Day XXIII continued
I saw a circle of anxious faces
‘You’ve taken a blow to the head.’
Said Kandral, ‘So just lay there, quite still,’
‘I don’t know how you’re not dead!’
Then I pulled off my cap to show underneath
On top of my bushy black hair,
Was a pie, in its tin, now smashed all to bits
Well, how all them dwarfies did stare!
Recovered and thankfully, back on me feet
I made for the last goblin spy.
And this one came down just as fast as the others.
Thanks to my hatful of pie.
The way being, clear we scuttled along,
Until we arrived at last
To a tall dwarven building, its rooms lined with shelves.
And we all nipped inside, good and fast!
Now, Thorlaen and Hroskold stood guard by the door,
As the rest of us took a look round.
The shelves were all dusty and some had been smashed;
Their books lay forlorn on the ground.
It was clearly a library, as big as Ole Ron’s.
And much larger than the Old Smials
The dwarves were excited among such a find
But I kept an eye out meanwhiles.
At the back of the room was an old oaken chest,
Bound up with iron and brass.
I tugged at the lid but it moved not an inch
So I said ‘Come over here, lass’.
Both Rosa and I, we tugged at the lid
But it stayed so stubbornly stuck
We were going to give up, but I had an odd feeling
This coffer just might change our luck
Then up came old Thorlaen and looked at the box
‘It’s probably locked’ said he.
‘These dwarf-locks are crafted with great skill and care.’
‘So it’ll stay shut, without the right key.’
Then along came the Gaffer who peered at the lid.
‘I think I can see some small cracks.’
‘This one looks wider, perhaps I can splinter’
‘The oak with the blade of my axe.’
So Kandral took aim and swung at the lid;
With his task he was clearly immersed.
But I tugged at his sleeve and whispered to him,
‘Master Kandral, try your key first!’
‘We have no key…’ said Thorlaen bemused.
Mister K, looking sheepish replied:
‘We do have a key; it’s the reason we’re here.’
‘Now let’s see what’s hidden inside.’
But the key didn’t’ fit! So instead, Rosa tried.
To push her hand through the thin slit.
And she rummaged around inside the old chest
‘Aha’ she said, ‘I have it!’
She pulled out her hand, and in it a stone,
Flat, round and covered in writing.
‘Let me see that,’ said Kandral, ‘reading the runes,
‘Now this is really exciting!’
Just then Master Ryga came up with a book.
‘In here there’s map of some sort.’
‘Though the writing is faded, you may just make it out,’
Said the Gaffer, ‘Well, who would have thought?’
‘The runes on the stone read plainly enough’
‘It reads “Treasure Stone” if I’m right.’
‘And this is a treasure map that you have found.’
‘Let’s get it out into the light!’
Well the Gaffer’s eyes nearly popped out of his head!
As he made out the spidery text.
‘It says, “By the stone, the Axe will be found”’
‘I wonder what we should do next?’
‘This stone must have in it some kind of a spell.’
‘A spell for finding the axe.’
‘But how to unlock it? Now that is the thing?’
‘And uncover the map’s hidden facts?’
‘Just a minute,’ I said, ‘But we’re jumping ahead.’
'It says here “by the axe”, see?’
‘Now, before we start looking for magic and spells,’
‘The question seems simpler to me.’
‘Do you find this old axe by means of the stone?’
‘For that is the sense you’ve contrived.’
‘Or is “by the stone” meant to be read’
‘In a way more simply derived?’
‘You’re speaking in riddles, young Hobbit,’ said he,
‘It is clear that this stone is the key.’
‘It’s a wonderful find, no ordinary stone…’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said, ‘I agree.’
‘But the question I have is simple enough,’
‘I hope you will give it a try.’
‘Do you use the stone to find the axe?’
‘Or by the stone—nearby?’
‘By Mahal!’ said Kandral,’You mean that it’s here?’
‘Or was,’ I said looking around.
‘For it looks very much like someone has searched,’
‘—smashed shelves, and books on the ground.’
‘No, maybe it points to something quite else.’
‘In here we may find a clue.’
So we set about searching in every last corner.
Though I really was flummoxed, it’s true.
I went back to the chest and peered at it’s lid
But I could see nothing at all.
There was little to see on the chest or the ground;
Then my eyes were drawn up to the wall.
Above the old chest, in a dusty old frame,
Was a painting, blackened with time.
A dwarf by a gate, with an axe in his hand;
So I started to wipe off the grime.
‘Where’s this?’ I asked Kandral, calling him over.
‘East Gate, it looks like,’ he said.
Then Kandral looked close at the armour-clad dwarf
‘By Mahal—what’s that on his head?’
‘The Helm of Durin the third! Then it’s true?’
‘This is clearly the King!’
‘And the axe in his hand…is that what we seek?’
‘It’s so grimy, I can’t see a thing.’
‘It that’s true,’ I said, ‘It’s maybe a clue.’
‘If you look at the figure’s left hand…’
‘He points down below him, now what might that mean?’
‘I wish I could understand.’
Just then the ground rumbled and pieces of stone
Began to fall down all around!
‘We need to depart!’ shouted Kandral, ‘And now!’
And we ran out across trembling ground!
Full poem here
