Growing up, Roddy Twinspur had been the kind of child who’s favorite pastimes had included pulling wings off of butterflies and tying rattles on kittens’ tails. He had grown up a man who still reveled in similar pastimes, albeit on a different scale. Roddy had always been big, mean, cruel and not very bright, which qualities had helped him to build a reputation as the meanest bully in the block, the terror of Beggar’s Alley. As an adult he had graduated into an abusive husband and father and a small-time mugger and burglar who made most of his livelihood rolling careless drunks who stumbled into the Beggar’s Alley at nights. All valuables he fenced off through his friend Bill Ferny, who sometimes employed his talents for other kinds of services as well, services that often included cracking someone’s skull open with a heavy club.
Today Roddy was once again performing shady business for Bill Ferny, but cracking skulls was off the plate this time and Roddy absolutely hated the job. He had been sneaking around Staddle and spying on a visiting hobbit called Paladin for days now. Roddy didn’t know what was so important about this hobbit and why Bill Ferny had been so adamant that he wouldn’t hurt or scare the hobbit or his family, only keep an eye on them and inform Bill immediately when they left Staddle for Combe or any other direction.
Roddy had been hiding out on top a hillock overlooking the village behind the bushes for days, spying the little hobbit-hole in the center of Staddle, it’s occupants and visitors. The weather was chilly and foul as usual this time of year. It rained most days, like it did this morning. Every day the hobbit who matched the description of Paladin came out of the house with a fishing rod and went fishing on the little pond by the hillock, rain or sunshine. And as already established, it was mostly raining. He really loved his fishing, that little rat. His family almost never came with him. They preferred to stay indoors this time of the year, like any sensible person would.
Roddy had caught a cold. He kept sneezing and sniffling and his nose ran like a broken water well pump. And each day he loathed Bill Ferny a little more. He swore he would break Bill’s bloody neck the next time he saw him, unless he settled to double the already hefty reward he had promised for this job. In that case Roddy would only break his nose, and there was no money in the world that would spare Bill from that. And if that dumb, fat cow who called herself his wife wouldn’t be on her best behavior when he got back she would end up with broken bones. Same with the tykes, if they didn’t quit their constant whining and bawling. The thought of home warmed Roddy a little, but not for long.
Roddy hated hobbits, those little rats. It was because of the hobbits that Bree was so poor. That Roddy was so poor. Everyone knew this. Everyone knew that the Shire was filled with riches that the damn hobbits had pilfered and leeched from Bree over the years. He had heard people talking about it for years, so it had to be true.
No matter how hard he tried to wrap his mind around it, he couldn’t come up with a satisfying explanation for why Bill wanted him to spy on this hobbit family. Roddy wasn’t the brightest apple in the basket, and he knew it himself. That’s why people often took advantage of him. That’s why Bill, too, had often taken advantage of him in the past.
The more he thought about it now, the more convinced he became that that was exactly what was happening now – Bill taking advantage of him. Let’s think about this for a moment, shall we? True, Bill had promised him what seemed like a hefty reward for each day he spent here spying the hobbits and reporting to Bill. Seemed like. But Bill Ferny had never been the generous sort, so if he was going to pay good money for something, it was only because he stood to earn ten-fold – twenty-fold! – for the deal!
The traveling hobbits were filthy rich, and carrying their gold with them. That had to be it. That was why Bill hadn’t told Roddy why he wanted to know about their movements. He was planning to set them up and rob them somewhere. Only he didn’t want to share anything with Roddy. He wanted it all to himself, that miserly bastard! The thought made the corners of Roddy’s mouth turn downwards. Here he was, sacrificing his time and health for some wretched silver pennies, just to make Bill rich on his expense.
There he was again – that hobbit. Roddy peered at the pond through the bush on top the hillock he was lying behind. Every morning after breakfast the old hobbit came, like a clock, with that damned fishing rod on his shoulder. And he was whistling! It was raining, and the poor bastard was whistling! It was like he somehow knew that Roddy was up there looking at him, and he was mocking Roddy!
That’s when it hit him. An idea, in the back of his mind. Screw Bill Ferny! There were no other people or hobbits anywhere nearby, just the old hobbit and Roddy. It was still too early, and besides, it was raining. He would come down, grab the hobbit by the throat and force him to tell Roddy where in the house they kept the gold. Then he would drown the hobbit into the pond, and after nightfall he would break into the hobbit-hole. He would slit all of their throats as they slept, take their gold, return to Bree, beat Bill Ferny to death with a spiked club (with short, rusty spikes) and live his life happily ever after in Bree, a rich man! Yeah, that was the plan.
It never even occurred to Roddy that if he killed Paladin this morning, his family would start missing him by elevenses and if he didn’t show up to eat they would come searching for him and the first place they would look was the pond. Roddy had never been good at planning ahead or placing himself in others’ shoes. His head was able to only entertain one idea at a time, and when an idea had sprung into his mind he was unable to shake it until it had been realized. And besides, he really needed to kill something right now. He needed to kill a kitten. He needed to pull the wings off a butterfly.
He needed to drown a rat.
Roddy glanced around one more time and, satisfied that he still couldn’t see anyone else around, grabbed his club tightly, stood up from behind the bush and half-walked, half-slid down the muddy slope of the hillock.
The hobbit heard him coming and turned around, surprised as he hadn’t expected company this morning. The surprised expression soon gave way to a polite smile.
”Top of the morning to you, sir!” he said cheerfully. ”Glad to see another fishing-entusiast here for a change! The weather could be better but the fish aren’t afraid of getting wet, ha ha!”
Roddy smiled in response. It was a mean, cruel smile, and the polite grin in the hobbit’s face froze and faded away. After an awkward moment he continued:
”Is that your fishing rod, sir? I hope you didn’t pay real money for that thing! You need a longer rod, and…”
”Where do you keep your gold?” Roddy’s grating voice interrupted.
”Pardon me? Really sir, I don’t know what…”
Roddy grabbed the hobbit byt the throat and squeezed, hard. ”Your gold!” he roared. ”Tell me where you keep it in the house, or I will drown you like the dirty rat that you are!”
Roddy released his grip for a moment. The hobbit was gasping for breath, his face now purple. ”I don’t know what… Help! HEEELLLPPP!!! Robbery! Assault!”
Roddy tightened his grip around the hobbit’s throat again, tipped him over and shoved his head under water.
”You will wish you hadn’t done that”, Roddy grated, his voice filled with grim satisfaction. In truth he didn’t care about the gold all that much in that particular moment. No, what he cared about was this moment, the exhilarating feeling he felt when the life of this dirty little animal was being snuffed out by his own hands, to feel how it struggled for breath, to feel it getting weaker and weaker, the resistance fading as it must have accepted that it was going to die…
”Stop what you are doing! Right now! Pull the hobbit out of the water! Now!”
Roddy didn’t care about the voice. In fact he wasn’t even sure if it was real. Perhaps it was only his better half, his conscience, whatever that meant, trying to talk him out of it. It wasn’t before he felt a hard knock on the back of his head before Roddy released his grip from the hobbit’s throat and turned to see who had attacked him.
It was a man wearing the livery and scale armor of the Bree Watch. The Watch was also responsible for keeping the piece in Staddle and the other small villages nearby, Combe and Archet. The watchmen in Staddle didn’t often carry any weapons, for there were next to no threats in this little hobbit community, but this particular watchman was holding a long spear in his hands, with which he had knocked Roddy on the head to stop the murder he was committing. It only enraged Roddy even more. He was enraged that this… this killjoy was attempting to ruin his fun, that he had chosen this moment to intervene, to poke his big beak where it didn’t belong!
Roddy released his grip of the hobbit and turned around to yank the spear off the watchman’s hands and make him eat the bloody thing. He grasped the spear with both hands, had a short struggle with the watchman and… felt something hitting against his midsection.
There was no pain at first. That’s why Roddy couldn’t believe his eyes when he glanced down and saw that the pointy edge of the spear had sunk completely into his midriff and a warm wet patch was rapidly spreading on the front of his shirt. He turned the gaze of his disbelieving eyes towards the watchman, who stared back, looking just as startled as Roddy. It was the last thing he saw before his vision rapidly grew blurry and dark as all strength escaped from his body. Suddenly it was very dark and very cold, for a short while.
Paladin floundered out of the shallow water of the pond and coughed and struggled for air. When he got his breath back his horrified gaze met briefly with the watchman’s matching expression before they both turned their eyes back to the big and burly person spasming and convulsing on the bank of the pond, a long shaft of a spear protruding from his chest.
