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Chapter Six………………..BREE AND BEYOND

            “Have you tried Bree ale yet?” Pippin asked Danny anxiously. Danny shook his head, his eyes on the mugs of beer that were passed to their eager consumers.

                “No. Is it any good?”

Pippin snorted.

                “Any good? Danny – this is the Ale of ales! This is Bree ale…Fit for Kings!” Pippin took a large swig out of his mug, smacking his lips.

Danny watched him, grinning.

                “I think I’ll try it…” He stood up, but a sturdy figure blocked him.

                “WRONG!” Two hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down into his seat. “How old are you, sir?”

It was Sam.

                “Erm…I’m, uh….” Danny scratched his head. No good lying; he’d just sink into deeper trouble. “I’m fifteen, sir.”

                “Fifteen?” Sam shook his head ruefully. “Peregrin Took, you are the absolute worst influence a young hobbit can have.”

                “Hhmmmm?” Pippin glanced up from his mug. “Were you talking to me?”

Sam sighed. “Never mind.” He turned to Danny. “Now, whose son are you?”

                “My father is Phil Brandybuck. I’m Danny.”

                “Phil, Phil…” Sam squinted for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh yes! That Phil. I met your father last summer at the crop convention. Very nice hobbit. Your mother is Lily, correct?”

                “Yeah.”

                “And you have a younger brother, Peter?”

                “Yep.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, I know your family...”

There was a crash and a boom behind them. Danny caught a glimpse of Harry and Holger rolling on the floor, pounding each other with their fists. Apparently their fight had recommenced.

Sam leapt to his feet, yelling. He ran over to break up the fight. Pippin peeked over the rim of his mug.

                “Sam’s gone, right?” he whispered.

Danny nodded.

                “Here,” Pippin shoved the mug down to him. “Try a sip. Don’t drink it all, or I might have to kill you.”

Danny peered around. Nobody was looking! He tilted the mug back, and swallowed a mouthful.

                “HEY!” hissed Pippin. “Not all of it, you git!”

Danny slid the mug back down to him, swashing the beer around in his mouth. He made a face.

                “It’s bitter!” he said. Pippin nodded sagely.

                “It’s excellent once you get used to the taste,” he replied. “Now don’t mention it to anyone – I’m going to get another pint.”

While he was gone, Danny left to explore the rooms of the inn. The bar was getting crowded and stuffy, and the scent of smoke lingered heavily in the air. He snuck out of the inn and crept outside.

The air was cool and crisp, and the wind cold on his skin. It was a clear, dark night, and he could see the stars high in the heavens. His breath came out in steaming clouds when he exhaled. He paced around the front of the inn, and grew bored, deciding to wander a bit through town. He had been to Bree once before, and he was certain that he would not get lost. He even recognized a few of the shops, but was more interested in the houses on the far edges.

                They were crooked looking houses, dark and shuttered. Their shingles hung lopsidedly, and the bricks were growing green with grime. The front yards were a tangled mess of dead, brown weeds.

Danny shivered. He had a feeling that there was something sinister about these houses, and he turned to go back to the inn.

“Oooh, young master hobbit, wandering about on his lonesome, eh?”

A shrill, gravely voice came from behind him, and he jumped. A weathered and wrinkled old face sneered at him out of the darkness. It was an old man, dressed in rags and leaning on a knobby cane.

                “Who – who are you?” asked Danny, backing up from the waxy face. The face broke into a crooked grin, revealing stumps of yellow, rotting teeth.

                “Who are we, he asks?” the old man tilted his head, still grinning hideously. “Who are you?”

                “I - I asked first!” stammered Danny. The face frowned.

                “Not your business,” it hissed.

                “Well, then my name is no business of yours either,” said Danny, trying to back around the old man. With surprising speed and strength, the old man veered around, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him high into the chilly air. Danny choked and gasped in shock.

                “You be an insolent young hobbit, eh?” jeered the old man. “Doesn’t know old Arbigast’s strength, does he?” His grip tightened, and Danny writhed desperately to get out of his grasp.

                “Lemme…go!” he cried, as the fingers tensed around his throat. He gagged.

                “I am Arbigast the Wanderer.” Growled the old man. “I see many things. I am not what I appear as.”

                “Yeah, I can see that,” wheezed Danny. Arbigast shook him.

                “You and your party will come across great dangers,” groaned the old man. His eyes stared right through Danny.

                 Swiftly, he threw Danny to the ground, leaving him to gasp for breath.

                “Tell your leaders that it would be best to take the young ones home,” He said huskily. “Tell them that the old Southerlings are planning a massacre.”

Then he vanished.

                Danny lay panting on the cold earth, the terror and horror flooding his mind and thoughts.

He found that he was trembling, and he got to his feet slowly. Then he remembered the old man’s words; he left to murder…

                Danny bit back the cry of dismay that tried to escape his throat. He fled to the inn as fast as his shaking legs would allow him.

                Theo glanced out the window, threading his fingers together. The bar was far too noisy and crowded for his liking, so he decided to spend the evening back in the room. He was the only one in the room, other than Fatty Bolger, who was sleeping on the couch.

                Theo went and sat in a chair, slumping down into the cushion. His feet ached after their long walk, and he placed his arms behind his head to go to sleep. He began to doze off, when there was a loud commotion below him – down in the bar. He slit one eye.

                The door to the room swung open with a bang, and the hobbits flooded in, taking beds and claiming chairs and cots. Wilson yawned hugely, and flopped onto a bed, shoving Tom to the side.