A Report on the Search For My Uncle
(This is a transcript of the report I gave to the good folk assembled at the Green Dragon on Friday 12th January)
Good evening to you once again, friends.
For those who haven’t already met me. my name is Oisean (when you say it, it sounds a bit like ‘ocean’) and I’m from Mossward, which is far from here.
I won’t repeat the story of what brought me here to the Shire – I told that tale last week – but you should know that I was staying with my Uncle Wybert Diggings over the Yule holiday and, while I was there, he was taken in the night by a figure riding a black pony.
I followed them far across the Shire – a terrible ride that – and we came to an old ruin bathed in an eerie light where white-robed figures appeared and led him inside.
Then all went dark, and to my eternal shame I ran away.
Uncle hasn’t returned and last week I came here to the Green Dragon and asked for help in finding him – and I am so grateful to all the good folk who have helped in the search this past week, which I’ll tell you all about right now.
When I got home from the Dragon last week, I was very moved by all the concern for Uncle and the offers of help in any search for his whereabouts. But I still couldn’t see where we might even start looking and was feeling pretty downhearted – especially when I realised that I had eaten my way through Uncle’s pantry in the time since he disappeared!
Then came a knock at the door, and when I answered I saw standing there none other than the lovely Miss Pomella Brackwater, who I had met earlier at the inn. Well, she’s a very pretty young lass, for sure, but even better she had brought me a steaming hot pie. She had obviously been busy and told me that she had arranged for us to meet the following morning at the offices of Master Tubblo, a very famous Shire detective, to set the search for Uncle in motion.
So it was that the next morning the three of us were seated in the spacious offices of Master Tubblo’s Detective Agency. I was most impressed by Master Tubblo’s businesslike approach, and I swear he had the biggest magnifying glass I’ve ever seen on his desk – essential equipment for any sleuth!
Well now, he told us that he intended to begin his search for clues straight away and that he had contacted none other than Master Aerinbard Fallohide, who may well be known to you here. That gentlehobbit is not only a most distinguished scholar, who he thought may be able to help us locate the old ruin where Uncle was being held, based on my own description, but is also a highly respected member of the Bounders whose assistance he thought might prove invaluable if we located the hideout and any rough stuff ensued.
“But what can we do?” Miss Pomella cried. “We can’t just sit and wait.”
“No indeed,” replied Tubblo, bowing slightly in Pomella’s direction. “You are well known, Miss, to many hobbits right across the Shire, and I should like you to set off on what we detectives call ‘door-to-door enquiries’, interviewing as many folk as you can and asking if they have seen or heard anything unusual recently, especially on the night Wybert was taken. We shall all meet here in a few days’ time to report on what we have uncovered.”
And with that, our meeting was over, and Miss Pomella and I set off on a grand tour of the Shire in our search for any information which might lead us to my uncle.
We began our quest in Michel Delving, but none there had heard or seen anything, so we made our way out to Waysmeet, where we were bid good day by a cheery merchant standing outside a gaily painted caravan. So, I wished him top of the morning and asked him if he had seen or heard anything unusual recently and he replied:
“Well, it’s funny ye should ask, young sir, for a little while back I was woken at dead of night by the sound of horses’ hooves, and when I looked, I could just make out a pony heading east at speed with two figures mounted, and a minute or so later another single rider passed and seemed to be following. We do get travellers on the road at night, but few so reckless as to ride at that speed in the dark. I rose early the next day as I was headed to market, and I could see their hoofprints on the road – and that’s not all!”
He reached into the pocket of his tunic and brought out three bright fishhooks. “Found these on the road too,” he said. I’m pretty sure they weren’t there the night before, so one of the riders must have dropped them.” I examined them closely then turned to Pomella, exclaiming: “These are Uncle Wybert’s hooks – I recognise them from the times he took me fishing.”
“He left a trail!” she said.
Well, to cut a long story as short as I may, we continued along the road keeping a sharp eye out for more fishhooks, and we found some too, at the junction leading to Hobbiton, where we continued our enquiries at the Ivy Bush Inn. The tavern keep there, one Hereward Loamsdown, provided us with a fine lunch, but sadly knew nothing that would help us in our search. We found more fishhooks near the top of the hill, and carried on until we reached Overhill, where in answer to our questions one of the crafters said he had heard a strange story from the blacksmith over in Brockenborings.
We continued along the trail east and came at last to the forge where we spoke to the blacksmith there, one Master Moro Brockhouse.
“Aye,” he said. “It were the strangest thing. This feller rode up, riding the blackest little pony I ever did see. It had thrown a shoe, and this feller wanted a new shoe fitted right away. Tall for a hobbit, he was, and wore a black cloak and hood that covered his face. He just pointed to the pony and said “Shoe – now”, and his voice was like a deep rumble. He were a strange one and no mistake – fair gave me the creeps he did – but his coin was good and I shoed the pony and he rode off east – never heard anything of him since.”
And all of this is what Miss Pomella and myself told Master Tubblo, back in his office, a few days later, for the trail ran cold beyond Brockenborings. Master Aerinbard was there too, and both listened with interest to our story.
Next to speak was Master Tubblo. It seems that he too had found witnesses reporting riders in the night and hoofprints on the road beyond Waysmeet. He had also found fishhooks and, like us, had surmised that Uncle Wybert had tried to leave a trail to be followed. However, at the turning for Hobbiton he met a hobbit on the road, who, when questioned, said he had made a strange find on the road near Frogmorton, a dead fish dropped there, the like of which he had never seen before. This lad, who went by the name of Parco, then produced the unusual creature from his pack and Tubblo guessed that Wybert may have run out of fishhooks and started to drop some of the fish he is known to carry about his person – anyone who has ever stood close to him would know this, for sure.
Young Parco, being a nosy fellow, agreed to show Tubblo where he had found the fish and they made their way together almost all the way to Stock – but no further clues were found, and a disappointed Tubblo made his way back. Out of curiosity, he took the fish to the library at Great Smials and asked the librarian, Miss Donnamira Took, for help in identifying it.
At once she began to search the shelves, pulled out a dusty tome and after flipping through the pages gave a triumphant cry: “Got it,” she said, “it’s a red herring!”
Master Tubblo looked a little embarrassed as he ended his report with “I’m afraid that’s as far as I got.”
At this, Master Aerinbard gave a slightly smug smile and began his report.
“Well,” he said, “it’s the application of scholarly research, reason and maybe a little bit of luck. It seems clear to me from the descriptions given that we are dealing here with some kind of supernatural phenomenon. Nothing else could explain what Master Oisean saw on that night.” (He talks like this, Master Aerinbard!) “I have spent many hours in the library at Great Smials, the Mathom House and with my own extensive collection of scholarly works, and it seems that the majority of reports of this kind of incident, down through the centuries, have taken place in the east of the Shire.
So, I deduced, a ruined building in the east of the Shire, of which there are several. That is where luck came in. I recently hosted a meeting of the Fed Poets Society and although Master Wybert was, of course, unable to attend, a good friend of his, a Miss Oxslip, came and brought along one of his poems. Now she hails from over Woodhall way, and she told me that hobbits in those parts speak of strange goings on on the road that leads past the Bridgefields, north of Budgeford – of lights in the trees that disappear if you try to follow, moanings and groanings coming from up the hill and – most interesting of all – a dark rider of some kind, not like one of them Ringwraiths, but the size of a hobbit on a black pony! It was, of course, a simple matter for me to narrow down the possibilities – and I am pleased to tell you that I know exactly where Wybert was taken!” Master Aerinbard sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face.
Well, friends, we wasted little time, and last night our brave company set out to the location Master Aerinbard had identified. When we arrived, I knew at once that we were in the right place but had little time to let the others know. Master Tubblo straight away stepped forward and approached the door at the base of the ruin, and as he did so it opened, and that terrible black figure emerged. “Bring out Master Wybert, we know you have him,” cried Tubblo – let me tell you, friends, I could never have been so brave. At that, the creature drew back its hood and Master Tubblo fell to his knees as it held him in its gaze. It then turned and disappeared through the door, from which stepped none other than Master Wybert himself, who we wasted no time in escorting to the spare pony we had brought and taking him home.
He has spoken little, and is quite exhausted, but he has promised that he will tell the tale of what happened to him when he is fully recovered in the next week or so.
For my own part, I shall return to Swanfleet to tell my ma her brother is safe.
But before I do, I must give you one final piece of very disturbing news. From the moment that terrible creature set its gaze on Master Tubblo he has not been the same. All he said as we returned from our quest was:
“I’ll find it, I have to find it.”
He seemed to be staring ahead at something we couldn’t see. I just hope he'll forgive me for mentioning it, with him being here and all but I think you may have noticed he's not himself.
I must apologise to our host that this took so long to tell, and I thank you all for listening.
(Further adventures relating to these events will be recorded in Wybert's profile in these archives).
