Chapter five: Inquiries in Bree.

The very first thing I did on my first day in Bree was to write to Pa and Ma to tell them I had arrived there safely. I tried to imagine how they would feel right now: having to tell me that I am not their daughter and then, shortly after that, for the first time see me leave home for an indefinite time on a possibly dangerous journey. Poor Pa and Ma! Selfishly, I had only be thinking about how my life had been turned upside down, but for them it was just the same!
When in Bree and in need of information, the best source would be the proprietor of the Prancing Pony, Barliman Butterbur, I was told: Pretty reliable and, unlike his consumable wares, pretty cheap. Well, he first sent me on this ‘tour of Bree’. It was informative alright, but did nothing to help me on my search. Even at the Town-hall, where I had a brief meeting with the Mayor himself, I could not get any information concerning the whereabouts of Yola. Not with the notary, not with the clerk of kinships. In fact, this notary person told me I could not be listed as Brandybuck! What?! I’ve been a Brandybuck all my life! Pa and Ma are Brandybucks! He shook his head impatiently and referred to the note I had shown him  in hope that he could help me: ‘Your father is unknown. One takes the last name of one’s father.’ O, I was furious! Now this civil servant, who was not at all civil by the way, wanted to take away my name! He told me I would be listed as BrandyBUCKLE, until the identity of my father would be established. Me, so proud to be a Brandybuck, changing my name to something silly like that? Never! And I stormed out of the Town-hall, raging with anger and nothing to advance me in my search.  
One inhabitant of Bree told me, that to look for hobbits, I could be more lucky in Staddle. So I went to Staddle, a nice farming village to the east of Bree-town. I asked everyone I saw about Yola, but no one could give me any useful information. I saw a farmer proceeding to burn a pile of rags and old newspapers and kindly asked them if I could have some of them to have a read later. “Well, they’re old news, you know. There’s why I burn them.” I still insisted and I put a few in my pack.
Not getting any further like this, I decided to put a notice on the noticeboards found in Bree: “A reward for any information concerning Yola Plumblossom. Contact me in the Prancing Pony.” In hindsight, I am sure Pa would have advised against this. Some time later a scruffy looking man came into the Pony and repeatedly shouted “Yola Plumblossom?? Yola Plumblossom!”. I jumped up, walked towards him and he handed me a note. Before I could open it and read it, the man had left again. The note had just a few words on it:

Meet me tonight at the eighth bell in Beggar’s Alley. Come alone!

I was very excited and could hardly wait until the the appointed time. I was about to meet a total stranger in a part of the town that was unfamiliar to me. Alone. But the thought of perhaps learning more about my mother, made me lose all caution. Well, not all caution, as I did bring my spear and shield.
It was the dark time of the year and by the time the bells struck eight, dusk had already set in. I passed under a gate and it was very obvious that here was where the poor people live. There was garbage in the streets and many windows were broken. The laundry hanging out to dry was shaggy and ragged. I saw a pony that was terribly underfed and I reached for my pack to see if I had something to give to the poor animal. With a faint glint in it’s eye, the pony nibbled at the biscuits I held up in my hand.
As the last biscuit disappeared, I heard someone clear his throat behind me. Cautiously I turned around. A gang of men surrounded me, looking grim and determined. I raised my shield and pointed my spear in the direction of the chest of the one who obviously was their leader and backed off a bit to get a wall behind me as protection. “Oi! I’d told you to come unarmed!”, the man growled. “No, you said to come alone.” The man lost his patience and drew a knife. He had expected an easy prey, I think, and now he found an armed hobbit. They were five of them and only me. The other four also produced a weapon of their own. I saw another knife, some crude clubs and a neddy. I focused on the leader again. He told me: “Now put that spear down before you hurt yourself.” And grinning at his own words he slowly approached. I noticed the others stayed put and I lowered my spear a bit. He came closer. I noticed his eyepatch and knew I had the edge on him. The bounder’s captain let us practice sparring while wearing an eypatch and it was much more difficult to judge the right distance to your target that way. When he was sufficiently close, I quickly stepped forward, put the shaft of my spear between his legs and side-swiped him with my shield. He tumbled and went down on all fours. I then kicked him in the bum as hard as I could, which brought him flat on the ground with the sharp end of my spear poking his back. “Stand back! All of you!”, I commanded the surprised brigands, “or I’ll punch a hole in your friend here.” So far the fight had gone well for me, but if they’d attack all at the same time, I’d be lost. To reinforce my words I pressed a little harder on the leader’s back. “Stand back, you idiots!”, the fallen man shouted and the others retreated slowly. Then one by one  they disappeared. Maybe to get reinforcements, I thought, and knew I had to act quickly. The man was lying still, awaiting the worst perhaps. I had an idea, a dangerous plan, but it might work. As he was lying sufficiently close to the wall I wedged my spear carefully between his back and the wall. Yes, it held! “Lie still, while I think about what to do with you.”, I snapped, “One false move and you’re dead!”. I left the spear as it was and very carefully and silently sneaked away. When I was distant enough I started to run, heading out of the Beggar’s Alley. The trick bought me enough time to get away!
I was glad to arrive safely at the Prancing Pony again. I’d lost a fine spear, gained no information at all, but at least I was still in one piece! But the adventure had made a great impression on me: it was not at all free of danger, finding one’s mother. And next time, maybe I would not be that lucky again. I had to be more careful. I also decided to leave Bree again, as here was no information to be found about my real mother, Yola Plumblossom. I wondered what she would look like. Maybe I’d know one day. I took the newspapers I’d collected in Staddle from my pack and started to page through them. There was one called the “Breeland Herald”, two issues of the “Staddle Post” and a “Bramblebury Gazette”.

Next: Almost giving up.