Chapter ten: Eyes that follow.

The sign on the door, deep down in Michel Delving’s Town-hole read: “Free Peoples Army. Division of Reconnaissance and Intelligence Gathering.” I was put on a chair near this door and was told to wait. I felt uneasy. It was like eyes were watching me. Literally, as I was sure that the eyes of the portrait on the wall blinked at some point. I got up and walked about a bit. The eyes followed me! I approached the painting now.. getting closer until my eyes were in one line with the portrait’s eyes. Then a staring contest started.. But the “portrait” was very good and I blinked first. Then, I blew a little puff of breath right at the staring eyes. “Cripes!” I heard yelling, then a “click!” and the portrait’s eyes were now definitely of the painted kind, but blue now, not dark!
Soon the door opened and I was summoned in. Well, when dealing with an army you can expect to be ordered about. There was a man behind the desk, a man, not a hobbit. He rubbed his eye continuously, so I gathered it had been he, who had been spying on me. “I am sorry about that, sir”, I said, pointing at his afflicted eyeballs. He faked surprise and ignorance and I just smiled a bit.
“Now, what is the purpose of your coming here, Miss..?”. “Rubellita Brandybuck, sir”, I replied and told him I was looking for information about Yola Plumblossom. “I see, I see. And what is your concern in this matter?” “She’s my mother, sir.” and I showed him the note that was left with me when I arrived at my parents as a baby. Parents meaning Pa and Ma. O, it took me a while to make him understand. Either he was an ignoramus or, more likely, he was gathering as much information from me as he could, in a very clever way. After I had told him the whole story, and showed him the note, and the Bramblebury Gazette, he stood up from his chair. “Cripes!”, he cried. Hobbit rooms are not made for lankies. I giggled. He gave me a stern look. “Stay as you are, Miss.” He left the room, rubbing his skull, mumbling about dratted rabbitholes. From the exclamation, I now knew for certain he had been the one observing me through the portrait’s eyes. Stooping low, he came back through the round door, carrying a hefty file folder.
“Let me see..”, he mumbled as he paged through the paperwork. “Ah, here it is! Next of kin: a brother, Peppy Bristlebrush and.. I quote: ‘supposedly having a child of unknown whereabouts and paternity.’ Can I see that note and newspaper again, Miss?” I handed them over and got more and more excited. A whole file about my mother! A wealth of information! I wanted to have my hands on it, but would he allow that? “Can I have a look at those papers, please?” I pleaded. Snap! He closed the folder abruptly, with my note still in it. “No, you may not. It is classified information.” “But at least hand me back my note. It is the only thing I have of Yola.”. I was definitely not going to show him, or tell him about, the rubellite stone now. “No, I need it. Come back tomorrow, same time.”
He stood up again, more carefully this time, and opened the door to let me out. It was shut behind me and I heard it being bolted. I first cried a bit, I was overwhelmed and now I had even lost Yola’s note. I wanted to bang on the door to demand it back. I looked at the portrait and it stared back at me again. There was nothing I could do, but wait an entire day. Outside, I slapped myself on my forehead: the man had also confiscated my newspaper with Yola’s address! But this was Michel Delving, not the smallest of towns. I could easily buy a new Bramblebury Gazette, which I did. But sadly, in this latest edition, Yola’s address was no longer on the colophon page. I contemplated going to Bramblebury anyway and ask around there, but decided against it. The events and emotions of the last few days had been wearing me out. I needed more rest. I felt I was close to the final unraveling of the mystery and I needed new energy for the next phase that could prove crucial. So I waited, as patiently as possible, for the next day. Many thoughts passed my mind in the meantime, but this one in particular: How was Yola, my mother, connected to the Army of the Free Peoples? What was that army anyway? It did connect with her being lost in a land where there was a war going on. But how? And why? Why her? Who was she, my mother Yola?

Next: The awful truth.