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The Brigand and the Scribe: Part IV



Two days had passed since Tutt’s introduction, although for Tiverton it felt much longer. The poor hobbit sat miserably inside his captive’s tent, being brought a meagre amount of food twice a day. He was hungry, dirty and extremely frustrated by his current circumstance. It was early dawn when he was rudely awoken by Tutt, who burst into the tent flapping a letter in his hand.

“She responded!” he cried, promptly lowering his voice to a hushed tone.

“Quiet!” said Tiverton, “Do you wish to wake the entire encampment?”

Tutt dropped onto his knees and offered the letter to the hobbit. It was finely written and addressed to ‘The Stranger’.

“Might I ask who delivered this?” asked Tiverton. “I can’t imagine a local postman setting foot anywhere near a brigands camp.”

“It weren’t delivered!” announced Tutt. “I was watching her tend the fields when…”

“You were watching her?” asked Tiverton.

“Only for a bit, nothing creepy or anything like that…” Tutt scratched the back of his head whilst Tiverton sighed.

“Oh, not at all. Watching someone from afar, nothing ‘creepy’ about that at all.” Tiverton opened the letter and glanced upon the sheet within.

“Well? What does it say?” asked Tutt.

“A moment, please!” said Tiverton, scanning the letter with and raising his eyebrows.

“She ‘ates me, doesn’t she? I bloody knew it! I’m a right proper mess!” cried Tutt, burying his face within his hands.

“Now don’t be so defeatist!” said Tiverton, instinctively reaching out to put a hand upon his captor’s shoulder but having second thoughts. “Actually, it’s good news!”

“Good?” replied Tutt, lifting his face and widening his eyes in surprise. “You mean she’ll take me?”

“Take you to a dance, apparently” said Tiverton, lowering the letter completely bewildered. “I must say, I’m as surprised as you are.”

“A- A dance?!” cried Tutt once more, anxiously biting his nails. “Well, that’s it, then. I’m done for!”

“Oh, shut up at listen!” said Tiverton, lifting the letter and reading aloud. “Dear stranger. I want to thank you for your kind words, never has a man spoken so softly toward me. There is an annual ball approaching in the town and I would like to invite you to meet me there.” Tiverton smiled to himself, evidently, he was a dab-hand in romance. “You will find me in a green dress, waiting at the ball room entrance. I eagerly await you and hope we will have the opportunity to get to know one another. Sincerely, Oliva.”

Tutt ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m scuppered! Done for! I can’t bloody dance! I’ll be a right laughingstock.”

“Not necessarily” said Tiverton, stroking his chin before climbing to his feet. “You happen to be sharing a tent with one of the best dancers in the land.”

“What? Ol’ Applewort?” said Tutt, frowning. “There’s not a cat’s chance in hell he can dance!”

“No. No, not… Applewort. I refer to myself, of course.”