Bannockbury Hall sits in the sunshine, birds singing gently as the wind blows through the Deep Green Oak leaves that only come at the height of summer, the scene is an idyllic one, spoilt only by the smell.
It's the kind of smell that laughs at rotten eggs, mouldy bread and curdled milk. It reaches down into the nose, ridiculing any attempt that might be made to prevent it's progress, rotting silk handkerchiefs as it invades the senses of all around. Approaching the hall you can see smaller animals fleeing in terror from the awful stench. A cat looks up from the patch of berries that it has been rubbing it's face in, meowing helplessly as it too flees from the awful stench.
“Maybe you can talk to him sir.”
An elderly hobbit appeals to you, eyes wide and watery.
“He came back yesterday with some sacks that rattled as he moved them, and ever since then he's been out the back having taken over the outside kitchens. It can't go on. I won't have it. I won't I tell you, and him with a visitor and everything. Make him stop and come in won't you. I'll be ever so grateful.”
The elderly hobbit leads you around to the side of the hall, muttering to himself and to you about how inconvenient it is to be keeping all the windows closed in the height of summer.
“I don't know what's got into him sir. He stomped up the path yesterday in a frightful mood, muttering about his “Bounder's duty” and about how it wasted his time coming back here, and so on and so on. No sir he hasn't been off with any of the other staff, or any of the other mathom gatherers that stay here. He came and then this morning he got up at a ridiculous time in the morning, before decent folk are out and about saying something about how, if he was back then he could jolly well be doing something useful. He turfed us out of the outside kitchen. He's been there all day and I just can't go near him to tell him that he's got a visitor. I tried to send the visitor round, but being such a well-to-do Gentlehobbit he simply refused and insisted that he would wait for Master Denegar in the Pantry. He's been waiting for close to half an hour now and is onto his fourth piece of cake. Here's Master Denegar now.”
Coming round the corner it comes to mind that any previous description of the smell that permeates the area was sadly inadequate. Calling it merely unpleasant or bad would have been an insult to a stench that had clearly been working on itself in an attempt to try and become some kind of poisonous gas.
Denegar is stood in the middle of a circle of large cooking pots, all of which are bubbling away and a large Mortar and Pestle stands nearby. Denegar is stirring the pots singing to himself looking, for all the world as though he was a hobbit standing in the middle of a feast.
“Master Denegar.”
There is a pause while the elderly hobbit takes and handkerchief out and futilely covers his nose with it.
“MASTER DENEGAR!”
Denegar looks up, sees you and his face brightens,
“My dear friend, it's so good to see you are you well? Thank you Gerald,”
“Master, need I remind you about your visitor,”
“No, no. I'm nearly ready.
“Shall I tell him you're on your way?”
Denegar seems to consider this for a while.
“Why not,”
Gerald looks rather disapproving and tries to cow Denegar with a glare which Denegar returns with a smile.
Denegar turns back to you with a grin.
“It doesn't matter how many times I do it, but I just can't help myself whenever I'm here. It's just so much fun to wind that fellow up and watch him go. Are you alright my friend? You look as though you're about to pass out. Oh, of course. Please forgive me.”
He bustles back into his collection of pots and comes out with a bowl full of water. Patting his pockets he locates a clean handkerchief before submerging it in the bowl and ringing it out.
“Wrap this round your nose. I find that the particular combination of herbs will dispel just about any kind of stench, including the smell of making glue from warg bones.”
The dissappearence of the stench almost leaves you feeling light-headed, seeing this. Denegar slides a small stool over to you.
“It's odd. I've never quite been satisfied with the horse and pony glue that I get in the markets in the shire. The problem's always been that when ever I try to stick the feathers to the arrow shafts the standard glue always leaves the feathers clumping together which means that they don't always fly right. An Elf once told me that the way it should be done, is if you tie the feather on with gossamer then you get the best results. I'll admit to falling for it, but then I found out how much Gossamer costs. I even went so far as to trying it, but have you ever tried to work with Gossamer silk. I kept tying my fingers together and the feathers were clumpier than before. So I tried with various other kinds of bones to make glue. I was about to give up before, almost by accident I put some warg bones in the pot. Lo and behold it came out with, almost perfect glue for sticking feathers onto wood. It also strikes me as being kind of poetic to shoot Orcs and goblins with Arrows that are partially made with dead warg.”
“Pipeweed?”
Denegar takes out a pouch and offers it to you before filling his own small briar pipe.
“I like it here, some good boar hunting over in those woods. It's also a good distance from any of the borders meaning that we don't have any of the problems that plague the other parts of the shire. No Ruffians like in Oatbarton, No Goblins or Spiders like in Borckenborings or Scary. Just good ground, clear air, if you'll pardon the joke and some nice clean morally decent hunting.”
“No I do like it here. The only problems are people like that stuffy old wind-bag that's sat in the parlour now. That's unfair I suppose, he means well, and I've got no doubt that he has our best interests in mind. But....”
Denegar puffs on his pipe.
“I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. Two weeks ago, I was having a bit of a workmans holiday over in the Trollshaws. Have you been? Nice place. A little wild but beautiful for that. It strikes me that the place would almost be spoiled if anyone tried to settle in it. Anyway. I was helping some of the big folk out there clear the road from hazards. You know the sort, wolves, crawlers, bears and so on. I come back to camp dragging a boar carcass for dinner that evening when one of the elves came over. What was his name, Telin.. Teluin... Tel-something, anyway he, or she I'm not very good at telling the difference between the elves came over and said it had got a letter for me. Pointing out that a letter wasn't much use to a Hobbit like me. My father never did learn me my letters and all so he read it to me.
I was summoned. I was called back to the shire to answer for my behaviour. Apparently I've been carrying on with behaviour UN-becoming in a bounder and that I should return to the Shire and answer for myself forthwith.
It took me a while to understand some of the longer words and so on. But it was made clear to me that the office of the mayor was unhappy with me about something and that I should come back. What was I to do? I shouldered my pack and quiver and start the long journey back to the shire. March into Michal Delving and straight into the town hall...” Denegar chuckles. “Looking back that was probably a mistake. I should probably have stopped off at the Bird and the Baby first and cleaned myself up. But I was tired, hungry and dirty and this overdressed cock-Robin, told me that I stood accused of Dereliction of Duty.”
Denegar knocks the ash out of his pipe and gets up to douse the flames under the cooking pots.
“At first I thought it was a prank or something. I looked around for some fellow Bounders or Mathom gatherers to jump out and surprise me or something. The other person was not amused and explained that I was in danger of being stripped of my feathers. I gaped at him for a good minute before I'm very afraid that I lost my temper. I said some things that I won't repeat in polite company. He said some things that only made my temper worse, before I stormed out declaring that if they wanted to take my feathers then they could come and try it but that that they might need to bring some dwarves or big folk to come and try it.”
“I know, ridiculous isn't it.”
“Anyway, I got taken up to the Mathom house by one of the mathom gatherers that knew me, I was fed and had a good nights sleep before coming back here. The head of the mathom house went off to see the mayor and arranged for someone to come out here and “talk the problem over with me””
“So here we are, he's in the parlour, eating his way through what I'm sure will be his sixth piece of cake by now. Truth be told I'm glad of the company my friend. I might need the moral support.”
Denegar leads you into the back of the Hall through the large, spacious kitchen, into the dining room and through the entrance hall into the parlour. A bow, a backpack and a quiver are stacked next to the front door.
An elderly gentle-hobbit stands up to greet you. His hair is white, curly and is combed back from his face. A pair of golden rimmed spectacles perch on the end of his nose and his waistcoat looks expensive.
“My friend,” Denegar begins, “it is my honour and privilege to introduce you to Mr Gerrard Flockhouse, notary and clerk to the mayor of Michael Delving. Mr Flockhouse, this is my friend who is visiting with me at the moment and expressed an interest in the problem. I hope you don't mind.”
Gerrard bows and introduces himself with a smile.
Denegar pulls up a chair and starts filling his pipe before offering round his pouch.
“So Mr Flockhouse. I'm at your service.”
“Thank you Bounder Denegar. I have to say that I wish it was under better circumstances. I've always wanted to visit the Mathom Hall in Bannockbury and I have to say that I'm not disappointed.”
Denegar shrugs.
“I'm afraid I'm not the best person to give the tour I'm afraid, but I'm sure that I can persuade one of the staff to give you a proper tour after our business is concluded.”
“I would like that I think. But anyway I suppose that I must bring things around to the business in hand.”
“Please do. I am ready, if not eager to put this matter behind me.”
Flockouse stares at Denegar over the rims of his glasses for a moment before continuing.
“As you know Bounder Denegar. There has been a charge of dereliction of duty pressed against you.”
“By whom I wonder?”
“I'm afraid I couldn't possibly divulge on this particular subject.” Flockhouse shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Denegar turns to you.
“I bet it's that Lotho from Bag-End. I had a run in with some ruffians on his land a little while ago. Forgive me Mr Flockhouse, perhaps you could tell me, exactly how I have failed in my duties to protect the Shire so that I can properly defend myself.”
“Well Bounder Denegar, as you are no doubt aware. The duties of a bounder are to protect the bounds. Preventing ruffians from crossing the border and generally helping out the hobbits within our Bounds. Would you agree to this?”
Denegar shrugs.
“I think that that just about covers it, yes.”
“Well, the question needs to be asked Bounder Denegar as to how you manage to help these hobbits and protect our boudaries when you are rarely, if ever, inside them?”
Denegar's eyes narrow and a little heat creeps into his voice.
“I'm not sure what you're suggesting Mt Flockhouse. Every action that I've taken, everything that I've done, is for the good of The Shire and it's inhabitants.”
“I can appreciate that you feel that you are doing what you think is best for The Shire, but how do you know what's good for the Shire if you're never here? I'm sure you can see the problem Bounder Denegar. How can you know, really know what's right for us? You're never here. I've had messages from the bridge at Stock and you were and back and forth over the bridge when you started your duties, but more and more your absence has become....how can I put this. Marked? We have Goblins in the Shire. We don't like to talk about it much as we don't want to cause a panic, but there are actual Goblins in the shire. We can't afford to have someone of your capabilities galivanting off to foreign parts and getting all kinds of ideas from Dwarves, and elves and such like. Let alone men and their ilk...” Mr Flockhouse gives a shudder.
Denegar seems genuinely taken aback.
“Forgive me Mr Flockhouse, but are you completely mad?”
“I do beg your pardon.”
“Do you have any idea what's going on beyond our borders. The people in Breeland are under attack, from Orcs, and Goblins from the North. Ruffians are coming up from the South and taking over large chunks of land in the guise of legitimate business dealings, but in reality are terrorising locals. And that's before I go further afield. There's talk of the Shadow in the East again. People are talking about Angmar in things that are more current that the past tense. Things are happening out there Mr Flockhouse.”
“Are any of these events taking place in the Shire?”
“Well, No. No they're not.”
“So why has it got anything to do with you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You talk about problems in Bree and in the east, yes? Let the big folk deal with them. It's not our concern.”
“What happens if the Bree folk fail? What then?”
“Well, we've never had any problems in the Shire.”
“You know why don't you?”
“Yes, because we've had skilled and above all diligent Bounders who walk the Bounds for us.”
Denegar takes a deep breath.
“Mr Flockhouse. I'm a bounder, and a good one too. I know this because if I wasn't you wouldn't care about having me brought back here. Do you know how I came by these skills? I went out into the world and learned. Often in the field but occasionally from other travellers. My bow was given to me by “the Wardens of Annuniminas” for services rendered. It's so strong that I was warned not to unstring it as if I did it could never be strung again. These are the tools of my trade, and I got them from outside the Bounds.”
“But we return to the original matter. You just said that your bow was given to you because of services rendered to the Wardens of Annun.... Annunnunun.. Wherever, some big folk organisation. Why are you helping them when you could be performing your duties.”
“Let me just run through this again. My duties are the protection of the bounds of the Shire and to help people out is that right?”
“To help hobbits yes.”
“Don't you see that by helping other people I'm helping out the Hobbits of Middle-earth. The reason that we don't have more darkness and evil on our door-steps are because of the people that shield us. Surely you can see that if those people are stronger then the safer we'll be?”
“You have yet to convince me that your actions help protect the people of the Shire.”
“And I suppose it's only the Shire Hobbits that are worth protecting yes? What about the Hobbits of Bree-land. Hobbits that have been there since before the Shire was founded. Hobbits that still call us Shire-folk 'colonists'.”
“Be that as it may.”
“Alright, how about this. Do you know where the Goblins in the Shire come from?”
Flockhouse rubs his brows
“Is this relevant?”
“They come from Mount Gram. A place far to the north. My business had me in that region. I was travelling through, hunting Goblins when I found an Orc chieftain trying to gather a horde together to invade the Shire. He was telling them about the sweetness of Hobbit flesh, and how easy it would be to just sweep over us in a black tide of wrath. So I shot him. Twice, once in the nexk and my second arrow took him in the eye. The crowd dispersed and were destroyed by some of my allies.
“I'm sorry Bounder Denegar but your own words convict you. You had allies that would have destroyed the Orcs for you. The orc knew that our borders were un-protected. The reason that they're un-protected is because Bounders like you aren't here to protect us.”
“But...”
“No Bounder Denegar that's enough.” Mr Flockhouse stands up. “I'm sorry but you haven't said anything to convince me. The complaint that was made against you was made by a prominent citizen and I see no reason to over-turn it. I order you to return to duty at once. You are ordered to report to Sherrif Robin Smallburrow of hobbiton, where he will find you duty. I believe he will need help with bringing the harvest in. Do you understand?”
For a while Denegar looks beaten and crestfallen. He stands up and very slowly brings himself up to full attention reaching for the two feathers in his cap. Then he stops, and slowly, very slowly a smile creeps across his face.
“No sir, I refuse your order sir.”
“What? How dare you sir?”
“I don't have to follow your orders sir.”
“But...” Flockhouse splutters but Denegar overrides him.
“I am a bounder, and a member of the Hobbitry at arms. I serve at the pleasure of the Thain and any orders that I follow, come from him. Directly from him.”
“But I serve the mayor sir.”
“I very much doubt that. I strongly suspect that in this matter, you serve someone else, whether you know it or not. If you have a problem with my conduct I suggest you take it up with my superior officer. Sir. It's called the chain of command.”
Mr Flockhouse steels himself.
“Well then. I shall leave you and I will take this further, have no doubt about that.”
Mr Flockhouse does his best to storm out before turning on the door-step. “That I should live to see the day that a Bounder would disobey an order. It makes me sad and ashamed that I should see that.”
Denegar grins, more than a little evilly.
“I am also ashamed sir. Saddened and ashamed that I should live to see the day where a Bounder would be ordered NOT to help those in need. You disgust me sir. Now as an officer of my Kinship, it is my duty to inform you that you are trespassing. It is also my duty to tell you that if you don't leave immediately then it will be my sad duty to evict you.”
“How dare you?”
Denegar answers by striding over to his Bow and taking out an Arrow.
“You have until the count of three. One.”
“The mayor will hear of this.”
“Two,” knocks the arrow.
“You'll hear from me again.”
“Three...” but Mr Flockhouse fled.
“May my father forgive me but I enjoyed that.” Denegar picks up his pack and shoulders it.
“Forgive me my friend but I should go and warn the Thain that some people are going to get upset at him about me. Also I have work that needs doing and so on.” Feel free to have some tea and things. Speak to you when I get back.”
Denegar waves as he jogs down the path. The last you see of him is as he vaults over the fence and into the fields.
“Has he gone?” asks Gerald. “Oh, good. I wonder if you'll help me get rid of all that glue while he's gone.”
