Chapter Three: Swords and Stones

Merry comfortingly put an arm about Dolly's shoulders. He knew this girl by some way or another, he just couldn't remember right now.

"There there" he slurred, "It will be all right!"

Merry had to admit that such a scene was new and frightening to him, a dead body laying on the floor like an abandoned puppet.

"Pip! Get Dolly something to drink." For once Merry's intentions with ale were good - it would soothe the Hobbit's nerves, and calm her enough to speak clearly and listen. Perhaps she would have some answers.

"Detective work?" Ivy repeated, having stood motionless while watching Dolly sob over her dead uncle. "Poor Dolly...I don't think any of my uncles are brave enough to leave the house, yet alone come to Bree...shame, though. They're really missing a lot. I mean..." She stopped somewhat embarrassedly, realizing that she'd been rambling. Quickly recovering the train of thought Roscoe had set in motion, she nodded.

"Yes...the man with the knife." Ivy looked around. "He...he was just here, though." Her tone was puzzled, if not a bit ruffled. She hadn't seen him walk out. That didn't mean he hadn't, of course, she was just miffed that she had let him walk right out the door without even noticing. Filthy murderer. "Where would we look, though? He could be anywhere by now."

Roscoe slowed his pace; he hadn't really thought about how he was going to find out what he hoped to; no one in the inn seemed to be cooporating, and Ivy was right that he could be anywhere by now. For the time being, Roscoe's only plan was to run by his home (it wasn't very far away) to get the shortsword that he kept hidden under his bed; it didn't seem right to be walking around with a murderer roaming about without being properly armed -- especially with Ivy more or less in his charge (at least, he felt a sort of responsibility for making sure she was safe).

Roscoe suddenly felt very alone; he felt an enormous burden to take care of business (no one else seemed to be taking the initiative, and it was clearly his responsibility to do what he could) -- however, it slowly became clear as his stubborn adventurous nature subsided enough to let his rationality peep through that he could not do much by himself.

For the meantime, though, the sword still seemed like a good idea to Roscoe. He exited the tavern, putting Nob, Barliman's assistant, in charge of making sure that no one "suspicious" left the inn without at least a very accurate description of what he looked like or where he went.

Roscoe turned to Ivy. "Will you come with me to my house? I need to pick up something before we can proceed."

Pippin scrambled unquestioningly from his seat and ran up to the bar, then came back over to where Dolly lay sobbing with a tankard brimming full of ale.

He set it down in front of her, not really sure if she wanted it just yet. "Here you are, Miss. Compliments of Master Brandybuck and myself."

Dolly slowly rose from the floor and sat up straight, mopping her face with her apron. She saw the ale sitting in front of her and smiled as best she could.

"Oh, thank ye most graciously, sir," she managed to choke out. The lass lifted the tankard to her lips and drank a couple fair-sized gulps. After a few moments she began to hiccup, and shifted so she was sitting cross-legged.

"All right..." Ivy nodded, wondering what kind of 'thing' Roscoe had in mind. That, and she was equally curious to see what kind of a house Roscoe lived in. There were all sorts in Bree...call it nosy, but it was merely curiousity. That, and again with the fact that a murderer was out there somewhere.

"Let's go." She opened the door, starting down the road without realizing that she had no idea where Roscoe lived.

Roscoe led the way down the street -- a rather familiar street, by the way, having walked there just a while back with a certain familiar hobbit -- at a brisk pace. "We should be there in less than five minutes," he said to Ivy.

For quite a little while, Roscoe didn't say anything. Soon, he turned back to look at Ivy and smiled. "You know, I'm glad you're with me," Roscoe says. "I feel that perhaps you may have quite an important part to play in all this before the end -- but bless me! I'm beginning to sound quite wizardly with that kind of talk, am I?" He laughed and shook his head, hoping she wouldn't think him to be talking nonsense.

He considered what he would do when they arrive at his house: Should he offer Ivy some tea? His manners would demand that at the least, but they were so hard-pressed for time.

"I'll see if I've got some seed-cakes for her," he thought to himself; "something that won't take an aweful amount of time."

"I've never met a wizard before." Ivy commented. "Seen Gandalf around the Shire a few times, but I've never spoken with him...so don't worry about sounding wizardly." She looked as far as she could down the long road, trying to guess which house might belong to Roscoe.

Thinking a bit more as they walked, Ivy realized she was actually enjoying herself. "Dead of night, chasing a murderer unarmed...and you're having fun?" She mocked herself silently, a small smile on her face.

Roscoe saw the smile, and it encouraged him. Very soon they arrived at a neighborhood of hobbit-sized houses. Most of them on the outskirts were painted the same -- a dark brown color -- but they soon came to a section of the neighborhood where the houses were painted quite a few different colors -- from burnt yellow to earthen gray to forest green.

Roscoe turned to Ivy with a slight grin. "I'm a painter, you know, and my neighbors are always soliciting my services! It certainly brightens up the place, doesn't it? I've always despised that ugly-brown that they've painted the other houses with. Well, here it is!" he exclaimed, stopping in front of a forest-green house. "Please, come in for awhile; we haven't much time for a proper visit, but I shant leave you out here in the street!" Roscoe led the way up a short flight of steps to the cozy little house.

Ivy nodded, quickly following him up the steps. She walked over the threshold after him, squinting her eyes to get used to the even darker surroundings. Candlelight came from a holder on a large table in the next room, giving her pleasant light to see by.

The walls were a relaxing yellow-cream color, hung with many pictures and other tasteful decorations. A hat stand and a row of hooks were directly to her left, but Ivy did not take the time to unfasten and hang her cloak. The hardwood floors were polished magnificently, but had not been cleaned in some time. A few oddly-designed rugs covered the larger sitting room, obviously from places faraway.

"Very nice." She said to the house, examining a slightly cluttered mantle. Cluttered it may have been, but there was no dust to irritate her nose. Not incredibly orderly, but then again, who was?

Roscoe, pleased with the compliment, left down a hallway with "I'll be back in a jiff; have a seat if you like."

Not much time had passed before he returned with a couple of seed-cakes. "Don't have time for tea, else I would have offered you some," he said, "and plus I feel bad that you missed out on the corned beef! I hope this will do to suit your appetite, though. Hope you don't mind the clutter," he added with a blush as he tripped slightly over something on the floor.

"If you're ready, then let's go back to the inn and see what there is to find!"

"Oh, this is just fine." Ivy assured him, taking the proffered cakes without hesitation. One was gone in a matter of seconds, but she worked more slowly on the next, thinking as she chewed. "I don't mind the mess; I could name a dozen that have worse." She offered that as a bit of relief, hoping he didn't think that she scorned him for the state of his home.

"Didn't you say that you had something to gather here before we went back?" She asked, brushing stray crumbs off her hands and onto her cloak.

"Oh, but I've gotten it already." Roscoe pulled aside his cloak to reveal a shortsword at his hip. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning to the door.

"Oh, I see." Ivy's eyes widened momentarily at the sight of the shortsword, but she was not neccessarily startled. A sword would do a lot more than hands could against an armed Big Person.

"After you!" She opened the door, trying to make an attempt at politeness. The prospects of the night, once again center stage, had her extremely eager to return to the inn.

Roscoe led the way through the front, holding the door for Ivy and locking it behind them. He trotted down the steps and down the street; it felt good to have his sword at his hip again. It'd been awhile since he's had the excuse to bring it out. It made him feel prepared for anything. Needless the say, Roscoe's adventurous side was rising up again.

As he and Ivy went back down the street (for the third time that evening), Roscoe thought he heard a movement off the street to the left. Roscoe slowed his pace and listened closer. He felt the urge to draw his sword, but didn't want to appear overly eager.

Ivy slowed as well, trying to see through the thick shadows. She felt a bit safer knowing that at least one of them was armed, but still couldn't keep chills from creeping up her spine. Guessing that it wasn't one of those times where speaking would be wise, she continued cautiously.

The inn was not too far away, but a good deal farther away than she would have liked. If anyone was lurking in the darkness, they would have plenty of opportunities to waylay their journey.

Roscoe heard the sound again, and it was definitely someone following them -- probably a Big Person, as he could judge from the great noise he or she was making.

Roscoe stopped altogether, laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Fear and excitement gripped him, and a million thoughts flew through his mind at once: not least of these being that the murder was still at large and probably quite aware of what he and Ivy looked like and what they had just witnessed a few minutes before in the inn. Either way, he sensed they were in danger.

"Now look what you've done, Roscoe Longbottom!" he scolded himself in his thoughts. "What if something happens to Ivy? And you thought you could be a hero and save the day? Curse my stubborn pride!"

Roscoe could think of nothing better to do than to wait attentively and whisper to Ivy, "Get behind me. Pick up a rock if you can."