The diary of Brrokk - 1st place in the Madhouse Tavern diary Competition, made me laugh out loud.

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It was late at night. I was stumping wearily along the road towards Bree, back from the Barrow Downs, where I, Brrokk, had been defeating fearsome wights. My purpose had been a noble one: I would prevent the return of these foul spirits into their barrows by dispersing their hoards of gold. What better way to disperse gold, I now thought, than to spend it in the Prancing Pony at Bree, at the same time enjoying Barliman Butterbur's excellent ale? Barliman has brewed a passing sweet October ale this year, and my steps grew quicker as I thought of it. But I digress; where was I?

Yes; the weather that night was foul. It was already shrieking with wind and there was a light drizzle. I pulled my cloak closer about me, trying to prevent the rain from trickling inside my armour. The moon was low, appearing briefly in the gaps between scudding clouds.

I came to a slight rise just as the moon shone out briefly, and suddenly saw a sight which stopped me horrified in my tracks. Silhouetted against the brief faint light was a huge, threatening shape, standing before me with thick arms outstretched. At the same time, there came a shriek of rage!

I shifted my pack and freed my axe. A troll in Breeland? How could this be? Did not the rangers watch the borders and keep such evils far away?
No matter: here it was, and it would not be the first slain by Brrokk Barrowbane. My axe would deal with it.

But the moonlight grew a little more and I realised my mistake. I had been about to take my axe to a windmill! Then came again the enraged cry, and I recognised the voice of a hobbit. At this I relaxed, and I decided to investigate the reason for such cries late at night. Passing around to the side of the mill, I entered its doorway.

Inside I encountered three hobbits. The furious one was trying to shift one of the gears of the mill's mechanism. Two other young hobbits watched uncertainly, clearly not understanding how to help. When one of them saw me, he pulled his master's sleeve to draw his attention to me.

"Brrokk Barrowbane, at your service and your family's", I said, lest he should imagine that I had hostile intent, coming upon them so late at night. "A dwarf!", he exclaimed. "Ah, Hal Scoggins at your service, and here are my two sons Tom and Ned", he said, flustered as he realised he hadn't got the polite forms quite right. "Forgive us, but we are having a bad night and didn't expect a visitor. The mill mechanism is jammed. I have a cart of grain arriving tomorrow from Bree and I've foolishly promised 'same day delivery' of the flour. We've been working on these jammed gears since mid afternoon."

Then he looked hopeful. "It is said that dwarves understand machinery", he continued, "Is it possible that you could aid us?" "We do not service machines with our hands, or with axes", I replied, "but I will help as I may". Scoggins was grateful, and we fell to examining the mechanism. I privately wondered whether I would be in time to taste Barliman's ale that night, and if not, whether these hobbits would offer supper. It looked like being a long job.

The mechanism was indeed a bewildering one and I regretted my hasty offer of help. But suddenly, I heard a voice from the doorway behind me:
"It is the third contrate gear. The groffle pin is splayed clockwise." I turned to see the newcomer, but too late. A shadow moved away from the door.

Solve one mystery at a time, that is my maxim. And on a rainy night, indoor mysteries are more comfortable to solve than those without. I examined the contrate. Sure enough, the groffle pin was badly splayed clockwise. In fact, it was almost helical. Well, on this occasion I was indeed able to repair a mechanism with my axe! I split out the old pin and whittled a new one from a piece of spare wood. Hal Scoggins pulled the big lever and with a great creaking and groaning the mill gears begam to turn. He was overjoyed and thanked me again and again.

But I reflected that I still knew not the identity of the helpful voice.
I declined offers of refreshment, even a hobbit supper, and set out into the rain again, purposing to find the helpful speaker and then press on to Bree. I stood outside the mill in the moonlight, and saw a shadow moving some way off in the field. Setting off, I walked towards the shadow. It had looked near but the way was surprisingly long. At last I realised that this was because it was more than man-sized, for I finally stood looking at a black horse. The horse gazed at me with an intelligent look, but said nothing. Perhaps I should have said, "Sir horse, was it indeed you who spoke concerning the contrate gear?", but pride would not allow me; I feared to seem foolish, speaking to a horse.
Puzzled, I shook my head and hurried on, towards Bree and the Prancing Pony. Turning once, I saw the horse watching me go.

Sitting before the roaring fire in the Pony, enjoying Barliman Butterbur's excellent victuals and ale, I began to dry out and feel sleepy in the pleasant warmth. Seeing that I was ready for some talk and being near to closing time and not busy, Barliman left off polishing glasses and came to join me. I related my night's adventures to him. "Ah yes, of course I know Hal Scoggins and his farm", he said, "Hal supplies good flour, but I fear that mill of his has seen better days".

"Indeed you are right", I replied, "There is no mystery about the failure of such a worn groffle pin. And yet, one thing about the affair perplexes me. It seemed to me that it was a horse which told us how to solve the problem". "Ah, of course it was a black horse", stated Barliman with a knowing look. "Yes! How did you know that?", I demanded.
"I only guessed", admitted Barliman, "But it was quite easy. You see, Hal's white horse knows nothing at all about machinery!"

thoisil on November 29 2009 19:37:00 Äðóã äàë íà âàñ ññûëî÷êó. Íå çðÿ. Ïîíðàâèëîñü.

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