Story Contest Entry 2010- Idiot's Errand

[kaelln]

Bodkinius Butterbur looked up into the scowling face of the Ranger they called "Fox". “What kind of name is that, anyway,” Butterbur muttered quietly.

"What was that?" Fox asked.

"Nothing, Mr. Fox, nothing at all," Butterbur said, shaking his head quickly. Then he screwed up his face and rubbed the back of his neck. Looking up at this Ranger forced him to almost lean back, and now he had a crick in his neck. He really didn't like these Rangering folk. They just weren't respectable, not respectable at all.

Butterbur's infant grandson, Barliman, cooed and gurgled in his grandmother's lap. Butterbur glanced over at him and grinned. There had been a Butterbur at the Prancing Pony Inn ever since his great grandfather had opened it for the first time, and Bodkinius guessed there always would be.

Fox grunted. Butterbur sighed. From the young back to the old. And this Ranger, with his long white hair and short white beard, well, he was older than any other Ranger Butterbur had ever seen. Butterbur had been raised to respect his elders, but an old fox was still a fox, and should be kept away from the henhouse, that was just common sense.

"I'm sorry Mr. Fox, but I'm all out of pipeweed, and won't have any in for another week at the earliest. You'll just have to go get some from old Pipplestick down to the greengrocers."

"Pipplestick sent me here," Fox said. "Apparently there have been a lot of dwarves through, headed down to Hobbiton from what I hear, and they've cleared out the entire village!"

"That's right, Mr. Fox," Butterbur said. "They left with Mr. Gandalf a couple of days ago."

"Gandalf?" Fox perked up at the name. "I wonder what he's up to? " He glared at Butterbur. "You don't know, do you?"

"Oh, him and them dwarves were going on and on about some dragon in some mountain, and there was a lot of talk about treasure. A lot of old tosh if'n you ask me. Still, they were a thirsty lot, and that's all that matters to me."

"Hmmm," Fox mused, "I wonder. Still, you're not all out of ale are you?"

"Why, no sir! We brews that local, we does."

"Then send a pint to that table there," Fox said. "The one in the corner."

Butterbur filled a tankard and sent it over with Bogo, a young fair haired hobbit. The old Ranger had already propped his feet up on the table, and he was fiddling with a beat up old pipe, scowling and grumbling because he didn't have anything to fill it with.

People sure love their pipeweed, Butterbur thought, they surely do. If'n I could get some in ahead of everyone else... Hmmm, he thought.

"Bogo," Butterbur shouted, "fetch me that wooly-brained sluggard Nodo! I've got a job for him, I surely do!"

Twenty minutes later, Bogo showed up with another young hobbit in tow.

“You certainly took your time,” Butterbur fumed.

“Now, don’t be that way, Mr. Butterbur,” Nodo said. “I had to clean up a bit after mucking out the stables. You wouldn’t want me to come into your fine establishment smelling like a stable, now would you?”

“That’s right, Mr. Butterbur,” Bogo said. “Now he only smells like a horse, instead of what comes out of them!”

Nodo nodded his head in agreement.

“Fine,” Butterbur said, sighing. “Nodo, I want you to hitch up a wagon, and head right on down to Wildroot’s farm. You know where that is, right?”

“Yes sir, I do indeed, sir.”

“Good. He keeps an extra barrel of Longbottom Leaf for his own use in the winter months. I know because we smoked a pipe of it last February when I was down there making a deal for some winter squash, and he showed me his stash. What I want you to do is to head over there and offer him six copper pennies to send the barrel here. Then, when my shipment comes in, I’ll send him a brand new barrel of fresh Longbottom Leaf. So, he gets six copper pennies, and a brand new barrel of pipeweed. You got that?”

“Yes sir,” Nodo said, “and I’ll leave first thing in the morning!”

“You’ll leave right now, you fur-footed oaf!”

“But Mr. Butterbur, it’s almost dark, and it’s a three hour round trip!”

“Well,” Butterbur said, “I guess you’d better get started.”

Suddenly Fox was leaning over the bar staring Butterbur in the face. No one had seen him move from his seat. One second he wasn’t there, then he was.

“Butterbur,” he said, “you can’t send this boy out tonight. It’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Begging you pardon, Mr. Fox,” Butterbur said, “but I think I’ll be the one to decide when and where the boy goes. After all, I pay the lad, I does.”

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” Fox said. “But I’ve heard rumors that a band of goblins has come down from the mountains to get up to who knows what mischief, and goblins only move at night. That’s why I’m in town. I need supplies before I track them down. It’s not safe for the boy to go until morning.”

“Goblins!” Butterbur snorted. “Goblins? In Bree?” Butterbur snickered, then chuckled, then laughed aloud. The other patrons of the Prancing Pony joined in.

The Ranger’s face darkened, and his eyes flashed.

“Listen, you old fool! Just wait until morning! You could be sending this boy to his death!”

This time, even Nodo joined in the merriment.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Fox,” Nodo said. “If’n them goblins attack, I’ll just sic the boogie-man on ‘em!”

Fox stood stiffly, his mouth a thin line as everyone around him laughed and pounded on their tables.

“Well, Butterbur,” Fox said, “you’ve picked the right man for the job. The boy is an idiot, and this is an idiot’s errand.”

And so saying, he slammed a coin on the bar, then stalked out, the laughter following him.

* * *

Fox stood in the shadows outside old Wildroot’s house, waiting for Nodo to emerge. He checked his star dial, a useful gadget that allowed you to tell the time at night by the position of the stars. Nodo had been in there for two hours, and it was well past full dark. Fox supposed that Wildroot had invited Nodo for supper. In Fox’s experience, hobbits would rather eat than breathe. Wildroot might regret his generosity, especially since Nodo was likely to eat every last morsel of mushroom, cake and pudding in the house.

Still, it was worrisome. Fox was anxious for Nodo to get on the road. He had seen troubling signs as he had tailed Nodo to the farm, always staying out of sight. Someone had been setting up blinds and screens along the side of the road, and Fox had little doubt that goblins were planning to waylay travelers for whatever they could get. Weapons, clothing, jewelry, food, even, and Fox shuddered to think of it, even … meat. Fox had carefully marked every ambush position he had found in his memory, and he just hoped he had found them all. It would be tricky to keep ahead of Nodo without revealing himself to any potential attackers, but he had to try.

Just then Nodo emerged from the house, followed by Wildroot. Wildroot was a tall, skinny man, with one lock of sandy hair at the top of his head surrounded by a horseshoe of bare skin. He puffed on a pipe while scratching his behind.

“Are you sure this won’t cause you any inconvenience, Mr. Wildroot?” Nodo asked.

“Naah,” Wildroot said, “I’ve still got a couple of pounds left from my last barrel. More than plenty to last a week or two.” He screwed up his craggy face with concern. “I hate to think of all those city folk having to do without weed for a week or more. Course, if’n they had any common sense at all, they’d put some aside, like I do. Still, I’m making a tidy little profit, so I can’t complain. ’Cept of course, I ought to charge that old skinflint Butterbur a couple of extra coppers for the amount of food you ate. Never saw such a little fellow put away so much.”

Nodo had the good grace to look embarrassed. A Shire hobbit would have just been puzzled, but Nodo was from Bree, and he knew that men were sometimes alarmed at the amount of food that hobbits ate.

“Speaking of your size,” Wildroot said, “I’d better load that barrel on the wagon for you. It’s about as big as you are.”

Wildroot and Nodo kept chatting amiably as Wildroot loaded up the wagon. As they shook hands, Fox slipped away into the night.

* * *

“Damned silly hobbit!” Fox fumed to himself. Nodo was singing! Singing! At the top of his lungs as he rode along the dark road! Of all the damn fool things to do, and Fox had warned him! Now every foul creature within a mile or more would know exactly where this … idiot(!) was. Not only that, but he was practically announcing the location of Wildroot’s farm to whoever had set up those ambush spots, be they goblins or men.

“O, the moon came up and the sun went down,
As Nodo Proudfoot left the town,
On a quest to find some fine pipeweed,
To satisfy old Butterbur’s greed.

A silly Ranger told a tale,
Of Goblins on the lonely trail,
But valiant Nodo took no harm,
As he made his way to Wildroot’s farm.”

Fox tread carefully as he approached the first ambush spot. It was just some brush piled up beside the trail, but it was a narrow trail surrounded by thick forest, barely wide enough for a full sized wagon. There was plenty of room though for the pony and hobbit sized rig Nodo was driving. Fox paused and peered intently at the spot. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, but the smell would have told the tale even if he couldn’t see the two ambushers crouching there, snickering to each other.

“A pony and a runt!” one whispered to the other. “We eats good tonight!”

Fox was glad he spoke a little orcish. He had to do this quietly, so he took the knives he kept hidden in his boots, one in each hand. The goblins never heard him until he was right behind them and whispered in perfect orcish:

“The pony is old and his meat would be tough and hobbit is too fatty to taste good.”

As they turned, they each found a knife protruding from their throat.

“It would be a bit like eating pure lard,” Fox continued, “although I don’t imagine that would bother the likes of you.”

As he passed the spot, Nodo kept singing his impromptu ditty oblivious to the drama playing out there.

“Old Wildroot tried to bargain hard,
But Nodo’s smooth as any bard,
He played his hand and made his deal,
And even got a real fine meal!

With taters and scones, and mutton and leeks,
Fine mushrooms and spotted dick,
Hazelnuts and beef so rare,
I’ve never had a finer fare.”

“Hoo! I’m getting hungry again, Nelly old girl!” Nodo said to the pony.

The next ambush spot was just in the crook of the next bend, and it was going to be tricky. In fact, Fox couldn’t be absolutely certain that it was an ambush spot. There were two trees with branches sticking out over the road, and Fox did know for certain that the goblins had stopped there. Their tracks were all around the base of the trees. And he knew that it was a perfect spot to drop down on passersby. So he strung his bow, and pulled several arrows out of his arrow bag. He took off through the woods, swiftly but quietly, to find the perfect position.

As he approached the bend, Nodo was still waxing poetic about the wonders of Wildroot’s cooking.

“Cheese and bread and turnips and greens,
The finest food you’ve ever seen!”

Whump! Whump, whump! Whump!

“Whoa, Nelly!” Nodo said. “What was that?” Unexpected noises in these quiet woods were a little disconcerting. Nodo waited, but didn’t hear or see anything else. “Hmm,” he said, shrugging, “must be some deer around here.”

Fox just managed to pull the last of the four goblins off the road and into the brush as Nodo came in sight. He let Nodo get a little further down the road before he recovered his arrows. He had found just one more ambush site. He only hoped he had found them all.

The last site was in a growth of briars beside the road. Someone had cut a pathway through the briars, with a little dog-leg at the end going to either side. That way the ambushers could hide until the last second, then jump out to attack from the side. Fox couldn’t enter the briar thicket, as the path was too narrow, and the briars were too thick for him to shoot through. If only there was a tree to climb into that would give him a good shot, but alas, there was not. For some reason, Nodo had stopped singing. The singing had actually proved helpful. The goblins had focused all their attention on Nodo, and that had made it easier for Fox to sneak up on them. He would just have to wait for the actual attack, and hope that there weren‘t too many. With a start, he realized that there had to be more than one goblin hiding in the briars. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. They had set up the ambush so that they could surround their victim. There was no telling how many goblins were there. And there was only one thing to do. It would mean giving up the element of surprise, but there was no help for it. He had just enough time to set up a little surprise.

Nodo had stopped singing after he heard the strange “whump“ noises. He had felt pretty good up until then, with a successful deal and a full belly. And Butterbur would never know, but he had actually only paid Wildroot five copper pennies, not six, so he even had a little profit for himself, which he considered only fair.

He knew that the noises were probably just deer or some other forest creatures, but the woods were dark and creepy and he hadn’t wanted to come out at night anyway. Now he was beginning to notice just how dark and just how creepy this forest really was. It was making him nervous, and spoiling the wonderful mood he had been in. And now that he was listening, he thought he heard … was it giggling?

Just then, something tall and grey and holding a bow jumped out of the shadows, yelling and bellowing and screaming like a banshee, and actually smacked Nelly on the rump. Nodo fell backward in the cart as Nelly took off like an arrow released from a bow.
Goblins poured from the briars, two, then four, finally five goblins emerged, muttering and screeching and milling about looking confused. Then they focused on Fox. Fox got off one bowshot, and at this range, there was no question of the outcome. The goblin fell to the dirt gurgling and grabbing at the arrow in its neck. Then Fox turned and ran. The goblins, howling with rage, followed.

Which was exactly what Fox wanted. He had to get their attention away from the hobbit and his wagon. Fox pounded along, painfully aware that he was no longer as quick and spry as he had been as a youngster of sixty-five or so. Still, you did what you must.

About twenty yards down the road, the goblins were beginning to catch up, and Fox realized with alarm exactly why there weren’t many Rangers with white hair. If you got too old and too slow, you died. Still, there was a reason he was called “Fox”. Just another yard, and Fox leapt off the side of the road. The goblins, intent on their prey, never saw the rope he had strung between two trees, at just the right height for goblin necks. They hit it, full force, collapsing into a tumbled pile, and shrieking and moaning with pain. Fox calmly grabbed one of the arrows that he had previously stuck into the ground, and shot once, then twice.

The two remaining goblins realized they had to act quickly, so they scrambled up, and, ducking under the rope, charged. Fox dropped the bow and drew his short sword, Raven’s Wing. It was not a fine blade, but it was deadly. Fox had ground it down himself from a wolf’s claw sax sword he had captured from raiding bandits. He had ground it so that it remained wide at the hilt, but tapered down to a narrow point at the tip. This had improved it’s thrusting capability and balance, so that it was a much more nimble weapon. He had then blackened the blade, both for stealth and to increase its resistance to rust. This resulted in a blade that actually resembled the wing of a bird folded against its body. Finally, he had replaced the pommel with an ebony raven’s head. It was not an elven sword forged for a king, but it got the job done.

The rope trap had one unfortunate consequence. It quenched the fires of rage that had driven the goblins on, heedless of danger. Had they remained blinded by bloodlust, it would have been over almost immediately. Instead, they slowed, and began to circle the grizzled old Ranger. He grinned in response, and calmly drew his hunting knife with his left hand. He would have preferred a shield in this situation, but the knife would have to do.

“Now you die, and we dine on man-flesh,” said the thinner goblin in his own guttural tongue.

“Yes,” said the other, a fat goblin with a scar running across a milky eye, “now you die.”

Fox laughed and replied in the goblin tongue. “There is the small matter of killing me first, without getting killed yourself, of course. That might not be as easy as you think.”
And so saying, he feinted to the left with his hunting knife, then whirled and thrust to the right with Raven’s Wing. The thinner goblin squealed with pain as the point entered the flesh of his shoulder.

“First blood,” Fox said.

“So you profane our speech with your foul tongue,” said the thin one. “I shall cut it out and roast it over the campfire tonight.”

The thin one nodded to the fat one, and Fox noticed that he nodded in return. Then both goblins charged, slashing and thrusting with their crude blades. Fox parried, slashed and thrust in turn, and was forced to retreat, pace by pace, by the furious onslaught. Each combatant was nicked and bled from cuts and scratches. The fat goblin swung his sword in a vicious overhead chop, which Fox just managed to catch with his hunting knife, but it jarred the knife from his hand. As the thin one thrust, Fox twisted aside, grabbed his arm, and jerked him so that he landed in the dirt, and simultaneously kicked out at the fat one, catching him in the gut. The goblins lay in the dirt, panting, and Fox, leaning over with his hands on his knees, fought to catch his own breath.

Then the goblins arose, one on either side of Fox, and there was that nod again, first one, then the other. A desperate plan entered his mind, but it would have to be timed just right. As the goblins charged again, screaming bloody murder, Fox remained leaning over, then at the very last moment, dropped flat onto his belly.

Unable to stop, the goblins plowed into each other, blades first, and the screams were suddenly replaced with a dreadful gurgling sound. Thick gobbets of black blood dripped onto Fox where he lay, then the goblins tumbled over, each impaled on the other’s sword.

Fox wished he had time to rest, but he couldn’t be certain that no more traps remained to be sprung. He gathered his knife and bow and rope, then took off down the road at a trot. He had just passed the briar trap when he heard a sound behind him, and whirling around he saw a goblin seeming to rise out of the road itself. As it stood, sand pouring off a shield it held over its head, Fox threw his hunting knife. It sank to the hilt into the chest of the goblin. He walked over to it, and saw that it had dug a spider-hole, using its shield for a trap door, and its companions had hidden the shield with sand. That had obviously been done after nightfall. He crouched to pull his knife free, and scrubbed it with sand.

“So, you kill all my men,” came a harsh, raspy voice speaking in the Common tongue, “you are a mighty warrior.”

Fox sighed, shaking his head. Was there no end of these creatures? Then there was a strange snorting sound, and Fox turned his head, and what he saw caused his eyes to widen and his heart to sink. For this was no mere goblin. This goblin was riding a warg.

The creature the goblin sat atop was wolf-like, but twice as large as the largest wolf Fox had ever seen. It’s huge, distorted muscles quivered, saliva poured from its mouth in thick ropes, and it snorted blasts of hot, foul breath that blew his white hair away from his face as it’s nose and fangs came within inches of his face.

“You speak Common,” Fox said. “Good. Why have you come to Bree? You can’t be that anxious to die.”

“You are mighty warrior,” said the Goblin, laughing, “but you think much of yourself. It is a weakness. You should run.”

“Perhaps,” Fox replied, smiling. “Still, humor a worthy opponent. Why have you come?”

“Room,” the goblin spat. “The mountains and caves overflow with our kind. Game is scarce. Some of us starve. Some of us eat each other.” He grinned, the expression anything but reassuring. “I have eaten my kind. But man-flesh is sweeter, and there is plenty of room here, and man-game everywhere you look.”

“Still, this place is not undefended,” Fox said. “One man took out your entire band.”

“Bah,” said the goblin, “they were fools!”

“You don’t seem very upset about it,” Fox said.

“There are plenty more where they came from,” the goblin said. “When I return, I shall tell the tale of the mighty warrior that demolished an entire raiding band, and how I, and I alone defeated him. And I shall have your head to show as proof. The mightiest warriors will flock to me. You did me a favor, Ranger.”

“A favor for me, then,” Fox asked. “What is your name?”

“Grazznakk is my name, Ranger,” Grazznakk said. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because, Grazznakk, this will be a battle to remember,” Fox said. “I’ll want to tell my great-grandchildren.”

Grazznakk barked out a laugh. “I don’t think you’ll be telling anyone anything, Ranger. Khitozhk!”

The warg lunged forward, and Fox, expecting such a trick, rolled to the side. The warg’s fangs snapped on empty air. He scooped up the shield where the last goblin had dropped it, and set himself to face the onslaught. The warg, now that it had been given the order, attacked on its own, while Grazznakk poked and prodded and stabbed at Fox with his spear. The warg lunged, snapping, and Fox fended it off with the shield, while parrying the thrusting spear with Raven’s Wing. From side to side the warg jumped, always coming from a different direction. Fox saw that something would have to change quickly, or Grazznakk would be carrying his head back to the Misty Mountains as a trophy. Feinting did not work, and he already knew he had no chance of outrunning the beast. Sooner or later, tooth, claw, or spear would strike home. There was only one chance that Fox could see, and it was near certain death. Nothing for it then. Near certain death was considerably better odds than certain death. As the warg charged again, Fox jumped forward, jamming the shield upright in its mouth. As the jaws tried to snap shut, the edges of the shield jammed between its horrible fangs. It jumped and shook its head and leapt about, bucking like an untamed horse, and Grazznakk, taken by surprise, flew from the saddle to land on his neck with a sickening crunch. Fox, seeing that he was still alive, but that his neck was broken, mercifully finished him. Suddenly, there was a crack!, and the noises of the warg ceased. Fox turned at the sound of a low rumbling growl.

A fang had snapped, and the dented and crumpled shield had fallen out of its mouth. Blood mixed with saliva drooled out, as the warg glared at Fox with hatred and growled. Fox dropped Raven’s Wing and snatched up Grazznakk’s spear. He just had time to set it as the warg snarled and launched itself through the air. As the warg sailed through the air, it saw the spear and desperately attempted to change course, but it was too late. It struck the spear and its own momentum buried the sharp point through the ribcage and into the lungs. It crashed to the ground, landing atop Fox, who had all the wind knocked from him. Fox scrambled to both catch his breath, and to get out from under the beast. With a mighty heave, he managed to push away, and he lay there panting as the warg whimpered like a puppy and died.

As Fox caught his breath, he rolled to a kneeling crouch, and between heavy wheezing gasps, said, “I’m getting too old for this.”

* * *

Nodo had finally managed to get Nelly under control. He resisted the strong urge to run her hard all the way to town. He didn’t know who or what had leapt out at him, but he had never been more frightened in his life. He was getting close now, approaching the end of the forest, and almost within view of the town gates, when a large man hopped up beside him in the wagon. Nodo screamed, jumped out of the wagon, and ran all the way to the gates.

“Idiot,” said Fox.

* * *

Nodo had been telling anyone that would listen his tale of terror.

“I’m telling you, Mr. Butterbur, there were bandits in those woods, bandits I say, and they attacked me twice!”

“You look all right to me,” Butterbur said, “but what I want to know is where is my pipeweed?”

“They took it from me, Mr. Butterbur,” Nodo said. “I tried to fight them off,” he said, “but there were just too many of them. Bunches and bunches of them!” And Nodo did some shadow boxing to emphasize the point.

Just then the door to the tavern banged open, and a disheveled man in gray walked in carrying a barrel.

“Aaaagh!” Nodo screamed. “It’s a robber!”

The man pulled down his hood, and everyone could see it was Fox. He walked over to the bar, and sat the barrel down on it.

“Here’s your pipeweed, Butterbur,” he said. “This… idiot,” he said, pointing at Nodo, “got spooked and ran off screaming loud enough to wake the dead.”

This time Nodo was the butt of the joke as the tavern patrons all chuckled and laughed.

Butterbur scowled at Nodo. “Bunches and bunches of them, eh?” He scowled at Fox in turn. “It’s kind of your fault, you know,” he said. “You’re the one that filled his head full of tales of goblins roaming around in the woods.”

Fox just sighed and shook his head. “You know, Butterbur, you have a pony out there that’s worked mighty hard tonight that needs to be tended to.”

“Well, you are right about that,” Butterbur said. “Nodo, get out there and tend that pony. Make sure you brush her down and feed her good!”

Nodo was still trying to process this change of events.

“He! He! He! He was trying to rob me,” Nodo said, pointing at Fox.

“Sure he was,” Butterbur said. “That’s why he brought the loot in here. Now shut that gaping hole of a mouth before birds fly in and nest inside that empty skull of yours, and get to work! Git!”

Nodo slammed his mouth shut and hurried away, accompanied by catcalls and laughter.

“Now, down to business, Butterbur,” Fox said. “I want a pound of pipeweed, a room for the night, a good hot bath, my clothes laundered, and a nice steaming hot supper, and I don’t intend to pay more than one silver penny for the lot!”

“One silver and two coppers,” Butterbur countered.

“Skinflint,” Fox said.

“Ranger,” Butterbur replied, as if that was an insult by itself. “I mean look at the state of you. What’s all that black stuff all over you?”

“Blood,” Fox said.

“Blood’s not black!” Butterbur countered.

“Goblin blood is,” Fox said.

“And what’s that big whonking tooth you have tied around your neck. That is blood on that!”

“That’s from the warg I killed tonight,” Fox said.

Butterbur looked dubious. “Sure it is. Next you’ll be bragging about that dragon you killed. Saved us all, you did!”

Fox shook his head in resignation as laughter erupted all around. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll just take a pint of ale and that pound of pipeweed now.” And so saying, he slapped some coins onto the bar.

A few minutes later, he sat in his favored corner, contentedly puffing on his pipe. “The things a man has to do to get a little pipeweed,” he said.

[Cleddyf]

its really good, and its funny
i like the name 'bodkinus butterbur'

[Mirimaran]

Outstanding tale!

[Eric C]

Good read. You brought out the typical cluelessness of Hobbits and Breelanders in general.

[kaelln]

Thanks guys! And good luck to everyone in the contest!