Bilbo could be many things, much to his friends' (and not so much friends, if one considers Lobelia...) confusion.
But he was no fool.
He never took drama classes, as drama wasn't something Shire-people were keen of performing. (On a stage, at least. When gossiping with the neighbours it was completely another thing.) But they liked to watch it. On stage and around the neighbourhood, all the same.
Whenever one or another mambembe troupe came to the Shire, mostly during the fairs' season, when every kind of people with every kind of thing to sell migrated to prosper regions of the land, Bilbo was the first to take seat and wait to watch the show, often bestowing fat tips into the players' hats.
But to dare one of his own hairy feet on a stage? Not a Baggins of Bagend!
Except for that one occasion, when he had to distract a dragon and not allow him to know his name. It was kind of a show, made of improvised riddles that told about him without actually telling his name, yet his improvisation revealed too much and it was the ruin of Lake Town. So, not a good reference, nor a good memory.
But, if the hobbit really understood what was happening, there would be no other choice than to act. And to act astoundingly well.
"My orders..." Bilbo blinked like an owl. What orders would be reasonable if he were the Master the creature deemed him to be and yet unharmful to his friends? What if the creature discovered his disguise? Time to improvise. Hard. "You know very well what my orders should be! Don't be such a ninny and recite, in decreasing order of importance, all measures that should be taken in exactly this situation!" The hobbit stomped one foot for emphasis and finished. "According to our last war council."
Thanks to goodness the creature was still confused by his return to life – or what life it could be called – and the ring on Bilbo's finger was really powerful.
"As you wish, Master... Destroy the Last Alliance... Kill all generals on field... Take the survivors as slaves... Spread the reign of Mordor all over Middle-earth..."
The creature kept reciting a disgusting list of actions and what could only be called crimes against the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, counting each of them on his invisible fingers.
It struck Bilbo that the wight mentioned the Last Alliance of elves and men. According to his knowledge on history (which was quite superior than that of the regular hobbit, thank you very much, spreading wider than genealogical trees), that Alliance had been responsible for the fall of Sauron, kind of three thousand years back. Was it possible that the heap of rags in front of him had been there all those years ago? And if it was possible, where... where had it been for all this time?
Better not to dwell too much on the issue, the hobbit thought to himself, and focus on how to get rid of that... that...
His eyes grew wider at the absurd but maybe feasible idea: Better still, seize the chance and get rid of a lot more!
A simple hobbit was not fit for great deeds of warfare, for all he reckoned, but what about the little things? What about the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk, could them not keep the darkness at bay?
Not that fooling a too-long-ago-deceased-yet-not-quite-dead follower of Sauron was an everyday deed of ordinary folk, but...
There was a chance.
"...and with this Your Malevolence will be the solely ruler over all of Arda!"
The wight finished his hissed report with a disquieting tone of triumph, but at Bilbo's downward stare he (He? It? They? Whatever?) cowered in fear.
"Is that all?"
"Uhhmm... According to the last War Council I was able to attend before I lost... uhm..."
A vague gesture to the shreds of cloth that served the creature as disguise to his (his? Its? Theirs? Whatevers?) body elucidated what was being mentioned. "Not much more was defined as long as I recall, but, if Your Malevolence allows my ranting, my memory isn't as good as it was... well... when, really? Last week? Month? I'm sure it didn't take not even a whole year to bring me and my fellow kings back under your brilliant guidance, after all our dedication and fealty, did it?"
Bilbo could have rolled his eyes at the presumptuousness of the darned creature, but he knew time was precious if the lives of his friends were at stake.
"So... Where are the prisoners?"
"What?" An invisible hand moved to hide a grimace. "The... what prisoners, exactly? There use to be so many, and I just..."
The hobbit took one more step into the character, just to be sure. What kind of prisoners would be precious for that creature, after all?
"Oh, you know what prisoners, don't you? That kind that makes you spend troops to get, just because their people will deem it too hurtful for them to live without." The creature stood silent, waiting. Bilbo let the anger in him burst out, based on the information the Ring on his finger allowed him. Despite feeling it could not be completely reliable... "The ones that spent their bloody blood to perform our little freak show, you stupid... you stupid..."
For Bilbo to get out of words was actually easy, not being someone to really curse with proper cuss words, more one to exercise his creativity when inclined to offend someone deserving such treatment – like Lobelia, mostly, but also Sandyman the miller, when due.
The Nazgûl tried to ease the hobbit's reluctance in stating adjectives for himself.
"Mindless idiotic fool? Naive simpleton ignoramus? Misbegotten moronic aberration?"
"All of those. At once. And doubled."
"Well..."
"Well what? Don't you dare say there's nothing remaining from them! You know that, as well as avalanche follows thunderstorm in the mountains, mortal remains are priceless for those... those..." The hobbit waved a hand in the general direction of the sounds of fight.
"Soft hearted prey? Mellifluous jerks? Feeble..."
"Aye, that's them."
"Ahm, erm, there seems to have been a little problem and, uhm, when I regained conscience the prisoners were, well..."
"Well?"
Bilbo was close to jump out of his own skin, anxious for the answer. The creature all but melt to the ground, wiggling invisible fingers in embarrassment.
"...gone..."
"Gone?" Cried the halfling, in a mix of surprise and hope. He knew the Nazgûl wasn't lying. The Ring made sure he knew.
"Gone..."
"Who took them? Where to?"
Bilbo could have grabbed the wight's collar if it had one. As it was, his raised hand seemed one that would hit a target with gusto.
The creature cowered even more, as if it were possible to get lower than a floorcloth. But it tried, by Melkor, how it tried!
"None! Nowhere! At least, nowhere I know, and..." The hissing voice took a conspiratorial tone. "I don't know what those stupid uruks think they're doing, but when I find out be sure I'll dispense justice!"
To divert his "Master's" attention from not having any idea about the whereabouts of the prisoners, bled to bring him back, was a lame tactic, but what could one expect from a tainted spirit but to keep deceiving?
Bilbo didn't know what to do. He needed to think, and to think with that disgusting being close to him was hard. Actually, to think with the Ring on his finger was never quite easy, it kind of messed up his train of thought and ability to decide. As if it put thoughts in his mind that seemed too close to what his regular thoughts ought to be, but then... then there was always some twist in them that made him aware that it could never be the thought of a reputable Baggins. And not even a reputable Took, even with the usual reputation Tooks used to carry.
The youngsters were not at the top yard. Apparently, they were not dead, either. But where were they? And how to find them without that freak following him around? That was an important thought in Bilbo's mind.
On the other hand, the amount of time the assumed "Master" took to reply Khamûl's excuses was going into the creature's nerves. To be brought from the dead only to face his Master's wrath was not what he expected, not at all. So, if death was the worst perspective he had, and that was one he already had experience on, to ask just one more question wouldn't be that terrible, would it?
"What are thy orders to this loyal servant now, Master?"
Now Bilbo knew how to answer. He had information enough, even if not all data he could do with. The creature was as confused as confused could be, and the hobbit would take any advantage he could in the given circumstances.
"Listen here and listen well! If you want to know what the uruks..." Whatever uruks were, Yavanna help him! "...are up to, go to the place they come from, and make them follow you." Which he hopped was very far from that accursed place, to begin with. A gruff and authoritative voice would help, too. "Ain't you my general? Then act as such and command that filth. If they have the prisoners, or whatever is left of them, bring them to me at once. And in if not, take them and all the rabble orcs we have scattered around from here to Mordor, and stay there yourself until you have figured out a proper answer!"
A moment of silence followed the hobbit's outburst of ostensible anger. How much fear was entangled in that shout was concealed by the Ring's ability to deceive.
How much capability of reasoning remained in the bodiless form of Khamûl was also a mystery, but sure not enough to detect all the contradictions Bilbo's rant posed.
"A brilliant idea! I'll do as Your Malevolence wishes."