Lord of the Coffee
The Art of Matre'Diversion

Cinnamon rolled and frosting leapt up. The great doors of the Black Café swung back wide. Out of it streamed a great host as swiftly as swirling coffee when the spout is tipped. Down from the hills poured horcs innumberable, all slavering and grasping, for they had been feeding on stale graham crackers and tinko for so long that they had near forgotten the flavour and smell of real coffee.

Little time was left to Aromagorn for the ordering of his battle. Upon the hill he stood with Grandélf, and there fair and desperate was raised the banner of the Tea and Cakes. Legolatté and Gemli stood beside them. Also upon there hard by stood the banners of Yuban and Dol Imadison, Galloping Gourmet and Silver Swanson. In the front towards Mordonut where the first bitter assault woud come there stood the sons of Elground on the left with the Dúnadudes about them, and on the right the Prince Imrahillsbrothers with Boromocha and Drippin, and with them were the men of Dol Imadison and a host of allies, including Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, Granny Smith, Colonel Sanders, Captain Morgon, Count Chocula, General Mills, and Martha Stewart (out on parole).

And about the hill a ring was made facing all ways, vast buffet tables bristling with brioche and spongecake, smooth espresso with cream and steeping tealeaves garnished with springs of mint. If Aromagorn's plan worked, the teaming hungry hoards of Mordonut would glut themselves on pastries and puddings so that they could not lift any weapon, thus purchasing a few precious moments of time for NescaFrodo to complete his task.

Drippin stood beside Boromocha in the front rank of Gondaroma. It seemed to him best to stand near the tables, for if the munching masses of Mordonut cleared the buffet and swarmed them, to die sooner would be better than to have to pick up the tab for this rabble. And he might get the chance to sneak a creampuff before they were all gone.

As the hungry army attacked the party trays, Drippin reflected that he missed his friends sorely; NescaFrodo and Sanka had gone inside this nasty, dark, unfriendly Café, and he did not know if they yet lived, though he had a strong hope in his heart that they were alive and still trying to complete their awesome task. Most of all, Drippin missed MochaMerry. His friend had been left behind in Minas Teabag, too weak from his encounter with the KnishKing to be able to travel. Drippin felt sad, coming to a sudden understanding for poor old Dentynethor. "We might dine together, MochaMerry and I, if diet we must," he said to himself. Drippin found himself wondering what MochaMerry would do, if he were here.

Then with a stroke like lightning, Drippin got a fantastic idea and he began to grin like an idiot. Since this was very much the normal look for Drippin, his friends did not comment or even notice at first.

The foodstuffs were gone in a trice, and the hoards of Mordonut were swarming over the tables and waving serving knives and slotted spoons wildly. Drippin stepped forward boldly out of reach of Boromocha, and said in his high, clear voice, "Who's party, please?"

The huge army of Mordonut screeched to a sudden halt, throwing up a cloud of dust into their faces. Drippin coughed slightly, fanning his hand in front of his face. A great ugly brute of a troll came to stand directly in front of the diminutive half-caff. Drippin lifted the notepad and said, "You do have reservations, don't you?"

"Urgh?" said the troll.

Drippin took his pencil from behind his tufted ear and touched the tip to his tongue. "How many in your party, sir?"

The troll scratched his head and looked around, "Urgh... er, 60,000."

Drippin laughed, then coughed politely. "And you didn't call ahead? tisk tisk Smoking or non- ?"

"Smoking."

"There'll be a bit of a wait, then, I'm afraid..." Drippin scribbled something on his paper.

"Non-smoking, then! Anywhere's fine... " The troll was beginning to look nervous. His buddies crowded and pushed him from behind.

"Not if you're going to be smouldering and dropping ash all over the place!" Drippin sniffed. "Table or booth?"

"Booth!" the troll answered, his patience wearing thin (trolls are never allotted the proper amount of patience).

"Breakfast or dinner?"

The horcs and gobblings behind the troll began to squabble, for half of them wanted waffles and grits, while the other fancied cucumber sandwiches and creme d' la nasturian. Fist-fights broke out among them, and half of the host of Mordonut lay dead before it was decided that breakfast would be preferable.

"I'm sorry; we stop serving breakfast at 11o'clock," Drippin said with no hint of apology in his voice.

"But it is only 11:05!" More fighting broke out behind the troll.

The little half-caff shrugged. "Sorry, sir, that's our policy. So, let's see...60,000..." Drippin looked at the decimated troops and scratched a sharp line through something on his pad. "Er, party of 30,000, non-smoking, booth seating, for dinner... is that right?"

"Yes!" the troll said excitedly, licking his scimitar in expectation.

"Well, I'd be happy to seat you immediately, Mr. Troll, but the party behind you placed an early reservation, and you'll have to wait until they have dined and cleared. I am sure that won't be a problem, will it?"

The troll roared in anger and turned around, wielding his sword in a great scything swath. He attacked the crowd behind him, killing as many as he could catch. The confused horcs fought back as best as they could, but with their stomachs bloated with cheesecake and fondue, they swung their weapons wildly and killed more of their own folk. Soon only the troll stood there, alone on a vast battle field of dead bad-guys, drenched in blood and panting. He staggered up to Drippin and threw down his sword.

"There! Now who's getting served first?" he leaned down to shout in Drippin's face with delight, saliva flying.

Drippin took a handkerchief from out of his pocket and wiped his face. He then calmly removed his pencil from behind his ear once more, and shoved it up the troll's nose into his brain, killing him instantly.

"Right!" announced Drippin, flipping open his pad of parchment again and tearing off one small slip, "to whom shall I send the bill?"