At the Sign of the Percolating Pony

NescaFrodo and his friends ran until they left the barrow-downs far behind. They had run so fast that they were shortly halted-up by the solidity of a large wooden gate that was closed tight against the night. In the centre of the gate was a rickety door.

NescaFrodo pounded on the door with his small fist. He turned to the others, all of them panting and gasping for breath behind him, and said, "Don't make yourselves too much at home. And please remember--all of you--that the name of TeaBaggins is NOT to be mentioned! I am Mr. Coffee, if any name must be given!"

It began to rain, and NescaFrodo pounded on the door again. Finally, a man came out of the little hut on the other side of the gate and peered over it at them, blinking.

"Waddaya wan'?" he asked brusquely.

"We're looking for a decent coffeehouse," answered NescaFrodo. "We are journeying east, and can go no further without a stiff cup of joe."

"It'll be the Meanderin' Mule you'll be wantin', then... or maybe the Pirouetting Ploughhorse. The Nancing Nag is closed after sundown, but you can still get a cuppa at the Caperin' Clydesdale, as long as your not underage."

"How many cafés do they have in this burg?" mumbled MochaMerry to Drippin.

"Hey!" the man looked closely at them. "You aren't kids, now, are ye? Yer 'alf-caffs! Out o' the Shire by the looks of ye!" He opened the gate and waved them through. "Jes' follow the road. It'll lead you to the Brie Strip, where the all-nigh' coffeehouses are. Choose wisely; there's a fair amount o' strange folk wanderin' about this time o' night! Get ye into the Percolatin' Pony, little masters. Tha's the place for ye and your sort. Tell 'em 'Arry Tealeaf sent ye!"

As the hurried away through the squelching mud, the gatekeeper watched after them, then he closed the door. On the inside of the door, pinned by nails, was a wanted poster depicting four short, curly-haired, round-faced individuals who bore striking resemblance to the four half-caffs he had just admitted. The caption read: "Reward offered for information leading to the whereabouts of this notorious Half-caff gang known as the 'TeaBurlgars'. If seen, report to Bill Foamy, the Percolating Pony, the dark table way in the back."

Harry Tealeaf chuckled and took down the poster, rolling it and stuffing it in his pocket. He turned and went back inside his shack to douse the fire. While he was busy, a dark shadow appeared at the gate and climbed swiftly over it, melting into the shadows within the village streets.

And the creepy music soars in the background...

At the Sign of the Percolating Pony, NescaFrodo was drawn to a sudden halt as the door he had been about to knock on suddenly flew open, ejecting two extremely drunken cow-herders. They sailed over the walk and into a large puddle of mud. The man who had escorted them out dusted his hands and turned to go back inside, then caught sight of the half-caffs hesitating on the boardwalk.

"Hullo, little masters!" the man said in a friendly way. "I am Barleycorn Butterrum. If it's accommodations yer seeking, yer've come to the right place! Always happy to cater to Little Folk, I am. Ye don't drink half as much as these lam-blasted, black-cloaked, shiftless characters we have lurking about! Come in, come in! I just put the kettle on..." he led the way inside the inn, closing the door on the rain and the night. Neither he nor the half-caffs noticed the dark shadow that came in right behind Sanka.

They took off their cloaks and hung them to dry on pegs by the door. There was a loud, rowdy crowd of folk inside. There was what sounded like a local cow shed band playing on a low stage and it looked like someone was crowd-surfing, but that was actually the half-caff waiter being passed back toward the bar for refills by the thirsty patrons. He wore a face of patient humiliation, carrying his tray on his tummy.

Barleycorn cast an eye around the bar and spotted a low table that was not occupied, being designed specifically for half-sized customers. "There's a table, little masters... unless you'd rather dine in a private parlour?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Drippin, eyeing the activity in the bar with an almost painful look of excitement on his face. "I haven't been to a concert since... since before I was born! Please, NescaFrodo... pleeeeeeeease?" Without hearing his cousin's answer, he dashed off toward the bar and began talking to a group of dark-clad Big Folk beside the bar.

NescaFrodo sighed and took a seat at the table. "Why not?" he said, glancing over the menu. "As long as we stick together and remain inconspicuous, right, guys?... guys?"

NescaFrodo found that he was now alone at the table. MochaMerry had disappeared into the crowd, intent on joining the stage-diving, and Sanka was chatting animatedly with the half-caff staff, comparing 'who's-got-the-most-co-dependant-master' stories. When Barleycorn returned to the table to take his order, NescaFrodo merely tossed aside the menu and said, "Bring me a pint of Ben&Jerry's Caffé Extreme-o Espresso ice cream please. I can tell this is going to be a long night."