The Case of the Disappearing Mushrooms
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Merry, Pippin, Farmer Maggot
G-rated. I had to take liberties with Farmer Maggot’s
character for the purposes of the story. Somehow I don’t
think the good farmer would have need of the shirriffs!
It is set perhaps the year before the quest.
Just over 1000 words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shirriff’s Files
Ned Broadtoes, Chief Shirriff, Eastfarthing District, Budgeford, The Shire
O’ course everyone thinks a shirriff’s work is all bout wrangling cattle and sheep what got inta someone’s corn fields, but let me tell you, it’s much more than that. There’s danger a plenty in it and real criminals right here in what some call the most civilized parts of The Shire. I had a case just last week. Perfect example of what I mean.
I work mostly roundabouts Budgeford and Whitfurrows. I like to keep close to the Blue Swan if you take my meaning. Some swears by the Golden Perch, but I says it’s the Blue Swan what has the best beer in the Eastfarthing. Not to mention fried taters and fish to match what me misses makes at home.
Well it was Monday last I got a message from The Post telling me to go way down to the Marish. It seemed a farmer by the name of Maggot was having his crops stolen regular. He was complaining in particular about mushrooms being nicked. Well I figured it’d be pigs eatin em like as not. Of course I had to investigate the matter anyhow.
It being a long journey I set out at first light. It was a lovely day for a walk I don’t mind saying. The sun was shining. There was only a few October clouds racing their way south across the sky. A fine crisp morning. But I didn’t get to the Maggot’s residence til longabouts teatime. And by then it had clouded up and gotten a bit chill. The conditions were not good for seeing, but good for not being seen if you take my meaning. I decided to take advantage of the light and not bother speaking to Maggot. I took my position amidst the corn which was mostly harvested, but with good thick stalks still for cover. I had spied out a lovely patch of mushrooms under a grand old oak tree on the eastmost side of the field. I suspected they would make as good a bait as any for whatever kind of thief might come.
The wind was beginning to give me quite the chill, and I was missing my tea sorely, but such is the life of a shirriff. Night was beginning to fall, and I was about to give up on the job and go talk to old Maggot himself to take my report, when I heard a scuffling coming through the bushes what lined the lane up to the farmhouse. It sound like a brace o hound dogs or maybe wild boars like what I expected. But no! What should I see but a pair of hobbit lads. One of em might ha been a tween but the other was of age no doubt. I realized we had a serious crime afoot right in the heart of the Eastfarthing.
The two hobbits crept up on the mushrooms. They had a basket ready to take em in an everything. Well I crept up on them just like they was to the mushrooms. I was going to pluck me a couple o hobbit mushrooms if you take my meaning. I could hear them whispering amongst themselves as I made my approach. One of them was fair giggling whilst the other said, ‘Look at the size of that one, Pip!’
I nabbed the both of them by the back of their jacket collars. And oh you should have heard them go shrieking. They was that surprised. It’s the shirriff training you see. Hobbits may move quiet when they want, but shirriffs, we make no sound at all. When I had them well into custody, I set them down and looked at them proper. They was dressed more finely than working hobbits. That much was sure. I told them who I was and demanded to know what was their business trespassing on farmer Maggot’s lands. One of them said, “Look here, do you know who I am, I’m-“
But the other hushed up his friend right quick. He said, “Be quiet, Pip!” And his friend cottoned on and clammed up. I demanded to know their names, but they wasn’t about to tell me.
About that time was when we heard a fearsome barking of dogs. They came pelting up the lane, followed by old Maggot himself carrying his pitchfork. Well I seen this was become what we call a dangerous situation. Maggot looked just ready to commit serious bodily injury on the two, so I put myself in harms way and demanded he put down his weapon. What do you think he did at that? Why he fell to laughing like a buffoon. I don’t reckon that one is right in the head. But he called his dogs off anyway. Then he took a good look at the two thieves. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, I might have known,” he said. And I ain’t ashamed to admit I didn’t like the sound of that. I could just see arresting the lads of the two most grand families in all The Shire. That’d be worth more than my feather to be sure. But old Maggot, cracked though he may be, he put the situation right. And for that I’ll be forever grateful. He told the pair he’d be calling on both their fathers if he ever caught em in his fields again. Well that seemed to put the fear into em. The said they’d never come a poaching this way again. And they scuttled off down the lane as fast as their legs would carry them. Old Maggot then, he invited me for supper, and a fine one it was at that. Mrs. Maggot sure does have a way with mushrooms!
So you see the life of a shirriff, even here in the Eastfarthing, is not all wayward cows and sheep. It’s a dangerous job. An important job keeping the peace. And that’s why I wouldn’t have any other.
Merry, Pippin, Farmer Maggot
G-rated. I had to take liberties with Farmer Maggot’s
character for the purposes of the story. Somehow I don’t
think the good farmer would have need of the shirriffs!
It is set perhaps the year before the quest.
Just over 1000 words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shirriff’s Files
Ned Broadtoes, Chief Shirriff, Eastfarthing District, Budgeford, The Shire
O’ course everyone thinks a shirriff’s work is all bout wrangling cattle and sheep what got inta someone’s corn fields, but let me tell you, it’s much more than that. There’s danger a plenty in it and real criminals right here in what some call the most civilized parts of The Shire. I had a case just last week. Perfect example of what I mean.
I work mostly roundabouts Budgeford and Whitfurrows. I like to keep close to the Blue Swan if you take my meaning. Some swears by the Golden Perch, but I says it’s the Blue Swan what has the best beer in the Eastfarthing. Not to mention fried taters and fish to match what me misses makes at home.
Well it was Monday last I got a message from The Post telling me to go way down to the Marish. It seemed a farmer by the name of Maggot was having his crops stolen regular. He was complaining in particular about mushrooms being nicked. Well I figured it’d be pigs eatin em like as not. Of course I had to investigate the matter anyhow.
It being a long journey I set out at first light. It was a lovely day for a walk I don’t mind saying. The sun was shining. There was only a few October clouds racing their way south across the sky. A fine crisp morning. But I didn’t get to the Maggot’s residence til longabouts teatime. And by then it had clouded up and gotten a bit chill. The conditions were not good for seeing, but good for not being seen if you take my meaning. I decided to take advantage of the light and not bother speaking to Maggot. I took my position amidst the corn which was mostly harvested, but with good thick stalks still for cover. I had spied out a lovely patch of mushrooms under a grand old oak tree on the eastmost side of the field. I suspected they would make as good a bait as any for whatever kind of thief might come.
The wind was beginning to give me quite the chill, and I was missing my tea sorely, but such is the life of a shirriff. Night was beginning to fall, and I was about to give up on the job and go talk to old Maggot himself to take my report, when I heard a scuffling coming through the bushes what lined the lane up to the farmhouse. It sound like a brace o hound dogs or maybe wild boars like what I expected. But no! What should I see but a pair of hobbit lads. One of em might ha been a tween but the other was of age no doubt. I realized we had a serious crime afoot right in the heart of the Eastfarthing.
The two hobbits crept up on the mushrooms. They had a basket ready to take em in an everything. Well I crept up on them just like they was to the mushrooms. I was going to pluck me a couple o hobbit mushrooms if you take my meaning. I could hear them whispering amongst themselves as I made my approach. One of them was fair giggling whilst the other said, ‘Look at the size of that one, Pip!’
I nabbed the both of them by the back of their jacket collars. And oh you should have heard them go shrieking. They was that surprised. It’s the shirriff training you see. Hobbits may move quiet when they want, but shirriffs, we make no sound at all. When I had them well into custody, I set them down and looked at them proper. They was dressed more finely than working hobbits. That much was sure. I told them who I was and demanded to know what was their business trespassing on farmer Maggot’s lands. One of them said, “Look here, do you know who I am, I’m-“
But the other hushed up his friend right quick. He said, “Be quiet, Pip!” And his friend cottoned on and clammed up. I demanded to know their names, but they wasn’t about to tell me.
About that time was when we heard a fearsome barking of dogs. They came pelting up the lane, followed by old Maggot himself carrying his pitchfork. Well I seen this was become what we call a dangerous situation. Maggot looked just ready to commit serious bodily injury on the two, so I put myself in harms way and demanded he put down his weapon. What do you think he did at that? Why he fell to laughing like a buffoon. I don’t reckon that one is right in the head. But he called his dogs off anyway. Then he took a good look at the two thieves. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, I might have known,” he said. And I ain’t ashamed to admit I didn’t like the sound of that. I could just see arresting the lads of the two most grand families in all The Shire. That’d be worth more than my feather to be sure. But old Maggot, cracked though he may be, he put the situation right. And for that I’ll be forever grateful. He told the pair he’d be calling on both their fathers if he ever caught em in his fields again. Well that seemed to put the fear into em. The said they’d never come a poaching this way again. And they scuttled off down the lane as fast as their legs would carry them. Old Maggot then, he invited me for supper, and a fine one it was at that. Mrs. Maggot sure does have a way with mushrooms!
So you see the life of a shirriff, even here in the Eastfarthing, is not all wayward cows and sheep. It’s a dangerous job. An important job keeping the peace. And that’s why I wouldn’t have any other.