily. The sound of fighting began to surround me, and of grunty snarls. I opened one eye cautiously only to see that an orc was coming straight at me, rusty sword raised. Mirwold was standing calmly looking at it and me through the bushes. I squeaked in fear and annoyance - why wouldn't he do something?
Suddenly a ringing cry pierced the air. Both the orc and I looked up in horror. Mirwold had vanished. But before me hovered the most disturbing sight I have ever seen: a giant nose, orangish and wreathed in smoke. "An ack-Boback! An ack-Boback!" shrieked the orcs in fear. They fled in one direction. Englas and Fadrornion fled in the other. Me, I didn't even have the strength to run. I swayed, teetered and fell into the bushes. Desperately I crawled deeper into my bush in a vain attempt to hide from the great nose that smelled all, piercing perfume, deodorant and air-freshener. This was the end. This was really the end. I reclosed my eyes and waited.
The end did not come, however. Instead, Mirwold did. "I guess it's just us now," he said, helping me to my feet. "Those orcs won't be coming back any time soon."
"W-what about the nose thing? And Englas and Fadrornion?"
"They'll be fine. We're only about a day's walk away from civilization."
I glared at him. The evilness of the man! We had probably been walking in circles the whole time, and he knew it! Then my benevolent side took over: "We have to warn the villagers about the orcs!" I exclaimed, "Or they will all be killed!"
Mirwold laughed. "I don't think these orcs are going to attack any villages. I think they came here to find me."
"Find you? But why?"
Instead of answering my question, Mirwold turned his attention towards the arrow, which I now realized had a piece of parchment secured tightly around it, which he carefully untied, unrolled and began to read.
"What does the scroll say?" I asked, trying to lean over Mirwold's shoulder.
"Well, obviously it's not in English, so what you're doing isn't going to work particularly well, but I'll try and translate it for you. I believe that in your language it would run something like this: 'Dear Cousin Bob, would you please fill in for a few months for the Mouth of Sauron, he's going on a vacation this summer in Rhûn and I need a replacement. With Evilest Regards, The One Who Must Not Be Named.'"
"I still don't get it," I hesitated.
"It's always the same story. When they can't get the Mouth of Sauron, the hotshot big name PR guy, they call in the Nose of Sauron. But do they ever give the Nose any credit for the hard work he puts in over at Mordor Central? Do they ever say thank-you for everything you've done for us, O ever-tireless and excellent Nose of Sauron? One would think, but noooo, it's all don't get comfortable, don't mess with the Palantir, don't leave your junk all over the place for wraiths to trip on. In fact, they even go to great lengths to cover up his presence, which in my opinion completely defeats the purpose of having a subordinate body part at all." Mirwold scowled bitterly.
"That's not what I meant," I tried to explain, even more confused, "What do you have to do with Bob the Maia's mail and the Nose of Sauron? And where did that nose thing come from anyway?"
Mirwold sighed impatiently. "Isn't it obvious? Floating nose, me, letter to Bob?"
"Are we being followed by the evil nose of Bob or something?"
Mirwold bashed his head repeatedly against a convenient tree. "I am Bob, you idiot!" he shouted. "Do you have no logical deduction skills whatsoever?"
"Oh," I nodded, more confused than ever, not even sure whether he was insane or merely crazy. "You don't look like a nose."
"Thanks," said Mirwold sarcastically, "It's a great relief to know. I suppose it is pretty complex for you mortals to understand, but try to think of it in terms of Sauron. As I'm sure you somehow know, he's a giant floating eyeball. But remember, he wasn't always a giant floating eyeball. He used to walk around just like you and I are doing right now."
Suddenly something clicked. "You mean you're not really human? That nose was you?"
Mirwold shrugged. "I guess you know the truth about me now."