Constable Calamint of the Bree Watch had never owned a horse, but he didn’t mind walking. He had always enjoyed long walks and Archet wasn’t that far away anyhow. Only four, maybe five miles from Bree. A brisk walker like Calamint could make those miles within an hour if he was in a real hurry. But there was no rush this time, he just needed to be there before it became too dark to see. It was dangerous to walk in the countryside after nightfall.
The sun was already setting when Calamint walked through the north gate of Combe, but in spite of that he decided to sit down on a tree stump to rest his feet a bit and smoke a few puffs of pipe-weed before continuing his journey. He twirled his well-groomed moustache before he took out his pipe and a pouch of pipe-weed. He filled the pipe the way he did everything in life – slowly and methodically. He rubbed the pipe-weed between his fingers before dropping a tiny pinch in the chamber.
Calamint was thinking about the events of the day as he added a slightly larger pinch and started tamping it lightly. He remembered the meeting of the Bree Watch officers at the jailhouse after the attack on the hobbit, Paladin Took early in the morning. It had been a most unfortunate incident, and most uncommon too. The intended victim had fortunately escaped it unscathed, but the assailant was dead. Poor Watchman Layton had been a complete wreck over the whole thing, and who could blame him? Nobody joined the Watch thinking that they would some day have to use their weapons to take someone’s life. And in Staddle of all places? That’s not something one generally expects or prepares for.
Calamint managed to get the pipe-weed in the chamber to burn evenly and inhaled a deep puff of smoke. It was real pipe-weed from the Shire – not that cheap rubbish some Breelanders grew as a poor substitute. Calamint closed his eyes and puffed up a cloud of thick, white smoke.
He was concerned. For at least ten years or so he had been observing the growing anti-hobbit sentiment among the trashiest section of the Bree population and listening to rumors about someone called ’Sharkey’ who was supposedly behind the sentiment as well as most of the shady business that went along in Bree. Calamint was inclined to believe that this ’Sharkey’ was actually a pseudonym of Bill Ferny, the trashiest of all scoundrels of Bree and the crookedest man he had ever met. Unfortunately Ferny was also slippery as an eel and had so far managed to get away with everything. So far.
While the Took family had declined to have an escort of the Watch to protect them, most of the Bree Watch officers had agreed that there was no way to guarantee the safety of the hobbits under the circumstances. The dead assaulter was recognized as Roddy Twinspur, a known thug and a well-known associate of Bill Ferny. It was also a known fact that the Took family was wealthy, and the whole attack had likely been orchestrated by Ferny to rob them of their valuables. It was decided at the Watch meeting that somebody of the Watch would have to be sent to Archet to discreetly look after the hobbits while the Bree Watch kept a closer eye on Bill Ferny’s house and the folk that frequented it.
Constable Calamint had volunteered for the bodyguard detail. He liked hobbits as much as he liked his pipe-weed, and wanted to personally make sure none of Ferny’s lousy friends attempted to make them any more harm. He had actually missed the hobbit wagon in Combe, as Constable Underhill had hidden it behind the Town Hall, so he was heading straight to Archet, where the hobbits had told the watchmen they were going next.
The pipe had gone out. Calamint tapped it against his palm to clear the ashes, stood up and stretched his joints. The sun was setting, and it was time to move along.
